The Mal Nourished Soul

I switch on the Television only to come across a feature which proclaims that the capital of India ranks first in mal nourishment of children followed by Bihar and Odisha. Atrocities against women, violence, poverty, corruption, the mediocrity of school and college education… the listless and tired souls all around and much more...

Art and culture seem to be alien in such a world, the existence of an intellectual showbiz and even a mafia not withstanding …the situation seems grim but the eternal optimist that I am… despite a million thrashings at the hands of life …. I believe that the future of humanity and culture still is bright and there is so much of happiness and good cheer… one only has to live and receive it with open arms… 

I salute all the upright, brave and modern day martyrs- men and women alike- who have had the courage to live by their convictions and have even laid their lives to a cause while most of the educated breed is only worried about making more and more money and be slaves to their careers… not that it is wrong…. But when one has no time for the happenings in ones immediate surroundings and one is not pro active to execute even the smallest of our duties as a citizen of the country, it worries me… of course most of us are involved in heavy intellectual discussions in elite drawing rooms over drinks and good food… maybe after all I am biased and we are indeed discharging our duty of being responsible citizens.

Today’s post is to celebrate a brave soul who has enriched me immensely during the course of my association with her. An abandoned woman who has fought the disease of alcoholism that her husband suffered for many years... and being very little educated, struggles to make a living to sustain herself. Today she has registered a small flat which she has bought in the middle of nowhere; for that is what her savings fetched her… The gold that her late father gave her at the wedding paid for it…. Maybe, dowry is not a bad idea after all… as for the years of service to the family she was married into, she had received no salary, no gratuity or insurance or provident fund and she found herself on the street without even an alimony, when she fell out of favor with the alcoholic husband…

My friend and senior writer, who is a British citizen of Indian origin laments the state of our country and its ruling elite even as his book on the martyrs of the independence of our country is published. In fact, I have come to admire his crisp, no nonsense writing which provokes me to introspect and reflect. Dr Reginald Massey (FRSA) is a writer I love to have severe intellectual differences with and below is the cover of his new book. Every word he says has a ring of reality and truth but I cannot digest his verdict. An acquaintance, who is an Indian of British origin pronounces that he has great faith in the country’s young and that they would be the saviors of the country. Even that, I find hard to believe…. watching the young and also my age group ( mid forties) which has nurtured these young. 

Do not the young learn when you live by principles and set an example for them? What example have we set for them? Of being practical, worldly wise, compromising on every value in the name of diplomacy and business acumen? We also have had the sagacity of sugar coating every digression we have made in the name of the system which compels us to do what we do; and against which one cannot hope to survive. 

Honesty today is rated on a relative grading scale. Once a senior government official in Kanpur was being talked about reverently as being very honest; his ticket to glory was that, once he took money he got the work done, come what may !!

A friend sent me a song by Paul Anka, a lovely number which spoke and reminisced of his father affectionately. Being a little down under due to over work, it was relaxing catching up with some music and poetry. I could not help but remember my “middle class” father, a modest scientist with the Defence Research and Development Organisation, who brought up his three children in a very modest, simple yet secure fashion. 

He was the most “unworldly wise” man I had ever seen and he called me one, when I grew up. We both lived by our hearts doing what made us happy oblivious to parameters of success. He never realized that may be, he had passed on this personality flaw to me through genetic make-up or just by setting an example. Dreaming big was not in his “dictionary”… a trait of a failure?

Art and culture was a part of growing up… but he could not afford to take us even by bus to the happening places in Delhi to watch cultural programs. He had the additional responsibility of a younger brother and sister too, for a long time, which drained out his finances. He did the next best thing; became the secretary of the Andhra Association and we tagged along with him watching dance and theatre. I do not even remember whom I watched but all I remember is that every activity and performance that I had watched was a joyful and beautiful experience. 

How big or popular the artist was; was not important…the experience was.

Another way of being connected to art and culture that my father invented was; to be a part of a local amateur theatre group and again, hanging around him, we children absorbed and enjoyed a lot. In no time we had our own group writing plays and enacting them only for ourselves…. We did not even need an audience… We painted to our heart’s content, wrote scripts, composed dance and once in a blue moon had the luxury of treating ourselves to a Samosa and Coca Cola.

No big arangetrams, or private classes or being sent to special classes in dance and music in chauffeur driven cars…. The teachers who came to teach dance and music at the Andhra Association changed frequently like the seasons; teaching a bunch of middle class children for modest fees could not be called lucrative….

Our reading appetites had to be fulfilled by the local lending library for which one had to save 25 paise per week...clothes we wore were modest and often stitched by mother; and again, hanging around her while she stitched, one got an opportunity to feel fabrics and think about design and fashion in one’s own small way.

“Sankoch” – a dash of reticence and shy demeanor was considered to be a weakness then; today maybe such a quality should be rated at a premium. For me, being harsh/ sarcastic with words and even being very vocal is a sign of aggression of which I am guilty of at times. Sharing emotions and a part of one’s life with people around was such a support system then; but today a part of being sophisticated and elite is living in your own ivory tower, lonely and even abandoned; no matter how successful you are …. 

What is the measure of happiness? Maybe greater achievements… professionally… or making more money…. The churning goes on…

What about ones conduct in day to day life? How many issues around us are ignored as we do not have the time to interfere, even though the matters tug at our civic/moral sense? We are busy professionals, artistes, writers. It is the government and the administration which has to take care of everything. One will not oppose a corrupt official or a goon for the fear of harassment or simply for the fear of wasting time.

Our driver quietly gave the official in charge of issuing death certificates, some money to expedite the process of obtaining my father’s death certificate. He felt that in the traumatic state of having lost my father recently I should not face the harassment of the application not coming through quickly.... He was trying to protect me; knowing my infamous persona of being a stubborn stickler for rules and having got into trouble often with many; including an errant builder, a road rage aggressor, government departments where I had to invoke the RTI to get to the base of the problem, etc. He has patiently driven me to a variety of these offices and has borne my emotional outbursts of exasperation and helplessness often when I had arrived at a dead end; and it was clear to me that my efforts cannot change the so called “system”, after all. I am a "common man" who can never dream to wield the power which could make a difference !!

The result is that my driver, my friends and my girls always worry for my safety; but I have not missed to notice that the girls have imbibed a streak of being upright with their morals and conscience. I am not an achiever or a "success" in any popular sense of the word. But yes, I feel no less successful than any of the so called “successful” celebrities. I take great pride and solace in the knowledge that I work very hard in my profession, do my best to be on the right side of my conscience and enjoy every person and every small bit of happiness that comes my way; I share my life unabashedly with all around me… and I still dare to trust and take every one at face value… 

I, for sure, am not a mal nourished soul.