d/dt(constant)=0

This piece was written a few weeks ago, for the Transit 09 fest souvenir in college. The theme was change. And the above title did not go into the souvenir... So here it is:

The audience was ready. The audience being retired gentlemen, from the households of Vijayanagar. The meeting place was the lone tree shelter near Manuvana. Mr.Shetty had special rituals conducted at the nearby Maruthi mandir, for the safety of this shelter from the marauding Metro construction nearby. It seemed that his prayers hadn’t been in vain. Atleast for now…

Mr.Murlidhar sensed the discontentment in the gathering. He assumed that the recent political turmoil in the state was causing it. Clearing his throat, he said,"Fellow members, I feel that we should all be more proactive with the issues that concern the state. What do you all say?".

This was met with a round of guffaws from the members, with some of them incoherently mumbling, “What a joke!!” “Why do you say so Murli?” asked Mr.Shetty. “Well, its definitely better than grumbling about the situation and seeking a change…”

“But how does it matter? Does it stop governments from ending their power struggles? Does that alleviate the condition for the flood affected? Does that end the mindless destruction of greenery in the name Metro? We are helpless after the application of the indelible ink.” Thundered Muniyappa, fondly called Vajramuni.

“I agree with Vajru on this one, we should have a communist rule like China, what discipline… what progress…Otherwise it’s a hopeless situation” said Mr.Shyam, which was emphasized by a round of tapping the walking sticks.

“If that is how you all feel, let me give you a situation, Imagine your loved one who is suffering from a forbidden disease and the doctors at Hospital X, have given up hope. Would you give up hope? Wont you take a second opinion, perhaps rush him/her to another hospital? In other words, wouldn’t you do all that’s possible from your end, to see your loved one happy and healthy again? Then, why this apathy when it comes to the society?...” countered Murali.

“But Uncle, How do individuals, without the backing of powerful contacts and means to money, be able to make a significant contribution to the society?” asked Ravi the lone youngster in the group.

"This is where the misconception lies. It’s the intention the matters, not the quantum of money or the publicity it generates. Let me tackle Vajru’s points.

Why should the struggle of power affect you in helping the flood affected? Haven’t you heard of companies offering to build shelters for them? Haven’t you heard of noble individuals cooking rotis and making sure it supplied to the helpless? Assist these efforts to extend their reach. Otherwise cajole others to contribute to a fund started by you and make it your responsibility to visit the affected places and make sure that the money is well spent. This would surely enthuse many contributors to donate to your fund… How does red tape or bureaucracy stop you from doing this? "

“Interesting”, mumbled Mr.Shastry, while making a silent prayer, when the street lights came on.

“Coming to the Metro, appeal to the local authorities if you feel that nature is being irrevocably damaged. If that falls on deaf ears, start a peaceful protest to achieve you end. If no light is visible at the end of the tunnel, initiate efforts to recover the green cover lost in this mayhem. Start greenery drives, by encouraging the youngsters to plant trees. Wouldn’t that be helpful to the city and its people?”

“We can’t stop the preaching once it begins” whispered Mr.Ram to Vajru, much to his indignation.

“Alright uncle, you did mention some measures which can adopted by all of us. But how do we sensitize the citizens of Bangalore, to these issues and others? Hygiene and civic sense for example…”asked Ravi.

“Well Ravi, charity begins at home. First try to sensitize the ones whom you are close to. Adapt your methods based on how effective you are. If the speech, like the boring one that I am giving you now, doesn’t work, use innovations like a street play or media like theater or movies to put your point across.

Most importantly practice what you preach. People easily identify to the cause if they can identify it with a role model. That’s why we are social animals. Some of us are self willing, others need the catalyst.”

“Be the change you want to see in the world.” concluded Mr.Murli

“Wonder who said that? It’s at the tip of my tongue.” butted in Shastry. “It was bapuji himself. Shastry, you and your memory.” quipped Vajru, much to the amusement to everyone.

“Alright everyone, can the pleasantries be exchanged over a cup of coffee?” suggested Mr.Shyam. The very idea of coffee found a whole hearted agreement amongst them. The collective sound of the jostling walking sticks, faded amidst the evening noises.

Mumbai meri jaan...

"Have you lost faith in the city, memsahib?” Asked the driver which broke my reverie. "Why do you ask?” 

“With all these attacks and blasts, you must have felt very scared..." 

Little did he know, of what I had been through when the attacks and blasts had occurred. "The city is and shall always remain dear to me, come what may". Hearing this he smiled, and turned up the volume of his radio...

Having elaborately planned my tour to the sub-continent, my parents weren't happy that I was doing this alone. Their fear about my safety wasn't unfounded either, with incidents of harassment of tourists in the Metros being reported frequently. But I realized that with some street-smartness and compliance to the basic Do's and Don’ts while visiting these countries; I could do very well for myself. And enjoy a good trip to India...

My first stop was Mumbai. A pretty easy choice, considering it was the HQ of a dream factory, one could say. A factory that churned out motion pictures by the dozen, which carried with it the hopes and aspirations of those working with it and those to whom it was made for. Although their total disconnect with the portrayal of the Real India is a bit of a bother, it does provide a temporary escape from daily grinds of life for the audience, which is worth their ticket price.

The city's role in the colonial rule of yore and also in larger time frame of Indian history also made it easier. The monuments, the bustling and vibrant city life, the novels which had the city as its premise; just led me to it.

I was staying at the Trident, Oberoi, the preferred hotel among foreign nationals. Many of online travel buddies had nice things to say about it. The wonderful view of the sea among other things. And at the end of a tiring day roaming around the city, you would want to soak in with some comfort ;).

Three days had passed, since I landed in the city, when the sun rose on the 26th Thursday. It was my last day here and i hadn't planned on anything stressful. A visit to the Jehangir art gallery and Mani bhawan followed by an evening saunter by the Juhu beach was on the agenda.

I returned to the hotel by about 6pm and headed straight for the Spa. After having finished my dinner by 8.30pm I headed back to my room to start packing. My flight was at 2.00am. Later I found my diary replete with jottings of the journey. Going through the pictures I had clicked, as and when I mentioned something in the diary, I relived my stay, picture by picture, page by page. 

The Taxis, the Best buses, the Dabbawalas, the chats at Chowpatty, the oi-look-at-the-gori-chori ogle. {Although the attention was unwarranted} was so much fun. One thing about the Mumbaikar is that they never fail to lend a hand or offer a smile to the ones in need. Maybe I was lucky in encountering the good ones…




24 hours had passed since the terrorists had taken us as hostages. Sitting beside me was Vijay, a project leader in an IT solutions company who made a business presentation yesterday, at this very conference hall. Then there was Ahmed to my left, a server who worked in the day shift at one of the restaurants above. The others were scattered across the hall. 

We introduced ourselves to each other, keeping our faces straight, making no expressions whatsoever and keeping our voices to a whisper. 

A good number of foreigners were present in the hall. It took me a while to get a feel of the situation, to know what was happening around me. And the thought, of the anxiety that folks back home would be going through, churned my stomach. 

The terrorists were moving around with sense of purpose. There was a method to their madness. It was evident that a lot of planning and training preceded this operation. Why was I assessing them like a professional team doing an honest job? I had to keep myself sane and positive in these trying times. The smell of the two rotting dead foreigners, was overpowering us.  

We held each others hands and Ahmed lent his shoulder and also kind words of consolation, when I broke down from time to time. Why wouldn’t they understand that this approach led them nowhere? If they really cared about righting the wrongs that their brethren had suffered, weren’t other means available?...

The sounds of staccato fire and grenades blasting shook us now and then. What I later came to know as a NSG counterattack, was making its presence felt. Sheer exhaustion due to hunger and dehydration made me doze of for longer periods of time. Vijay was getting agitated about the state of affairs. That innocent people were caught in something this terrible, for no fault of theirs, irked him. Ahmed tried to console him, but to no avail. I was a mute spectator to the happenings…

Two more foreigners were shot dead on the second day ruthlessly, without remorse. The remaining hostages were too shocked to respond anymore… We were given some water to drink. The thirst remained unquenched… 

Later in the evening a unit of the NSG stormed the hotel. The terrorists agitatedly ordered us to move in to another hall, a floor below. 

What possessed Vijay to do what he did remains a puzzle to me. He took one of the terrorists by surprise, shouting expletives and giving them a punch or two. The other snuffled him out within no time. I screamed out and tried to reach but Ahmed pulled me along with the others. I was too weak to offer resistance. 

The rest of the events are still fuzzy and vague in my memory. Vijay’s death had shocked me enough perhaps, to remain oblivious to my surroundings. The NSG came in, there was a lot of commotion, and there were screams, gunshots, orders being shouted out… Ahmed meanwhile, literally carried me out through a fire exit he had known to exist nearby. 

At the lobby, he made me to stand up and hold my hands up in the air as we exited the hotel. I flopped almost immediately outside the hotel, prompting some people outside to rush in and offer some help… Ahmed was dragged away in another direction perhaps. 

“Everything’s okay. You’ll be fine ma’am”. 
“Ahmed, Where is Ahmed….?”  
“Arrey teekh se pakad (the door shut). Achha Ab chalo jaldi”… 
The ambulance zoomed away…

“How do you feel Miss Jacqueline?”, this from a sprightly officer who seemed to me as a compatriot. 

“Very well, thank you. And you are…”

“John Summers, from the office of the British Deputy High Commission here. I am here to ensure your safety and your safe return back home. We have informed your relatives about your state and have made travel arrangements for you, to leave India as early as tomorrow.”

“Oh that’s very helpful of you to do so.”

“The Travel documents including temporary passport and tickets are here. I believe you lost them all in the unsavory happenings. Please do not miss the flight under any circumstances, for the city is yet to be healed from its wounds.”

“Yes, I will. Mr. John, it would also be of great help if you lent me some local currency.”

“Not for sightseeing or shopping, I presume”. “No, I had to attend to some personal matters, before I leave the city.” 



“Memsahib, this is the house according to the address.” I got down, asking the driver to wait for an hour perhaps. I stopped before opening the gates to Vijay’s house. I took a deep breath and went inside. Namrata, Vijay’s wife broke down inconsolably after I introduced myself. I told her about all the wonderful things he had mentioned about the family and told her to accept what had happened. “You are lucky, aren’t you?” she asked me.  

“There isn’t much difference in the ones dead and the ones who survived, Namrata. The scars might have healed on me, but they will remain inside me. The rage within him made him do what he did. He is more blessed a soul than those who took his life…”

After a tearful partaking and a promise to keep in touch, I headed to Ahmed’s house. He was delighted to see me and asked to me to join them for lunch. I refused politely, but thanked him profusely for saving my life. He asked his daughter to come out and said,” this is the memsahib, I was talking about. You should also achieve something in life and be brave enough to travel to another country on your own.” He laughed much to the chagrin of her and she looked at me suspiciously. “She knows memsahib, that Allah wouldn’t forgive the perpetrators of terror and that they have no religion to call as their own”. “That would be the best thing for her to know.” I replied before I left him.

"Airport, memsahib?", "Airport it is..."

Tough questions remained unanswered in me, Why does the political establishment take the Mumbaikar for granted? For how long will they keep bandying about saying the Mumbai spirit lives on? How could such a breach of security take place at the maritime borders? When will the day come, when the people can lead their lives away from the shadow of terror?   

And this song played in the background, curiously enough…
♫Ai dil hain mushkil, jeena yahan, zara hat ke , zara bach ke, ye hain Bambai meri jaan♫  

95

Shivu was waiting at the shankarmutt bus stop at 3.15pm on a sunday afternoon. He was lanky 20 year old with cheap clothes on and with a hairstyle to match. He himself loathed these clothes but then as time wore on he got used to it...

His destination was shivajinagar for which he had to wait for the sole route no. 95 bus coming from kamalanagar to take him. Atlast the bus arrived. He got himself a seat pretty easily for it was not the peak hour... he surveyed the crowd and saw an old farmer who carried a load beside him. The bus moved on along with its cantankerous conductor. Shivu flourished his daily pass to the conductor and fell into a reverie (which was triggered by the sight of the old farmer) about the early phase of his life...

He was a sprightly lad from Solur - a village not far from the outskirts of bengaluru... The family consisted of his farmer father, caring mother and the ever advising grandmother. His childhood was fun filled; replete with mischievous incidents which still evokes laughter in the family. His schooling was at the Govt. school nearby which just about managed to teach the village children with the facilities it possessed...

Apart from his mother, he had a special place in his heart for his lovely granny. She used to prepare him wondrous dishes apart from listening to all his school stories with glee and later at night tell him heart warming moral stories which used to put him to sleep... Those were the days of cocooned existence in his own small world. He would run along the lush fields on his off days enjoying to see his father at work, lending a hand now and then and walking back home with a tender coconut in hand...How he had rejoiced his first full grown moustache only to be spanked by his father who seemed to hell bent on getting it removed... And there was Savitri his sweetheart at school.His secret rendezvous with her by the sarayu river were the moments in his life which he felt should have never ended...

"Savitri", he said; startling a few passengers in the bus. " what if i asked her to marry me?"," Marry?! You?!, Begone you presumptuous worm", she might reply, he thought...

Years rolled on and he passed out of his SSlc with a first class which was celebrated with much fanfare in the village. He could still remember the tear filled eyes of his appa telling every other passerby in the street" see my son, he passed his sslc. Can you even dream of such an achievement ?". The future was hazy for shivu. The village couldn't offer any more education to this lad....

The loud noise and the simultaneous clicking of the tongues woke him up as the bus passed Harischandra ghat... he felt sad looking at the dead body and at once remembered a story which the cane wielding history teacher maadayya had told him. Alexander the great wished his arms outstretched with his palms facing skywards on his final journey- to signify that he left everything behind... Shivu was troubled by the metaphysical question that why should the humankind keep accumulating wealth when they had leave it all behind at some point of time... He shied away from racking his brains over such philosophical matters...

His father dared not to suggest his son to follow agriculture for his mother would come up with "why did we make him study at all, then?". His grandma however felt that the fields will make better use of his knowledge than any other occupation. She also felt he shouldn't be sent to the city...

One fine day a distant relative of his father visited him and upon being briefed about shivu's predicament he had one thing to say," Just send him to Bangalore, with his knowledge he will survive in the city.." After hearing grandma's protest regarding the polluted culture and the bad influence of it on shivu, he said," amma the struggle among the evil forces might mould him to be better person than he is today, one day or the other he has face the harsh realities of life, isn't it?". With that argument the entire household was more or less convinced...

Shivu's problem was how to confront savitri on this issue. On the banks of the river with the red setting sun and the murmuring casuarina trees as the background they sat down hand in hand. Not able to open his mouth on the recent developments, he fidgeted. Sensing his discomfort as only women know how to, she made him tell her about the Bangalore trip. She did make a lot of hue and cry about missing him and took a promise from him that he would keep in touch through the snail-mail. A promise which was broken within a few months of his stay in the city...

To say that shivu was overwhelmed was a bit of an understatement when he saw bangalore.. The big roads , the fashionable people, the vehicles, the malls made him to gape at almost everything. He stayed in that distance relatives' son's place and tried desperately for a job. He realised that having studied in kannada medium throughout his life, he would never survive in this city. He wrote letters to both his parents and savitri with the intila excitements as any small kid have on acquiring a new toy...The son made an alternate residential accomodation for shivu unable to bear his wife's taunts on the unnecessary expenditures on account of shivu...

He finally got a job as a PCO operator which didn't require much of a skill. He was bored with the job and began begging for job offers among the many customers who used to frequent the PCO. One fine day a portly man with a scar running thourgh his right cheek asked him to come to shivajinagar, and promised him a lucrative job. That was the first time he climbed 95...

The boss had a soft corner for shivu as he had for other village lads in his gang....The initial assignments for shivu were simple extortions in and around shivajinagar, but after 2 years he had graduated to slaying rival gang members without much of a remorse...

"Cunningham road" shouted the conductor. Shivu was amazed at how he came to be what he is today. "Perhaps, The boss had the uncanny ability of turning my inability to make a living here by ordinary dreams, my frustrations on being without my parents, village and my beloved, into an uncontrolled anger which was needed for the job..." He felt that the boss had taken good care of him and that it was his duty to be at his bidding....

Outside the window he saw a government ad regarding their agricultural measures which consisted of a picture of a happy farmer family standing in a lush green fields.... Shivu fought as hard as he could to hold back his tears as all the memories came rushing to him in full force. he lost the battle...

"Get down brother!! bloody jobless fellows; make our jobs miserable...." shouted the conductor to which shivu got down and wiped his tear soaked face worried if the boss might notice it...

P.S: credits to RKN for "begone you...." and the village setting...