An Escape from Politics

On the  political front, India has been busy making waves the world over, with its array of controversial decisions, which are dropped on the civilians like bombshells. Before one can recover from the aftermath of the explosion, another  gets dropped...and then, yet another... dividing the country at an alarming rate, while seeming to unite. For, there is one huge  chunk of the population, which revels in this tremorous atmosphere. To them, every move as connived by the centre, is bold and  a sheer stroke of genius, impelling the country forward to a new stratum of global recognition. To them, it is as though India has found its present-day Chandragupta-Chanakya duo, in the inimitable Modi-Shah team.

Then, there is the other side: the dwindling socialists, who have resigned themselves to the situation, calling it 'the inevitable downside of the spiral'. Their voices are too faint against the sloganeering roar of nationalism, rising from every nook and cranny of the country, beleaguered by crony capitalism. For them, it is an exercise in futility to try to mull over a thousand issues, heaped upon one another. 

Since I tend to lean towards the latter, I too have, at least temporarily, decided to go on sabbatical vis-à-vis talking/ writing/discussing politics, in order to restore my senses and above all, peace of mind. Moreover, the genre of politics, as practised today, lies beyond my cerebral grasp, and, as age advances, I find it harder and harder to wrap my brains around it. 

Anyway, it is after all mid-October, and having called myself an upstate New Yorker for several years, I naturally think of fall,  the cool change,  long solitary walks... 'the daily shrinkage in the stream of comradeship' as the cackling geese head south. I remember myself bending down, overwhelmed by the pageantry of scattered leaves, wanting to pick each one of them...Those were innocent days, when I was happy to be part of this extraordinary vicissitude of Nature... when the silouhette of a red-winged blackbird swinging on  cattails  could give rise to a haiku, and the sight of a hawk perched high on the steeple of a faraway church, could bespeak 'redemption'...

Orange Peel: Catching the sunset

Sitting in the tea-shop, sweating under the droning fan, suffering the company of a mosquito repellent plugged to the power point, I can't help but wonder why...why, nearly two months on, and this little tea-shop, cute as a bug, has not been able to attract a few die-hard tea-lovers. With its unique atmosphere, hand-me-down furniture, and art-studded walls, it really is the perfect place to be: calm and quiet, alive with the aroma of freshly-brewed tea. Sure, we are a bit out of the way, but most beautiful places are. Remember Robert Frost's 'The Road not Taken'?

Sure, we only serve teas and simple snacks, but that is our USP, unique selling proposition. Not wanting to be just another chai-stand, serving the omnipresent, diabetes-inducing chai and cholesterol-laden deep-fried pakodas, we have chosen to be different, in sync with the health pulse of the universal consciousness. 

If anyone wishes to enjoy the magic of this place, while sipping some very unique combinations of teas, and munching on tasty snacks, the best time is at sunset. Very seldom in India, does one have the fortuity and the leisure to be part of such a sprawl of nature,  paired with a serene stretch of sky. So, at the end of the day, even if nobody turns up, I am happy to have the fellowship of a whole kettle of tea, steeped in the tranquility of the twilight hour.

From Dandi March to Plogging: A Revolution in Progress

"PM Modi praises the plogging efforts of Ripudaman," read the headlines. The name immediately struck a chord...Yes, Ripudaman, "the undeclared, yet unanimously accepted leader of the group"... hadn't I thus referred to him in my last blog? 

Apparently, the PM mentioned him and his plogging efforts in his monthly address,  'man ki baat', and since I am not too fond of his endless monologues, I had missed the bouquet of praises  he showered upon this young plogger and his team. So inspired was the PM and his entourage that the sports ministry decided to hold a 'Fit India Plogging Run' event in the capital city to commemorate  the150th birth anniversary of Mahatma Gandhi. And indeed, it's a befitting  tribute to  a leader, who, throughout his life, championed  the cause of hygiene and cleanliness.

For  my mom and every one else in the family, who had recently enjoyed the opportunity to briefly host Ripudaman, and his team, it felt almost surreal to see him hit the headlines.

While the idea of plogging emerged from Sweden a while back, Ripudaman is credited with making it popular in India, and highlighting the need to do something in a hurry in the wake of the mounting litter problem. "I do not wish to be a preacher," he says, adding, "I can only lead by example". And, that he does. In the restaurant, he requests the waiter to remove the tissue box from our table, since it is not needed. He doesn't even want a typed out  bill, for that's a waste of paper too. "Just let me know the damage," he tells the manager. And,  by doing that he is not only saving paper and ink, but also ridding the humanity of its inherent vice of mistrustulness.  

Nicknamed the plog-man of India, on meeting Ripudaman, you realise that this young man doesn't just aspire to make headlines, he is eager to make headway into solving the impending garbage problem the planet faces. 

When the going gets tough, the tough gets going...

"Our PM Narendra Modi extends his  sincere support towards your efforts to clean up the water channel," Ms Bedi concluded. On camera, she spoke  like a true politician. 

"Usually, people come asking me to solve their many problems!  But here you are, not only with a solution to your problem, but, being the solution," she added later, and offered a phone number reachable any time of the day and night. " Call me if you need anything," she added, off-camera, acting like the legendary Kiran Bedi we had heard of when we were kids. Fearless and sincere.

My brother was accompanying three 'ploggers' from Delhi  to the governor's mansion, and had taken this opportunity to talk about our neighborhood's initiative to clean up the water catchment in the vicinity.

Yes, you read it right: ploggers. I am certain the word has already entered the hallowed corpora of the Oxford dictionary, and many a lexicographers and editors have been itching to announce  this Swedish-origin expression as the word of the year. Against a scenario, where economy is down, and unemployment  up,  the vigor and optimism of the youth has given way to a growing sense of disillusionment. With nowhere to turn to, but to their own conscience,  a small group of these young people have taken to voluntary  plogging. Plogging, a combination of the Swedish word, 'plocka', which means 'to pick' and 'jogging', the word literally translates into 'to pick while jogging' (the implied noun, in this case, is 'litter'). As simple as that, but, "It is not as easy as it sounds," cautions Ripudaman, the undeclared, but unanimously accepted leader of the group. He shows us the techniques of picking up garbage on the move. "You have to be careful not to hurt your back," explains Sanjay, another young plogger from Kumaon, who   happens to be a freelance journalist as well.  Sidharth from Madhya Pradesh, is the quiet one. "He's a great runner",  his companions tell us,  adding "and also a photojournalist by profession". The team's aim is to plog  through 50 major cities in India, and inspire locals along with them. While in Coimbatore, they were supported by a whole team of marathoners, in Pondicherry, the presence of just one runner to accompany them at short notice, was enough to raise their spirits.

 As they move from one destination to another, they are deeply conscious not to produce any unnecessary waste, and thus refrain from using paper napkins/toilet paper, etc.: conveniences, which could make their long distance travels a dash easier. Indulging in any kind of pre-packed food is also frowned upon: no chocolates or biscuits, we are told.

The dining table explodes with stories, passionate discussions, and laughter, as we  share a meal with this new species of humans, called ploggers. All in their early or late twenties, they seem easy-going by temperament, but it is their youthful idealism and unflinching determination which gives them that extra edge, and courage to do what they are doing. 

Promise me you’ll always remember: You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. (Christopher Robin to Pooh )

'Season of Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness'...

The following article was written in 2015. Recently, when I chanced upon it, I realised that at the time of writing, little did I know that it was going to be my last fling with 'Fall', in many years to come. Reading it after almost four years, it brought back beautiful memories, of umpteen drives, and walks, and of hot apple cider flavored with cinnamon.  Hope you would enjoy reading it, as much as I have enjoyed living it.

'Happy endings happen only in fairy tales', time and again, the incorrigible cynic in me, is given to lean on such time-worn clichés. Yet, every fall my faith in this euphemism is vitiated as I am drawn out of my little pessimistic circle to partake in this grand finale: a farewell at its best. The end of a journey and the beginning of another; a pageantry of colors, we mortals like to call `fall’, when in fact, the whole of Nature is rising to the occasion. Death descends upon us not only with its meditative serenity, but also with all its fury and passion: so life could continue…

Fall is that sacrificial fire from the ashes of which, Phoenix rises… it is the time to contemplate, to go for walks, to glean the warmth of a receding sun, to press colorful leaves in the dictionary (or as an expert once confided in me, telephone directories are better)...time also to catch the last lingering notes of the songbirds as sure enough, soon they would take wings, looking for greener pastures, newer melodies. Mockingbird’s daily travesty would  slowly fade away as the naked trees bring it into plain sight, cardinal’s belligerent jingles give way to more poetic, melancholic harmonies, and blue jay’s bizarre reprimandings too subside. And Eastern bluebird? I don’t even know what it sounds like. This spring, it was the first time ever, that I chanced upon a pair, and even managed to trace its nesting site. But, I, yet have to hear one sing…or scold…or say something.

Ravens, hawks and crows are seen perched on high branches of poplars and elms, aloof as usual, penetrating with their keen posture the blueness of the autumn skies. 

Squirrels, on the other hand, are hard at work: running around, gathering acorns, digging up the earth, hiding them, to guarantee that their hunger is well-satisfied during the long winter days. There is also the task of reinforcing their shabby-looking nests and ensure that they are properly  insulated and cozy. Field mice are busy too. In fact, just a few days ago, I found a bag of puffed sorghum, bitten into and raided from my own kitchen: I am confident that the culprits are field mice. Roguish, thieving, miserable little creatures! I haven’t yet been able to detect their entry passage or their exit strategy. But, they always leave some clue behind, just to hammer into my puny self that `the break-in was successful’. Yet, at some level, I can’t help but sympathize with them. This year alone some five majestic trees were chopped and hewn with power-saws and hydrowedges, from our apartment complex and thousands of critters were thus rendered homeless overnight. Of course, this never made the headlines. And, if it weren’t enough, these mighty oaks, elderberries, and elms were thrown into shredders, with great efficiency, and reduced to a coarse powder we like to call `saw-dust’ by high-power grinders. Ironically, in today’s polished corporate lingo, they label this `a zero waste environment’ for the sawdust would be turned into designer furniture for homes or given away to aggrieved artists who would diligently use it to re-create the impression of a tree and display it in museums and galleries. All this happened before the fall: before the trees could once again burst into colors, once again, express their recondite turmoils, frustrations and aspirations… before each leaf could indulge itself in the fun task of going and looking for the mysterious co-ordinates, upon which it was ordained to fall.

Despite all the hewing and chopping and raiding, I cannot help but bask in the glory of this season. Even though for some, it is a depressing period of the year since it harbingers the beginning of yet another winter, for me, it is a blessing bestowed upon us... an indulgence we can all afford.

Making Waves...

Running an NGO for the last eight years, having cleaned over ninety water bodies across India, we were expecting the founder and the CEO of EFI (Environmentalist Foundation of India) to be a suave, swanky, corporate style executive, complete with tie and boots. But, what we discovered in 33-year-old Arun Krishnamurthy, was a shy, hazel-eyed, sun-tanned guy, in shorts and t-shirt, sitting under the shade of a peepal tree in the village square, studying the topography of the area, where his current project had lead him to.

In seeing us approach, he came to greet us, and touched my mother's feet, in a spontaneous gesture of respect. "You must have a lot of projects going on simultaneously, how do you manage?" I was curious. "Oh, yes, along with this water catchment, our team is also working to dredge six ponds and two lakes in Chidambaram...but, this one, in Chinna Mudaliyar Chavadi, is a very important project. It is not only the visible part of the water channel which needs to be taken into consideration, but also the one which has been cemented, to make way for development. You see that dip behind the Kali temple, it once held a pond. And, similarly, there's yet another pond at a higher level which needs to be revived, and connected to the canyon, so the rainwater can take its natural course." 

Armed with a degree and know-how in water management from the University of Netherlands, Arun is on his turf as he explains the complexity of the project in a layman's language. And suddenly, he is not shy any more. We ask him about Bhutan, where he had gone to study and understand the watershed spring system. "Bhutan is a world apart," he says dreamily. The people of Bhutan have a different value system, and a more inclusive approach to life. They consider themselves part of the planet, and not just citizens of Bhutan". The famous phrase,  Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam (the entire world is a clan) comes to mind and I can't help but wonder how, while a Buddhist country has so earnestly embraced a Vedic concept, why we, the people of the land which gave birth to such lofty thoughts, have failed to manifest it in our lives. 

On asked whether roadsides littered with plastic bags and glass bottles is a common sight in Thimpu, as it is in our big cities, his reply is in negative. " Why, us Indians can't get our act together?  Are we inherently dirty?" is the next question pounced on this young environmentalist, itching to get back to work. "I think, development came too late, and too fast at our doorstep, and we didn't know how to cope with it. As for me, not taking pride in our environment directly translates into a lack of self-respect".  A long, inadvertent sigh escapes him, as he adds,  "There are instances, when almost as soon as we have cleaned up a waterway, people just come and start dumping again."

We are dumbfounded. "Really? Don't you get discouraged?" My mom asks.

"Yes, I used to. I used to even get depressed...But, what is the point of getting depressed? There's so much work to be done, so one has to get moving, do one's best, and hope for the best. "

Arun's spirited disposition is not only contagious but gives us hope as well. 

A shadow of patient impatience flits across his face, as he points to the black Mahindra Balero parked right beside us, "Duty calls. Sorry guys, I think I should return to the office." Tapping his metal companion affectionately, he laughs, "This has been my home, my office, and my loyal friend for some time now."

 We invite him for lunch, but he has already brought a packed tiffin-box along, and doesn't want it to go waste. "For, 'waste' is what's killing this planet", are his last words to us, as we bid farewell. Indeed.

Taking Charge...

Raveesh Kumar, on receiving the Magsaysay award for excellence in journalism, spoke at length on citizen journalism, the essence of which is, when the system fails the public, the public takes matter in its own hand. Of course, in Raveesh's specific case, the system directly translates into 'mainstream media', which stands at a deplorable low, serving mainly as a concubine to the government,  easy to tempt, and easier to please.

With a mobile in/at hand, while some citizens are performing the duel role of being both the cameramen and reporters, others are doing their bit to fill in the gap for the amnesia of the administrative authorities. For example, some have turned into environmental activists, trying to save their own backyard from the heaps of amassed garbage, and rampant dumping, cleaning up neighbourhood waterways and gullys, in an effort to prevent the pollutants from seeping into the ground water supply.

Rajendra Singh, the famous Waterman of India, in as far back as 1975, founded an NGO, called, Tarun Bharat Sangh, with the sole objective of solving the intensifying water shortage problem in his state of Rajasthan. Over the years, his organisation has been credited with building over 8,600 johads and other water conservation structures to harvest rainwater.

In the same vein, 33-year-old Arun Krishnamurthy, with the help of his colleagues from Environmentalist Foundation of India, an NGO, he founded in 2011,  has spearheaded the clean up of 39 lakes across the country, and several backyards. 

The classic example of Dashrath Manjhi, (made famous by the movie, 'Manjhi'), comes to mind, who, on losing his pregnant wife to a pathless mountain, single-handedly,  armed with  nothing but a hammer and a chisel, drilled through the mountain to build a road in his village. This road, which took him 22 years to complete, shortened the distance from his hometown to the nearest hospital by forty kilometres.

 Over the years, Manjhi has come to encapsulate the invincible determination of one man,  fighting against a system riddled with corruption and apathy towards the woes of the poor. 

Fast forward thirty six years, to 2018. In a small village in Bihar's Banka district, a group of women decided to build a road since the government failed to do so despite their persistent demand. After 10 years of waiting,130 women working from sunrise to sunset, completed the 2km-long stretch in three days, connecting, in the process, the village to the nearby hospital, which was their main objective. 

Examples abound.  Mumbai's notoriously dirty Versova beach,  covered in three feet of waste, was returned to its pristine state by the initiative of Arfoz Shah, a young lawyer,  and his 84-year-old friend Harbansh Mathur. 

Yes, it always needs just one individual to skip the pebble across the ocean of possibilities. So, in a country like ours, with 1.2 billion people, imagine the kind of storms we could be brewing!

'Power of the people, for the people, and by the people' is the cornerstone of every workable democracy. Yet, why do I get the feeling that while the citizens work and pay taxes, the centre 'rules'. While citizens raise money for projects to ensure continuity of life itself,  some million dollar companies declare bankruptcy, while citizens donate money to organisations so that another child could get decent education, someone along the way  embezzles the money assigned for midday meal scheme and children  die of malnutrition... Now, the question is why should we, the citizens of this country, who could be labelled illigal overnight, carry the additional burden of having a government, whose many an official flaunt expensive foreign cars while  advocating  'Make in India' products to its citizens;  sponsor their many trips abroad, while being advised to champion home-grown tourism;  pay for their fine fleet of security personnel, while they ask us to trudge on bravely, and bite the bullet?