The template of the morning

I witness it every day
this beautiful template of yours
of morning.

This spread-out canvas of sky,
you use so well.
With colours from the sun
the mountains, the sea and the flowers.
Wide, bold stokes of clouds
created by the brush of lush trees
which sway from one end to the other
as you use them.
And your favourite part of the sky,
the horizon!
How it changes its colour to match
the mountains, the sea and the flowers.

Your template has music too,
noise and rhythm,
of the birds chirping, singing
and taking to each other.
They have so much to say,
as they hop from one tree to the other
or sit on the branches and look intently
as if trying to follow the tune of their
other band members.
What do they sing O Lord!
Must be discussing matters of the day
sorting out issues, raising concerns,
shouting out friends, professing love
With their chirping, singing
and taking to each other.

The bright stars of the night
have come down to the earth
as fresh dewdrops
and lie scattered like lovely pearls
on the blades of grass
and on petals of flowers.
Finding them within its reach,
the soothing morning breeze
caresses the dew drops,
and plays with them
as they run down shyly
on the surface of the
blades of grass and
the petals of flowers.

I witness it all
in the silence of my mind and soul
and wonder.
How do you create every day so different,
so beautiful,
with the same elements,
the same template of the morning.
I guess you are trying to tell us
ever so subtly and silently
to make our days and lives
different and yet beautiful
with the same elements,
the same template of the morning.

A visit to Kohima war cemetery

Sabhi ka khoon hai shaamil yahan ki mitti mein,

Kisi ke baap ka ye Hindustaan thode hai !

Dr. Rahat Indori

These lines have found resonance with certain sections of our population in the light of some of the recent political developments, especially around identity - NRC, CAA, NPR and whatever one may choose to call it. Who is the "original" citizen and who "came from outside"?

The question is very simple with respect to international travel and a necessary document called Passport would give simple answers to that question and Immigration and VISA offices across the world will take note and either welcome, detain or deport. But, when this question is asked of people living in a particular landmass, say a village, town, city or state, there could be some complications.

The first being, "Why?". Okay, the government has the right to ask. So, let's move on. We will revisit this in a bit. Second, is of  "When?", of the timeline. The history of mankind is a history of movement. Of people moving physically, moving their cattle, possessions, language, food, clothes and ways of living with them. So, everyone came from somewhere or is going somewhere. In all likelihood, except the tribal population who have continued to live in and around the same place where their forefathers, the very first of them lived. Even, among them, the nomads and pastoral community move quite a bit and have a very different lifestyle. So, you or your parents or grandparents might be living in this place for a hundred years or two hundred, what about say 500 or 800 or 1500 years back, would you know? Where did that person come from? What language he spoke, what was his religion? His food habits? His culture? Also, if you are living here (could be any city, state) today, where would your children and grandchildren be? Can you bet they would not move to another city, state or country ? Oh, they would go formally, through proper channels! Immigrants all the same. Useful to remember another beautiful quote by a great statesman Franklin D. Roosevelt comes to mind in such troubling times. “Remember, remember always, that all of us, and you and I especially, are descended from immigrants and revolutionists.”

Well, I had a very interesting reflection on these topics on a bright, sunny, February morning at Kohima while I was taking a walk at the War Cemetery. Here, at the heart of this beautiful state capital of Nagaland, lies this beautiful and serene War Cemetery. The cemetery is at the location where a decisive battle was won by the Allied Forces during the Second World War, forcing the Japanese army to retreat. 

Reaching Kohima during April 1944, the Japanese 15th Army occupied a strategic location on Garrison Hill and continually attacked a small contingent of the Commonwealth forces, which successfully held their ground until reinforcements were brought in. In the battle at the tennis ground (now marked by white concrete lines) of the Deputy Commissioner's bungalow (which was destroyed during the war), which also involved hand-to-hand fighting between the opposing forces, the Commonwealth forces prevailed over the Japanese forces and forced them to retreat in defeat. There were heavy casualties on both sides. (but) This battle was the turning point for the Allied forces. (Source: Wikipedia)

While the road outside is busy, there is a calmness and serenity of air once you step in and start looking at the well-manicured grass lawns, the winding, stony pathways and the flower plants, mostly red roses. According to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission (CWGC), which maintains this cemetery among many others in the world, there are 1,420 Commonwealth burials of the Second World War at this cemetery, and a memorial to an additional 917 Hindu and Sikh soldiers who were cremated in accordance with their faith. The memorials are in the form of stone markers embedded with bronze plaques carrying the name of each Commonwealth soldier who died on the Kohima battlefield. 

It is when you start looking at the seemingly uniform epitaphs that you enter a different metaphysical world. You may start from anywhere and initially these may seem quite uniform, military-style and you may be capturing the names of regiment, persons and symbols along with the messages and words written on them. Some of them are deeply personal, touching and one is bound to be moved by the sincerity of them - often by a father, a wife, a sister, family member or friends. 

While the plaques are uniform in nature, the messages and their variety will create vivid pictures in your mind and keep you engaged. These memorials truly reflect the Commonwealth or the British Raj of those times. The soldiers who laid down their lives were from Britain, Scotland, India (all of India), Sri Lanka belonging to different faiths.

There was Gyan Bahdur Limbu, 7th Gurkha Rifles, age twenty-two. I repeat twenty-two. 

Corporal Fletcher, Manchester Regiment, age twenty-six. 

Captain Mitchel, of Rajput Regiment with a beautiful message "We have fought the good fight. Grant to us, eternal rest, O Lord!"

There was a Mr. Mathew, there was Muhammad Sakhi and many more.  

Some of the other messages were 

"When you go home tell them of us and say for your tomorrow we gave our today"

Yet, there were many that did not have names or their religion could not have been established. They were simply named 'A soldier of the 1939-45 War. Known to God'

So, this land, this country, belongs to all of them. They have lost their lives, fed this earth with their bones and blood. Their children, grandchildren, their neighbours, friends are all here. With or without papers or documents. A nation is not a paper or a few letters written down on a passport. It is  far more. It is an idea, shared ideal rather for which people are willing to travel thousands of miles to risk it all and lay down their lives. Fight shoulder to shoulder, as soldiers, as brothers, in life and in death, without any other thought than that of valour and victory. A nation is that what unites, binds us together.

badi takleef hoti hai

Wo log jo apne haq ke liye 

Sadak par utar aye hain..

Kya wo nahin samajhte 

Kitna time waste hota hai 

Hum busy logon ka 

Traffic jam pe phas kar

Economic productivity bhi affect hoti hai

Isi ke karan to slowdown ho raha hai 

Warna 'sab theek hai' 

'Achhe din bhi hain' 

Bas ye kuch gumrah log, students 

aur anti-nationals ka propaganda dekhkar 

Badi takleef hoti hai .

Badi takleef hoti hai sachhi..

Illegal immigrants jab desh ka GDP 

Kum kar dete hain na, kha jate hain. 

Wo nahin hote to humare bank accounts mein 

15 lakh or Indian National bonus mil jaata 

Wo humaare gharon mein kaam karte hain

Wo humari taxi aur gadiyan chalaate hain

Humari factories mein labour bante hai 

'Poha' khaate hain aur khilaate hain 

Par wo ghuspaithiye hain na! 

Tabhi badi takleef hoti hai. 

Inko bahar bhejna hoga 

Chahe jo bhi keemat ho 

Chukana hoga 

Ek hi ghar ke logon ko baantna ho

To bhi baantenge 

Khudko Indian saabit karne ko kagaz dikhaana ho

To dikhayenge 

Farzi banwane pade 

To banwayenge

Gharon se nikaal kar logon ko 

Detention centre mein rakhna pade 

To rakhenge. 

Rozi roti cheen kar unki 

Agar zillat ki zindagi bitaane pe majboor karna pade 

To karenge.

Kyunki badi takleef hoti hai. 

Aisa hume bola gaya hai! 

democracy and public institutions and process

That the levels of public discourse and language have stooped to hooliganism, outright abuse and unacceptable civic behaviour and manner is not so much of a shock. After all, many of them are simply put criminals or of criminal backgrounds (proven or otherwise) and more certainly of criminal mindsets. What is of a bigger concern is the absolute dysfunction, neutralizing and debasement of public and constitutional institutions. To make matters worse, some of them are often engaged in a bid to outdo each other in phsychopancy and becoming an instrument in the hands of the powers of the day - the government and even the ruling party.

"Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely" someone said long before and we have had many instances across different ages, times, geographies and nation states where we witnessed macabre forms of abuse of power. The sinister designs and demands of such fascist, totalitarian and authoritarian regimes are such. We need to simple look back a few years or look around to see evidence of how such designs were implemented. They will look to manipulate public opinion, control means and resources for few, decimate opposition of any kind whether in parliaments, streets or media (these days, social media as well) and yes all of it in your name (race, religion, country, whatever works wherever). "If you oppose us you are anti-national" "go to another country if this doesn't suit you" "annihilate the opposition and the ones that do not fall in line". You can see the pattern if you want to. 

However, it is to safeguard against such planned and wilful misuse of powers, that the constitution has set up mechanisms and institutions which act as guardians of the very fabric of democracy.

Institutions such as the Election Commission, the Judiciary, the CBI, the Police, the Information Commission and others. Some of them have been set up by governments by acts of legislation. 

I agree, institutions, process and systems have not been the best selling products of the India brand, but they have been there, and more often than not , their doggedness, sticky-ness, cumbersome-ness and the sheer number of them, have been written and discussed about in abundance. I for one, belong to a bunch called consultants who talk and even earn out of the poor state of governance, systems and processes. But, we have also had traditions and patches of excellence in all such institutions. 

Election Commission under TN Sheshan had teeth and used to bite when required; the judiciary had the righteousness and courage to call the election of a member of Parliament, none other than Prime Minister of the country - a certain Indira Gandhi illegal; the CBI has often successfully convicted and put the seemingly insurmountable and all-resourceful behind bars; the simple RTI query gave the common powerless man a right to ask a pertinent question and expect an answer from a high and mighty officer.

A strong and large democracy needs strong and well functioning institutions. Institutions that are independent, unbiased and can outlive a particular exceptional leader. Institutions that have values (yes they do), visions and missions that guide them; processes that are so well-defined that they do not lend to arbitrary misuse and yet allow flexibility and agility; where leadership and accountability is distributed; systems that are stable and yet respond and change with needs of time. Idealistic? Well, democracy is idealistic. 

Ideals are what we must strive for and hence they are enshrined upon the preamble of our constitution. No matter, where we are on the continuum, our trajectory is determined - excellence, ideals and fundamental principles. In a large, diverse and growing democracy there will be violations, excesses and mistakes but there must be processes and institutions to spot such deviations, call them out and have a recourse for correction. These actions must be definitive, time taken must be adequate and yet not delayed, the actors incorruptible and protected from influence. These institutions are hence the watch-dogs, the robin-hoods, the justice-makers, the equalisers and in some cases the healers. 

Unfortunately, this the government and the resourceful also know. Hence, the moment they get an opportunity they systematically try to reduce the institutions to  puppets in their hands and use them to rather their advantage. The CBI, the enforcement directorate, the election commission and police are prime and straightforward examples of that. This must be prevented and yes this must start by people who are at the helm of affairs at such institutions. As was famously determined at the Nuremberg trials (and I was enlightened by an article by Prof. Prabhat Patnaik recently), the plea of 'simply following orders' doesn't work. Every individual can and does operate from his/her own agency of willpower and judgement and that must be the cornerstone of that individual's actions. I will leave this article at that thought. 

the history of statistics - NPR, NCR and other registers

We all know counting was important and probably that contributed to the evolution and further work on mathematics but what necessitated the troubled, much-maligned, less-understood, selectively-fancied world of statistics? What brought words such as 'population', 'sample', 'mean', 'normal', 'probability', 'chance' and other more technical 'standard deviation', 'variance', 't-test', 'chi-square' etc. into popular and not so-popular (only the thick, be-spectacled nerdy professors and their students okay!) use.
Thanks to a wonderful book (I don't have statistics to prove it but I loved it!) called 'Statistics - A graphic guide' by Eileen Magnello (author) and Borin Van loon (illustrator), I spent my weekend on, I  had very interesting and unexpected answers to some of the questions above and some other's which capture the headlines of our newspapers. So, here we go.

"The word "statistics" is derived from Latin status further Italian statista - referring to a statista or statesman - someone concerned with matters of the state. Early statistics were quantitative systems for describing matters of state". So, you see, not just the PhD Scholar who has to submit her dissertation, her professor submitting a paper for a double, blind-peer reviewed journal of repute, the economists aspiring for a nobel prize or highly paid data scientists (we all know by now, what that means and how much that pays!), but everyone who is concerned with matters of the state is a statistic and could be interested in statistics. 

The philosophy behind statistics is actually determinism. "Determinism means that there is meaning and order in the universe." Thus there has to be somethings which confirms to a particular thought, size, shape and then there are things that do not or those that 'vary'.  The earliest application of this was in the field of evolutionary biology (Darwin et al) and the concept of species. So, there has to be an ideal type (usually the average or common) which typologists and taxonomists would classify as a particular special of say moths or insects and then any variation (depending on how much) would confirm as a different species. So, good old Darwin was the first to see evolution as a purely statistically process. This is important. Because, in later times, we the humans tend to define common features as build narratives around the same. We look like this so we are 'whites' or 'blacks' or 'brown' or 'yellow'; we all speak the French language so we are French; we all are 'Aryan' races; we are pure; and yes those who do not fit into 'us and our' definition are 'others'. Statisticians only call them as outliers or call them a different species. But how do we deal with the 'others'?

Now, it is natural that counting people or undertaking census was one of the oldest uses and application of statistics. People in Babylon, Egypt and China all collected statistical information about there people. But the purpose is important - to collect taxes and determine number of people/men who could be enlisted in military. The word Census is derived from Roman Censors - people whose duty was to count people. The censors maintained a register of Roman citizens and their property. Scandinavian countries did this is 17th century, US in 1790 for conducting election. Then there were Parish registers. The church has always played a pivotal role in birth and death of people. It was natural a register of the same be maintained and became a part of the duties of the clergy. Yet again, it is useful to note who were included and who were excluded. Those who belonged to the faith were included and those who were not of the same faith or did not practice it and (again importantly) "could not afford to pay the fee for ecclesiastical registration" were summarily excluded. It is almost obvious. The maintenance of any such register is bound to take effort, time and expenses. Who pays of it? Those who are included. Those who are not included due to reasons of being not a part of the average or mean definition (by faith, by birth, by occupation, by language or by nationaliy) did not pay or were not a part of such registers. It also means that conversely, by simply your ability of not being able to pay for maintenance of register (i.e. the very poor) you will not be a part of the register. It should not be too difficult to draw parallels to the current planned exercises in the country and see where is this all heading. Someone said emphatically, 'those who do not take lessons from history, are bound to face it again and again' or something like that.

Some mathematicians, scientists and statistics, wanted to find the total population of nations and world. Again the purpose was noble. They wanted to understand if it was increasing or decreasing or about the same. Malthus, the economist argued that the unchecked human population would always exceed the means of subsistence (food supply) and human improvement will depend on the limits of reproduction as opposed to means of trying to improve food supply. Darwin said the same in other words and implied that since means are limited only the fittest would survive. The fittest has come to mean different things - from being the mightiest, most powerful to most intelligent to most affluent. Thus the science of population or demography became the study of poverty. "The first census in UK, around 1851 included age, sex, occupation and birthplace and counted the blind and deaf". There was more details on death and diseases, and also pointed to appalling sanitary conditions in towns. Overcrowding of towns and impact on sewers or the lack of it and associated health risks are understandable. Thus statistics helped in undertaking some of the first planned sanitary reforms.

Florence Nightangle, the 'lady with the lamp' was another famous user of statistics. She was appalled at the state of record-keeping in military hospitals and war-time casualties. She put together some data around the Crimean Wars and others and presented in beautiful visualisations the number of deaths, overall mortality and reasons to show what all should know very well intuitively - that wars destroy lives. But, as with some of the modern statistics and data, measurement and visualisations may not lead to any action. Wars continued then as they do now. Another beautiful visualisation graph was that by Minard of Napoleon's troops and their ill-fated adventure to Russia in 1812. I have personally used that to teach/train on data visualisations to tell a story. Yet again, the purpose or the outcome was not just depiction of figures but the fact that the futility of wars, the impact on human lives was brilliantly portrayed to tell a story to those that cared to listen.

The modern comparisons of statistics to mini-skirts or bikinis are well known and they too point to the fact that what is the purpose that you are trying to achieve, what is the story you are trying to tell.

It is here that this massive exercise of NPR, NRC, CAA and the ilk fail me and many others. What is this trying to achieve? For who? Who said so? Who asked for it? Why? In whose name?
This exercise is not an announcement by new free or rental plan on Jio, it is not Amazon's sale week, it is not a erection of a statue, or change of a name of a road or city. This is massive, will involve more than a billion people, considerable amount of time, effort and money. Estimates put the expenditure anywhere around 60,000 Cr+; I do not want to comment to timelines and effectiveness - we all know what happened to Aadhaar and demonetisation. There are still people who believe both were great achievements but I am equally entitled to my views that both were bogus, unnecessary, ill-planned and ill-implemented things which did not achieve anything for the common man. There were electoral gains made in UP due to demonetisation and surely some people benefited, not the economy, not the country at large for sure. NPR, NRC and other names that will come up, will be garangutan state exercises which apart from the time, expenses and resources will divert attention of the government, private sector, NGOs and other statistics from things far more important and urgent.

Should the government, policy makers, private sector players, innovators, media people, activists be rather not working on poverty, education, health, social welfare and jobs? Or we also believe like some of our leaders, victrolas and media that 'all is well' and 'achhe din' are here and all these are imaginary problems that only the opposition parties, classes, liberals, nobel laureates, urban naxals, students and biased media can see. Inflation doesn't exist, if we don't eat onions. If we don't publish the right data and hush the messengers, then there is no job crisis (the worst in decades). Farmers do not commit suicides, some or the other party (depending who is in power) is making an issue of it for poll gains. No one killed people on mere suspicion of eating beef - they died because they did not drink cow urine. Gauri Lankesh and Kaluburgi were not killed by anyone, especially not by bigoted, extremists. The attacks on students at campuses and protestors on streets across the country was done by the Pakistan army or ISI, the Indian/Delhi police were merely protecting the law and order. Our education system is in excellent condition because my and your children are speaking English better than english kids (in British accent learnt via youtube), can count Peppa Pigs and are even taking German and French classes. Who goes and cares about children going to government schools. Our health system is world class today - there are cafe's and play areas that would resemble a mall. We don't know what the government hospitals and health centres are upto. Who cares.

There are real problems. There are dire situations that a large number of our fellows brothers and sisters face. The statistas - I repeat those who care about matters of the state, need to know how many and who.
We need statistics for that. There is census. There are records of child birth, at anganwadis, at our schools, at our colleges. We need to know how many are stunted? How many are malnourished?
We need to know how many of our children are dropping out of schools? How many are not learning? How many mothers die at childbirth? How many infants do not make it to age 5? How many are affected by curable diseases?
How many of our graduating students do not have skills to get them jobs? How many people of working age are not working? What are they doing? What do they need to do to get jobs?

More importantly, all of us need to do something about one or few of these questions, challenges and real issues. Only then will things improve. Data, science, mathematics and statistics has mostly been about that. Knowing and knowing with a purpose and then acting upon it. The purpose can only be development and well-being of all.

"Sarve bhavantu sukhinah...sarve santo niramaya". I repeat "Sarve". All.  

On my citizenship

Har ek baat pe kehte ho, ki tu kya hai? Tumhi kaho ye andaaz-e-guftagu kya hai !

The sense of belongingness doesn't come easily. Ask that to the millions of people who are homeless, seeking refugee in foreign lands, forced to leave their homes due to prolonged conflicts and living in makeshift-camps/places. It is a matter of who we are, where do we come from, what do we believe in and who we consider as our brothers and sisters. No one likes being questioned about these things. 

Belonging to a country, being a citizen, is not just a matter of having a passport, a birth certificate, a voter ID, a particular number (Aadhar or social security), a PAN card or any set of documents. It is a matter of belonging to a collective identity, a culture, a set of beliefs, a world-view and a sense of togetherness developed, formed and articulated over many centuries and for a country like India over a thousands of years. It is not only difficult and dangerous but almost impossible to define this identity in any one particular way simply because of millions of influences and practices that shape this over such a long span of time. For a diverse and plural society that is India, it can not be language, region, appearance, colour, occupation or religion. Pluralism was not just something that we humans (Indians in this case) created and fostered over hundreds of years, it was in the air, land, climate and geography of the region. There are sands of Rajasthan for every chinar leaf of Kashmir, there are rains of Meghalaya for the snowfall of Himachal and Uttarakhand, there are flood plains of Ganges and there are the dry white sands of Kutch, there are backwaters of Kerala and the lofty Himalayan mountains of Ladakh, there are forests of Chhattisgarh and Jharkhand and there are ancient-modern town-cities such as Kashi, Delhi and others. 

It was imperative that this plurality is protected, this diversity be encouraged and this spirit be understood. Hence, the founding fathers of the modern nation-state of republic of India tried to do just that by articulating the same unmistakably in the document was to govern the way we carried out our lives as countrymen - the Constitution of India. Again, as if to protect it against misuse, dilution and change (subtle and stark both) in the years that were to come, they made these principles, values integral to the very basic nature of the Constitution and as a part of the preamble. This constitution is then studied by children in schools, practiced by executive and legislative arms of the union and protected by the judiciary.

Any question or attack on the Constitution is then not just a questioning of a document, it is an attack on the very idea of this country, on each and every citizen and vice-versa. Let us try to put it the other way - any questioning of the ordinary Indian, or citizen especially about his/her existence, about his/her definition of country, is an attack on these very basic principles and values and a direct attack on the Constitution.

This is fundamentally problematic and hence, despite the claims of technical complexities, chronological anomalies, misleading narratives, this is very easily understood by most Indians and summarily rejected by a large number of them. The outbursts, the protests, the anger on streets or otherwise is a testament to that. To term this a misled, leaderless, opposition-conspired, liberal and intellectual futile expression is missing the point completely or simply being an ostrich.

My idea of this country is mine, it is not based on my religion, it is not based on the language I speak, it is not based on how I look, the colour of my skin or what I do. I am not obliged to tell it to any one if I do not choose to or shout at rooftops if I so feel like it as long as I do not I do it peacefully without breaking the law and order. I am not obliged to answer any of such questions. That answer was given for all of us, all of us Indians who could express and who could not express themselves, the majority and the minority, the rich and the poor - in the Constitution. That answer was that, "we the People of India.... will secure for all citizens (no qualifiers here!) 

JUSTICE, social, economic and political;

LIBERTY of thought, expression, belief, faith and worship;
EQUALITY of status and of opportunity;

And, in the years following the independence and adoption of the Constitution, the debate and discussion, the disagreements and agreements were on the modalities of achieving these ideals. The 'hows'. Whether, socialism was the way or capitalism and market, whether a vibrant and independent media was the better option or a one that was controlled by the state, whether empowered institutions such as the Election Commission, CBI, Lokpal others were important for functioning of state, in simpler terms left, right or centre? But, rarely has there been a question on 'who' and trying to assert that Justice, Liberty and Equality will be for some and not be for some basis a set of documents. This is not acceptable.

Firstly, I have a say. The constitution was adopted and enacted by me or my father or my grandfather or grandmother on my behalf along with millions together when we became a republic. I also decided that there are certain provisions and principles that won't be changed or played with in future simply because people in executive and legislation think so.

Second, the idea of my citizenship and my link to this country can't be questioned. More so on the basis of my belief, my faith, my thoughts and my expression. I would not profess to any one or two or three sets of ideas or beliefs or any and I can't be forced. I am free and this right is guaranteed to me by me or my forefathers.

Thirdly, whether I have a set of documents or not, whether I have the capacity to even understand these documents or not, whether I have used these documents to vote, elect governments, pay taxes, travel abroad or not, I am an Indian and I do not need to prove that.

Finally, what's the need? What are we trying to do here? Why? Even if it assures me (no idea how?) of more economic prosperity, more social acceptability or political voice, I reject it as nothing can come at the cost of my existence. Stop asking me and attacking me for who I am. I reject this language, tone and this manner of conversation.

Lightining in the abode of the clouds - Meghalaya

At the moment when Sanjeev’s head hit the hard concrete ground and blood oozed out of his head and mouth, he caught a glimpse of the St. Edmund’s School at the centre of the hill town. His son was a student of Class XI of the same school, having secured his position by his brilliant performance in Class X. Sanjeev was very proud of the fact that his son has got admission into the higher secondary classes of this prestigious school. ‘The No. 1 school in Shillong and North-East’ he claimed with enthusiasm. For several years, he was the driver of the Principal’s car before he decided to set up his own business of taxi services.  But he was quick to point out, ‘no recommendation works here in this school, its only merit’.

His grandfather who moved to this state as a worker – later become a contractor – had built parts of building of this school among many other buildings of the city. They were a group of migrant workers with exceptional skills of construction, had less demands, finished work on time and were ready to work for cheaper rates. That worked very well for the aspiring entrepreneurs and businessmen who along with the continuous growth of the city and increasing missionary activities ensured that there was always something new to be built in Shillong and the workers were never out of work. When his grandfather died, it was hard to make out if a Hindu or Christian had passed away. There were so many representatives from the all communities whose houses he had built or repaired in his time as a contractor.

Sanjeev’s father was born in Meghalaya. He went on to become a technician and worked in the government department of telecom. Some of the first telephone lines for the population of the town were set up by him. He was very proud of this fact and always looked the ‘mobile phenomena’ with suspicion.

Sanjeev spoke the local language and some dialects as good as any local youth would do and knew every custom, tradition and festival well. He never felt any difference between him and his friends – except for some delicacies which were exchanged happily between families.

Things were not the same at all the times though.

Some political elements have been fuelling the whole ‘son of the soil’ fire and demanding that the outsiders go back. Some of it has been triggered by the recent speed of development and prosperity, a larger share of which had gone to the outsiders.

Attacks on malls, shops and business entities owned by ‘outsiders’ has been going on for a while. But, Sanjeev never understood why there would be anger against petty entrepreneurs and workers like him. They were all poor like the locals.

This winter, skirmish continued on the streets – and one day Sanjeev too was caught in this when the rubble-rousers attached the taxi stand and attacked Bihari drivers. The helpless drivers were beaten black and blue and were not even able to communicate with the locals that they would go away to never return. Sanjeev who spoke the local language fluently, intervened and argued with the locals. They were even willing to let him go, but he tried to protect and argue for all outsiders. That is when they decided to attack him as well.

He was angry and upset and wanted to curse the local people but a thought crystallised his mind that he belonged more to this place than these boys who would flee to the big metros of Delhi and Mumbai at the first opportunity presented. He knew this was not what most of the people of Shillong stood for or wanted. He decided to fight back and all of a sudden took out a can of petrol and rushed towards the school and church.

He kept shouting loudly and wildly ‘Look here! These churches, schools are also created by outsiders – burn them, break them. Let's burn the hospitals also’

The mob was distracted from whatever they were doing not just by the loud cries of Sanjeev but the heat and light of the first few things set to fire by Sanjeev. They rushed to control him and within a few minutes he was under control, the can taken away from him and he pinned down to the ground. The other boys were quick to drowse the fire. Someone had called police and most of the mob fled the scene. The police rounded up the few who were there including Sanjeev.

'Who started the fire?' the police asked.

'We don't know. It must be the mob'

'There is no mob'

'Then there is no fire'

The police and the young men exchanged glances. The police knew they would not get anything and no one would turn anyone in. They never did in this town - outsiders or not.

The men looked at each other after the police went away and hugged Sanjeev tightly. Sajeev was happy that this lighting had gone away without much damage.  

The gone farmer!

No, he did not fall there by chance. 

A farmer knows his fields better than 

The back of his hands. 

Every piece of soil, every blade of grass

Touched, caressed and felt. 

Every crack, hole, stone examined 

By the mature, dry eyes. 

Every corner, trod upon, 

By worn and often tired feet. 

He could not have killed himself

Not like this, in his own field 

Inside a hole, barely large to hold him

He would have been suffocated,

He disliked closed spaces, you see 

Used to sleeping and chatting in the open 

Under the roof of sky. 

He could have been killed though

And dumped there 

In this hole

There is no blood visible  

But the colour is hard to miss 

There are no visible marks 

But the grip of hands one can feel, 

Who? you ask? 

All. 

He might have been working,  

Digging a hole,

In hope of water, 

Or god knows what 

Spurned by all. 

But who else did he have 

Where else could he go,

He might have simply perished 

Exhausted and thirsty. 

In the heat 

That has claimed 

Even the last drop of water. 

Rain in Greece

Four Drops of Rain - Dimitri 

based on our visit to Greece

--

Dimitri had just parked his bike in the stand of Monasteraki overlooking the majestic Acropolis and was picking up his daily dose of black coffee from the cafe en route to his souvenir shops in the busy flea street of Athens. The sky was dark, grey and ominous but the Parthenon’s yellow-sepia colour contrasted with the colour of the sky rather well and it looked like a jewel in bosom of goddess Athena (patron goddess of Athens) herself. Dimitri felt sombre, silent and spiritual to the extent that he almost knelt down to say a prayer. He was not much of a believer, but he was not much of a disbeliever as well.  

The first drop fell on the plastic covering of his cup making a sound akin to the first touch of the drum stick on the leather. More drops came down from the clouds making a variety of sounds - from the [ XXX roof extensions of cafe’s ], from the leaves and branches of trees, from the black road and pavements, from the hurriedly opened umbrellas of tourists. Somehow the tourists seemed to be better prepared for the weather changes!  The different noises combined to form an orchestra of percussion instruments, very similar to the one played out in the open space in front of the old roman church by a motley group of hippies and enthusiasts who gather every evening with their instruments and try to play in unison. They would start instrument by instrument, player by player and slowly pick up the pace rising to a crescendo and then start all over again with a different beat. But the rhythm of the rain drops was going one way and after a while it became so thick and fast that it was difficult to see one side of the road from the other. Dimitri was standing by a local souvlaki and had exchanged smiles with a rich businessman and his fourth wife who had finished at least two packets of cigarettes between them while waiting for their order to come in. This man was a friend of his father and was known for his meticulousness and propriety in matters of business and public life. He has had three marriages and three divorces, all of them ugly and messy. The last one had registered a complaint of physical violence and rape against him and almost cost him half of his estates in some of the picturesque Greek islands. Dimitri had often wondered how such a successful and sincere man in public life could not manage not one but three marriages, all of which were of his choice.  

Dimitri looked at his ring and was reminded of his wife, Angela, whom he had met at a shop in Santorini. She was a poor salesgirl who lived in one of the villages near the Kamari beach and was very shy, unlike the other gregarious sales girls in the commercial Fira town of Santorini. Dimitri married her within a year and they moved to Athens where Dimitri’s father had a thriving but small business of antique bronze work. Dimitri had expanded that business to three shops and a full range of souvenirs and traditional greek products. He sold cheap and relied on volumes and large number of customer-friends to make living for his family and of several of his sales people. He actually liked to meet new people and strike a conversation with them. His employees also loved him for his good-natured mischievous ways. He was always kind to them. In many ways he was quite successful.   

Dimitri’s father had a good Arab customer-friend who visited Athen’s many times and would come over to the shops and sometimes picked up some things for his wife and family, but he came more to meet Dimitri as he remained him of his deceased friend. He once told Dimitri, without his asking 

‘ you know, Allah gave us two eyes, not one..to create balance’

‘ what kind of balance’ asked Dimitri 

‘ balance in life, in marriage’  the old man continued ‘ you know when things good, are in balance, you see all your wife’s good qualities with one eye and all your bad qualities in the other eye’ 

‘ hmmm…’ Dimitri was struck by the simple statement 

‘ and when things are not in balance, you see, you always see evil qualities of your wife in one eye and all your good qualities in the other eye’ the old man said this in a manner one would say to a friend and not preach to a younger generation. Then he added

‘ you are lucky, have to keep the balance for one wife. i have to do the same for three!’ and gave out a hearty laugh which Dimitri joined in. 

He was reminded of the old Arab gentleman today, then his thoughts ran to his father and then to his wife. They had a difficult morning, the kids made it so. They did not want to go to school with a possible rainy day lurking ahead. Angela wanted some help from Dimitri in getting them ready, Dimitri was not in a mood to be hurried in the morning. He hated being hurried in the mornings, Angela always had a lot to do and a lot to say. Dimitri realised it even when he was raising his voice over and over again before the kids that he was not sensitive and was overreacting. He thought of taking flowers and some baklavas back home for her. He started to walk to his shop.

He was fully drenched but noticed the smiles of his staff, his employees. He was greeted with broader and more meaningful smiles today and as he was asking them the reason for the same, he saw a thin frame behind a wet curtain hung for sale. It was his wife. 

‘ I came to give you a surprise and buy a few things for home’ she said with a tourists accent. 

‘ Yes madam, what can we give you today. the weather is terrible today, it had never rained like this in Athens in four or five years. If you like something we make very good price for you, we sell cheap, you know, we want to give this things away, they should be in your house, not my shop. If you like just tell us, else, you can just sit here and have have coffee with me, no problem’ Dimitri replied in his usual style while talking to his customer-friends. 

She was laughing and Dimitri looked at her wet hair and face and was reminded once again of the old man and his talisman. 

Ek aisa rishta

Is rishte ka rishta hona 

Bas tere masoom aitbaar 

Aur bina shikvon ke  

Intezaar ke badaulaat hai. 

Hum to bezaar the,

Kabhi berukhi to

Kabhi bewafai ki.

Jab mila to saut ki 

Zulfon ki itr ki khosboo 

Apne jism mein bhar kar mila. 

Aur Jab bichhda to 

Zald lautne ka jhootha

Waada bhi nahin kiya.

Purane shehar ki,

Ghumavdaar galiyon si

Tumhari baahon se  

Baar baar guzra.

Tumhari saason ko 

Hukke ke dhuyen ke saath,

Apne seene mein sameta,

Aur tumhari aansuon ka bhar

Kar jaam, ghoont ghoont gale 

Se utaara. 

Pardon ki tarah,

Tumhara ghoonghat uthaya to

Kucch jhurriyon ko aur gehra paya.

Labon ko sukha,

Aur hatheliyon ko sakht. 

Tumhara libaas utaara,

To waqt ke beraham 

Haathon ke nishaan paye.

Kucch nishaan mere bhi the,

Jinhe tumne sambhale the ab tak. 

Har baar lekin tumhari 

Aankhon me chamak,

Aur pyaar wohi tha. 

Milne par wo apnapan, 

Aur khushi ka izhaar bhi wahi. 

Jo majboor karta hai,

Ke baar baar laut ta hun,

Is shehar main. 

Par main ye jaanta Hun

Ke is rishte ka rishta hona 

Bas tere masoom aitbaar 

Aur bina shikvon ke  

Intezaar ke badaulaat hai. 

On my third visit to Udaipur. 

Sweat

Mohan had been working all day and night for the launch of the new product from his new company. This was his first major assignment and he wanted everything to be as close as to perfect. He would think back on every argument in the meeting room in the days leading to the launch and irrespective of the fact that he may have fiercely opposed the argument from his detractors, if there was any merit in them, he would include them into his plan. He had two stations - meeting room at office and his study at home. He had put on weight, which he was aware of and some arrogance, which he was not. The launch was more or less on expected lines. Even the encomiums showered were expected and so were the cautious prophesies of sooth sayers. Mohan was usually level headed but the calmness this time around surprised even him. There was a lightness of course. He looked forward to the break to which he kept on adding 'much-needed' without really meaning it. The break was also coming to an end without any break for Mohan from the strange sense of being an emotionless witness to events of his own life. On the last day, he ventured out early morning for a walk. The sun was quite bright even at that hour of the day and Mohan had no particular route in mind, the city was new. He did not mind though, he was feeling better. He saw a bunch of school kids chasing one another perilously close to the road, an old man cycling and muttering something to himself, an old lady grabbing the arm and looking with gratitude to another young lady, three middle age women in purple, pink and aqua with i-pods tucked into their ears walking towards a park, a school bus honking and speeding past the tender-coconut hawker, a young boy catching the news paper which bounced off the 2nd floor balcony on his first throw, a road-side tea seller haggling with the milk vendor over change money and a group of old men with sticks in hands coming out of a park after their morning routine of exercise. Mohan jogged back home and was exhausted by the time he reached. He showered and then sat down to read newspaper with a cup of coffee. He was sweating when he entered the shower and the stint at kitchen did not help. He was wiping the sweat of his forehead with the news paper till he finished his coffee. He changed his position a few times over to come closer to the fan in the drawing room. He switched on the TV, flipped through channels, pages of newspaper, scrolled down the contact list of his phone and switched off the TV. He called up his friend who was settled in another country now and an uncle who was moving in to the town. He opened his laptop and after a while shut it down without figuring it out why he opened it in the first place. He arranged and then rearranged his book shelf and picked up a book. It was well past noon when he had his lunch and the heat was rising. He kept wiping his brow with a towel and washing his face but the sweat returned. He read another book and talked to his family. He checked his e-mails and replied to few of them. He got up around evening from his unkempt bed and poured himself a glass of wine. He was still sweating and the towel and his shirt were wet. He did not switch on the AC or go to his study. It was his purging. He felt alive, as if life was trickling through his pores after his interaction and acknowledgement of the world outside this morning and a different routine at home. He felt many emotions which may not have a simple name or classification. He felt deja vu but could not figure out for what. He felt sad but did not understand why. He stood at his balcony for a long time watching the sky which was looking like a movie screen just before the light is beamed into it from projector room. It started to rain slowly and a cool breeze was touching his face. He did not know how long he stood there or if the droplets on his back were sweat or rain.

The river as big as the sea

It is hard to say
What has become what.
And who is flowing into whom.
The mighty river
Has become as big as the sea.

The calmness of the sea
Is there in the river now.
Like a glowing sheet of silver
It lays along the green banks of villages,
Brown roads of the city
And black rocks of the hills.

The sea it seems has become restless
As the river.
Years of mingling,
Of listening to the grief and joys
Brought along from the hills and
The plateaus and plains 
Have finally affected the unmoved
And usually restrained sea.

The sky has seen it all
And is expressing its anger
Through the redness spread all over
Its face, and the river and the sea.
The flow has reversed,
The giver has become the receiver
The holy has become ominous.

This year the floods have been really bad.

Flies

Manu picked up his phone in the middle of an afternoon meeting at work and was surprised to see several unanswered calls from Radha. They had just moved to a new house, he was worried. He stepped out and called back to find an extremely agitated but helpless Radha. She had spotted a swarm of flies around the kitchen who did not relent even after she had tried a few good measures suggested by her mother over phone. Manu did what he could over a phone and got back to the meeting.

Radha had no comfort from time or the flies till Manu returned just before dusk. Whether Radha was sulking more because of the flies or because of Manu’s indifference to them was hard to tell. Manu started off where he left at office and was lost in his laptop and work after a cup of evening tea. Then a joyous cry from Radha forced him to get up to the kitchen where Radha was very happy to see one or two of the last flies who were hovering there.

‘Flies can’t see in the night’ said Manu, trying to sound wise and comforting Radha.

‘Really?’ Radha was happy to see the flies disappear regardless of the weird logic of Manu.

The rest of the evening and dinner was rather uneventful and both were quite happy about the serenity of their new neighbourhood and their own judgement. Manu did not realise when he slept off while watching the TV. Radha was asleep in another room. He was awakened by a noisy din of something which he was not sure was a part of his dream or present at their new house. He woke up to find a swarm of flies fluttering intently over him.

Disgusted, he went to the bathroom, waving vigorously with a cushion at the flies who seem to have scattered again. He almost gave out a cry when he opened the bathroom door. Another bunch of flies were almost waiting to pounce upon him. He somehow managed to get past them and get back to their bedroom where Radha was fast asleep. He slowly got on to the bed and assured that there were no visible things around the room, closed his eyes and tried to get back to sleep. He could not.  

He lifted one of his eyelids slowly to see if they had come back from somewhere. Nothing. Then, he started to think – flies are generally attracted to dirty things or exposed food items with strong odour, but the military vigilance of Radha ensured there was nothing matching that description that ever lay unattended, especially after moving into this new house.

Then an image of a dark old man with tattered clothes sitting outside the general ward of a big city hospital with an exposed pink wound, waiting for nurses to attend to him, came to his mind. He could remember that there were several flies hovering around his wound and this man was waving with his trembling hands at them switching between the two arms with great difficultly as one arm was resting on the ground supporting his body. Manu could not still be sure if he was racking his memory or this was another of the real life-like dreams we have.

When he opened his eyes again to check, there were flies, large in number but silent and they were almost suspended in the air. As if they were already sitting on some wound. Whose wounds? And if there were any wounds either of them were carrying, how did the flies know about them? These wounds are certainly not visible.