Rahim & Salima

Warning: Keeping with the subliminal theme, I’m going to try and open the door on some common scenarios and what they really mean for some people. Be warned, these are not happy clappy or funny. The idea is to counter the often disgusting excesses and commercialism of the current ‘holiday’ period’ with some human stories. These are based on observations from my otherwise mundane life. They are not meant to be preachy, but to perhaps provoke some of us, including the author himself! 


Rahim was a tailor in the small Indian village. His father, a wise and considerate man, had spent his life building up a tailoring workshop which now consisted of 4 well-used sewing machines. Besides their own household, it also provided two other employees with a small but adequate means of living. At the age of 22, Rahim got married to his neighborhood sweet-heart Salima and all was well in their lives.

But then the march went through their town and overnight a mosque was brought down. A handful of Muslims, driven into a frenzy by power hungry local politicians, burnt down two Hindu temples. This almost played perfectly into the hands of the extremist Hindu leaders who used this as an opportunity to attack their biggest threats – anyone who spoke for secularism, progress and the simple living.

One amongst them was Rahim’s father. Rahim was returning from the city when he saw fire billowing from the house and workshop. He ran in and helped Salima out but by the time he could get to his father, the old man had choked and died. He had been trying save the workshop from the angry wrath of the communal flames.

When the fire was finally put out, only the smoldering remains of the workshop and Rahim’s childhood home remained. He arranged to have his father buried the next day. It was a tribute to his sensible up-bringing that Rahim did not join the inevitable ‘revenge’ strikes that some affected families were intending to carry out. Instead, in the hope of casting away his sorrows, Rahim and Salima left the village they had grown up in, for the neighboring town.

There, a friend and fan of Rahim’s father secured him a job in a textile factory. The only place they could afford was in a shabby dwelling amongst the filthy streets of the town. Despite Rahim putting together his meager savings and buying a cycle, the large distance to the factory and his generally failing health meant Rahim was often late and tired at work. This eventually led to his losing the job. Worse yet, their lack of proper nutrition and the squalor all around their house made Rahim very ill.  Rahim had not received much formal education as he was always destined to be a tailor and inherit his father’s workshop. This meant that he could not seriously seek any other job and there were no other textile factories around.

In a desperate attempt to afford the rising cost of Rahim’s medication, Salima took to serving as a maid in people’s houses. One of the houses she ended up working at was that of a Hindu police officer. Rumour had it he had risked his life to save some Muslims during the rioting in the town. This made him feel he deserved something and so one day when his wife and children were out of town, he lured Salima into his bedroom and tied, gagged and raped her.

When Rahim found out about it, he blamed his ailing condition and the pressure of buying medicines for what had happened. He took the only option he felt he could and killed himself. Distraught and inconsolable Salima spent out the rest of her days as a maid servant. She grew so disconnected with the world that the officer and later some of his friends thought they could rape her, repeatedly, and she wouldn’t complain. And they were right.

Truck Driver Man

This is for the man who kept driving his truck

He drove it up

He drove it down

He drove it back

He drove it forth

And then one day, he just lay down and died.

Farrukhabad Days

Dheeraj was a good human being. The son of a diligent, if un-ambitious father, he had recently cleared the extremely competitive Indian Administrative Service exams and was looking forward to his first posting in rural Uttar Pradesh. As the Election Commission’s delegate, he was to ensure that the district of Farrukhabad conducted the elections to the state government in a fair and legal manner. Considering this to be a nice gentle introduction, Dheeraj was hoping to use the experience to help tackle bigger challenges he felt would lie ahead – some people at his college believed him to be a visionary.

So it was with a healthy dose of optimism that Dheeraj arrived for his first day of work some 2 months before the elections. Time passed by largely uneventfully and Dheeraj became a popular man around the district. His charming personality and innate desire to help people won him fans wherever his official travels took him. It was on one of these trips that he realized that while the district capital Fatehgarh had a remarkably high number of registered voters, the number of villagers was much lower. Wishing he could have done something more serious about this, he promised to make a note of this for any such future assignments.

On the political front, trouble was brewing. The in-power party candidate, Charan Singh, had a sway with the upper and middle classes owing to his pro-industry, pro-tax-exemption stance. His opposition was a khaadi-wearing son of the masses, Raam babu, who was gaining popularity in the villages. He was out-spoken about the rampant corruption and under-hand dealings of the current government. He pledged to make rural development and helping those below the poverty line his main agenda.

In fact Raam babu’s popularity grew so much that the elections were starting to look like a close run thing. His tireless campaigning in the rural areas out did even the advantage Charan Singh’s larger bank balance and position in the ruling party granted him. Having met Raam babu, Dheeraj had taken a real liking to him but that in no way affected his decision making in his administrative duties.

When the elections arrived, the race for the district seat had become tight enough for the national media to start paying attention. However, through the workings of an influential lawyer, an age-old scandal re-surfaced in the courts. The allegations, if proven, would have left a lot of the ruling parties’ candidates ineligible to contest the elections. Seeking to clear its name, the party chose to exercise its powers and delay the elections till after a verdict had been passed in Lucknow. It was widely believed that this result would be pro-government. In fact the extra publicity that the ‘hurtful’ accusations would bring and the momentum from the subsequent proving of ‘innocence’ was expected to help smooth the road to their electoral victory.

Ceasing upon the extra time that had appeared, Dheeraj decided to act on his pledge. He thus began promoting the elections in the rural areas, often going door to door to tell the people about their rights to vote. Never once did he show a leaning towards any of the candidates but the newly registered voters were, as expected, largely pro-Raam babu. Charan Singh and the ruling party, neck deep in a murky corruption case, were turning a blind eye to most of these pivotal happenings.

And they ended up regretting this. As once the case was hastily put aside and elections were once again organized, Raam babu pulled of an unlikely victory! The ruling party, shamed by the court case and hurt by many smaller parties and independent candidates, could not believe what had happened. They resorted to their old tactics – provoking and participating in communal violence through their many brain-washed followers or Sevaks. Wherever a Muslim leader had been elected, they spread vile rumours about his intentions – and smear campaigns work well amongst the impoverished and illiterate.

In Farukhabad, even the gentle and religious Hindu, Raam babu was accused to evil intentions. His past troubles with a long estranged black sheep of the family were recalled and sensationalized. There was serious rioting and blood spilt on many streets of the otherwise peaceful township.

Dheeraj, under-prepared and under-trained to handle such a situation tried desperately to quell the fires. But such is the power of communal flames that he could do nothing but watch as many of his new friends were maimed and badly scarred.  Being the kind and gentle soul he was, Dheeraj could not believe what had happened and resigned from his post. Worse still he blamed himself for having laid the path to Raam babu’s victory and the pain and suffering that it eventually resulted in. He became a tame administrator with no motivation to change or improve anything.


Shamelessly based on Matt Charman’s excellent play The Observer. I was powerfully influenced by Richard Eyre’s production of the play that I watched a year and a half ago.

Time

‘Why couldn’t he wait another 10 minutes? Where does he have to rush off to at this hour?’ I asked, annoyed. Our designated cab driver had left 15 minutes after our scheduled pick up. This meant we’d have to take an auto to work again. Who wants to inhale all that smoke and dust?

This all began a few days ago when our old cab driver changed. He didn’t mind waiting around for us and our working hours were fairly flexible. Then in came this new guy who kept calling at the unearthly hour of 7.20 AM and then actually left by 7.45 AM!

We got the auto to work but every time the auto chugged through a pollution filled junction I cursed our cab driver.

----

7.22AM – Gave the sahib’s an early missed call. Just in case they’re meandering along, unaware of the time. Oh God, please let us leave on time.

7.31AM – Got to their house a bit late but of course the Sahib’s are not ready. I really can’t afford this today. I’ve got to get to office by 8.15AM and report there. Any earlier and the Transport Coordinator will send me off on another ‘quick errand’. Then I need to get to the UBS manager’s pick up. How he shouted when I reached his house a bit after the 9.00AM pick up time that day. He definitely does seem the type to carry through his threat of getting me fired if I’m late again. Then traffic permitting I can get to UBS by 9.45AM, drop hip off and head off to Bittu’s college to see him get his award (bless him!) before getting some lunch and reporting to normal daytime duties at 12PM.

7.45AM – They aren’t here yet. I really have to leave. Can they cause a fuss and get me fired? No, I don’t think so, but that manager sahib can.

8.21AM – The TC spent an agonizing 5 minutes asking why I hadn’t picked up the guys and still was late. He seemed to ignore the fact that I’d had a puncture and told me to get to office earlier tomorrow!

9.04AM – Drove all the way back to UBS manager’s house at brake neck speed only to find his watchman say he’ll be late. Need to fill up petrol but I dare not leave here.

9.25AM – Manager sahib finally turns up and we set off. I’m watching the petrol needle closely.

10.15 AM – Traffic was terrible. And I kept trying to drive in the higher gears to save on petrol. Was hoping to go in and ask for an advance on month’s salary (UBS TC is famously accommodating) to give dear Bittu a congratulatory present but now I don’t have the time!

11.20 AM – Damn Minister went past on the other side of the road but they held us up for 10 minutes plus! I must have missed the award ceremony I’ve looking forward to ever since Bittu told us he’d topped in his 2^nd year college exams a month ago. Now he’ll never forgive me. He doesn’t understand that I don’t work 3 jobs because I love driving but because it’s the only way to afford his college education.

11.30 AM – Got a message from Bittu saying he waited for me but now he’s treating his friends and his mom to Biryani. I should’ve been going with them but it better get to my regular 12-6 job. Least the boss here let’s me go only late, and I miss the 7PM Google drop offs and it becomes an 8 PM drop off. Then I’ll never get to be in the front of the UBS drop off line and I won’t see my son again today.

12.12PM – Got to my regular job only to find in all the disappointment of getting to the college late and missing out on lunch, I’d completely forgotten about the petrol. Now I have passengers in the back seat and will have to push the car a kilometer before getting to the next pump. And boss ji hates this happening – I may just lose my best paying job…..

A New Direction

Subliminal matters is back. But this time with a very different angle. Keeping with the subliminal theme, I’m going to try and open the door on some common scenarios and what they really mean for some people. Be warned, these are not happy clappy or funny. The idea is to counter the often disgusting excesses and commercialism of the current ‘holiday’ period’ with some human stories. These are based on observations from my otherwise mundane life. They are not meant to be preachy, but to perhaps provoke some of us, including the author himself!

Tale of an Indian Farmer

Life could scarcely be much better for this Indian farmer. That is not to say he had bought a brand new car, a holiday package or even a new flat screen TV. Instead he had bought a healthy bull. But in a life where living was largely hand to mouth, this was a big deal.

Having inherited a sizeable chunk of land, our farmer was considered very lucky by many of his little village. This despite a large part of the land not being cultivable after his father’s decision to plant a soil-sapping crop there. But that had helped buy the fertilizers that our farmer had used so one could not blame his father too much. Especially since it had helped yield an unusually large harvest last year. Aside from growth in the harvest through better crops and fertilizers, the farmer was optimistic the bull’s milk would help him save up for his precious daughter’s wedding. His only child and the apple of his eye, she had done her 10^th standard and at 16, he was hoping to get her married within the next three years.

-----

A year later, Indian farmer’s purchase of the bull has proved a valuable investment. He has a small but growing saving that is his pride and joy. But there is trouble in the air. The village is buzzing with the talk of a big dam being built upstream from the river that is their lifeline. The village elders know that such a dam would cause havoc to their lands and well established cultivation cycles. They decide to pool in their meager savings and hire a big city lawyer.

The lawyer puts up a commendable effort but the government seems adamant that this dam is the way forward. They proclaim it a ‘life saver’ and are convinced it is for the ‘greater good’. Our farmer has to vacate his home and land – land that his family has owned for generations – and move away. Being a little more astute than a lot his fellow villagers, he is able to get his hands on the government’s ‘generous’ compensation of 75,000 rupees. With the money tucked away; wife, daughter and all earthly possessions on a cart towed by his faithful bull the farmer leaves his beloved village. Following a few of his neighbors they reach a new village outside the dam affected zone. Worried about the rate at which his savings are dwindling, our farmer buys a small plot of land in some haste from the shrewd local registrar for the ‘reasonable’ price of 60000 rupees.

----

However within a year of moving there our farmer has realized the soil is worse than the un-cultivable land in his old plot. Either the wheat seeds he spent so much on don’t grow at all or they’re short and stunted resulting in a very poor harvest. In the meantime it is time for his daughter to get married and his friends and fellow farmers encourage him to take a loan so as to find a good groom while his daughter is still young. Else her price on the market will shoot upwards. So in the middle of failing crop cycle, our farmer accepts a loan of 10,000 rupees from a no-good loan shark who masks an extortionate interest rate in buying gifts for his ‘adopted’ daughter and the farmer’s innocent wife.

But alas, times have changed and the money is not enough to secure the interest of a ‘decent’ boy from a good family. Instead his beautiful daughter is married to the alcoholic older son of the local alcohol shop keeper (whose first wife had already passed away in ‘tragic circumstances’). This leaves his once bubly daughter a miserable shadow of her former self. And our farmer’s loan repayment is due and with another pathetic yield imminent, the good farmer has no choice but to sell his lands and bull for 45000 rupees (people have heard about the lands poor chemical make up) and move again.

----

Our farmer has moved to the big city nearby where he ends up working for a construction company. From his happy days tilling the land, sowing crops and reaping the harvest, three short years later he is spending 15 hours a day trawling through a dangerous construction site, lugging bricks and mortar. He’s in a strange unforgiving environment where injuries are the norm and a filling meal is a rarity. Once again he is slightly better than the others in ensuring the pay distribution manager gives him his 1500 rupees a month. Of course there’s the unavoidable bribes he has to pay to stay employed.

But there’s also some optimism in the air. Someone at the construction site heard that after completing this terrible shopping mall, the construction company moves onto a much larger (and hence more profitable) project – constructing a dam in the nearby rural areas. The one that’s being proclaimed the life-saver that’ll make everyone’s life so much better.

Yapa: A review

Originally intended as a serious review, it didn't see the printing press so instead its on my blog! Enjoy and be jealous folks!

One warm winter’s evening a friend of mine hooked a few of us up with tickets to see French/African Jazz band Yapa play at The Park hotel In Hyderabad. The area where they were to play was gorgeous enough by itself – a slice carved out of the pretty avant-garde, modernist hotel looking out onto the Hussainsagar lake. This however meant we were open to the elements and with a train station right beside the hotel, I was dreading the acoustical nightmare this was sure to be. Boy, was I wrong.

As Jazz bands go, three guitarists and a drummer is a pretty rare affair. But Yapa manages to pull it off through the sheer talent of its members. They started the event ambitiously promising take a mixed audience comprising many people who had come there mainly to socialize, on a journey. And that is exactly what they managed to do – transport anyone that gave them half a ear to that place where a warm summery feeling engulfs you. After all one of the charms of World Music is its ability to make you drift away to a place of the artist’s choosing.

‘Projet #X’ from their 2008 album ‘Can I talk to you’, is a happy ride punctuated by the innovative rhythms of the drummer. ‘Maya’ was inspired by a lake on their Balkan tour and reflects the ebb and flow of a potentially life –sustaining water body. Their 2010 serving – ‘Pariwaga’ speaks to their connection to Ouagadougou (couldn’t resist mentioning a name like that!) and the rest of Bukina Faso where the album was recorded. With minimal post production ‘Sindi Deni Ma’ is a good example of the use of indigenous elements – in this case the smooth, bluesy vocals provided by Burkina’s ‘under ground legend’ Victor Démé. ‘A Mobylette’ is sure to take you to away to some balmy evening of Sangria and Salsa. Somewhere towards the end of the gig (I had lost track of individual songs and was instead enjoying the overall effect) they showcased their talent best. An approaching train was turned into an impromptu backing track, with the drummer playing some beats over it and one of the guitarists joining in. As the train came and went, they seamlessly blended this playing along into another melodious piece.

In a world where good Jazz bands that create their own music are sadly few and far between, and live performances of the same are like gold dust, Yapa deserve much appreciation. Their website tells me they re-invested their earnings from increasingly large gigs to produce their first two albums. Or as they quaintly term it – their records! Long may this happy endeavor continue.

Hiatus

No this is not a post about Haiti, though if you haven't already donated or even if you have, donate now. Its when these things lose the media's attention that the chances are that they need the most talking about!

This is a post to say that following on from last week - Its hot hot HOT! - I have decided to take a little hiatus. Its not just the heat. I have a couple of trips away from the city and possibly even internet access (do I sense a few of you gasp - 'no internet? how can anyone survive?'?!). Plus I've promised to spend the time I am in front of a computer not just ranting but doing some good and helping organize a charity fundraising event. So its all for a good cause.

So don't worry about me. I have a lovely aunt and a lovelier girlfriend who's air conditioners and hospitality I intend to over use and over stretch! And I promise to be back sometime in mid June with a new layout and some really funny posts. Ok, no guarantees on the latter!

So if you're in India - enjoy the peak of the summer. Eat lots of Dahi and stay safe! And if your anywhere that isn't horrendously hot - enjoy yourselves you lucky lucky arses!