Hope for better times

Its been more than two weeks. Meteriological department has announced the arrival of south west monsoon over most of India. It has been raining in most of the country; heavy to very heavy rainfall had paralised eastern region for a few days, even it rained in the neighbouring Rajasthan. But Gujarat, where we stay, remins hopeful, and only hopeful.

The clouds are passing by. But they pass by. A few moments of drizzle raise the hopes, more eyes look up, more of us log onto IMD website; only to see white patches on satellite images becoming bolder all around, leaving a little haze for this western state. Hope floats.

Its been a week at NID, its been a week of isometric drawing classes. The ambiguity came back yesterday, M C Escher leading us into the vastness of metamorphosis and seeing what is not there! "Hope" offer a great illusion that manifests into Gods and Gandhi, only to be rediscovered as unreal expectations. Today's world insist to live for better days; and thats the irony, thats the ambiguity. If today is not better, then how could tomorrow be? We, humans, have grown as a collective memory, a collective effort. That effort drags us away from the nature and the natural cycles; crying freedom from all bonding, confusing our existence with immortality.

Its been a week since then. Indra has blessed with life's elixir. Dying plants in the garden sprouted new leaves- some flowered already. The celebration of life turns to youth, renewal and varying shades of green. The highway to the state capital Gandhinagar looks clean. The divider that was full of struggling plants from the days of vibrating Gujarat (December-January 2011) full with new life and joy reclaiming existence. A sigh of relief must have cried through the corridors of secretariat, the dingy offices of Krushibhavan (Agriculture office of the state government) finding their way through the jumble of aging files. But the sigh fades as you take a turn to Koba village, about 8 Kms from the seat of power and "governance". Muddy water blocks the entry of the village, floating plastic bags and filth cloud your mind. Malaria buzz around the stagnant water and puddles reflecting realty boom of Gandhinagar.

The streets look green, perhaps a shade lesser. The trees right near the highway have been cut, giving their lives to a service road leading to the new IT park, boasting "mindspace" (http://www.krahejacorp.com/gandhi-nagar-project.html). One wonders, what happened to the tree transplant machines bought for crores, moving around with their yellow squid like heads, swimming across rushing traffic. "Development is it", my facebook comment said. But dipping into the mud and filth that restrain your view of the new life pushing through the feculence of civilization, a cry of anger tries to cross the 8 Kms separation between the governed and the governing; only to revisit our cravings for freedom. To be able to reclaim our lives from a few.

Its monsoon, nature has reclaimed its living from the breath of summer. Will that monsoon ever be the dawn of human civilization, reclaiming lives of those scared to live?

Last evening's pre-monsoon thunder shower was so cooling, I didn't mind getting drenched. My only worry was my laptop and the just bought pack of mangoes. It was funny in a sense that I walked out a little early from Krishibhavan and the office crowd were not heading home as yet. There were many auto-rickshaw sitting idle- but each of them charged me an amount that were mostly unjustified. Soaked completely I negotiated one with rather reasonable rate and came home; unfortunately by that time the rain has stopped. A little hope to sit in the balcony watching or to get wet once again was so far from reality.

In our current circumstances, we are too bound by our social environment to celebrate the change, the glimpse of days to come; enjoy the essential cycles that upholds lives in Nature. Our built environment needs protection from anything thats natural, be it the the human being (the reason for security everywhere is understood; strange though, its our die hard wish to save us from ourselves), be it storm or cockroaches. We realized in our new house the electricity board cuts off the power during a storm- we providing solutions where nature seems to be hurdle. Temporary switching off the power certainly does not hurt, but it makes you wonder: is there just a hint of exclusivity that builds our contemporary living spaces?

But there was a brighter side of the power cut: the fading light seeping through gray cloud was beautiful as we sat and watched. The birds and the darkness that slowly unwound itself from the shadows of trees- we would have been long inside our house if power was there.

The situation was entirely different this morning. The pre-monsoon shower was like sprinkling water on a hot pan. The vapour rising from the wet ground added to the merciless sky. Celebrating nature was far from desire and the idea was to quickly get back home. Still, going down the road that connects Koba with Gandhinagar highway, things looked different. The village road was submerged in water and still struggling to breathe. Other than the dry leaves and sand washed to the side of the roads, they looked clean. A strange haze, a thin muslin of vapour wrapped the trees and the fallen leaves- not to be seen but felt. The two ponds at the bend of the road seemed content and full with a few dots of white, a couple of egrets flocking its greens. The grass, though not green (I laughed at myself with the stupid thought!!) as if got a new lease of life- a sense of possibilities, a sense of days to come and deep desire to quench their thirst certainly made them look greener, eager to lap up the first drops again.

But the traffic continued without wondering about these subtle changes. Trying to outdo each other in speed, often creating situations that makes you grab the cleavage of the auto rickshaw seat. In a few days i will get back my car and will join the race; leaving behind the leisure of a rickshaw, jumping back into the emerging economy and consumerism of post modern India.

In about a week's time, there would be number of mother riding their two wheelers on these roads. Trying to reach their children to school in time, coping up with the daily household chore. With heavy rain lashing the duo, they would try their best to continue their evening tuitions and drawing classes. There would not be a separate space for them on the road, no separate lane. Struggling, they would fight time racing with increasing traffic of the highway. On the other hand seasonal changes come with some preparation in Nature. As if the cycles have been put through a vigorous testing of what works. Every bit of water has its micro ecology, sustaining the smaller groups through the cyclic changes by adapting to them. Migration, winter sleep, ability to walk across a mud pool with gills and fins- the tools for adaptation are enormous by sheer virtue.

The thought of traffic comes back, how is it the every flow has undercurrents, flow withing flow, some warm, some cold. Each of these hidden rivers sustaining its own ecology, swinging the floating lives from one end to the other of our planet. Do we see the possible similarity that could change our traffic system? A flow within flow, that supports the small group of commuters, by giving them a chance to drive safe. Universality of design can only come from creating a pattern, components being very local, very small. Universality is the principle of doing something as small as preparing a small lane especially for struggling mothers and two wheelers, and telling them why its better to stick to that lane (radio mirchi?). Like using the flow of the the river, slightly channeling it the trout farm of Nagaini, Himachal Pradesh. Creating new infrastructure is not of help, unless its value is felt in public mind: a gratitude towards ability to understand perspective.

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A Post to Irene

Hunger could be the most diminishing, most demeaning of all crisis. Poverty is not an issue to be solved, but a disease that cripples many of our lands. My scare is the pretentious "Globally happy" faces that dot across governance, from the highest of the governments to UN to moderate size organizations are busy are tied up with numbers to prove themselves and convene scientific conferences increasing the burden of printed paper, plastic cups and water bottles. But hunger is not number, hunger is local, its very real. Its us who have decided to stay away from the reality and looked at it from the filter of what we know. I am sorry, but somewhere I cant help but blame our education system. Its always built on the paradigm of "what is right for others". the communities are largely mis-judged by the politicians, by educationists and not the least, the institutions; providing them what they don't want, luring them into an urban centric whirlpool, like any other from a city.

Between the thought, and the next of it a large gap was created by the interruption of office documents. Multi tasking is great, but its no good for our focus, if we are not interested in it. I know the document will lie there for a while, then I will browse through it, correct and put comments; yet I would not really remember what the document content is. Current context of work is devoid of new, surprises are not to be there. The sectoral concept of living in societies, townships, could be great proof how we create boundaries for ourselves. The territoriality is far beneath the surface, it bounders Physics, Chemistry, nations and classes. However most of it do not match with the natural reality of space and time. The classic answer "..road is what is not home" divides the context of existence for the same individuals. The protocols that we have developed for our society creates a conscious effort of "being something else than what you are", a driver on the road, student in the school, fashioning designer dresses for party, looking at other children excelling in cricket- we are not many, these are our incarnations of our daily city lives. They are so far away from those remote villages, where people chop wood, as a necessity of survival; but the collection of wood unwinds along a path thats new every moment, change is seen, felt and used. With our existence as many forms of desire we would never become them, US and THEM are going to exist if our lives don't converge. If FAO has to really do something for food crisis, it better shifts its office to Orissa, Bangladesh or wherever, but Rome is very unacceptable, similar to the fact that the India office is in new Delhi.

A few months back, a meeting was convened in New Delhi, by Mr. Gurjeet Sing, Joint Secretary (E&SA) (ref: 1. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1zWQhHHZKTIvkzPz4gnFfmHxLWviypzGskXSmFsvaowI/edit?hl=en_US)

- A noble idea indeed. We should try to assist everybody who need us. But sitting here, how are you going to judge the people who you intend to help. I know there would be a number of organizations and institutions share this responsibility, finding their way to the ground. But, if the Delhi centric "development organizations" WERE THE ONLY ONE TO TAKE PART, how on earth are you planning to create a transparent information system that sips through to support your quest to reach ground? Cant help but think this is somewhat like "teaching others what to do" approach that clogs our education system:

The Development Set

by Ross Coggins

Excuse me, friends, I must catch my jet

I’m off to join the Development Set;

My bags are packed, and I’ve had all my shots

I have traveller’s checks and pills for the trots!

The Development Set is bright and noble

Our thoughts are deep and our vision global;

Although we move with the better classes

Our thoughts are always with the masses.

In Sheraton Hotels in scattered nations

We damn multi-national corporations;

injustice seems easy to protest

In such seething hotbeds of social rest.

We discuss malnutrition over steaks

And plan hunger talks during coffee breaks.

Whether Asian floods or African drought,

We face each issue with open mouth.

We bring in consultants whose circumlocution

Raises difficulties for every solution –

Thus guaranteeing continued good eating

By showing the need for another meeting.

The language of the Development Set

Stretches the English alphabet;

We use swell words like “epigenetic”

“Micro”, “macro”, and “logarithmetic”

It pleasures us to be esoteric –

It’s so intellectually atmospheric!

And although establishments may be unmoved,

Our vocabularies are much improved.

When the talk gets deep and you’re feeling numb,

You can keep your shame to a minimum:

To show that you, too, are intelligent

Smugly ask, “Is it really development?”

Or say, “That’s fine in practice, but don’t you see:

It doesn’t work out in theory!”

A few may find this incomprehensible,

But most will admire you as deep and sensible.

Development set homes are extremely chic,

Full of carvings, curios, and draped with batik.

Eye-level photographs subtly assure

That your host is at home with the great and the poor.

Enough of these verses – on with the mission!

Our task is as broad as the human condition!

Just pray god the biblical promise is true:

The poor ye shall always have with you.

“Adult Education and Development” September 1976

Hippo falls

Water's relentless effort to form, create information and meaning:

Morning muse...

June 1, 2011...

Creativity flows, emotion flows, knowledge and information flows- our journey in time and history has embedded water in civilizations, in languages and cultures.

A, hopefully, end summer morning: the clouds have been floating towards South east for the last couple of days; monsoon is eagerly awaited. The nights are becoming motionless and sultry. Yet the Sun is blazing through the day and the first touch of water on my face was no less than heavenly bliss. Just a couple of weeks back, around this time in the morning, we would hurriedly complete our morning wash in freezing cold water of the Tirthan river. Away from the city comforts, surrounded by snow peaks and the moderately dense forest of Great Himalayan National Park (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Himalayan_National_Park), the touch of cold water felt like blessings.

Water is not just our existence, a resource to be utilized for our gain, comfort and advance in time; but it is our collective conscience, collective memory. The characters that swirl in the numerous eddy of a river tower above the history of kings; Gautam Buddha, Mozes, Rabindranath and Baba Amte. Each one of them has been conceived by a river, in their journey seeking truth and communique to society. Beauty of a river has carved their personalities, their inner and outer features, standing out tall.

River triggers an imagination that stretches across mountains and continents, across political and communal boundaries. The beauty flows from description to imagination and beyond; assumes the form of the supreme, guiding us through the universe. Our culture emerges out of water glistening in the light of evening Aaratis, in the ghats and pukurs dotting our world, connected with flow above our heads, and beneath the ground.

An old farmer's eyes scan the limitlessness of merciless sun, across the sky, seeking and longing for any sign of the first drops- to recreate the life that paused by the absence of it.

Seeing flow...flow of seeing.

Water is the single most form that symbolizes human evolution. Across human civilizations, marks of "aqua- formation" make our history. Be it in Naval excellence, in religion, in our fear of dooms day, water plays the central role. Calling it mere resources, strips water off its' spirituality, reverence through generations. We need to pray for it, we need to create temples of water that invokes reverence amongst us, by letting ourselves know what water is to our lives.