What's in a Name?

I have been recently receiving lots of gifts from friends, students - and it is overwhelming and embarrassing! I am not used to accepting gifts now and especially when I don't feel to have done any thing for any one...
the first one above is a thank you card from Nandita Rebello, who expressed her thanks for our discussions on her thesis.

The second one is by Areeba, my student who visited Istanbul during this summer vacation...Probably this could have been the best essence of the place she could have got back for anyone! I can still feel the artist curving his fingers carefully to shape my name - the script reminds me very strongly of Urdu, yet it's english.

In both the above, I kept looking at the lines for some time, only to realize later that they were my names!! I never thought someone could engage with a name so passionately...
But these are probably things which I shall cherish for a life time...

Thank you all!

Symbology / The Cosmic Sexuality

Mazgaon

I keep thinking if i could gaze at a city like this forever. From this viewpoint, or probably higher, it would almost seem that buildings are shooting up like wild grass...

However, they look seductive - the picture perfect city...and when you move into these lanes, you feel they are almost going to fall over you - it hurts your neck to turn obtuse to look at tall towers...but from here it was comfortable. Skylines like that of Mumbai are a pleasure. For most, they become logos that mean different things: the architect will put it in the visiting card (as something that he/she shapes), the economist will use it in maps of the economy, the real estate in planning their next tall tower, children in their memory drawing of the city - only a distanced view is seductive. Lines that only go up and come down...is the city as easy as that?

Mumbai Central

Things I don't understand!

Corruption in India?

I stepped down the staircase of the railway station only to be stopped by the ticket examiner. I confidently took out my wallet, pulled out my pass. He indicated, it's the old one. I started re-searching my wallet for the new one (I have this old habit of keeping old passes for some time, but this time I was quite sure I didn't keep them to confuse myself at a later date). And after finding no trace of a new pass, I reverted to the TTE to ask for the date.

It was 22-6-2011. The present was already 25-6-11.

I realized that I had mis-read the date 22 as 29; only due to a printing error (see picture).

Without arguing with the TTE, I offered him to pay the fine. I didnot want to make a scene out of myself  and neither did I want the TTE to boss over me. He took me along and I wondered why. The fact was that he didnot want to give me a receipt.

On the way to the TTE room, he asked me, where are you coming from? I answered, Goregaon. Will you go back? I answered - what have you got to do with it anyway? He thought I would argue with him to reduce the fine, which ultimately would go in his pocket. I remained terse. I refused to answer to his questions because I didnot want to waste time and I was already willing to pay the fine.

"Will you do this mistake again?" he asked. I told him, "Look: I have been travelling by the train since the last 10 years of my life and this is one of those occasions where I forgot to check the date of renewal of my ticket!" He remained quiet. They hushed each other - "Let's help him...(demanding from me) give us 160 rupees." I said, fine, give me a receipt. They said, ok, how much money do you have? 

I said, "I am ready to pay the fine, give me the receipt..."

Finally feeling guilt, he pulled out the receipt booklet and tore a bill of 260 Rs. for me.

I paid Rs. 500/- and collected the receipt to move. Only as I moved out, I realized that I hadn't collected the change back. I went back and demanded the remaining money. He pulled out plenty of Rs. 500/- ; Rs. 100/- notes and gave me my change back.

I wondered how much they would be earning per day. Apart from exercising my morals here, I think it showed the state of affairs of the country. On one hand we have the likes of Anna Hazare going on fasts for eradicating corruption and on the other are these shameless bunch of idiots absolutely non-interrupted or aroused by the movement. 

I just felt later, "How else do you support Anna Hazare?"

Of those hundreds of young people who go and shout or join hands and make rallies, would they stop bribing the traffic police on their faults, or for ticket-less traveling or  to save an inch of their pocket money? Would they stop succumbing to such situations where the system offers you to let go? And we as a civil society suck up to corruption all the time...Youngsters have no option but to save up! It's the guilt at home that they want to avoid. Moreso, it's our parental pressure that we want to avoid! Break a rule and you will be disallowed from an activity. Pass a red signal and you will be disallowed to use the bike....

Fear.
This is how we avoid or cover it up! 

I wonder, how it didnot pinch me to pay Rs. 260/-. Probably I was capable of paying the fine, I wasn't answerable to my parents (because I am financially independent now), and above all, there is a general mood of anti-corruption drive and I thought I had done nothing for it.

At the end, 3 lessons to learn:

1. Read the ticket date properly.

2. You can choose the way others would/should behave.

3. You can support civil-drives by engaging actively in them rather than going for stand up performances (candle lights, processions, rallies, etc.). It begins in the gut. [And here, am I just counter-arguing the "mood of the drive" point that I made earlier? I guess no. ]

The mood is not an outward influence for me. One has to practise it from inside to be able to realize it. Then one has to live by it, however costly it may be. I think that's how you 'pay the price' for your ideals and morals...

I am happy to have made the TTE feel guilty! Although just for 5 seconds! If I could have read his mind, I would have loved to know if he could sleep that day...

(the questions are: we will change...but will they? would this money be still used for better purposes, in this case, the upkeep of the bloody printer which mis printed / ill-printed the date, which could have saved my money and avoided confusion? what happens to the system which is itself plagued, people are ready to change, but the system itself wants the people to be corrupt....where in this society are we talking about development? where no one is content, everyone is hungry for money, even that which is completely not theirs...maybe I am getting to moralistic here. But the point remains, we are in a system and we decide how it works.)


(now is it a good example of dagagiri?)

On the move

Objects & Newness

What is it about newness that we don't disturb it? Why do we like to preserve newness of things? Of the many things (objects), stationery is something that people wish to keep fresh and new forever. We like to keep our diaries fresh, we like to keep our new pens fresh. We preserve it from overuse. I have so many paper products which I have never used only to keep them fresh. I keep waiting for all other options to fail to begin the use of a new fountain pen...We always wish if pencils were always long, or we always wish the pencil colours always remained brand new. Is it because all such things have very short life? Do we want things with short life to live long? Such things sensitize our delicate relationship with things, objects.

But the beauty of these things appears, comes out only once they are used! I have stopped keeping myself attached to the newness of new things. Now a days I don’t wait for too long to put a new thing to use. I have realised that I waste a lot of things to time only because I want to eternalize them. Sketch pens dry out, pencil colours fade away, pencils sog, erasers melt, papers turn yellow... But invariably, either I outdate them or they die! What is the use of a dead object? (a dead object would mean an object which has surpassed its utilitarian life). A dead object only preserves visual beauty. But the visual beauty of any object is perhaps in its entirety. We love to look at crisp sharpened long pencils. 

The use of an object can be a beautiful...the writing that you produce with a pencil or pen can be beautiful. The drawing that you sketch with a sketch pen can be beautiful. The paper on which you paint can be beautiful. But still, so many times, we misattribute this value of beauty to the existence of the object than what it does / produces. Is it our love for objects? Fetish? In a world of too individualist or isolated people, we probably develop close relationships with objects, such that sometimes we start loving them and wanting to preserve them forever...

Objects store memories, objects have stories, objects connect you to people and they also engage you with themselves sensorially. In these ways, objects live lives and give meaning to our existence. Objects take on adjectives that we use for our living counterparts. Thus the world of objects is as vast as the world of people. I have only spoken of utilitarian objects yet, and the idea of utility itself is to be exploded...and meanwhile I think I wouldnt get into that!

After all, objects are not butterflies. You could preserve dead butterflies, which look visually appealing an can be kept – and that is only because we donot use butterflies. (ironically, living things become objects once they die)! 

Moving Figures

The Shoe Shiner

Climbing down the station steps, I decided to board the next train, skipping the one which had already arrived….

          

The platform seat being occupied by only one person, I did not miss the opportunity of having a seat till the next train arrived. The seat was cold…made out of some mortar containing marble chips. Just next to the seat, where I was sitting on the edge, stood the steel stanchions holding the roof of the station. The two c-shaped sections facing each other inwardly hid the rainwater down-take pipe.

Suddenly, I heard some clanging and banging from the seat underneath. But soon I realized that it was only the polish walah, who was trying to remove his wooden box which was chained to a hole in the leg of the seat. The chain passed through the hole and then the gap between the two c-sections, which made a lot of noise while he opened it. Carrying the box through the handle on its top face, he circumambulated the stanchion, kept it in the front keeping enough space between the column and the box, for him to sit. Here, he took his final position.

The box was quite fascinating…its edges had smoothened out due to everyday in and out! Completely dark and almost black, it had accumulated a lot of dust from the station floor, from passers-by, from the railway tracks and all the sources one can think of. The size of the box was small. It was easy to carry, maintain and move. Added to the chained security, the box too had a separate lock…a small lock which the owner promptly opened.

The box was completely hollow, and stuffed with some of his belongings - which he took out one by one… a plastic-bag was one of the first things he removed. Then he removed his shirt and redressed himself with the shirt in the plastic bag. Then suddenly, he opened a drawer inside the box! This drawer was barely an inch deep made in the same material as that of the box. It had a partition, dividing it into two halves. One contained a comb and a circular mirror and nothing else and other had some money. He promptly took up the comb and holding the mirror in the other hand, he made-up himself. Then, adjusting himself properly in the position, as he had to sit there for the whole day, he started putting back the things, which were not needed, into the box. And the things he needed were taken out one by one again…

The polish walah had a worn out brush… the profile of the bristles of the brush had almost changed from a straight edge into into a parabola… the swing of the brush, which rubbed the face of the shoe. He quickly examined the brush and removed the dried polish of the earlier day, from its bristles. As he took out his small circular polish box, one could see hundreds of tiny pores in it, finer than the bristles of the brush.

Other than these two things, he also had a roll of cloth - much like a doctor’s bandage, although synthetic. Usually polish walahs use it to bring out the luster of the polish on the shoe. The polish walah unrolled it, examined it and then rolled it again.

The box of the polish walah was quite an architectural piece. Minimum in detail, it still had a complexity. The handle on the top of the box was not merely used as a handle, but the real purpose was to rest the foot with the shoe to be polished. The height was maintained such that the shoe would just be in level and aligned with the chest. This allowed an easy movement of the hand and also proper view for the eye. Not only that, the customer also feels it comfortable. He does not have to rise up his knee till the waist. The edges were of course worn out of time, but it seemed to be a detail in itself.

(old unfinished writing, 2005)