A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE - 1

A QUESTION OF CONSCIENCE - 1

Few days ago, while on a chat with a good old friend, he made an observation ‘You at times come across as very hesitant to hit the nail on its head just to avoid the possibility of someone getting hurt’. I accepted that it could be true. Of course, in the process, I asked myself where I stand. This followed a video which he had sent, a disturbing one about the migrants who were on the way back to their homes far away, forced by the present situation and the general apathy shown towards their plight, though there were words galore expressing sympathy, deeds were few. I write this as I sit safe and comfortable within the confines of my apartment. I can afford to do that because this is my home and I am assured of the care and attention of dear ones. Yes, I am appalled at what is happening outside. But how concerned am I? A question of conscience? Well, I had to accept that as long as nothing happens to my dear and near ones and I am safe, I can afford to speculate on the travails of the common man on the street, leave alone the larger problem and the tragedy of the migrant, and sympathize.

I understood what he meant when he said that I am hesitant to hit the nail on the head. Yes, that’s true. I have always kept away from being judgmental, but in the process, my writings have always tended towards exploring an individual’s anxiety rather than taking a stand on the plight of the individual in what at most times comes across as an indifferent world. Of course, as an individual, I am bound by my own limitations of physical strength and more importantly, I find it is the lack of will on my part to actively involve myself in the only way I know – writing. How much can I contribute to raising a general awareness? I am not a reformer nor am I a man of much consequence, but I realize that it requires a will greater than the individual’s, a collective will, and determination of the powers that are, in this case, the Government. It’s also true that you require two hands to clap, but one is enough to slap. That perhaps is the only way I can describe Democracy and Dictatorship. We abhor Authoritarianism for it treads on the individual’s freedom. We are still to describe what exactly is an individual’s freedom. Man is a social animal (well, that’s the adage), but how much of your freedom are you willing to sacrifice to prove that you are indeed a social animal. This is another question of conscience. One can never discount the fact that over the ages there have been (they still are) individuals whose overwhelming concern was/is for the general good. But a majority of us sit back and let them do their work, applauding perhaps, and most time finding holes to justify our own inability to come up with solutions. Introspection, the will to change, and last but not the least, active participation is what is needed.

I remember that long time ago I wrote some poems, out of the sheer angst that I felt arising out of youthful idealism. They have now been confined to the pages of a collection of a book of poems that I titled ‘Secrets of the Soul’. There are a few lines which I reproduce here -

 The old man sits,

His hands no longer outstretched,

But held over his head,

In a vain attempt,

To shelter from the rain.

There are no trees in this city,

No roof for this old man,

As he waits,

For the rain to stop,

On the pavement.

The rain stops,

The night grows cold:  From Ominous Patterns

There is a long poem titled ‘The Refugee’ which I have posted earlier in my blog so I am reproducing only a few lines here–

I toil to lighten,

That everlasting hunger.

And the nights I retire,

Into that world of dreams,

Myself in the midst,

Of all those past scenes.

But dear sir, this I know,

I am waiting for the day,

The day I have to go”

With these words he moved,

Back to the world of dreams.

He had taken refuge.

‘Fragments’ which you could even term as a question of conscience-

“How can I a living earn?”

I hear the leper cry,

But I wait for him to pass me by.

The truth is he is right,

And I am aware of his plight.

But I stay still,

Unmoved,

Silent and straight as that hill.

I reproduced the above only to highlight the fact that we all have similar questions of conscience. We have felt, but moved on, like the last four lines of the last poem. Recognition of a problem does not solve it. Somewhere along the way we become too involved with ourselves and let all those feelings bury themselves deep inside us. It is time for us to dig them out and evaluate where we stand. Maybe we shall find our way to authenticity.

Coming back to where we started, the Migrant. The video was disturbing, but not judgmental, for it depicted a reality as it exists, leaving the rest as a ‘Question of Conscience’. Herds or rather hordes, whichever way you want to classify them, the first is a large group of animals and the second a large group of people with their families. So it is correct to say hordes of migrants making their way back to their homes far away – some bundled in vehicles and others not so lucky on foot with blisters bursting, desperate to be in their homes (which they had left for sustenance), to be again with their near and dear ones, not knowing whether they will reach their destination, but willing to risk even their lives in trying, rather than die of starvation in an alien land.

When I first mentioned herd, it was only because the first reaction was a herd of sheep. But the difference was that they were shepherded and sure of reaching their destination. But the second and more morbid picture was that of cattle herded into a truck taking them to the abattoir.

The migrant problem will exist as long as the problem of poverty, scarcity, and security exist in the country. I know that this is not a problem that can be solved overnight in a country as populated and diverse as ours. The problem will exist, but can we make it more comfortable and welcome to all those people who have left their homes to be with us, for the reality is we need them as much as they need us.

PREFACE TO A CHILD'S FANTASY WORLD (Yet untitled)

PREFACE

A CHILD'S FANTASY WORLD (Yet untitled)

I have completed my fourth book ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’ but have held up its publication till such time the present situation shows a semblance of heading towards normalcy. Meanwhile, I started work on my fifth book (as yet untitled) to keep a promise I made my grandson that I shall write a book for him. So here I am attempting a genre that I have never attempted ‘Children’s Fantasy’, and let me confess that I find it difficult. But I feel it slowly growing on me and it is enchanting. It is my habit to give my readers a peek at what they can expect. I am not giving anything away for I myself am not sure what will unfold in the pages to follow. It is as much a suspense to me, but the peek I promised is through the PREFACE. So please read on-

There is a whole world out there. A world that gives us refuge, even if it is for a short time, from the drudgery of our present life in this present world: an alternate universe that takes us away to a land of magic and chivalry where mythical creatures come alive. The more I think about it, the more I feel pulled into that world. All it needs us is to take that step forward and cross the boundary we have drawn to limit our imaginations. It’s people who ventured to dream and took the plunge into this realm who have given rise to great fantasy literature like ‘The Lord of the Rings’, ‘Harry Potter’, and their ilk? Now we have numerous authors and numerous books that take us to this world and we like it. During the time when we read the book or see the movie, we live there. Even as an adult these books have fascinated us and the possible existence of another dimension starts taking shape in our minds.   So, the truth is we like fantasy, which has been the preserve of every child. We want to be that child again.

The earliest I can remember are the fantasy world of the Indian epics and Greek mythology. I found myself plunging into the world of gods and demons and of retribution and rewards, Hanuman the monkey god and the avatars and exploits of Vishnu and Shiva. I have traveled along with Ulysses on his voyages or with Jason and the Argonauts, the land of Cyclops the one-eyed giants, Scylla and Charybdis, the Greek Gods Zeus and the others residing in Olympia. The dragons happened later and the dinosaurs still later, while the former still remains mythical, Dinosaurs have been documented to be real and extinct, recreated from the fossils found at various places around the world. They once walked on this earth, and that is why movies like the Jurassic Park, which transport us to an era long gone by, a lost world, appeal to us.

From a toddler fascinated by a puppy or a kitten, waving his hands in glee, to a four-year-old chasing and feeding goats, sheep and geese in the Grant’s Farm, slowly moving on to the zoo, looking at the wild animals behind enclosures with a sense of awe and anticipation, the child goes through the entire gamut of growing up, to understanding that all this is part of his world. This perhaps is his first glance at the wonders of nature. A natural progression to the land of fantasy through books completes his world: a world of reality and imagination. While the natural world helps to understand and develop a relationship with the environment, the fantasy world stimulates imagination and creativity. A  balanced development of both is absolutely necessary for molding personality. It is sad that we have moved away into a cloistered world where our children grow up behind walls, busy with their gadgets and innovations. Should they be deprived of a childhood of pure joy and innocence? Progress and development are necessary for the world to move on, and I will be the first to say that the present generation is smarter, independent, more informed, and innovative. But are they as empathetic, and understanding as they need to be? Do they have the time? Much of the environment has been destroyed and polluted; the price we have paid for the development. Forests have been cut down and the rivers have dried up, animals are slowly turning into endangered species; the repercussions of which will be felt by the generations to come.

There is no limit to human imagination as mythology has shown us. It has fed and nurtured our growing up years. Memories of a childhood that has remained buried deep in our psyche, sometimes appear as fleeting moments, not nostalgia, but déjà vu, an overwhelming sense of familiarity, of having been there. But how does one sustain that moment, an ache that grows as you age? How does one dig out that childhood? Well, I realized that it takes a child to do that to you.

That’s what my grandson did to me. He took me along to a world of his own and helped me discover mine.

ALBERT CAMUS’S – 'THE PLAGUE' ITS RELEVANCE TODAY

ALBERT CAMUS’S – THE PLAGUE

ITS RELEVANCE TODAY

 Forty-five years ago, I first read Albert Camus’s novel ‘The Plague’. This was the third book of his after ‘The Fall’ and ‘The Outsider’ that I had picked up for reading, not only because the first two had created such an impact on my thinking process, but because this was cited as one of the great books of those times. Now looking back, I am convinced that it is one of the great books of all time. The relevance of Camus’s novel becomes even starker when we contemplate and try to understand the situation we now find ourselves in. The Corona pandemic has made us reassess our attitudes towards life and death. It has exposed our fragility in the face of ultimate termination. The book is prophetic; which we realize now. When I first read the book, what left an impact was its literary translation of human emotions and one could actually feel the terror that encompassed the whole population of a city when faced with an epidemic of enormous proportions. As a young man, my life was proceeding on predicted lines and the possibility of such a situation sweeping the entire world was never within the scope of my imagination. Of course, though such epidemics have occurred from time to time in some clusters around the world, they never threatened a whole population. Even when I used to travel from Ahmedabad to Baroda and back, daily during the plague epidemic in Surat, I have never felt so insecure as I do now. I could never imagine being locked down in one’s own home for three months at a stretch. Though we are hopeful that a cure will be there in the course of time, what until then? Like all things, this too shall pass is the common refrain, and we continue with that hope and I am sure we shall overcome. Now, as a much older and presumably a more mature individual, I find myself reassessing my view of the world and my way of life. I am sure this situation is bound to bring about a new normal and like we believe a crisis in our personal lives, brings about an awakening within us, so also this universal crisis is bound to give rise to an awakening in the universal consciousness. And so, it happened that I was reminded of ‘The Plague’ and Albert Camus and what I had read decades ago. I knew I had to read it again and it was no surprise that for so many people out there it had become a topic for discussion and reviews. Camus had become relevant once again and this time his book was flying of the shelves. Though I had a paperback edition dating forty-five years ago and whose pages had also started aging along with me, it was lying in my bookshelf in Chennai. I decided to buy the Kindle version which would make it easier for me to review the book. And as I read through it, the characters came alive once again, more real, and I felt as if I was also one of the many unnamed characters in the book.

There have been plagues and epidemics dating back to prehistoric times decimating millions of people along the way. They have often resulted in changing the course of history. If we just confine ourselves to the last hundred years starting with the Spanish Flu which lasted from 1916 t0 1920 which claimed over 500 million people, there have been five of them not counting the present Corona epidemic. The Asian Flu, Ebola, H1N1, and Zika. But perhaps the one epidemic for which a permanent cure is yet to be found is AIDS which first came to be noticed in 1981 and to this day is still prevalent, though medication has since been developed in managing the virus. The fact is that we have learned to live with epidemics and come back to our normal lives though with a change as to how to live again.

The Plague by Albert Camus is an extraordinary odyssey into the darkness and absurdity of human existence. Other than Camus’s book there have been a number of books on pandemics of which Katherine Anne Porter’s book ‘Pale Horse, Pale Rider’ written in the year 1939 based on the Spanish Flu, and Margaret Atwood’s ‘The Year of the Flood’ written in 2009 in which she envisages a world devastated by a virus immediately comes to mind. It’s our misfortune that we find ourselves in the midst of something akin to what these authors prophetically wrote. There will be books and there will be epidemics in the future also, but as always, we shall carry on.

Coming back to Camus and ‘The Plague’, there have been various interpretations. While some find that the story is an allegory of the French Resistance to the Nazis in World War II, others find a metaphor of something stealthily taking over our lives and causing a change in our behavior.

The story is woven around a plague pandemic that threatens the entire population of nearly two hundred thousand in the city of Oran, a French colony of Algeria. The year of the plague is not specific, it is in the spring of 194- that it first raised its head and went on till February of the following year. The entire novel is in the form of a narrative and it is only, in the end, we find out who the narrator is. The first ominous signs of what is to follow appear early in the book- 

'On the morning of April 16, Dr. Rieux emerged from his consulting-room and came across a dead rat in the middle of the landing.' It starts with the rats. Vomiting blood, they die in their hundreds, then in their thousands. When the rats are all gone, the citizens begin to fall sick. Like the rats, they too die in ever greater numbers. The authorities quarantine the town. Cut off, the terrified townspeople must face this horror alone. Some resign themselves to death or the whims of fate. Others seek someone to blame or dream of revenge. One is determined to escape. But a few, like stoic Dr. Rieux, stand together to fight the terror. A monstrous evil has entered their lives, but they will never surrender to it. They will resist the plague'.

The narrator says – ‘In this respect, our townsfolk were like everybody else, wrapped up in themselves; in other words, they were humanists: they disbelieved in pestilences. A pestilence isn’t a thing made to man’s measure therefore we tell ourselves that pestilence is a mere bogey of the mind, a bad dream that will pass away. But it doesn’t always pass away and, from one bad dream to another, it is men who pass away, and the humanists first of all, because they haven’t taken their precautions.’

The book is replete with philosophical musings and each of the principal characters represents an aspect of human character and behavior. There is one sentence towards the end that tells us – ‘quite simply what we learn in a time of pestilence: that there are more things to admire in men than to despise.’

The principal characters in the book are – Dr. Rieux, Jean Tarrou, Raymond Rambert, Joseph Grand, Cottard, and Father Panelou. It is not my intention to discuss the role of each character here. But I shall highlight certain passages and conversations that take place between them, especially Rieux, Tarrou, and Father Panelou. The essence of the book lies in these conversations and one cannot but conclude that it is through Rieux that Camus speaks for himself. Rieux does not believe in God but believes that he is doing what needs to be done in the struggle against death despite the fact that the outcome is ultimately doomed to fail. At the other end of the spectrum is Panelou a Jesuit priest who believes that the plague is an act of God to punish those who have sinned but offers hope that God is present to offer succor to those who believe in him. Though towards the end he softens his stand, he is taken ill but refuses to call a doctor, firm in his belief that God alone can cure him and dies.

The following conversation between Tarrou and Rieux I feel is very much Camus himself -

“Do you believe in God doctor?” Again, the question was put in an ordinary tone. But this time Rieux took longer to find his answer.

“No, but what does that really mean? I’m fumbling in the dark, struggling to make something out. But I’ve long ceased finding the original.”

“Isn’t that the gulf between Paneloux and you?”

“I doubt it. Paneloux is a man of learning, a scholar. He hasn’t come in contact with death; that’s why he can speak with such assurance of the truth, with a capital T. but every country priest who visits his parishioners and has heard a man gasping for breath on his deathbed thinks as I do. He’d try to relieve human suffering before trying to point out its excellence.”

“My question is this,” said Tarrou. “Why do you yourself show such devotion, considering you don’t believe in God? I suspect your answer may help me to mine.”

His face, still in shadow, Rieux said he had already answered: that if he believed in an all-powerful God, he would cease curing the sick and leave that to Him. But no one in the world believed in a God of that sort; not even Paneloux, who believed he believed in such a God. And this is proved by the fact that no one ever threw himself on Providence completely. Anyhow, in this respect Rieux believed himself to be on the right road in fighting against creation itself.

“I have no idea what’s awaiting me, or what will happen when all this ends. For the moment I know this; there are sick people and they need curing. Later on, perhaps, they’ll think things over; and so shall I. But what’s wanted now is to make them well. I defend them as best as I can, that’s all.”

In another piece of the conversation, Rieux says -

“Since the order of the world is shaped by death, mightn’t it be better for God if we refuse to believe in Him and struggle with all our might against death. Without raising our eyes towards the heavens where he sits in silence.”

Tarrou nodded. “Yes. But your victories will never be lasting; that’s all.”

Rieux’s face darkened.

“Yes, I know that. But it’s no reason for giving up the struggle.”

At the other end of the spectrum we have Father Panelou whose extreme faith in God is brought forth by the narrator –

‘He, Father Panelou, refused to have recourse to simple devices enabling him to scale that wall. Thus, he might easily have assured them that the child’s sufferings would be compensated for by an eternity of bliss awaiting him. But how could he give that assurance when, to tell the truth, he knew nothing about it? For who would dare assert that eternal happiness can compensate for a single moment’s suffering?

No, he, Father Panelou, would keep faith with that great symbol of all suffering, the tortured body on the Cross; he would stand fast, his back to the wall, and face honestly the terrible problem of a child’s agony. And he would boldly say to those who listened to his words today: “My brothers, a time of testing has come for us all. We must believe everything or deny everything. And who among you I ask, would dare deny everything?”

It is necessary to discuss both Rieux and Panelou to understand Camus’s view of life. when Rieux says ‘I have no idea what’s awaiting me, or what will happen when all this ends. For the moment I know this; there are sick people and they need curing’, it is about finding a purpose in life and pursuing it rather than speculating on the meaning of existence. Despite the discussions on existentialism and absurdism which center around the plight of the individual in an irrational universe, we can try to relate the above sentence to what Krishna says in the Bhagavad Gita about Karma about doing one’s duty without expecting the fruits thereof. It is not necessary to believe in God to realize the import of this statement; this only defines a purpose in life. So, there is no anomaly when Rieux says he does not believe in God. In the end, he has contributed more constructively by healing and saving lives than Panelou did, but we cannot discount the fact that Panelou served the devout in us and gave hope that atonement of one’s sins and placing faith in God was the only way towards healing, though it may not have prevented the deaths, it still left open a window of hope to those who were critically ill.

In my viewpoint the characters of Rieux and Tarrou give glimpses of Buddhism especially doing what is required of an individual to attain liberation through finding a purpose in life. Buddhism encompasses the basic existentialist view that life is full of anxiety (Dukka). But it goes beyond, by identifying the causes for this suffering and the path to overcome this and attain enlightenment. Rieux works tirelessly throughout the epidemic, though he has his own misgivings as to the final result. The final retreat of the plague is perhaps is his redemption.

While Camus never wanted to be dubbed an existentialist of the Sartre school of atheistic existentialism, which believes that life is intrinsically meaningless and is only the sum total of the choices one makes, in trying to make it authentic, Camus’s Philosophy of the Absurd is reflected in the basic premise that it is the innate tendency of an individual to find a purpose even though he is not sure as to the final outcome. This is the absurdity that is explored in Camus’s ‘The Myth of Sisyphus’.

How relevant is the ‘The Plague’ to the present scenario we find ourselves in? It is really astounding that when you go through the book you realize that what is happening now is very similar to what has been described in graphic detail decades ago. Whether it is the fear psychosis, the measures taken to prevent the spread of the epidemic, the dedicated and tireless work of groups of individuals in taking care of the afflicted, the resistance to the imposition of stringent regulations by the authorities and lastly the realization that we have to move on but with a changed perspective and living a new life. The threat will always loom over our heads but that is where new lessons are learned, new beliefs come into existence. The concept of divine redemption may also undergo a change. Man can never exist without hope and hope without faith. We will continue to pray to the same Gods; and the temples, churches, and mosques will open again, but hopefully this time with more understanding rather than blind faith.

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TRIBUTE TO A BROTHER

TRIBUTE TO A BROTHER

My brother passed away this evening at 6.30 pm  at his residence in Mumbai. He was eighty-six years old and that’s a ripe old age for anyone to pass away. But whatever the age, a loss is a loss and leaves a vacuum in the lives of people he has left behind. I know that the grief will slowly dissipate and only the remembrances of the man he was, will remain etched in our memory.

For me personally, he represented the quintessential diehard believer in the traditional values and remained a down to earth human at heart. Many a time our views never converged, but that did not take away the love and affection we had for each other. His upbringing under the tutelage of my grandfather in that small village of Gopalasamudram instilled in him values which he carried forward throughout his life. In a sense when I look back, maybe this is what sustained him: an unbounded devotion to the Guru and God. In the process, he never lost his sense of humor, sometimes tinged with sarcasm, but never intended to hurt anyone. His anecdotes on his younger days and the pranks they played in the village would keep us regaled.

He was sixteen years elder to me and the first time I looked up to him as a guardian was when I sat next to him while the ceremonies after my father’s death were being performed. I was thirteen and he was twenty-nine and already the father of a son aged six. Throughout I looked at him as if he had replaced my father and that brought solace and lessened the grief that had engulfed me then. Here was support that would help take me forward.

I still remember the heroics he was capable of, like slapping and getting into fight with a person who was trying to tease my sister when she was on her way to college. He did earn some notoriety, and my father used to brush away the complaints that he would receive, for he knew his son better. Maybe he would have done much better in college if not for these extracurricular activities. But he made up for it in the years to come and became extremely successful in his career after completing is CA. Married at the young age of twenty-one, my sister-in-law who was five years younger to him became the pillar that stood behind him throughout their sixty-five years of married life.

Even after the passage of so many years he would still repeat all his exploits as a young boy in the village and the different characters who formed a part of his canvas and he would laugh. I would laugh along with him, though I had heard many of them earlier. I did not mind, for they served to lighten the drab ups and downs of everyday life. It happened last December again when I went to spend a few days with him in Mumbai. It was evident that he was becoming weaker by the day, but the twinkle in his eyes had stayed intact. Even then life was to him to be lived, and what better way than to smile away the burden of aging. He was a TV serials buff and watched all the Tamil ones, not because he became totally involved in the proceedings, but as he said there was nothing better to do. He would have the remote in his hand and keep on switching from one channel to the other watching four of them at a time.

A resident of Chembur for the last sixty years, he was well known and respected. He was a regular at the temples, especially the Sringeri Mutt temple. For him the Acharyas of the Sringeri Peetam were the spiritual gurus and his devotion to them was total. Though sometimes he used to get carried away with his views on religion and spirituality, which I found at divergence with my own views, we did not fight. But in the end, I would bow down to his exhortations not because of any acceptance of his views, but because he was totally convinced and happy in his beliefs. More importantly, it was my respect for him and I never forgot he had been my guardian after my father’s death.

It was sometime in 1993 0r 94, that he had bypass surgery. He recovered and was the better for it. Few years ago, he told me that he had stopped having all his medicines and told the doctor that he did not want any further probing of his health condition. He was eighty then. But over the years, I could sense a slow withdrawal from participating in the activities around him. The last time in December 2019 when I was with him he told me “You see I grew up under thatha (Grandfather) and I feel I am becoming more like him. He had also withdrawn from all mundane things. I learned a lot from him. Or take father, he was also someone who was not swayed by the lures of material comforts. Both of them did not live long but passed away in the presence of God and a peaceful death without suffering. I want to go that way and I think I will”

My father died while listening to the Ramayana in a temple. He just collapsed. My grandfather never got up after prostrating himself in front of the Puja shelf as was his wont before leaving for the river to have a bath in the Tambhirabharani river. Both died in the presence of their God. In a sense, my brother had a similar ending. After listening to the Vishnu Sahasranamam, and finishing his evening prayers he slumped down on the couch. What a way to go! Another point of coincidence is that 7^th May is the Chitra Pournima or Buddha Poornima day, a day when my mother breathed her last.

He leaves behind a son and two daughters, all of whom have done extremely well in their life. But the saddest part is except for the daughter at Mumbai, none of his other children since they are in the United States will not make it. Even I his closest relation apart from my sister who is also in Mumbai cannot make it to the funeral. This is what makes it so sad. Normal times, I am sure that the entire Chembur would have turned out on his last journey. There is an old Tamil song from the film Paadha Kannigai a verse from which I am quoting below.

Veedu varai uravu

Veedhi varai manaivi

Kaadu varai pillai

Kadaisi varai yaro

The English translation is – relationships are till the house, the wife accompanies you till the end of the street, the son comes till the cremation ground, who comes till the end?

Powerful lyrics. But in these times of the Pandemic lockdown, dear ones are kept away from. No one comes, you go alone.

As I sit here writing all this, few drops of tears roll down my cheeks and that is all I can do. The rest I carry with me as images of another era that has just passed us by.

CONVERSATIONS WITH MY BEARD (REVIVED)- MEANDERING MEDITATIONS

CONVERSATIONS WITH MY BEARD (REVIVED)

MEANDERING MEDITATIONS

I do not remember when I last spoke to my beard. Maybe it was three or four years ago. During all these years he never thought it fit to talk to me, perhaps he was angry that I did not indulge in my midnight conversations with him when it was silent and everyone around had gone to sleep. But today in the midst of all this silence, not only within the room but also outside, I thought of him. It was mid-afternoon and the world seemed asleep. I can’t say whether it was the result of a heavy lunch or the Corona effect; most likely the latter, for there was nothing better to do- eat, sleep and then eat and sleep, and of course drink which my friend told me kills the virus. I didn’t disbelieve, as I saw on the television, crowds gathering in front of the Tasmac shops in Chennai hoarding themselves with a week’s supply of their favorite brand; most cases it was the local brand. I was told that closing Tasmac shops would be deadlier than the virus for more deaths could occur due to non-availability and the government feared that these will be reported as deaths due to Corona, and that would be bad.

Enough of my rambling, a habit I had picked up from my friend. Before you wonder who that is, I can assure you that it is the mass of hair on my face – My Dear Beard. I have had prolonged conversations with him in the past in the dead of night. One of my other friends, however, felt that it would be appropriate if I refer to ‘him’ as ‘her’, since that sounded more seductive. Of course, he was referring to my habit of fondling my beard when I was lost deep in thought. But I thought it better not to change his gender since I was afraid as to what would happen if my wife woke up and found I was talking to a ‘she’. Not that she (my wife) was ok with my meandering meditations in the dead of night, for she had already reached her conclusions that I was suffering from Schizotypal Personality Disorder. Now if she caught me talking to him during mid-afternoon, the conclusion would be that the disease had reached unmanageable proportions. Let me clarify that it is not ‘Corona’ I am talking about. Though it won’t be long before this was also identified as collateral symptoms of the virus. Soon more people will be talking to themselves, for they will find it a better way to spend time than talking about Corona to others all the while. In course of time, I will have plenty of company. So today I ventured into my conversations with my beard or rather resumed, for everyone was inside and fast asleep, not that you could find another soul outside. It no longer mattered what time of the day it was. Sleep, sleep and more sleep. I was once again reminded of my favorite lines from ‘Macbeth’ (the fact that I mugged up the entire play when I was in school is another matter which we shall discuss some other time)–

Methought I heard a voice cry, “Sleep no more!

Macbeth does murder sleep”—the innocent sleep,

Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care,

The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath,

Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,

Chief nourisher in life’s feast.

Patience, my friend. Though I had said ‘enough of my rambling’ I could not. But truly, I shall stop now. I succeeded, at last, to wake him up from his afternoon siesta.

Like I said before, it’s been a while since I spoke to him, but I do remember what he told me the last time-

“You have aged and so have I. Though it seems I last talked with you yesterday, three years have since passed by. You have grown older and I have become whiter. While I am sure that white is a sign of wisdom (as in my case), I am not sure about you. The passing years have only made you more forgetful and most of the time you keep staring vacantly even when someone talks to you. I am not too sad about that for in the process I have been allowed my freedom to grow wiser (that should be longer and whiter).”

“So, what’s it this time?” he asked with slight irritation

“Tell me something, Anything,” I replied.

“You started the conversation, so give me your opening line,” he retorted.

“I really don’t know what to say. It’s like I have run dry of words. When I speak, I hear only my own voice.”

“Well, that’s good for a start. It confirms that you can still hear and speak. You have not become totally dumb and dumber. How’s that for a start? You remember the movie with Jim Carrey in the lead?”

“That’s not very encouraging. I came prepared for a pep talk from you and this is how you respond? I should not have bothered,” I said.

Maybe he thought I sounded pathetic, so he gave that soft purring sound which he knew would quieten me.

“Is it really that serious, I mean no one talks to you or hear what you say?” he asked, sounding really concerned.

“There’s one thing which gives me consolation. Everyone seems to be afflicted by it, in one way or the other. But the growing numbers are disturbing. Soon, I am frightened that a number of them will be irreversibly affected and beyond hope. But I am glad I have you. Soon you will find your tribe increasing, all because of that Corona. You will grow stronger and longer and maybe whiter while wisdom ultimately dawns on your patrons that ‘live and let live’ will become the motto for future generations to come,” I said.

“Ha, ha, ha. My friend, I am sure that apart from what you have been labeled as having, ah! Yes, schizotypal personality disorder, you have begun to hallucinate. Your kind, pardon me it should be humankind will never learn your lessons. Soon you will be back to your original selves. In a vain attempt at wiping us away from your faces. But we are very resilient. Our roots are strong and we grow back again. We are not like your forests to be completely wiped out or burned. You have now seen what happens when you do that and now you start wailing and whining. I have heard you and others of your kind talk about Karma. I know why. You want your misdeeds to be camouflaged. Well, do I have to say ‘As you sow, so shall you reap” or quote that guy Newton, who said that ‘Every action has its reaction’ well, I may have missed a word or two but I think I have got it just about right. I have a very strong feeling that he must have known about the law of Karma (maybe he had also read the Gita). One thing you should remember – ‘when you gotta go, you gotta go’ and we go down when you do,” he said and laughed derisively.

“That was not necessary: your long exposition and that derisive laugh. You can never say that I have not respected your feelings. I have only indulged in shaping you from time to time so that you appear dignified,” I said.

“Dignified? My foot! Sorry, it should have been ‘your foot’. If you had told me it was necessary to keep me healthy and away from lice and viruses, I would have been happy. But I guess I don’t have much to complain about you, for you have otherwise allowed me my freedom and I am happy that I do look good under your care. I am very happy with the bread and butter you have fed me for the last month, despite the shortage for your own consumption. Don’t worry, I shall ward of any virus that has the audacity to come near your face.”

“Hey, that is not bread and butter, it is called Beard Butter and I got it especially for you from Amazon. I shall never let you starve and now I have decided to let you grow as you will,” I said.

A soft purring sound indicated that he was happy. I gave him a good rub with Beard Butter and slowly he went to sleep. It was afternoon and my eyelids drooped and I slowly dozed off.

AN EERIE SILENCE - SECRETS OF THE SOUL

AN EERIE SILENCE - SECRETS OF THE SOUL

An empty world, an eerie silence,

A disturbing stillness all around,

Envelops everything in its fold,

As if to say-

You have created enough chaos,

Now learn to be quiet and stay

where you are.

The only semblance of living,

Is listen to my breathing;

Thank God it is not stilled.

I lie cloistered inside the room,

Tick tock, tick tock,

The clock keeps its watch.

How long will this last,

Before the batteries run out?

The whirring of the ceiling fan,

Keeps me awake.

A simmering discontent is brewing,

Both within and without,

But there is no way I can let it out,

I hear a voice inside shout,

Let me out, let me out.

The sun beats down

In all its fury,

The leaves have stopped rustling.

Even the lone dog finds comfort,

Below the shade of a neem tree,

Its eyelids closed, perhaps dreaming,

Of days gone by,

When he could rummage through the dustbins,

Now they have gone dry;

And as fatigue overtakes,

He has no strength to howl,

Of impending disaster.

And he need not,

For it has arrived.

Sooner or later I am told,

The virus will release its stranglehold.

Till then you have to endure,

But for sure there will be a cure.

Better sooner than later, for who knows,

How long can we stand these blows?

Oh! God in heaven, save us all

Please listen to our clarion call.

I know for long that I did not heed,

But now I know it’s you I need,

Forgive our transgressions

Save us from this oppression.

Said a skeptic, what can God do,

If he’s indeed there,

Maybe the Virus got him too.

I looked at him and shook my head,

Don’t you have anything better to do?

An empty world and an eerie silence,

These can never last,

For once again we shall shout and dance,

All this will be in the past.

LIVING IN THE TIME OF CORONA

LIVING IN THE TIME OF CORONA

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way. –Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities,

These are difficult times. These are testing times. It’s surreal; I thought that this was the stuff that one reads in books and sees in movies; of future catastrophes and the race to save mankind from decimation.  A few decades ago I read Albert Camus’s novel ‘The Plague’, an allegorical novel, which tells the story of a plague sweeping the French Algerian city of Oran. It asks a number of questions relating to the nature of destiny and the human condition. A passage from the book reads -

“Everybody knows that pestilences have a way of recurring in the world; yet somehow we find it hard to believe in ones that crash down on our heads from a blue sky. There have been as many plagues as wars in history; yet always plagues and wars take people equally by surprise.”

I vividly remember the Surat Plague of 1994. I was doing a daily commute (or ‘up down’ as per the prevailing Gujarati local parlance) from Ahmedabad to Baroda and back, since I was posted in the Bank’s Zonal Office at Baroda and I continued to reside in Ahmedabad. I would catch the train at 7.30 am and return home at 9.00 pm. The daily grind was literally a grind, with the train packed with fellow commuters. But I would always manage to get a quarter of a seat, generously offered by some kind soul. I learned to sit, balancing on my buttocks and finish reading the day’s newspaper by the time the train reached Baroda. I did this for two years and came out unscathed, despite the heavy rains, floods and of course the plague. During the plague, every day after getting on to the train in the morning, I would silently recite a prayer (and I am sure my family back home must have done the same) and as a measure of added precaution, I would tie a handkerchief across my mouth and nose. I would scan my co-passengers watching out for symptoms of sickness, and heave a sigh of relief when back home in the night, but with an innate fear that I could have caught the infection.  

In Surat, the signs had been ominous much before, with the piling up of dead rats on the roads of the city. Having lived in Surat for five years from 1977 to 1982, I was not surprised. It was perhaps one of the dirtiest cities in the country at that time with open drains and poor garbage collection systems. Whenever the monsoon was heavy, the river Tapi would overflow its banks, flood the low-lying areas, and in the process send back all that had been thrown into it. As such the city was waiting for an epidemic to happen and it did. There was more misinformation than dissemination of the actual reality on the ground. The city panicked and thousands fled. The situation was such, that whenever any train approached Surat station, the passengers in the train would shutter down their windows and close the doors of the carriage, and at the height of the epidemic, the trains would just pass on without stopping. The city and its population had become outcasts. However, the plague was contained within a month, but the after-effects continued for some more time.

When I evaluate what Surat was then and what it is now (one of the cleanest cities in India) there are lessons to be learned while tackling the present pandemic of the Coronavirus COVID 19. The plague, of course, has been a mass killer right from the medieval times, but has been contained, Corona still isn’t. It’s reach and the speed at which it is spreading is much more alarming. History is replete with epidemics/pandemics and how they have finally resulted in a quantum jump for the better, in the way we conduct our lives, and increased awareness to gear up in case of further calamities in the offing. This is the age of information and with the tools available to us and ensuring that there is a responsible dissemination by the media concerned, it should be possible to avert the panic that could set in and help in finding a faster road to recovery. There is any amount of information available now as to how this can be done, but the success of any endeavor will depend on how we as a population strictly adhere to the curbs and regulations spelled out by the authorities, even at the cost of sacrificing our personal freedom, to ensure our family’s and the well-being of the community at large. As I write this the government has issued directives in this regard.

In Albert Camus’s ‘The Plague’, the struggle to overcome the plague that struck the city of Oran included sealing of the borders of the city, and a team of dedicated individuals attending to the afflicted. What is happening now in tackling the Coronavirus will be very similar.

However, the same fears I noticed during the plague of Surat, are now more pronounced.  As a sense of panic sets in, we lookout for infections (which of course we should) to take timely action, trying to co-relate our status with all the listed symptoms. We look at our neighbors with suspicion and necessarily avoid social interaction. Maintaining social distancing is a necessity until the epidemic is rooted out, but we can stay in touch and help each other without touching. Social distancing does not mean avoidance. 

We had in the past and we shall now, overcome.

I admit that the title of this post is inspired by the title of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s book ‘Love in the Time of Cholera’. That’s all. But you will agree that living is a necessity for loving. Once you learn to live, love follows.

I end with a quote from my book ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’ (yet to be published)–

‘It’s normal to feel ‘fear’. The fear of extinction is very strong. We are afraid that we may be wiped out before our search is over without finding an answer to this riddle called life. The instinct for survival is predominant in all of us and we are always in search of different ways and means to ensure we continue to survive.’

And survive, we shall.