On the bazaars

1638. — “We came into a Bussar, or very faire Market place.” — W. Bruton, in Hakl. v. 50.

(source: Hobson-Jobson)

There is something incurably romantic about the bazaars within the depths of the cities of India. The term bazaar has been naturalized in the English diction for many centuries now. In fact, if you look at the various usages of the term in dictionaries, a whole new range of meanings connected with human culture and human habitat emerge.

Why am I writing this post on bazaars, such a commonplace habitat of the human world? I really don’t know — just felt the internal urge to connect with you all through some mad trope that attracts me. I have been thinking of a metaphorical connection with the world as a market-place where sometimes we shop things, emotions, moments, and people for real, while at other times we just go window-shopping coming back home empty-handed.

Visually, (taking the V.S.Naipaul kind of description in his India Trilogy) these streets in the bazaars of India are full of dirt, stench, betel-spittle, crowd and smoke.  These gullies appear like breathing, yawning, salivating human-beings who survive in what the rich and the famous would call ‘mediocrity’.  The bazaars (sometimes called haat) are the hubs of cheaper, affordable, and sustainable products. Yet, they are the most living and throbbing places in India.

A brief anecdote, as  Undergraduate students we used to have one day in every six months for ‘hostel duty’ where we were supposed to accompany the caretaker to the daily-haat in Bhubaneswar (famously known as 1 Number Haat). Those days, I dreaded the thought of even going to the haat to buy vegetables and groceries for the entire hostel. The heat, dust, and sweat of these market-places drove me crazy and even if it was 8 o clock of a winter evening, I would come back and take a thorough shower. Looking back into those times, I regret missing many chances of understanding the beauty of the daily market place, perhaps due to my ‘elite’ sentiments. I am not sure if personally I have overcome this distance from the daily markets, but have definitely become more perceptive towards the aesthetic charm of these markets.

The bazaars in India appear to reflect the avarice which is an integral part of human personality but which we human beings continuously try to push into the unconscious or perhaps pretend that it is not there in our personalities.  They reflect the hunger for ‘more’ kind of a sentiment. You can try visiting the markets and feel the need for buying what is completely, purely needless.

To be a nature-lover, searching for pockets that are ‘far from the madding crowd’, silent, and calm have been the passion of many. However, of late I have been observing the joy of the street-side, the openness of the markets, the secret sense of independence that you get when you are bargaining and arguing for  small, insignificant ‘nothings’ and then the pride of grabbing what you might think to be impossible in the scheme of your shopping. The madness of the crowd and the noise of the market-place often make the toughest person crack into anarchy, and also might drive the strictest ascetic to insanity. Try venturing out into the heart of old cities: Hyderabad, Mumbai (Dadar area, Hindmata Market), old Bhubaneswar, Ahmedabad, etc. during the day in the peak summers. You will understand what am I trying to talk of — no less than any adventure sport. However, a word of caution — do carry your water bottles if you try something of the kind.

There is an air of austerity, a moment of  ‘sacredness’ about shopping in the malls which are ‘cleaner’, ‘hygienic’ and  ‘sophisticated’ means of realizing your need for buying things (many of which you perhaps hardly need during this life time). Bazaars on the other hand are a carnival of absolute absurdity — raw, ‘brainless’ and completely ‘anarchic’. You have to shout and argue to finalize your deal here while in a shopping complex or in a mall, there is no question of any bargain. I have been thinking of the movie Confessions of a Shopaholic where brands and ‘smooth shopping’ lead to the debacle of a young shopaholic.  Find that there is something ‘profane’ in the absolute sacredness of the malls. The profanity of the bazaars on the other hand is open, unrestrained, and taboo-less.

The language of the market places are different in India. The vernaculars and dialects rule Indian bazaars. Each bazaar in every state of India is unique and different from the other bazaar — yet there are some common threads. Possibly, this is the only place where one would find communal harmony. Interestingly, here we would see a Muslim selling mithais to a Hindu, or a Sindhi selling textiles to a Bengali. I am often amazed by the kind of ‘harmony’ that economic interdependence could bring among people. One might argue that this harmony observed in bazaars is ‘cosmetic’ and one tiny spark in terms of communal differences could lead to a massive riot killing many.

I had once read an interesting take by Amitav Ghosh in one of his novels about the predicament  small shops in the market places of communally troubled zones. There is a moment in The Shadow Lines where Ghosh describes the Khulna riots and the Dhaka turbulence. This moment reflects the menacing calmness of the bazaars before a riot breaks out. In the novel that moment leads to the death of an ailing, poor old man.  No denying that market places are the breeding grounds of communal tension, yet these are also the places where communities survive without strife, based on peaceful coexistence.

Bazaar is also a term that has perhaps some of the most ambiguous and controversial implications. In Bollywood movies, the term bazaar is used to signify the red-light areas of cities where human trafficking, and flesh-trade is practiced within the heart of ‘ethical’ grounds of orthodox social structures. There is a 1982 movie which comes to mind with Smita Patil, Naseeruddin Shah, Supriya Pathak, and Farooq Sheikh in lead. The movie is itself called Bazaar and it reflects the absolute ‘stubborn’, unchangeable structures of Indian societywhich is more inhuman rather than anything else.

Bazaar_1982_film_poster_Courtesy: Wiki-images

The purpose of my thought in this article has been to highlight some of the uncommon aspects of a perfectly common arena like a market-place. Bazaars are colourful and vibrant in India. Yet, they are also places which have a silent menace, a hidden notoriety either in the form of eve-teasing, or else in the form of communal upheavals, or prostitution. But is not life designed the same ways: a combination of black, red, white, and grey shades?

Think about it and share your marketplace experiences ….

Goodmorning and do take care of yourselves until we meet again sometime in the timeline….

Passion

Journeying through the fragrance of the evening past,

I play through the entangled boughs of memories and moments,

Searching for the texture of the dreams that faded

And some that fought to last.

I wake up with your touch on my shut lids,

Feeling the traces of tears and the beads of joy,

The thrill of the distance that brings us close

And living the proximity that keeps us apart.

Drawing shapes with fingers on the dust of the times past

I wait for you beyond the cobwebs of shadows and light,

Glancing through the pools of passion

And craving for the silence of the moonlit night.

We count the ticks of taboo and the crosses of freedom,

To transcend that line drawn between “I” and “We”.

As we seek to hear each others voices

Speak through the dull aches of life

And beyond the ecstasies of our self,

Desiring

For just one more moment…

In those beads in the strings of eternity.

Unbranding and Rebranding: IITs from the Drawing Rooms

A new season of IIT aspirants, a new bunch of wide-eyed, anxious parents, a new set of questions regarding the credibility of “IITs” as a system, a new range of doubts about pay-packets and lack of student interest….Somehow, we do not tire of talking, writing or thinking about IITs.

At least I do not….I will not give facts and figures in this article, will just debate the gossips from the grape-vines of academia. It’s been a three month long break from Iris. Have missed connecting with you all over this long hiatus.  Someday if time and space permit me and if I am really able to narrate, will narrate the stories of the past three months.

All through my life, I have been a rather boring talker and more of a curious listener who picks-up bits and pieces of drawing room conversations and sometimes weaves stories of them. There are no doubt a lot of valid points in these drawing room chats — some of which are meant as harmless gossips to be heard and forgotten. These drawing-room conversations are not always baseless — they are symptomatic of deeper issues that people would perhaps not discuss in a formal setup.

As someone who has been on both sides of the table: as a student and immediately after graduation as a faculty in the IIT system (believe me it hasn’t been any easy ), mostly I am in a state of confusion when writing “objectively” about a mega-system like an IIT. Let me confess my own subjective biases for the system even before I start writing. This article is a refusal to defend — but I would like to present my own picture of the glossy and not-so-glossy side of this system as I have experienced it as a student and then as a faculty.

Recently, in one of the drawing-room conversations, a friend pointed-out that IITs are “not” the best in education and that “these  engineers” are lop-sided and often “superficial” in their views and overhyped. They are not aware of social, and cultural issues, and it’s only the money that keeps them glued to whatever they are doing.  Additionally, there is the lack of “sheen”  in IITs. There is a dip in the pay-packets and students are unnecessarily pressurized from school days to get into the IITs by parents. Further, there is a lack of interest in students to read and learn — the pressure of “making” into an IIT is so high, that the post-burden of courses and education weigh high upon them.

There are no doubt some valid aspects of these points.  However, I have a strong disagreement with some of these points. Especially, when people in responsible positions including bureaucrats talk about these issues without giving the psychological dimensions a thought, it portrays a sad picture of the story.

I did not bring myself to argue in the drawing room scenario deliberately, but was making mental notes of these points so that will be able to discuss them on Iris. These points  might be also doubts that come into the minds of a bulk of our population.

The first aspect that comes to mind is the young age that students start preparing for IIT-JEEs. Perhaps, class 8th or 9th and for some it is class 6th or 7th. We come across this issue of parents forcing their children to make into IITs and after that being extra-possessive about their daughters/sons when they graduate.  While there is a lot of truth in these statements,  let us not forget that IITs are perhaps singularly the only system that have catered to the dreams of an average “middle-class” or “lower-middle class” Indian family to give a high-end education to their children.  Some of their children graduate to be the who’s who of Silicon Valley while some get into graduate studies at the best places of the world, including the majority of Ivy league colleges. The amount that a young IIT graduate earns at the age of 24-25 (including those with the least pay-packets) has been beyond the dream of some of their entire family’s income collectively put together. The gap of pressure and performance in IITs do not in my opinion come from parents only, it comes from the gaps in the economic standards of two generations. Moreover, the lack of public awareness for education, the complete ignoring of some of the promising pedagogic disciplines that have gone into disuse over time, and the lack of interest in alternative learning systems account for this excessive obsession that Indian population has for IIT admissions.

What is the average pay-packet of IITians? In our conversation people discussed the “low” pay-packets and the dipping placement scenario. I would say — that is pure fiction.  Those of us who have been through the grind and who have witnessed the  depressing placement seasons at IITs (I mean depressing because friends suddenly turn competitors during these seasons) are made to realize time and  again the value of money. IITs have been a few among institutions that have survived the onslaught of  recession. The average monthly income of an individual in India is Rs. 3000 (Courtesy: Express India). While in older IITs people crib about a 22 lakh package as “less than” their friend’s 29-30 lakh package, in the new IITs the scene will begin to clearly emerge after two or three batches start moving out and the alumni base starts strengthening itself with the pool. In an article in the “Economic Times” of December 2011, the highest gross package of an IITian in 2011 placements have been accounted as 75 lakhs (< http://articles.economictimes.indiatimes.com/2011-12-03/news/30471827_1_iit-campuses-final-placement-n-ramesh-babu>) . I am quoting money and placements here because perhaps that is something that immediately strikes an average thought.

It would also depend on how the young breed of faculty define a clear goal for their own IITs and steer the institutes along those directions. As far as my study goes, in the older IITs like Bombay, Kanpur, Kharagpur, Madras and Delhi, the first generation faculty members had a clear defined goal set for their institutions: to set-up a high-end undergraduate technical education that would match the best among the international standards. That was clearly achieved over fifty years time. But now what? Where to go next? We keep talking about “research” without getting into the dynamics of teaching and research.

In the Indian scenario, there is a strong political and public apathy when an institution over-reaches itself and establishes its autonomy beyond the state unlike the United States where an institution becomes a public pride if it does great work. I am citing the example of United States because Indian academia of late has been trying to follow a lot of the “US model”. This has been the fate of many brilliant Indian universities (I am deliberately not naming them) in the past . We go by the casual “chalta-hai” attitude and our ways are more of empty critiquing than constructive suggestions to build a system. We pull down systems with empty procrastination rather than building them.

IITs are in a crucial cusp at this moment which would define their position in the long run, and instead of following models if they develop their own model of education, then perhaps the entire South-Asia would have something to talk-of in terms of an educational capital. My limited thought is a strong PhD base along with an equally strong undergraduate teaching.It is only over the last few years that people have started recognizing the economic benefits attached to a PhD degree in India.  The time when we have the brightest of our undergraduate IITians or Central University students or high-end private engineering college students joining for research at an IIT instead of opting for a university abroad, I would consider that as the beginning of a new era of success and as the process of “rebranding”. The other part would consist of public support and more of research initiatives that would be of use to India in whatever possible ways. An institution should emerge as pride for the people that it serves.

As far as the lack of emotional, social, and cultural awareness in IITians (specifically “engineers”) are concerned, I would say that perhaps some of the best known names in writing and theater at this moment are from these institutions. It’s not one institution, the common sentiment among students all over the world is a lack of an appetite for reading or for socio-cultural issues.  History says that there have been motivating teachers behind a successful student (king in the ancient times).  A Chanakya was responsible for making a Chandragupta, an Upagupta was responsible for a converted Ashoka. It is not information that creates responsible students in my opinion, it is rather your attitude towards life and academics. How we create that attitude would more or less depend on us. Moreover, let us accept that the basic training in IITs are to make “good engineers”, how we add the responsive and emotionally balanced and honest individual to that list, would depend more or less on us as friends, parents, society, and teachers.

On that note…a warm weekend wish to you all . Ciao!

A Feel

A feel of the days and the feel of the years
Through the smiles of the miles
And through the journey across fears
The feel of the shape of the cloudless skies
O’er the rainbows, and through the highs

The feel of the rains and the feel of the chills
The feel of a wait through agony
And feel of the joy when the wound heals
The feel of the damp blades of green grass
The smell of the evening dew
And the rhythm of the bells after a class

The feel of a prison and the feel of the chains
The feel of a breath of fresh air and a feel of a flight of cranes
The feel of a walk through the wintery mist
The feel of the knock of the Easterly breeze

The feel of giving and the joy of receiving
The feel of letting it be, and the feel of being able to see
The feel of a warm hug and a reason-less smile
The feel of distance and the feel of closeness in spite of miles…
The feel of missing the beat on the dance floor
The feel of tinkling anklets tip-toeing across the locked door

The feel of counting stars in a star-spangled sky
The feel of being a dreamer
when the world is running on ideologies high
The feel of a life that we have, just for once…
So, why not stop by for a moment and feel for this one chance?

Need to Teach or Need not to Teach?

Walking down the stairs of my office for a class, I overheard a group of my students discussing about a colleague:  “yaar, that Prof is OK, but he makes us work so damn hard! Why? Why do we need to work so hard on assignments, projects, seminars etc. when we don’t need half of that in the courses? Why can’t we do what we wanted to do?” I smiled at the concern — very true.

I had no reason to interrupt, did not want to interrupt in the conversations either, so hurried down the stairs. But, have been thinking about these statements since then.  In fact, have been thinking of  a tea-time conversation during my student days, when one of my seniors said mockingly, “these young faculty members are such chameleons. The moment they turn their tables from student-ship to faculty-ship they think that they are Einsteins. Damn! they make you work so hard unnecessarily!”  In another instance, a student wrote, “she/he thinks he/she is a great Prof. and makes us work more than we would have worked in an Elec course”  …. True — very true .

Let us try turning the tables. A colleague who teaches in another University in Western India recently confided,  “I have a strange issue. What do I teach my students? They seem to be knowing everything from the Internet — whatever I need to discuss with them, they already know that. I am facing a problem of too much knowledge rather than too little. ” I gave it a thought and said to her,  ” is it the problem of too much-knowledge or half-cooked knowledge? Maybe we need to recycle  the knowledge already available on Internet and deliver the applications of that, so as it make it possibly more interesting for people who are learning?”

True that ignorance can be handled, but over-intelligence is a tough-nut. However, my observation is that if the world is producing over-intelligent, hyper-think-tank people, then where are the gen-next Einsteins or Keats or Sartre or Virginia Woolf or Wiener or Gallagher? No, I don’t mean to say that these were the only great people of the world or that there is some canon there — my concern is that are we actually finding academic egotism in places that are supposed to be higher in the so called “rankings”? Some of my friends who have not been in any Indian ‘great’ academic systems and belong to humble colleges across the country have shown much more intellectual breadth and  broad-mindedness than many of the ‘elites’. It is a subjective issue you would argue.

Why are we not producing lateral thinking, perspectivizing human beings, rather than ideologically stubborn, information-crammed citizens? In the last guest post that was published on Iris, a reader commented that ‘people comment on only love stories and Bollywood masala rather than on issues of social and emotional concerns’ (paraphrased). That is perhaps because we live in a world of denial rather than acceptances. Simply knowing facts and relating facts to knowledge  are two different things.

There is another aspect that comes to my mind when we are talking of teaching and learning.  This part pertains to the social dimensions.  When people have thoughts that they are over-working due to unnecessary pressure, there are also places in India including some legendary colleges and universities where there are NO teachers and where there is an acute shortage of faculty — forget about quality faculty. There are strikes and sine die in many Universities and Institutes just because there is no one to teach. There are learners but no teachers in these places. Many new aided-colleges across India have students who might have paid an amount that would be difficult for their parents or themselves to arrange. There are institutes of high repute which face faculty crunch due to geographical deterrent or else managements or cultural factors. The supply demand chain is highly skewed there — students are willing to learn but there is no one to teach there.

Places like IITs and Central Universities have been fortunate to attract some bright people as students as well as faculties. But on the one hand when there is an excess, on the other, there is also an absence. Sometime when you work in a village school taking a break from your ‘high-profile research’, you will be suddenly refreshed — not because there is a glorification of your education, but because there is a yearning to learn. An acqauinatance who is a senior scientist in a research lab came from a humble village school. He was the only person in that village who subscribed to an English newspaper during his high-school days and the newspaper would always be three days delayed from the date of publication — yet, he would enjoy reading it.

Another small example of the yearning to learn. This time it is Prof. P.C. Kar’s (I am deliberately taking his name) example. Those who know him, know that he is an extremely humble human-being, but one of the strongest academicians in Literature.  As a graduate student, I had once had a chance to  closely observe him during a workshop. We were making series grad-student presentations on theory. During each presentation I saw him quietly sitting in a corner and taking down notes. Whenever he had a query he would either request the student to help him learn or else he would go back read the notes, read and come back to discuss. Any new book that would come to the library, he would suggest: “If you cannot read the book, at least touch it and smell the pages — there is something very enigmatic about the smell of the leaves of a book”.

Evan Esar once said, “America believes in education: the average professor earns more money in a year than a professional athlete earns in a whole week”. In India the scenario is skewed and strange. We cannot take the American model always in our own context — the Indian psyche works at a different scale. In my opinion, education here has a different rationale — we still need a lot of teaching along with the emphasis on research, because the level of education and understanding is yet to reach the global benchmark. The concern is not learning, teaching or ignorance — the concern is an apathy towards knowledge in a consumerist society.

This time the other section of my readers will complain that I have not got any humane tale to narrate for this weekend’s post, no Bollywood and no love stories — let us keep that for the Valentine’s week . Just a short unrelated gossip — late evening I heard someone singing outside with a dholak, “Saajan mera ush paar hai milne ko dil beqarar hai” (“my love is on the other side of the riverbank, and my heart craves to meet him”) … curious that I am, went to out to see from my balcony where the wedding was. To my surprise, I found a group of middle-aged women singing the song in the courtyard of the nearby temple. This happens only in India — we rationalize everything as philosophy.

On that note, signing off. Goodnight! Take care and keep reading ….

Wages of Fear — Pages from a Police Officer’s Diary

 A very Happy Republic Day to my Indian Readers. 26th January is a special day for us because it celebrates our freedom as citizens of a democratic republic. Our constitution was adopted on this day and it ensured our positions as free citizens of a free land. The Police department is known to be the keeper of a democracy. They ensure that we are safe at our homes — but what about the individual beyond the police officer?   Iris presents the unwritten and unspoken story of a police officer for you.  This page was sent to me by one of the unnamed Police officers-cum-citizens of India as a write-up for editing. The story reveals some of the deepest fears of people who may not be IPS officers or who may not be in the lowest in the grades — the story of the middle order. I requested this person to let me publish it as an article for my readers. He has requested me to ensure his anonymity. I am verbatim presenting the page of his diary for you all — please overlook the grammatical nuances of this article. ~ Anne

 One day it occurred to me that i should do some blogging, through which I can  freely express my thoughts, beliefs and philosophy of life. Someone advised me to post a  write-up about my experiences as the officer-in-charge of a police station, the so called Thana Officer (in British lingo). The person explained that the fact which   prompted her to make such a suggestion was that, since last 20 years, barring a few occasions, she had never seen me indulging in the luxury of a family getogether or enjoying a decent week-end. During this period also never had she seen me taking my wife and children to a dinner or a cinema. She has only found me engrossed in my work at the police station day in and day out. At the outset, I may mention here that, an officer-in-charge of a police station  in India is usually an Inspector of Police who is under the category of a subordinate police officer as per Police Manual. Officer of and below the rank of an Inspector of Police is a subordinate police officer, whereas, officer of and above the rank of Deputy Superintendent of Police is a superior police officer.While on some occasions  I felt a little edgy with the heavy workload of a Thana Officer, nevertheless  am proud to be a police officer who has a lot to boast about his job. It has really given me immense satisfaction in rendering relentless public service.

  What is however haunting me for the last 25 years is, a fear in my mind, which I believe has lately rendered me fatigued.   I am absolutely certain that many of my colleagues in the line of duty will be ungrudging to share the same experience with me.

Neither I am self-pitying, nor it is my intention to make the contents of my write-up polemical for grabbing media attention. The fact is, I  finally decided to break the shell of timidity and come out with an account of the fear which is eating into the very fabric of subordinate rank like a termite.

An officer-in-charge of a police station is confronted with so many fears that naming a few would amount to suppression or minimization of facts. Hence, an elaborate narration would be highly appropriate.

The biggest fear which is lurking in my mind is the fear of too many occupational hazards, which now-a-days keep surrounding an officer with their vicious tentacles. The frequent and imminent problem is, getting superseded by a junior or flak from superiors which has the potential of ruining your career. If you get punished for your misconduct and dereliction of duty, then there is nothing to complain about. But when you are victimized for some extraneous reasons such as biased action by peers or, vendetta borne out of political ambition or a wounded ego or, incidents which are blown out of proportion by media hype or slanderous act of a sycophant or, an accidental or unintentional omission on your part, which is quite possible considering the burden of work, then it is a matter of grave concern. Interestingly enough, you are always caught  unaware in these traps.

Next is the fear of retribution. A subordinate police officer, even if she/he is 48 years of age, is so much prone to retributions that he/she becomes timid and indecisive over a period of time. A mishandled situation may land you in jail or it may cost you your job. Very few would agree with me on this score. So in order to clarify the matter I have to cite some examples. Take the case of a person dying in police custody, not due to torture but for an old ailment. Even then your life becomes miserable. Your career will soon be in jeopardy. You may  face a judicial probe which would give you tremendous amount of tension. People may eye you with suspicion and soon you’d find yourself abandoned. But can you afford to continue in a police station by not arresting an offender? I know a senior who was incarcerated for four years for the death of a person in custody, who before being handed over to police, was assaulted by an unruly mob while committing theft. Another example is the risks of dispersing an irate mob. If you use force, it must be minimum, even in the face of grave danger to you. No one  comes to your rescue, if a death of a rioter is caused  in the process of counter-strike during an operation. So many Thana officers  have gone on premature retirement on the aforesaid grounds that, it is difficult to name one.

Fear of being treated like a social outcast is another area of concern. The public sentiment is such that Police Department is taken thanks to our Bollywood movies as a department of corrupt and unjust officers. Getting suspended from active service has become a common matter these days for a subordinate police officer. You may get suspended for any reason without even the initiation of a formal inquiry, like adverse newspaper publication, motivated demands by a group of persons of your jurisdiction, even for a grievance petition alleging your inaction and so on. It is used as a damage control method. Just butcher the scapegoat to keep the evil spirit at bay. But friends,you have to watch the condition of the officer and his family who undergo such an ordeal. Overnight they become  social outcasts. No one will come to their rescue or say some comforting words. Friends will soon vanish in thin air. Some may jeer at you in public for their sadistic pleasure. If you do not believe this, ask your neighbourhood thana officer.

Fear of getting an adverse remark by a superior for not promptly attending to report of a complainant always lurks in the mind. Rule is well settled that, in absence of the officer-in-charge,  it is the duty of the  suborinate staff to attend to reports and other police station work. But does any one know that the   police stations of Odisha are functioning with a sanctioned staff strength of 20 years old. Can you imagine, we have already carried out two census in the meanwhile which say that there is a 40 per cent increase in population. Let us also speak about the increase in volume of road traffic, real estate business, production of consumer durables, construction, erection and installation of factories, roads, buildings and bridges. The country is rapidly emerging as  a developed nation. Do you now think that reporting of incidents/crimes would be same as it was 20 years back? When augmentation of the sanctioned strength is not forthcoming, suppression of cases is the only alternative you are left with.

Fear of losing credibility before the society in general and family in particular haunts many of us as the burden of work becomes heavier day by day. Very few know that 30 per cent of thana officers are afflicted with diabetes, 20 per cent have high blood pressure, 05 percent have cardiac problem and rest have one or more diseases of other variety for the obvious reason of stressful working condition and disorderly life-sytle. Finally, who does not want “THE POLICE MEDAL”?

I have no one to go to — my friends say it is our fate. However, I still have the hope that the cure for such a malady rests with a conscious and progressive society, and possibly a future generation. That is where I am turning to appeal….I think, I should go now — it is 1 AM and I have to go home to get up tomorrow early morning for the Republic Day Parade.

Jai Hind!

In Quest of the Deeps: The Irrawady Dolphins–2

The early morning cast

The life of the deeps is  unique. Satpada is located at the opening of the Chilika into the Bay of Bengal, expanding through Southern Odisha into Berhampore, Balugaon, and Rambha. Some 200-300  Orcella Brevirostris (biological name of the Irawaddy dolphin) live in this zone.

People live, breathe, eat, and drink the Chilika — for them it is  not only a livelihood,but also their life, and their culture. The day begins with a homage to Kalijayee, the human-goddess figure, the deity that fishermen worship in Chilika (possibly will narrate the story of Kalijayee in some future post).

A fishing cottage in Rajhans island

Eventually, the fishing day begins and continues  late into the evening. There are thousands of small islands inside the Bay of Bengal.The jetty gets busy by 6.30 AM, when people venture into the waters with the blaring of the first horn of the boat siren. People travel from the jetty across Satpada to islands like Parikud every morning. Clearly, these islands are not vegetarian hubs. Clamps, Oyesters, Fishes, wait to greet you with the smell of the sea.

A fresh Crabby Catch

A fresh catch

If you are interested in fish-food, then you may like to try those small motel huts in some of the islands where a nolia (fisherman) might welcome you to the delicacy of a fresh catch of fishes or jhinga.

The Breakfast Hut

The makeshift arrangement in the island

Fishing is like subsistence farming in these islands and the entire livelihood, food-habits, etc  is based on fishing.

A local delicacy served on palm leaf

However, if you observe the ghettos, you will clearly sense the complete breakdown of the conservation mechanism. The entire Chilika and parts of the mohona  have been bartered by huge privatized fishing ghettos. Grand motorized fishing boats make noisy entry and exit into the sea, aggressively getting the lions-share of the fishing business. The noise, the sharpness, and the violence of these motorboats destroy the ecosystem of this beautiful natural habitat of the dolphins and birds. There is a difference between fishing in the conventional ways and fishing in the technologically advanced motor boat system — one is for subsistence, while the other for commercialization and semiconscious destruction of nature.

The Fishing Gheris_Human Property

Fish Traps

On the first morning of my journey into the deeps, I could not view the dolphins. There was disappointment and doubt that whether these species actually exist or perhaps may have been sighted once or twice to be used as only a brand name to attarct tourists. The boatman Jeetendra promised me to make sure that I will able to see at least once the dolphins during my stay. The Irrawaddy species of dolphins is more threatened by human intervention than by any other threat. Motorboats ferry thousands of tourists every morning into the Chilika. The noise of the engines and the smell of fuel destroy the safe movement of the dolphins across the water-scape.  In fact, more than 25 motorboats enter the waterbody and pursue the dolphins into the sea while trying to secure a better view for the tourists. In the process, the dolphins fall prey to  continuous human curiosity and activity. They also have to find safe passage within the large expanse of the fishing gheris that act as dangerous traps.

Owning the Ocean_Gheris

Trace of the first dolphin

From the second day on, we started to venture out earlier into the water, 5.30 AM for the rest four mornings, so that we manage to observe the dolphins without getting into the race of motorboats. Jeetendra explained to me that the Irrawaddy dolphins live in small groups of seven or eight members, in clearings within the water-scape. They move within certain specified zones of fresh-water and forage for small fishes. The motorboats and the tourist carriers target these zones both for fishing purposes as well as for tourism.

A closer snapshot_Irrawaddy dolphins

From the distance

Observing the dolphins makes you feel deeply connected to the organic reality of nature. My third morning in the deeps was even more rewarding. We spotted a group of six large dolphins in the mohona.  I was elated. I said to Jeetendra, “see these seem to be so happy and so much involved in their own business”. He smiled and replied with a sadness, “just wait and watch! They will not be happy  for long, the motorboats coming in a short-while will make them sad. They will not be able to breathe even”. He was absolutely right. In a while there was a flurry of activities — noise of the engines, shout of the tourists, plastic bottles and gutkha packs on the water — the dolphins kept struggling to remain in a distance — but people kept following them.

Before they fade away

The unsafe waters

If you read the WWF’s (Panda.org) description of the Irrawaddy dolphins, it does not even list Satpada  in the list of the natural habitat of these dolphins. The government of Odisha keeps talking of conservation of these dolphins and to make the area a no-noise and safe zone — but the actual picture is very different. You observe the gross inequality of resources and of eco-conservation. On the one hand, large fishing corporations are fearlessly invading the sea and posing threat to the marine ecology of the zone with their huge fishing boats, sharp nets, and hi-tech equipments. On the other hand, are the poor fishermen with small dinghy with small fishing nets, hardly able to get a meager catch of 100 fishes in  a day. When laws and persecution come into existence, these poor fishermen fall into the trap.  The question is: when we are talking of conservation of marine ecology, where do these subsistence fishermen figure? These people actually live in harmony with the waters being born in these waters, they do not possess individual fishing gheris and they do not have motorboats to disturb the marine ecology. The dolphins in fact fearlessly move around their fishing boats and are worshiped by these poor fishermen as messengers of the gods of the ocean.

Waiting for the catch

The efforts in manual rowing

My visit to Satpada was an eye-opener.  The narration in Iris is still insufficient. It was just an unplanned backpacking trip to the deeps in search of a species of dolphins that Amitav Ghosh has really made popular through his novel. However, when I went there, I realized that there is a need to come back to Satpada with a more determined motive and a longer duration in hand, of course with a DSLR for better photographic clarity.

Before I wind-up , one short anecdote. Satpada is also one of the largest fresh-water pearls culture zone. The ‘Hyderabadi pearls’ that you buy from the market at Rs.200-300 for a single piece, can be found for Rs. 10 at Satpada. This is the place where they are actually cultured. If you want, the fishermen can break the clamp and give you a glimpse of the pearl. The journey into Satpada remains incomplete — five days were just too less. There is more to be written and more to be felt in these silent corners of the earth that remain unknown to the multitude of conservation experts as well as common human beings.

On that note I conclude today’s edition of Iris….A very good evening and take care!

Pearl within the clamp

A Pearl@Rs. 10

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• In Quest of the Deeps: The Irrawaddy DolphinsThrough My Lenses (heteroglot.wordpress.com)

In Quest of the Deeps: The Irrawaddy DolphinsThrough My Lenses

Day Break at Satpada

A very Happy New Year to all my readers.  1st January on a Sunday is a boon for bloggers who wish to write weekend articles. As I browse through  the memories of last year, on 6th January we had decided to get into aggressive blogging — each weekend was the target set. I must acknowledge an unknown reader, he calls himself Panapatti, as an inspiring force. We do not know who he is and neither do we wish to know — yet he really changed the story of Iris with his questions. Iris was on an all time low then, and no one read the blog because of extreme irregularities — however this person kept reading through every archived article and commenting.

Last Jan when we began, Iris was a shelter for Anne, the place where she found her emotional life when betrayed by her own quest for life — it was anger and revenge that led her to the gullies of Iris with vehemence.  However, as we moved together, week after week and as time unfolded, Iris became not the shelter but a learning process, teaching that it is love not anger that wins through what seem like tough moments.

On that note, I welcome you all to join this quest for love through the gullies of Iris. Love is not restricted to a human dimension — by love I mean every little thing that has been overlooked as ‘commonsense’ or has been trampled by high ideals, gross ego, and higher motives of human beings like you and me. Let me take you across a journey of five day breaks — I used to get up at 5.30 AM and go into the deep sea in search of that ‘beyond’ human dimension. Believe me there is nothing more enigmatic than nature when you start these trail blazing searches.

Nature in its Essence

Today’s article is based on the animals that are symbolic of love — no not the Doves, but the Dolphins, a special category of dolphins — the Irrawaddy Dolphins or the Gangetic dolphins.

A Glimpse of the Gangetic Dolphins from the boat

This December when I went home, I was determined to search for the Gangetic Dolphins residing in the Bay of Bengal. I was born and brought up in Odisha and for all these years in spite of living close to the heartland of some of the richest flora and fauna of the world, lived in thorough ignorance.  My interest in these dolphins was initiated by Amitav Ghosh’s novel The Hungry Tide .

‘In Calcutta?’ Kanai said incredulously. ‘You’re telling me that there were dolphins in Calcutta?’

‘Oh, Yes, said Piya. ‘Not just dolphins. Whales too.’

‘Whales?’ Kanai Laughed. ‘Now you are pulling my leg’.

‘Not at all’, said Piya. ‘Calcutta was once a big place for cetacean zoology.’ (Amitav Ghosh, HT, 227)

Following Ghosh’s trail of research has always been an interesting and rewarding experience. The lead protagonist of the novel Piyali Roy comes searching into Sunderbans for the Irrawaddy species of the dolphins. These dolphins are special as they are specific to the Indian subcontinent. I was suspicious that there might be more to Gangetic dolphins other than Sunderbans — the result –  located Satpada on the eastern shores of Bay of Bengal in Odisha-Bengal borders. Satpada is 175Kms from Bhubaneswar and 75kms from Puri. In Odisha people know the place as a tourist destination, where you simply go to ‘watch’ dolphins, have picnics, and come back home by evening. However, if you really have to see the dolphins in their natural habitat then you have to stay overnight. Of course, anthropologists and marine biologists are working intensively on research projects across the place, yet there is gross lack of awareness among the public about the significance of these dolphins. There are nearly 200 dolphins in the mohana and it is amazing to see them in their natural habitat — untrained, raw, full of life and creative force!

First glimpse

Satpada is a very small fishing village, significant only for being the place where the sea meets Chilika –  a Mohana of the largest natural salt water lagoon and the Ocean.  The Bay of Bengal has a vibrant aquatic culture that is shared across Bangladesh, West Bengal, and Odisha. Irrawaddy dolphins are the culminating point of that aquatic culture which understands no borders and nor are restricted to boundaries of places and narrow regional divides.

If you are driving from Bhubaneswar, the Satpada turning comes just before you enter Puri town. The roads are slightly lonely and in the winters they tend to get dark. On your right will be vast expanse of salt water and on your left there will be the small fishing villages.   The place is a very small fishing locality and the only available accommodation is in the State Government owned guesthouse called Yatrinivas located in the heart of the village. By the way, it should be noted that there are no ATMs in Satpada — the nearest ATM center is at Brahmagiri, 20 Kms from Satpada.

There is small bus-stop right across the Yatrinivas gates. For backpackers the stay is affordable — Rs. 500 for a double bed room. I had booked my rooms beforehand because traveling alone for single people in Odisha also means a lot of caution and safety. The bungalows are colonial style cottages, designed for a complete breakaway from city and urbane lifestyle.

The Retreat

The Retreat

The stay in Satpada is so refreshing that you forget the cares of the world, the moment you enter the rooms that face the Chilika. My stay coincided with the full-moon nights and the full lunar eclipse in Odisha. Perhaps nature was being extraordinarily bounteous  and was fulfilling every little wish that I had to explore in its deeps, by opening-up new moments and sights. I was nervous that whether would be able to sight the dolphins in the first place — that was my first and only aim. The Manager of Yatri Nivas had arranged an amazing travel guide-cum-boatman Jeetendra to take me into the deep sea. I kept asking him a lot of details on the Gangetic dolphins, their food habits, their lives, and their pattern of behaviour. He kept answering every question patiently and said that he will ensure that I get to see the dolphins. The only precondition was we had to start early — by 5.30 AM.

The dolphins are usually comfortably visible just at the moment of the sunrise. That is also the time when the mohona is at its quietest and  the motorboats have not began blaring their horns. I agreed to take-up the challenge of going out into the waters that early in the morning of a December month. It is mist, clouds, moisture, and bitter cold if you decide to dare the winters at Satpada.

The terrace of Yatrinivas At 5 AM

Through the mist -- the mohona of the Chilika and the Sea

My experience after the trip has been that for the first time in my life I regretted not having a DSLR camera to capture these moments. In the next part of this article I will be describing the journey into the deeps and the dolphins, their lives, their fears, the sham of conservation and ecotourism, and the beauty of the oceans.

Till then, we wait for dawn….Goodnight!

The rays of gold on water

(to be contd. in part 2)

A Story from the Mountains…

A belated Merry Christmas and Seasons’ Greetings. How have been your vacations and life?  On Christmas evening this year as I was lighting up the fairy-bulbs at home, was led through the memory lane to those days in the past when grandpa used to create a special bonfire for us on Christmas eve at our backyard and we had stories to read, and hear by the fire. Those days as kids we were enamored by stories of Army life, Police heroics, etc. They were like thrillers and suspense sagas that created an aura of mystery and magic.

Many of you who have celebrated Christmas during school days will remember the calmness, the silence, and the beauty of evenings by the bonfire. Stories added to the charm of these winter evenings.

Since it is the Christmas week, I thought of keeping-up the tradition of the oral narratives that have been the heart of cultures for centuries. Today’s story comes from the mountains. The story was narrated to me  by an Army Officer who has retired from his services in the Infantry Battalion of the Indian Army . The story is part of his personal experience and personal diaries.

The year is 1981 and the place is Mana Pass (also known as Mana La). Mana Pass is just beyond Badrinath town.It is roughly 18,400 ft above the sea level in the state of Uttarakhand. It connects India and Tibet through the Himalayan mountain range of Nandadevi.  The Saraswati river has its source in Mana Pass, and as the connecting link between India and Tibet, the pass is a sensitive army camp. The roads through this pass are extremely narrow, prone to landslides. If one lost even a slight balance  on the mountains, they will land-up in the gorges of Saraswati river thousands of meters down the slopes. The pass has been notorious for deaths, ambushes, and accidents.

This officer was sent to Mana Pass as in-charge of a sensitive army post across the Indo-Tibet border.

A young infantry officer, 27 years at  the time, Maj. R.N. was known to be a stubborn, but responsible person. He had got married recently and was given quarters at the army base area of Mana town. It was R.N.’s habit to travel across the Mana Pass everyday to inspect the camps of that area and come back to the town once in every two-three days to make sure he gets time to spend with his wife.

One October evening it got particularly late for him to return to base camp. The camp inspection took longer than usual and it was beyond the usual hours of descending through the mountains to the town. However, R.N. was determined to walk back to the town, because it was a clear moonlit night and the visibility was very high on the mountain pass.  The Jawans who were with him tried to dissuade him from traveling through the pass, they requested him to spend that night at the camp since it was already late. He refused. As per protocol, they could not say anything more to stop him from leaving the camp.

It was a full moon night and the valley shone like a pearl surrounded by the black oyster of the Himalayan nights. The moon light on the rocky mountains and on the snow covered peaks creates the feel of a huge crystal blazing in the darkness. The riverbeds blaze like steel in the moonlight.

R.N. began his descent downhill with a high-spirit. Since it was later than 7.oo PM, he was sure he would not meet any villagers or shepherds on his way. His life in the Indian Army had taught him to be vehemently independent and a loner by disposition. Moreover, his habit of reading English novels and watching Second World War movies had kind of made him an idealist and a romantic.

He started walking humming some Mohammad Rafi song, confident that if he kept his regular pace, then he would be at Mana town within an hour and half.

After leaving the camp and crossing the first kilometer through the pass, he stopped for a moment to take a breath and light a cigarette.  Then again he began his descent. About half a kilometer later, he heard someone’s footsteps following behind. Very confident that local villagers are afraid of the Army uniform and are terrified to approach an Army officer, he decided to turn back and find his fellow traveler, so that he can strike a conversation and get company.

When the Major turned back, he couldn’t find a soul in the valley. In the clear moonlight it was tough for someone to hide in the rocks of the mountains, so he was even more intrigued. R.N. was sure that if it was someone from the other side of the border, he will either attack him or take him as a captive soon. However, since it was peace time, the chances were less for such an event.  He started walking the mountains once again, but now with his hands on the loaded revolver in his uniform pocket. The moment he started walking, the sound of the footsteps resumed too. He stopped and looked back again, there was not a soul. The Mana Pass is so narrow that it is tough for two people to walk without being cited by one another. This happened several times, the moment he stopped, the footsteps following him stopped too.

After a while…a voice started speaking to him. He told him loudly in Hindi, “Kya dekh raha hai Kudd Jaa” (What are you waiting for jump down)! The officer turned back to see who it was calling out to him — there was no one behind. Again the voice called out and continuously spoke to him in Hindi “I told you to jump down, just jump down”.  This time the officer retorted back with the choicest slang and asked firmly “who is it who wants me to jump down”. He kept walking with an increased pace, faster than it was before. The voice kept telling him “Kudd Jaa” (jump down). The voice was testing his patience as well as starting to make him nervous. However, he knew clearly that if he lost patience even once or did something out of impulse or anger, he would fall down the mountains into the river. R.N. decided to keep silent and not speak back whatever may come. Therefore, he just kept a brisk pace and kept ignoring the voice that followed him.

There is one juncture at Mana Pass where the mountains are connected across each other. The point is extremely steep and narrow, full of dangers. One wrong step can throw you down into the core of the earth, into the river bed. The moon shone even brighter, and the voice started growing stronger as the Maj. approached closer to this narrow connecting link of the pass.

He was getting more nervous every moment. The voice told him once again “What is this? Jump soon” .R.N. could see the lights of Badrinath now. He suddenly realized that the voice was only motivating him to kill himself, it really didn’t have the power to manually push him down the mountains. He thought for a moment that a high-point in this drama will come when he needs to cross the narrow bridge between the two mountains. He stood at the opening of the bridge for a moment and gathered all the strength that he could muster. The voice was still nagging him, at times laughing, at other times whistling and motivating him to jump. The officer decided to keep his cool and not get disturbed.

He looked across the bridge and felt as if the warmth of Badrinath town was inviting him to cross the bridge. R.N. knew that his wife was waiting for him in the town, possibly she was worried about his safety. He took the first step on the bridge and the voice behind hissed loudly, “now is your time (mauka aagaya!). Jump down!” The Maj. took a deep breath and decided to avoid the voice, not look behind even once until he crosses the bridge.  He started to walk on the bridge with a quick, steady pace. The voice kept calling. When he was right at the middle of the bridge, the voice loudly shouted “Maan jaa! kudd bola na!” (Listen to me and jump).

Finally, he could walk across the bridge and the moment he reached the other end, R.N. turned back to see once again for the last time, who this person was. There was no one on the other end of the mountain, but the voice loudly laughed out, “bach gaya” (survived)! A moment later everything went lull and all that he could hear was the gurgle of Sarasvati river, the deafness of the rocks, and see the glow of the full moon on the snake-like valley.

Being in a safer situation, fear overcame his patience now. He ran towards the town with full strength.

When the C.O.  (Commanding Officer) and other officers of his regiment heard this story the next day during camp inspection, they were perturbed. They told him about the deadliness of the pass, and how many officers and Jawans had succumbed before him to the call of death that rings through the pass in the evenings. The Jawans indicated that was the reason they had stopped him from traveling at late hours from the camp….

You might name the voice as a self-doubt that drives you to kill yourself, you may name it as ghost or spirit, you may call it a nervous projection of the mind, or a psychological breakdown, I have no definite answers….

If you observe the current Google Map of 2011 (30 years later) to calculate the distance between Badrinath town and Mana Pass, Google Map shows two poles ‘A’ and ‘B’, one at Badri and the other at Mana,  with a statement that: “We could not calculate directions between Mana Pass and Badrinath, Uttarakhand.” Surprising na? However, it’s the Defense forces that exist in these unreachable coves of the Himalayas.

Imagine, that  people walk or cover that distance to protect the borders. ‘Enemies’ across the borders are not the only adventures that they encounter, there is much more to life than lines drawn on the face of earth and people visible to human eye ….

A very goodnight! Take good care of yourselves.

Catch a Gold Fish

This evening as I stop to take a breath after a  happening semester, nostalgia grips me and transports me into the times before one year, and in fact even before that.  One year ago Anne’s life was so different, so raw, so ‘lost’ .  As I relive the moments of my life through flashback, it seems there are just too many events happening through time, some even  beyond my own control.

During this semester I had a heady, happening encounter with the freshies (1st Years). As I observed their activities closely through my silent veneer, every little activity of theirs took me back to my own ‘fresh-woman’ year at IIT .

Let me recount a story from the many episodes of my life during those days when I was struggling to search for myself.  The story is a part of a memory of my Second Semester as a hostelite in H-11 (known as ‘Athena’ today).  I was going through the rigours of coursework and was trying my hand at multi-tasking for the first time.  The amount of pressure and frustration was brilliantly overpowering my capacity to handle them. My hostel room was the only haven for me, designed and built-in a way that whoever visited me wanted to stay back in 151 .

One night after returning late from the lab, finishing my submission for a course assignment, I fell asleep — exhausted, and undisturbed.  My mornings have always began late — very late as per IST. Around 8.30 AM that particular morning, I heard a knock at my door, did not bother to open and see who was calling. Thought one of my friends must have knocked for breakfast, so shouted in sleep, “yaar tum log jao, main baad main kha loongi kuchh KRESIT pe…sone do yaar” ! (You all go ahead, I will eat something later at KRESIT.) The knock persisted — but still I did not bother to open my door.

After about half an hour, got a call on my cellphone. With half-opened eyes checked my cell to see that the call was from a landline phone. Picked it up immediately thinking that possibly my guide was calling me.

The voice was that of a male, somewhat unfamiliar to me because I was not used to too many friends on campus. He was also a little clumsy and unsure, but said, “hi! Anne? Did I disturb you? Remember me? I am ______. We are doing the course on creativity together” . I thought oh my! Class notes!! No way! Then he said, “I knocked this morning at your door. I had come with A___ (my hostel mate). Wanted to meet you urgently, I am calling from Hostel-8 booth, could you please open your door?”  Now, I was really afraid. Didn’t know what to say to him. Mind started constructing doubts and questions like ‘why??’ ‘what is his work with me? ‘why me?’….. Still could not say a ‘no’ because his voice was so pleading, almost as if he was holding something heavy that was weighing him down. Not used to any guy visiting me during those early years at the hostel… was extremely uncomfortable. I sounded brave, ‘yeah, sure, why not come over….Sorry I thought that was Tina…was trying to shoooo her off’  ….

He was in front of my door in the next five minutes. I opened the door with the first knock trying to look as presentable was possible — landing up looking horrible. Was right  about my gut feeling about something weighing him down. He was not alone, had a hostel mate of mine with him.  I was surprised to see a large bowl with water and two gold-fishes happily swimming  oblivious of the world around them .  My course-mate was grinning  sheepishly, looking with pleading eyes. He really looked lost and in need of help.

They just walked inside my room with the glass bowl in hand and kept it on my study chair. I  could not understand what was happening around! This was my first interaction with this person.

Even before I could ask anything he said, “See I need a favour from you. Your hostelmate is getting married to my wing-mate. These goldfishes were meant to be a wedding gift for them as they shift from hostel to home. However, they are going away from here on honeymoon for a month. So, it is difficult for them to take care of these fishes. Please, please handle them for a month, I am really requesting you to do it because I don’t know anyone in this hostel. will teach you how to take care of them — just for a month.”

I was flabbergasted!  I knew I was strange, a counselor for friends, a happy-go-lucky girl, not giving much thought to life and people, but was never thinking of myself in the role of a ‘caretaker’ of other people’s wedding gifts !  Apprehensively, I asked this person “but why don’t you keep the gold fishes in your hostel room?”   He replied, “You see! It might happen that when I come back from class the boys might have roasted the fishes and eaten them up with rice during lunch. See it’s just for a month, they are really well-behaved fishes” .

My hostel-mate (I came to know from our conversation that she was the one who had got married recently, and the fish-bowl was her wedding gift), also looked with pleading eyes. Finally I relented. They quickly handed me a huge packet of fish-food and gave me a thorough briefing of handling the gold-fishes, changing water once in a while, feeding them only four-five nibbles of fish food, and not exposing them to too many place changes. Very studiously I heard through the tutorial, bid them a ‘bye’, said a ‘happy honeymoon’ to a perfect stranger who had just handed me over her responsibility without even knowing me.

Within half-an-hour I was left alone with my new uninvited guests. Closed the door of my room, looked at the gold-fishes, they looked back at me, immediately turned about, wagged the famous golden tail, as if teasing me — and ‘moved on’! I was surprised — how dare they stay in my room and ignore me! I really didn’t know what to do with them — for no reason felt that an unnecessary burden has been thrust upon me during the peak-semester when I should be studying and writing assignments.

Until, nightfall! That was my first night with the fish bowl and the two gold-fishes. I was sitting and writing something on my computer, absent-mindedly looked around and saw the two fishes. In the darkness of my room and in the lamp-light, I saw them glitter and shine! They were just the most beautiful things that I had come across in my life! Left my work, went near the fish-bowl and kept staring at the two fishes.

They were playing around, hitting the glass bowl with their tails, watching the bubbles from their breath was itself a delight! Then I just playfully placed my fingers on the surface of the bowl. Lo!! They seemed to love it, animated, funny, fast movements through the bowl!! I was giggling, and it seemed they enjoyed the feel of my giggle!

Then on, we had become friends! I would finish my work in the department and run back to the hostel to meet my new friends. Did not let anyone enter my room during those days except my closest friend, who was as naive as I was! We played with the fishes for hours, talked to them, fed them fish food, and then fell-asleep watching them play. I kept observing these fishes to see if they sleep at night — but they always seemed to be shimmering and shining and happy with their mouth constantly doing ‘pak-pak-pak-pak’ . There seemed to be a deep connection that we shared — a language which only we understood. For instance, if I came with a bad mood the fishes would look quieter for a while and then circle round-round fast — until I laughed. The bond was getting stronger and deeper and it was only I who could perceive it or understand it.

When you are happy, time seems to fly so fast that you cannot even count the moments at hand. The month was coming to an end fast and my life with my new friends was getting deeper. The time left at hand was very less.

About four days were left for the newly married couple to come back and claim their gift. I got a call one evening from this friend thanking me profusely for taking care of his friend’s wedding gift. I smiled, but was sad within that it was time to part with my friends.  Next morning when I woke-up and went straight (as had become my habit) to the fish bowl to play with my friends saw that one of the fishes was floating with its back-up on the surface of the water.  Tapped the bowl thinking that it was asleep. I gave a low shriek when I discovered that the fish was dead. It seemed as if something snapped inside me, a feeling of losing a child perhaps. I really cannot define the feeling.

I frantically called up the person who had given me the fishes and told him all that had happened. Was in fact almost crying that I could not take care of them as well as he had thought I will. He calmed me down saying “cool yaar! It wasn’t your fault! Fishes are delicate things! It’s OK they do Die sometime.”  He went again to Crawford market (South Bombay, 1 Hour by local train from the campus), bought a single gold-fish, came back, and gave it to me.  I took care not to get attached to the fishes this time. Still it was so fulfilling to have them around.

The day finally came when I had to hand-over the fish bowl to the people who actually owned it!  I was really sad handing over my friends to these people. The place had become empty and I was on my own again. After giving them back the bowl, my best friend teased me “beganni  shaadi mein Abdullah diwana! “

A few weeks later, one day I was going out somewhere in the evening. As I climbed down the stairs (my room was on the 2nd floor), in the store area below the stairs I found lying the empty fish-bowl. Ran to the room of this girl who was the owner of the bowl. Knocked at her door, and breathlessly asked her, “hey what happened to the fishes? I am sorry just saw the empty bowl at the store area”. Nonchalantly she replied, “Oh the fishes! See we could not take care of them in the beginning of a new life, shifting, and all you know. So, we took the fishes to the Academic building area. There is a nice fish pond there with a lot of gold-fishes, left them inside the pond. That’s where they belong to now.” 

I kept visiting the ‘Mainbuilding’ (that’s what we called the area) fish pond with the hope of catching a glimpse of my fishes. Have never been able to recognize them though — except a feeling that perhaps one of them would know me well. Even today after so many years, as I pass-by the fish pond in front of the Main building, I do peep once to catch a glimpse of my lost friends.

Gyan: (a) Never take care of other people’s wedding gift as if they were your own. (b) Life is also like a goldfish,  take care of it — handle it with care !

So that was one little story from many episodes of my campus life. Will be perhaps off ‘Iris’ for sometime now! Do take care of yourselves!Ciao!