Toilet paper blues

As the frenzy over stockpiling toilet paper rolls takes over the 'civilised' world, once again do the people across the globe, look towards  jagatguru India for answers; India, the preserver of traditions, truth, and ancient wisdom. 

Meet Chloe, an avid traveler from Melbourne, who, along with her hippie parents and brother spent a chunk of her childhood in Tamil Nadu. Here, besides learning about several local customs, and ways of doing things,  she also mastered the art of cleaning oneself  without the western sine qua non commodity, we know as toilet paper. And now, in this crucial and strange times of Corvid-19, after having witnessed two women clashing over the last packet of toilet rolls in the supermarket, Chloe took it upon herself to educate people of the 'Indian Way'. She seems to be on a crusade, going around, teaching friends and family members on how a mugful of water can resolve the increasing shortage of toilet paper in the supermarkets. Interestingly, her brother, residing on the other side of the globe, in the northeast of the U.S., is doing the same. 

I am certain the legendary Dr Oz of Fox channel, too must see the drive to dispense with toilet paper as a blessing in disguise. For many years ago, on his The Dr Oz's Show, I remember him advocating the use of water over tissues to his hamerrhoid patients.

Did you know, our global toilet paper production consumes 27,000 trees daily? As a self-proclaimed environmentalist, I can only hope that by the time we are done with the twists and turns of Corvid-19,  the mug-and-water  solution would have gained a universal acceptance, saving therefore millions of acres of forest cover from getting flushed down the toilet bowl.

Thread and Needle Dynamics

Life will hand us the invisible thread that connects us all; love will hand us the needle.

"I think the pre-dawn call of the muezzin leading the faithfuls into prayer, is a sheer act of terrorism. It inflicts a sense of injustice upon those asleep," says an angered B.K. Sharma, who, by the same token, also believes that all the Shaheen Bagh protesters too were party to an act of terrorism, by  disrupting the life of the common man for seventy whole days. "They should have been dealt with earlier," Sharma adds emphatically. Yet, he doesn't see it as the failure of the administration, of the police, or of the ruling party, who were in a position to bring a peaceful end to the prolonged protests by simply lending  an attentive ear to the fears of the protesters, and disspelling any unfounded misconceptions they might have harboured vis-à-vis the recently introduced Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA).

Sharma is an educated man by all account, who happens to be a devout Hindu, convinced that if strict actions are not taken now, India would soon  transmogrify into an Islamic nation. 

Sharma's driver Rehman Malik prays,  facing the Mecca a few times a day. On long distance drives, while his master sleeps, he is subjected to an endless volley of Anup Jalota's devotional songs. "Is it a conspiracy to convert me into a Hindu?" He asks himself, and at times, his wife, Tabassum. Tabassum runs a  successful clothes and tailoring business in the old part of the city, and has little time for such silly questions. Yet, once a week, Malik, his wife, and two sons used to attend an anti-CAA protest in their locality. "We have to fight for our rights," Malik staunchly believes.  

When Malik coughs violently, Sharma produces a pack of Robitussin caplets and asks him to take it twice, after food, adding, "you really need to quit smoking". Malik smiles shyly. 

"When should we go to the Pir Baba's Durgah to pray for a handsome husband for our bitiya rani?"  asks Malik, remembering the  time Sharma had accompanied him to the holy shrine. It was at a point when his new business venture was at its lowest, with no glimmer of hope in sight. The visit had proved auspicious, turning the tide in Sharma's favour, and reinforcing his faith in the glory of Pir Baba.   

Santavati, the house help at the Sharmas, can't get enough of Malik. While he waits by the car, she pretends to water the garden, striking up an inane conversation  to justify being around him. Knowing Santavati's love for lamb biryani, Malik brings her some, whenever his wife cooks it on special occasions. Santavati is the youngest amongst her ten siblings, and therefore most pampered. She wallows in the realisation that Malik too seems to know her preferences, and blushes to herself. 

  

The Sharmas, the Maliks, and Santavati all voted for BJP in the national elections. The Sharmas, because of the party's emphasis on economic growth and its Hindutva edge, the Maliks, because they were offered three thousand rupees each to do so, and Santavati? "Why did you vote for BJP?" I ask her. "Because Sahib (implying, Mr Sharma), asked me to do so."

In a country like ours, where cast, religion, and the economic status of people are so intricately intermingled and interdependent, it is not uncommon to find emotions such as despise give way to pietistic pity, loathing to love, violence to benevolence,  and... communal riots to unspoken brotherhood. For, ours is a country, where centuries of tolerance, compassion, and understanding has woven a warp and weft of the social fabric, which cannot be lacerated by hate speeches and staged violence of political carpetbaggers.  

"...Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour"

Train buffs, travelers, truth seekers, and tea-connoisseurs: these four Ts sum up Alice and Larsk, the two young Swedes, who pitched their tent for a couple of weeks in my mom's guest house, next door. Larsk, a yoga instructor and Alice, a budding artist had decided to take off on a journey of self-discovery across the world. Yes, all the way from Sweden to India, they had come by land, and that too, mostly by trains, including Trans-Siberean express!  While walking around with their backpacks, it was the "Orange Peel" tea gallery sign, which drew them in. Being tea experts, they needed to taste and learn about ours. 

"So, which tea do you have: green, white, red, yellow, black, oolong, or jasmine?"

 "Sorry, we only serve floral and fruit teas here, with a dash of green, or Darjeeling.   And, right now, we should be able to offer you hibiscus orange, and blue cowpea with rosemary". The apologetic tone of my answer was clearly audible.

 'Adventure' being the duo's middle name, they were ready to explore our options. 

After having had, what I thought and hoped a satisfactory experience of our little gallery, they decided to move into the serene premises of the guest house for the duration of their stay, promising to give us a taste of their collection of teas in a near future. 

And lo, one  morning, there we were, five of us, at a table under the keet roof, each one fronted by a small off-white cup atop a blue cotton coaster. The February air was cool, and quiet, with an occasional volley of questions, being aimed in our direction, from an inquisitive  brainfever. Assisted by Larsk, a 750 ml bottle of hot water, and a little pouch of white tea teamed up to give us an experience we shall all remember for a long time to come. Larsk had decided that white tea would be a good introduction for the uninitiated. Unprocessed, and unblemished by time, white tea with its yellow tinge, is known for its cleansing property. And, if taken with intentions, it could also help gain a clarity of the 'self'.

The tiny kettle from where the tea was being poured, was getting refilled from  the hot water bottle, which, in turn, flowed into our cups. We sat in silence, slurping our tea, a tad noisily, to gauge its auric depth; talking only if impelled to. 

Our tea session must have lasted more than an hour, by the end of which the five of us had managed to  absorb the whole 750ml of tea, which is just a little more than one and a half pints, which, if divided into five would equate to150ml (almost two thirds of a cup) per head. And yet, when we finally decided to take our leave, we felt not only aesthetically and spiritually fulfilled, but also gastronomically satisfied. 

Midst all the madness of our daily life, midst the growing threat of Coronavirus, midst the political and communal upheaval the country is going through, midst the uncertainty surrounding the Olympics in Japan,  here we were, finding our own Nirvana in a cup of tea.

A Wall to Wall Brotherhood

Flashback, year 1988. Dr Venkatraman, the 8th president of India visits Pondicherry. A week before his visit, the preparations begin. The outer walls of the road-facing buildings from where the convoy is going to pass, are rigorously white-washed to remove any sign of mould or decay. The beggars from the boulevards and the Ganesh temple are hurriedly transferred to some obscure part of the inner city. "Only temporarily," they are assured. The side of the footpaths are painted neatly, and white powder sprinkled along the curbs. And lo, for one brief moment, Pondicherry is restored to its erstwhile glory of the French era. Women in colorful silk sarees,  men in white dhoti, and children with fistful of flower petals line the roads on the scheduled day of the arrival, waiting to welcome the President. 

Fast forward 32 years. Year 2020. India prepares to welcome the American President Donald Trump to Ahmedabad, a sprawling metropolis. It also happens to be the capital of Gujarat whose development model as pursued by Modi, the then chief minister of the state, won him many accolades and pitched him into the national arena, to become the undisputed leader of the country.

 Preparations are in full swing.  President Trump is thrilled to learn that at least 50,000 beautiful smiling people are expected to line up along the 22 kms route of the roadshow. Even people from other states, wearing their traditional attire would participate in the event, a panoramic way to showcase the cultural as well as the hi-tech facets of India, with only one hiccup. The route passes by a sprawling slum, a real embarassment to our image of an emerging superpower nation. But, trust the genius of AMC (Ahmedabad Municipal Corporation) to come up with the most creative solution: Make these destitute people and their whole caboodle invisible! Sounds like magic, but it is really just a matter of building a wall along the 600 meter cluster of stench-ridden, poverty-stricken hovel! A mere 100 crore! A drop in the ocean for a country, which, almost a year ago, completed its successful launch of ASAT Shakti, becoming the fourth nation to accomplish such a feat! And, if America can build a wall, so can we. If Jack can do it, so can Jill. What a partnership, and what camaraderie! Long Live America! Jai Hind.

Reality Show: Not Really...

My friend Cecil, who lives in Omaha, 30 miles from the place where officials in personal protective equipment, are doing dry runs on the interstate, and where the  returning Americans from Wuhan  are quickly being  sent in quarantine, is nervous. And, she has reasons to be. "We feel like props from a Hollywood movie, or  extras from "Walking Dead"," she tells me. Her description of the biocontainment unit for infectious diseases  in Ashland, Nebraska, does sound like a plot from one of those umpteen end-of-the-world/doomsday/apocalyptic movies  we so love.  But, when the familiarity of such movies lends itself to our day-to-day reality, it must feel almost surreal on one hand, and outright frightening, on the other. And yet, real it is.

Yu Yan, the 34-year-old Chinese lady, from the great port city of Guangzhou,  is staying in our family guest house next door for a while now, and keeps us updated by whatever little news she gets through her mom, and sister back home. Initially, she was very optimistic, confident that the 1000-bed hospital in Wuhan, built in a record time of under two weeks (yet another emblem of Chinese efficiency), would suffice to put a break on the spread of the virus. But, with every passing day, the number of cases rising exponentially across China, her hope for such a scenario is fast dwindling, "Quite a few people have been hit by the Corona virus in my city too. Most work places have been shut down. My folks hardly leave the apartment, except for an occasional visit to the supermarket!" She told us. Yes, believe it or not, the supermarkets are still open, and people still shop. Yet, realistically speaking, what are their options? Guangzhou, famous for its multi-cultural cuisine, and dining-out culture,  recently decided to close its innumerable restaurants as a preventive measure, but, somehow did not include supermarkets... 

A few weeks ago, Yu Yan contacted a pharmacist in Delhi, whom she had befriended during her visit to the capital city, and inquired about the possibility of shipping a few hundred masks to her native place. Since he seemed quite enthusiastic to collaborate on such a philanthropic venture, she immediately transferred the requisite amount to his account, certain that he would do the needful. But when the masks didn't  reach their destination, she contacted the friend again, who, in turn, confessed that because of the emergency situation on a global level, the prices of the masks had shot up, and some more dough could expedite the process. Yu Yan obliged. Yet, unfortunately, the shipment of masks never left the shop, and the supposed friend does not answer her call/messages anymore. 

 But, such deceptive behaviour on the pharmacist's part, or the refusal of the Indonesian governmentven to issue her a visa to go to Bali, even though she had bought the tickets much in advance, have not dampened Yu Yan's spirit. She continues to greet every new day with her sweet smile, pray for the quick recovery of her country,  her people, and  the world at large, learn French, try her hand at Indian cooking (yes, she can now make some great chapatis and curried potato vegetable) and "do plenty of yoga". Bravo!

Looking back into the future

Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime.

No one tried to embrace the spirit of the above proverb more whole-heartedly than the nineteenth century visionary Jane Addams. Even though born into a very wealthy family of Illinois, Addams was not impervious to the woes of the down-trodden. Moreover, she understood that the long-term solution to the problem of inequality inflicting the human society lay in empowering the individual, and not in enabling him/her. During one of her visits to Europe, awed by the settlement homes in London, she returned to the U.S. to found the Hull House complex, in a destitute neighbourhood in downtown Chicago. It was to be the country's first settlement home, and would become the standard bearer for the 500 others,  which burgeoned nationwide, in the next 40 years. It was here that Addams decided to move her precious possessions, including books, paintings, objects d'art, and even heirloom silver, and welcomed people from all walks of life to capitalise on them.  For, Addams was convinced  that beauty and knowledge could stir the spiritual depth of an individual, and aid in drawing one out of the mechanical tedium of the daily life, to aspire for something higher.

Similar to settlement homes of London, where University students from affluent background mingled freely with the poor, without affectation, Addams's objective was to create an atmosphere of ease and self-esteem for those who came to the Hull house. Besides presenting an opportunity for the dispossessed and the uninitiated,  to cultivate and enrich oneself from the refined  home environment, the Hull House also helped create a  network of family and neighbourly bonds. The volunteers who came, intrigued by Addams' social experiment,  provided a complex learning platform, wherein anyone could take classes in subjects as varied as acting, weaving,  carpentry,  art history, philosophy and music! Before long, 2,000 people a day were thronging its premises, taking and teaching courses, offering and receiving day care, sharing experiences, and stories. 

This was not rich serving the poor, for Addams abhorred the patronizing attitude of the former. Everyone here "worked and lived together in reciprocity,  bridging social chasms", and most importantly, coming to understand one another.  Apt in feeling the pulse of the adult immigrants, some of whom were still groping in the dark, as they tried to discover their new country, with a new culture, and a new language, she assigned them the role of caregivers for the local children, to ensure a mutual learning process, and help the next generation develop empathy and love for the continual influx of the alien population into the country.

In this day and age, when our country, and the world at large, is once again faced with a sagging social fabric, growing inequality, disputes over immigration, we can draw inspiration from the pioneering vision of the likes of  Jane Addams. Her response to a similar set of problems, some 130 years ago,  was far more revolutionary and effective than our own.

To be or not to be: the challenge question

Mathew was ten years old when we first met him at a birthday bash. Halfway through the party, the front door opened, the cold  Arctic air rushed in, and someone quietly sneaked out, followed by who, but my eight-year-old son Dan, in his bright orange cap. Alarmed, I too left my unfinished cake  on the counter table, and scooted out. And, there was Mathew already busy displaying his authentic Swiss army knife to my little Dan, who, in turn, looked clearly awed by being  the chosen one. Embedded in a foot of snow, they stood, the older one pulling out every tool and bubbling out its functionality, and the younger one trying to match the former's enthusiasm with a smothering succession of oohs and aahs.

"You are sure, you are allowed to handle this? It's quite dangerous, you know," the horror in my adult voice, as I caught up with them, was palpable. 

"Oh, yes. I got it as a gift from my dad when I was four,"  shedding his usual shyness, Mathew was rather eager to answer.

"What?"

"See, this is a cockscrew, and this, a 6mm screwdriver, and this here is a bottle-openner...and with this one, you can punch a hole..."

The show over, Mathew proudly shoved the prized possession deep inside his pockets. Little did I know that the show, in fact, had just begun. As we walked through the backyard woods, my feet, through the suede boots, and alpaca wool socks were beginning to hurt with the cold, and the wind stung my face. "Let's go in and play with the Transformers," I suggested. But, the obvious desperation in my voice fell on deaf years, as Mathew stopped for the umpteenth time, to break a twig from a black spruce, or pick up a nice piece of kindling jutting out of the snow. When he thought he had had enough of foraging, he pulled out the shiny red knife and began to whittle: short, confident strokes set out to chisel the pieces of wood he had collected.  By now, I, the unsolicited chaperon, was beginning to feel that a nasty frostbite was about to claim my toes and fingers. So, I decided to bolt inside and throw myself by the roaring fire of the woodstove, and  beckoned the boys to do the same. 

Needless to say, the boys, unbothered, unhurried, lingered on a while longer. And, when the door finally opened to reveal the cherry-red faces of two beaming youngsters, each one was proudly holding up his treasures. Dan came running to me to show his new acquisition, "mom, mom, look! Mathew made this for me!" In his outstretched palm lay a beautiful carved mini totem pole! And, in Mathew's,  was his Swiss army knife.

Joanna, Mathew's mother, sitting beside me, sighed. "This is all he does: whittle!" 

"But, it is simply beautiful!" I exclaimed.

"You know, we have been here for two years, and, he hasn't made a single friend. He cannot concentrate in school. His grades are constantly falling. Imagine, when he goes to Middle school! How would he ever cope with that?" Joanna was positively stressed.

On the eve of the second anniversary of International Day of Education,  let us  commemorate the Mathews of the world, who get the axe for not being able to assimilate the deadwoods of  the conventional schooling system, and yet, can bring any number of deadwoods to life with their gift of imagination and untapped talents.