Monday, September 2, 2013

A requiem

Life as such is hard at TISS. Day and night they make me work. Periodically filling me with more and more 'duties'. Many times I protested. Squealed, squeaked, coughed out smoke. All to no use.
Last month they 'found' me a partner. Yes, those Kurta wearing social scientists around me who preach about 'choice' and 'love marriage'! But I wasn't complaining. It always feels good to have someone to share things with. Especially work. And my life did become easier for a while. Everyone called us the 'perfect couple'. Spending our days and nights in two separate rooms, serving people - their idea of a honeymoon I suppose. I moved on. What other option did I have anyway? And then it all 'fell apart'. I can't blame him though. Succumbed to the pressure and guilt. Stopped working...
Today I work alone. The night is about to die and I would like to sleep. But people around me are still sending me requests that I cannot say no to. Afterall, that is the purpose of my life - to serve.

These days I dream a lot...
I stand, in the middle of the forest, watching trees fall as I carry on with my work. Animals and birds moving around in panic, while the clouds make way for scorching sunlight. Work, trees, cries, work, trees, cries, work, trees, cries.... silence...
What can I do? I was made to serve. Education has not taught these people. Or has it made them worse? I feel like a hangman at times. Just doing a job. If the world does not care, why should I? In technology I had belief. 'Had'.
I see the boy taking away a lump of 'work' I had just finished for him. I hear cries...
*sigh*

                                                                                            Yours sincerely,
                                                                                            9040 library printer.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Analysing Space : Ground floor on TISS Library



Sir Dorabji Tata Memorial library is perhaps the most ‘happening’ space inside the ‘Old Campus’ during the day time. In the ground floor one can witness loud discussions, people with headphones waving at laptops, ‘under the desk’ romance and amidst all that, people genuinely reading. This is perhaps what intrigued and finally convinced me to analyse the same space after midnight.
The reading room can be broadly divided into three sections. The 'couch space' in the eastern corner with glass tables to rest laptops or keep books on. The centre of room has six tables, each with six red chairs around it. And on the western corner are three tables, again with six chairs around it. But the difference is that the chairs are green in colour and the plug points on the table works. It is interesting to note the colour signifiers - the table with red seats does not have electricity supply while the table with green seats have. There are individual reading lights for every table but the hall is well lit that students hardly use it.

Quite contrary to the day time, there are no fights for the ‘green seats’ next to the plug points or corner couches. The book lending section is closed by 8 and it is roped off, so the ground floor is limited to the reading room and the lab for the visually challenged. Most of the chairs were empty but lay at different locations, sometimes quite far away from the desk, constant reminders of the day that had passed.

When I walked in, at the stroke of midnight, there were around twenty five people in the entire room. Two girls sitting on the couch, with their legs on the table, were deep in conversation. It is interesting how the table turns into a space to rest the legs once the crowd has reduced. Very few spaces inside the TISS campus are under surveillance and the library reading room is one such place. The sofa is one place that the camera does not cover and hence one tends to see more intimate conversations there. I do not think its deliberate. It could also well be that the sofa is much better a place for a comfortable talk. Throughout the talk they kept shifting their gaze from their respective laptops, which was placed on their stomachs, to the entrance of the library as if they were expecting someone.
 A student sat on the couch facing the ‘The Speaking Tree’ painting was shuffling vigorously the pages of a book that he had made photocopies of. Another student, who wore a T-shirt which had ‘School of Health System Studies’ written on it and was facing right towards me, had switched on the lamp on the table lamp and was scribbling notes from what seemed like a video of a seminar. During the day the people who are more interested in their work tends to be concentrated around the green table. After midnight they are more scattered as there are more vacant seats and lesser noise.
There were two groups having conversations around the 'red tables'. I could not over hear what they were talking about but from their actions it seemed as if one member in the group was explaining to others about something. I have always been curious as to why groups chose to meet at library ground floor which is a 'reading space', for their discussions. One of the biggest reason should be the lack of such a space inside the college. Apart from the 'quadrangle' and the new campus dining hall, there are no places with uninterrupted internet supply which is open throughout the day. Especially in the evenings, people often choose the library space, because of mosquitoes.
The security guard was asleep on a green chair that had been dragged to a spot next to a pillar where he could rest his head. The reading space is only accessed by the students of TISS. Except for the staff who cleans the tables every day morning, hardly anyone else enters the space. Even the security guards, even if they are upset with something happening inside the space, stands outside and tells. Understandably, they do not like it when the students make noise or switch on the lights next to the space were they sit.
At around one in the night, the majority in the library walks out to the 'SMS' canteen to get a snack before the canteen closes. The return back at different times, some don't, but generally, I noticed that everyone are back with an hour. After they return, some people move to the cyber library on the first floor. By then the staff in the cyber lab, who wouldn't otherwise allow laptops inside, would've have left. The lab is often more quieter and the air conditioned, so many prefer the place for getting the work done.
One thing that can be noticed about everyone in the ground floor (excluding the security guards) is the way they have all chosen to wear comfortable dresses. Most of them are dressed like how one would be inside in one's own house and that reflected how comfortable people were in that space. One of the student I talked to even had his tooth brush and paste with him. With filtered water also available, for many the ground floor was equivalent to their home.

The night was pretty dull and there were hardly anything that made you look at someone or something. The people inside kept moving in and out, mostly for a small walk or to attend phone calls. Students from the cyber library kept going out but nobody wanted to use the space in the ground floor. By around three, only one person had left. Surprisingly everyone had maintained their levels of intensity in whatever they were doing.  

The only incident worth mentioning, was my brief conversation with the security guard sitting outside the library. He had woken up by the sound I made while entering the library after a brief stroll and could not come to terms with the fact that I was a student. ID card and persuasion convinced him to finally allow me to enter.

The whole night was a huge contrast to the day time where there is life bustling in every corner. It is very difficult to come to a conclusion as to what type of people who generally visits people. One can safely assume it gets more crowded on during the exams. Most of the remaining group left by 4:00 a.m and the one person who was remaining lived in a house outside the campus.
My observation and analysis of the space is in no way complete or comprehensive. It is not exactly the same group that visits the library every day. What one can safely assume about the ground floor in the library is the fact that it is much beyond a reading space. It is where people like to meet up and discuss things. Silence is next to absent in the hall and there are hardly any boards/signs asking the students to keep quiet. The saddest part is how the library is no longer very reader friendly.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

The Other Side Of A Palli Perunnal


Matthew 21:12 : Jesus entered the temple courts and drove out all who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves.


Every May life takes a different course for people of Edappally. The “palli perunnal” (festive season at the St. George church) from 31st April to Mid May brings in ‘believers’ from all over the state to this place in the northern end of Cochin Corporation. And with it comes days of terrible traffic management, unofficial power cuts (to supply the Church with the necessary power) and various forms of health hazards.
I am not being entirely honest if I say I hate the festive period. I love it when people assemble. These are occasions when people celebrate together -The rich and the poor. They come in flocks, eat street food (at inflated prices), drink sugar cane juice, buy cotton candy, pray for petty things and rejuvenate their lives. Little girls running around searching for that perfect bangle while another pack stack up their ammo with 'Potas' (a very mild gun powder) bullets. It is my miniature heaven. Everyone is happy. The parents constantly reminding each other of what it used to be when they were kids. Infact these festivals are something that preserves a little bit of the past. Same old cotton candy, same  old guns, bangles, coloured candies, rosaries... Very little change has happened to a 'perunnal' or 'utsavam' in the last twenty- thirty years.



I am person who generally likes my free space and solitude but love and happiness of a Perunnal cannot be paralleled. I love the overall energy that brings.
But at Edappally there is a strange practice that really does bother me. It is considered holy to be cooking chicken at Edappally during these days. And the believers are encouraged to buy chickens from the church itself (at beefed up prices). And why wouldn't they. Nothing sells like Brand God.
People come in groups, kills chickens in dozens, cooks them, be freed of their sins and leave merrily. But what happens to all that waste? The skins, the feather, the internal organs?
Every year around this time there is dramatic increase in the number of rats, crows and flies. You probably guessed what they feed on. We laugh about it every year saying its a good sign that these creatures are feeding on it. Not GMO and all that.
But life really becomes terrible. Everything we cook at home has to protected from flies. Dead rats on roads starts becoming a common sight. The air becomes so stale that it is hard to breath. Along with the imminent danger of rat bites and related diseases.
It has with time become better. Earlier May evenings used to be like a vampire infested Transylvania. We would all lock our gates and switch off the lights early. Otherwise people would get inside our compounds and start cooking. And there are drunk men we are talking about.



Now the killing has been restricted to school ground and the roads surrounding it. But there is no shortage of flies and rats.
Nothing I say is going to change things. You simply don't mess with religious beliefs in this country! Especially not when it tastes good. But I wanted the story to be out. So that the next time you come with your chicken, you will atleast remember to put the waste in the bin.
As Gloria Gaynor sang once albeit for a totally different reason, "I'll survive" this period like i've been doing ever since my family moved to Edappally.
"Blah", as my friend rightly puts it, "at least it's bio degradable."

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Conversations On a Cliff Top #2


Read the first part here...

"What brings you here Ma'am?", I asked, keen on diverting the subject of conversation from my marriage. She smiled and replied, "Why do tourists come here?"
"They have their reasons. A friend once told me how 'staring at the sea' helped him 'reclaim his life'.", I said.

She laughed and said, "I have something like that in my mind as well. Though I find the word 'reclaim' a little too polarizing."


The waiter informed us of the distinct possibility of a storm and asked us to head back to our hotel rooms as soon as possible.

I nodded while the lady kept staring at the sea. Strangely, I could sense 'joy' in her face. Anticipation coupled with freedom. The look of a prisoner who had been freed.

"I've been married for 28 years. Today, for the first time in my life, I walked out.", she said while twisting her cup of coffee. I remained silent but did not take my eyes off her. She needed a listener and I did not want to disappoint her.

"I should have done this a long time ago. But I was too scared.", she said. The sea was beginning to look more intimidating now, as waves thrashed against the human made barriers. Some of the tourists got up to leave while the more seasoned campaigners stayed on, knowing perfectly well that they had at least half an hour more before the storm started moving in.

"I was raped on my first night by the man my parents had found me. 'Lack of knowledge' the families had called it. But to be honest, my husband had problems that needed to be treated. Going to a psychologist was considered taboo in an upper class family but domestic violence wasn't
. The fact that my husband was regarded by many, as the finest gentleman in politics, did not help me either. To the public he was Mr. Charming. To us, including our kids, he was nothing but the devil."

She was not looking at the cup of coffee anymore. Instead her gaze was fixed on a deep, long scar on her left wrist. I had spent too many sleepless nights at the 'Emergency' ward to not realise what it was.

"Did you try calling the police?", I asked.

"I never had the courage. Police stay away from politicians for obvious reasons. It would've been..suicide.", she said, volume dropping a little.

"The family said things would get better with a baby. And it did for sometime. I delivered him a baby boy like everyone had wanted. After an year he wanted another. I did not think I was ready but my vote did not matter. We had another boy, only this time my baby was autistic."

She looked at the sea again. The sky had gone remarkably dark and there were flashes of lightning in the horizon accompanied by long rumbles. She was crying. Tears running through her cheeks until gravity pulled it to the napkin on her thigh.
The glass window of the coffee shop reflected her sad eyes. Her face, now highlighted by the dark grey clouds in the background, told a story of a woman who had lost her motive in life. It was highly likely that her son had passed away recently. She wiped her eyes with a tissue paper, pointed at the clouds and said, "Aren't they beautiful?"



The news channel had reported a storm. People were being moved to regions of the city with higher altitude. Schools had been set up as emergency camps for the under-privileged.
At the hospital, we had moved all the electronic instruments to safer heights and were busy shifting the patients when I spotted one sitting on a bench in the park, next to the rehab center.
She was bald, due to a recent chemo, and was looking at the clouds when I reached there. She smiled, pointed to the sky and said, "Aren't they beautiful?"


I looked at the sky, like I had then, and succumbed to the sheer magnificence of what lay above my head. What some of us never sees in our lifetime.

(To be contd..)

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Conversations On a Cliff Top


"My husband I could understand...", she said while taking a sip of the new cup of coffee the waiter had brought. The wind played with her hair, which had been let lose. "He needed help. But it's his family, mine, including my parents who had loved me throughout their lives... It was them. I could never understand why they were so persistent."
She kept staring at the sea as she delivered the words in a low monotonous tone. I found myself lost for words. I didn't know to react. Did she want me to react? Or contribute to the argument perhaps? Was I better off as a silent spectator?
Fate or as non believers would say "lack of seats" had brought me to this seat facing the lady.



 I could not come to a conclusion on what was to be done so I gave a very timid "Hmmm" in response. I was partly lost in the complex world of memories, constantly jumping from one to another, like a convict who had escaped the prison, haunted by the guilt and a deep sense of fear. I did not wish to come back to reality. Yet this lady, who had been silent all this while, had aroused a sense of curiosity in me.
A week ago, while I was on my regular rounds at the oncology ward, I had listened to a relative of little Gina (a four year old Leukemia patient) tell her mother the story of a two year old cancer patient. I had wondered why people, usually close relatives or friends, always assumed that stories of sorrow acted as relaxants to the ones suffering themselves. 

Yet I found myself incredibly drawn to the lady in front of me, glued to the belief that her story was far worse than mine. The truth is, nobody likes to believe his/her life is going really bad, and would readily swallow whatever reassurances they can get.
"You are not reading. One doesn't blink that much" she said, staring at the sea. 

Old fishing vessels tied to wooden poles were dancing rhythmically to the waves which were gaining strength steadily. Dark clouds were filling up the horizon. A storm is imminent, I thought, as the cool breeze knocked an outdated table calendar off its upright position.
"I was thinking...", I replied.

Noticing her callous attitude, I looked around for free tables but the probability of a storm hadn't scared away the tourists from this hut, precariously positioned at the edge of a rocky cliff.
For the first time after starting the conversation the lady looked at me in the eye. I could sense the depth of sadness on that face devoid of any make up. Her eyes looked a little watery as it reflected the sea. I could easily imagine a younger version of hers, perhaps 30 years back, giving men a real pinch in their hearts.
"Are you married?" she asked.
I looked at the sea again. Sea gulls circling around the coast with real interest. Sometimes big storms and violent waves drove schools of fishes to shallow waters making them easy targets for their aerial predators. For a second I wanted to be a fish. To be that one in the million, riding the waves and just doing what everyone else does.


There was blood. It started out as a small drop. I was finding it hard to breath. My companions were all gone. The school had left me alone in this strange sea.

Suddenly my right fin stops working. I realize my time has come and that I am going to die. I was beginning to lose my balance. The currents were carrying me to different places.
I am astounded by what I see. There was light piercing through the water. I couldn't understand where the light was coming from or what its source was. I have not seen such a sight all my life. It has to be something super natural.
My body hits the sea floor and I realize that my right eye has gone completely blind. I am looking at the surface with the other eye. Images were getting dimmer.
All my life I had lived looking 'sidewards'. I had missed out on such a beautiful sight. And to think it was there, right over my head. If only..

She had been staring at me as I suffered another attack from dreams. She analyzed my face thoroughly once and then turned to watch the storm develop. The clouds were all assembling, like allies before a war, gaining the minimum strength required to wreak havoc. It was fascinating how the elements of Nature worked. Constantly striving for equilibrium, that fine balance... Where there was low pressure, the winds rushed in to nullify the difference. We mankind are a total contradiction to the laws of Nature. Even our systems like 'money' and 'love' are.
"Yes...", I replied.
How had it come to this? To that very question I had wanted to run away from? Why can't I avoid the 'present'?

(To be contd..)


Link to part two HERE


View My Stats
Twitter Delicious Facebook Digg Stumbleupon Favorites More

 
Design by Free WordPress Themes | Bloggerized by Lasantha - Premium Blogger Themes | coupon codes