The Miracle of Birth

One of the greatest miracles of this universe is arguably the birth of a new creature. A few weeks back, as I walked into the Dream A Dream office, I was excited told that a dog had given birth to 4 puppies in our office compound. Curious more than excited, I went to watch as the mom proudly protected her little ones. The tiny little wonders squeezed deep inside mom's warm body had not yet opened their eyes to this magnificent world. The mom, very scared looked on at us hopefully. Thus, began my journey of celebrating this miracle of birth everyday.

I watched with wonder as the mom would instinctively know what to do, as the pups instinctively knew where to find their mother's milk and fed on her to their stomach's content. They could hardly move but somehow found the strength to move where food was. The mom, quietly and knowingly, fed them while losing all her strength for lack of nutrition. We slowly learnt to feed her to help her rebuild her strength.

Everyday became the day of celebration and joy in our office as we watched with wonder how life was coming alive and the miracle was truly overwhelming. I would spend hours through the day watching the pups move, grow, learn and while building a special bond with the little wonders, I built a stronger bond with the mother. She learnt to trust us, she learnt to communicate with me. She would point at the bowl every morning as I arrived and let me know she is hungry. As we fed her, she would give us a look of gratitude and leth our hearts. She learnt to trust us enough to leave her kids for a few fleeting moments in the day knowing, we will take care. She recognized us through our smells and let us come close to the puppies.

Everyday, in the last few weeks, we have watched with awe as the puppies have grown. We have waited with restless anticipation as they learnt to crawl, walk, stand and again with feverish excitement as they opened their eyes into this beautiful world. We have fought over their names, about who is the cutest and about who is the fattest. We have held back tears as we have watched them grow and sometimes spent nights worrying about them as the rains have lashed the city. We have created a warm space for them, built a roof (a temporary table) over their heads and picked our favourites.

We have watched as the puppies have learnt to explore the world, albeit just a few steps; learnt to bite each other, learnt to play with one another and learnt to fight for their food and yet share their food with each other. We have watched as they pushed to snuggle into each other, learnt to sleep together and celebrate each other. Everyday, we watch them grow and embrace this world with love, excitement and wonder.

Everyday, as I have watched this miracle, it has taught me to slow down and celebrate life; It has taught me to care and be in love again; it has taught me to feel tremendously grateful that the mother chose us and gave us the gift of empathy.

Life is indeed a celebration in its millions of small wonders and I feel tremendously grateful that life's little wonders chose to help me become more humane everyday. 

Ruthless Cities

For long, I have been wondering about how the cities we live in have changed. The one thing that has struck me is that cities have increasingly become ruthless to its old and aged. I see that everyday in the eyes of my mom. She is just about 55 years old but over the last few years, I have increasingly found her to be scared to walk the streets of Bangalore. Earlier, I used to find it amusing and sometimes I also used to reproach her for not trying hard enough.

In sometime, I began to understand what was happening. It was not my mother but how we had chosen to make our cities almost hostile to the aged. I started observing other aged around the streets of Bangalore and realized we had become a restless, hurrying, ruthless population who cared less and less about the world around us.

I noticed old people waiting for many many minutes before they could find the courage to cross roads. Once I noticed an old woman give-up and go back the way she came because she was just unable to cross the road. There are no footpaths on roads. Just 100 mts from my house is the main road and there is no footpath on most of the road, my mom is forced to walk on the road and once when she was out buying groceries, a young man on a bike hit her and sped away. Fortunately, she didn't fall but bruised her arm nevertheless. The young man didn't stop to look; leave along apologize and help. It left a deep fear in my mom's mind about walking on the road. The noise, the speeding vehicles, the uncaring young, the fear of constantly being hit or run over. She now gives us hundreds of excuses about not wanting to go out.

Visits to parks, movies, malls, shopping have all been reduced to doing it at a time when it is ultimately unavoidable for my mom. She does not go into malls because they have no lifts, they have elevators. My mom once fell trying to get onto a elevator. Since then, she refuses to go to malls that don't have lifts. I don't remember the last time I was able to convince my mom to go to a movie hall or walk around the park, which she loved when we were younger.

I have thought about the fact that some of these fears can be overcome with support and encouragement and let me tell you my mom is a very courageous person but its just the apathy and lack of patience amongst the young of today that kills the joy of attempting something new.

For my mom, atleast we are around to support her. I, sometimes wonder about the moms and dads of others whose children are not around!

Are the old being pushed on the brink of thinking the cities are not for them and relegating them to the confines of their homes? Don't they have the right to live a life of dignity and quality with easy access to services? Have we in a Busy-ness forgotten to slow down once in a while and remember that we share this world with our elderly and maybe other species too?

Invisible Hanif

I will call him Hanif. I have known and unknown him for nearly 15 years or more of my life. For days, weeks, months and years on end, he has served me and my family during the sweltering summer months. Quenching our thirst while keeping himself thirsty. He is my Coconut Man – Hanif. I have seen him grow old over the years. I don’t think he would remember me. But, he has an unforgettable face. Dark set, with the signature cap, squinted eyes, scarred face and sad lips. I cant forget the face that has grown from an ‘angry with the world’ look to a deep, sad, defeated look.

I have often thought about writing about him and for some reason, I decided to write today. I saw him on the road today after many months and just felt the urge to give him an identity in this invisible world.

As a kid going to school, I remember him bringing in a bicycle full of coconuts into our neighbourhood. Walking in the sweltering heat, sometimes barefoot, tugging along pulling his cycle in the hope that the way back home in the evening will be on an empty cycle. He used to be an angry salesman then. Understandably so. Everyone bargained with him. He would ask Rs. 6 and his customers would pay him Rs. 5 and even then complain that his coconuts didn’t have enough water, they were not sweet enough, he was cheating them. On some days, he was in a good mood and on that day he would talk to the children on the streets, laugh with the ladies ordering from their first floor balconies and with his charm get his customers to pay what he asked for. I always wondered why my mom always, always bargained with him. It would be just Re. 1 yet she would bargain as if its a birthright. I could sometimes understand my mom because she had grown up having little in her childhood, was married into a family with no income and had to save every single paisa to feed her family so Re. 1 was important to her and she valued it. However, that attitude remained even after we became slightly wealthier and it showed in her attitude towards people like Hanif.

Anyway, I am digressing. Young angry Hanif continued his service to us and other families in our neighbourhood. I always wondered where he came from, who was Hanif, did he have a family? How far did he live? Did he make enough money? I wondered in a neighbourhood where every bit of space was being picked by the elite, where did he live? Was there space for people like Hanif to have their small houses and their invisible existence? I never really found out yet everytime I saw him, I wondered. I wonder why I never really asked him, spoke to him, asked his name?

A few months back I saw him trudging his bicycle from Hosur road, nearly 8-9 kms away from my neighbourhood. Wow! Did I ever realize that this man who has quenched my thirst for nearly 15 years, pulls his bicycle laden with coconuts for maybe 10-odd kms everyday and then takes the same journey back every evening. Have we really just slowly, steadily and ruthlessly pushed the poor out of our neighbourhoods and yet demand them to serve, think its our birthright to bargain for Re. 1 with them and not even accord them the dignity of speaking to them like human beings.

Our family income has grown from Rs. 500 a month sometime in 1975 to nearly Rs. 1.5 Lakhs a month in 2011. Hanif started selling his coconuts at Rs. 5, 15 years back and today he sells them at Rs. 12 and sometimes even lower so that his stock is finished.

I wonder how Hanif’s story will end. I see him today. I don’t see the ferocious angry man, willing to fight his fate of a few years back. Today, I see a hunched old man, sunken eyes, seem to be going blind, sagging skin, more scars and a very sad face that has given up on hope in life. I wish to see him angry yet again but that anger has given way to a defeat so pronounced that maybe only death can release him.

Hanif is one of the many invisible people who have made my life richer, easier and better with their invaluable services. Yet, I don’t seem to have added any value to their life but seem to have contributed to sucking out every bit of their energy and jest for life.

Here is my small attempt to give meaning and dignity to Hanif! Albeit, he might never know about this and will probably disappear one day from my neighbourhood without being missed.

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I Paid A Bribe

Today, I paid a bribe. I was not in a desperate situation. I was not compelled to. I was not forced to. Yet, I did. I did because I didn't have the courage to say No. I wonder where is it within us we find courage and when and how to bring it up to support us when we most need it.

Over the last few weeks, I have been missing work and making the rounds of the Bangalore Development Authority (BDA), the government department that is incharge of land allocations for the city. My dad, with his very limited, savings had bought a property from the government in my name way back in 1992. The government never allocated the property. Some of the people who had invested in the properties got together, formed an association and filed a petition against the government and it was only last year, after 19 years, they got an opportunity for a replacement property and since then the rigmarole has started. Since the property was in my name, I had to be involved. We were told that a replacement property will be given to us for an additional price of Rs. 320,000/- and we decided to pay and go for it.

A few weeks back, we had to get the property registered and we started our rounds of visiting our case worker at the government office. Most days he was absent, some days he pushed us away saying his boss has not come to sign the papers and somedays he pushed it back on us that the papers were not in order. All this while, giving us very little information on the next steps so somedays we were sent back because we didn't bring a particular proof or I didn't bring photographs or my sign didn't match. We patiently pursued. Finally, my dad (who rarely ever uses influence) found a connection and we had to drop some names to make our papers move. It helped, except that the case worker was absent for a whole week and kept telling us to come back the next day. we landed up at his office and his colleagues told us, he hadn't come to work that day. Each time giving us different information and getting us confused. I guess, this as a strategy works because at some point, I will get desperate and push for my work to get done and that's when they dangle the bribe. The other option is I get angry, shout, create a ruckus - sometimes it works and sometimes it back fires - Your files can go missing, or they finding a mistake in your papers that cannot be rectified or they send you on a wild goose chase on some pretext.

Anyway, finally, today, 27th May 2011 - Our Good Samaritan in the government office called us and told us to come immediately because our case worker had come. We rushed and then the fun started.

At the Registrar's office, just below the BDA office, our papers kept moving from one person to another. They have one person just to take the papers from one table to the next, another who just typed your forms, another incharge of just verifying the documents, another just to glue your photograph and yet another just to stamp your papers. At each table, the consistent sentence at the end was, "What about me?" which meant give me a bribe. The first place my dad paid Rs. 50/- to a person who just stamped our papers. I was furious and told him not to do it. Then, I saw that every table there was a money exchange happening, quite openly too. The last straw, our documents had to be scanned before it can be given to us finally. The man takes us behind a few cabins and asks us for scanning charges of Rs. 260/- and then another Rs. 500/- for the registrar's services. I had told my dad that we will not pay the bribe so he refused saying we have gone through so much harassment from them already. I said something to the tune of, "But isn't this your work so why are u asking for more money.". He took us to the registrar who was a lady and she started shouting at us about how they hurried our papers but I refused to give in. While waiting outside, the man calls my dad and asks him again. I walk him with him and say NO. But dad relents and gives the bribe and I am just too angry to do anything. Shocked, angry, confused and very upset. The man pockets the money and quickly gives our papers. Then, he has the audacity to tell us that we need to pay Rs. 100/- to the man who sorted our papers too. We just walk out and don't give him the bribe.

This is not the end. I am worried we still need to pay a bribe to our case worker since he still needs to give us our possession certificate and the gentleman who helped us, my dad reckons he will ask us of something too. My dad says this is normal and happens with every property registration.

I come away - guilty and most angry at myself for not standing my ground.

Why I will never bargain!

Having brought up in a largely middle class family upbringing, I have always learnt to bargain for everything - from the vegetable vendor in the market, to the grocery store, to the restaurant down the road, to the stationery store, to the gift store. I used to admire my mother at her ability to bargain, bargain and bargain some more. She was notorious amongst the sellers in our neighbourhood for her bargaining and loved by all for her generosity and good nature too. I believe, she believed, bargaining was her birthright and she did get that from her mother, my grandmother. I also know that money was not easy to come by those days so every paisa mattered and counted and my mother wanted the best for her children, so bargaining was the way to go.

Over the years, our financial status did improve and there was less and less of bargaining. With more shops, shopping malls and large stores, the bargaining power also gradually disappeared. Today, my mom bargains more out of habit than out of need. It is sometimes quite amusing that my mom bargains to save Rs. 10 from a vegetable vendor and yet pays the full price or sometimes higher for the same vegetables at a branded store.

Anyway, things have changed and surprisingly, I never picked my my mother's bargaining gene. Albeit, I hardly ever bargain and when I do I feel guilty that I might have cheated the poor man of his earnings. I also realize, bargaining does not sit well with my values. If I bargain at a place where I can and don't at a place where I can't, I am not being fair. If that's the case, either I choose to bargain at both places or don't bargain at all. It seems simple enough for me to understand that whether its a store or a local vegetable vendor, both wish to make some profit so that they can improve their quality of life. I suspect the store makes more profit from me than the local vegetable vendor. Yet, I bargain with the vegetable vendor.

I have also realized that when the vendor realizes I don't bargain, he ends up giving me a fair price and their sense of fairness has always been more trustworthy. I know I might be judgmental here but its just my personal experience.

Finally, if a vegetable vendor does make a little extra on me, atleast it gives him space to be able to bargain with someone like my mom so net-net, he still ends up making the same money.

I think the biggest (bar)gain for me is to have the small chat with the vendor, share a smile and a joke and go along in our journey of life having enriched each other's life for a moment. That is a lot more precious to me than a grumpy, sulky affair where both of us feel cheated inspite or because of the bargaining. Bargaining seems like too much of a price to pay for the loss of a lovely conversation and smile.

Hence, No bargaining for me and I am glad my Mom might never read this :)

Invisible Hanif

I will call him Hanif. I have known and unknown him for nearly 15 years or more of my life. For days, weeks, months and years on end, he has served me and my family during the sweltering summer months. Quenching our thirst while keeping himself thirsty. He is my Coconut Man – Hanif. I have seen him grow old over the years. I don’t think he would remember me. But, he has an unforgettable face. Dark set, with the signature cap, squinted eyes, scarred face and sad lips. I cant forget the face that has grown from an ‘angry with the world’ look to a deep, sad, defeated look.

I have often thought about writing about him and for some reason, I decided to write today. I saw him on the road today after many months and just felt the urge to give him an identity in this invisible world.

As a kid going to school, I remember him bringing in a bicycle full of coconuts into our neighbourhood. Walking in the sweltering heat, sometimes barefoot, tugging along pulling his cycle in the hope that the way back home in the evening will be on an empty cycle. He used to be an angry salesman then. Understandably so. Everyone bargained with him. He would ask Rs. 6 and his customers would pay him Rs. 5 and even then complain that his coconuts didn’t have enough water, they were not sweet enough, he was cheating them. On some days, he was in a good mood and on that day he would talk to the children on the streets, laugh with the ladies ordering from their first floor balconies and with his charm get his customers to pay what he asked for. I always wondered why my mom always, always bargained with him. It would be just Re. 1 yet she would bargain as if its a birthright. I could sometimes understand my mom because she had grown up having little in her childhood, was married into a family with no income and had to save every single paisa to feed her family so Re. 1 was important to her and she valued it. However, that attitude remained even after we became slightly wealthier and it showed in her attitude towards people like Hanif.

Anyway, I am digressing. Young angry Hanif continued his service to us and other families in our neighbourhood. I always wondered where he came from, who was Hanif, did he have a family? How far did he live? Did he make enough money? I wondered in a neighbourhood where every bit of space was being picked by the elite, where did he live? Was there space for people like Hanif to have their small houses and their invisible existence? I never really found out yet everytime I saw him, I wondered. I wonder why I never really asked him, spoke to him, asked his name?

A few months back I saw him trudging his bicycle from Hosur road, nearly 8-9 kms away from my neighbourhood. Wow! Did I ever realize that this man who has quenched my thirst for nearly 15 years, pulls his bicycle laden with coconuts for maybe 10-odd kms everyday and then takes the same journey back every evening. Have we really just slowly, steadily and ruthlessly pushed the poor out of our neighbourhoods and yet demand them to serve, think its our birthright to bargain for Re. 1 with them and not even accord them the dignity of speaking to them like human beings.

Our family income has grown from Rs. 500 a month sometime in 1975 to nearly Rs. 1.5 Lakhs a month in 2011. Hanif started selling his coconuts at Rs. 5, 15 years back and today he sells them at Rs. 12 and sometimes even lower so that his stock is finished.

I wonder how Hanif’s story will end. I see him today. I don’t see the ferocious angry man, willing to fight his fate of a few years back. Today, I see a hunched old man, sunken eyes, seem to be going blind, sagging skin, more scars and a very sad face that has given up on hope in life. I wish to see him angry yet again but that anger has given way to a defeat so pronounced that maybe only death can release him.

Hanif is one of the many invisible people who have made my life richer, easier and better with their invaluable services. Yet, I don’t seem to have added any value to their life but seem to have contributed to sucking out every bit of their energy and jest for life.

Here is my small attempt to give meaning and dignity to Hanif! Albeit, he might never know about this and will probably disappear one day from my neighbourhood without being missed.