Tsunami - 7 years Ago

Yesterday was the 7th anniversary of Indian Ocean Tsunami that ravaged Sri Lanka in 2004.

Leslie was on my mind for some time. Do not know why. I met him about 6 years ago, in the Galle district of Sri Lanka during a field trip to assess the impact of a tsunami recovery project of the organisation I was working for.

Leslie left an indelible mark on my mind; and his face kept re- surfacing when many a time; I was on a roller coaster ride with life.

I am not a good architect of words to explain the destruction and havoc that 2004 tsunami caused in the island. The least I could say is... it was apocalyptic... A doomsday movie coming true in real life. I sincerely hope that I do not get to witness the same in my life time again. The tragedy was unprecedented. The trauma of those who survived was benumbing. The shock of it froze the bones of all those who witnessed and heard the tragic tales. The wailing of those who vanished continued to echo for a very long time along the shores.

Leslie was affected by the tsunami. He had lost his job, since the hotel where he worked as housekeeping assistant no longer existed or only partly existed. The business was closed and he was left with a family and no job – just like thousands of others who had survived by sheer stroke of luck.

Humanitarian assistance also flowed in like the tsunami. The island witnessed the height of solidarity to reach the needy – in pain and tragedy human beings relate to one another better.

Leslie received a small financial assistance to start a new livelihood – carpentry. The institution that I was working for was assisting people to rebuild their lives. Leslie, despite all the tragedy that met him, was smiling. It was evident that many people visit him to hear the living tale of how he braved the tsunami, when I noticed that he was already getting ready to be photographed.

One of the challenging (and sometimes painful) moments of a development worker is to meet a ‘beneficiary’ to evaluate progress from a project perspective. The whole paradigm of benefactor and the beneficiary. The benefactor’s over sized sense of benevolence. And the gratitude of the beneficiary. The whole development jargon tends to be clinical – just like a doctor’s approach to a patient. Faces hardly matter. I know I am digressing. But still to drive home a different point, I would like to mention the film Patch Adams, a humorous but soul-searching film, inspired by a true story, enacted by Robin Williams. Still I remember a scene, where Patch Adams, the black sheep of that particular batch of medical students follows the Professor, when he takes his students for the ward round. The doctor refers to the patients in terms of their ‘illness’ or as a ‘case.’ Patch Adams wondered why they could not be called by their names instead...! I remember this scene, very often, with photographic precision.

My colleague and I had to walk down an interior lane to trace Lesley’s house. There he was, waiting for us, shockingly surprised that we had been on time! Leslie’s hospitality never got washed away with the tsunami. He explained his new beginnings when I listened intently. Leslie had bought some new tools which would enable him to start carpentry at the basic level. His eyes welled up with tears when he said ‘ your agency’s assistance mattered to me 200 percent, not just 100 percent! I am so thankful...” I sat there wondering it was such a miniscule contribution – not even half a drop in the ocean. Yet, someone was expressing 200 percent gratitude. Unbelievable.

The general trend among human beings and those who receive assistance is to complain what is not given. Leslie was an exception.

About 6 months later, the second tranche of assistance was given. For the final evaluation of progress I travelled down again.

There was Leslie, in his new home, built by his hard labour and the financial assistance he had received from some other agency ( I think the government). I hardly knew that I was going to listen to an incredible story of astounding integrity.

“Give madam that piece of cake.” He was ordering his son, who along with his father had built the two small but two-storied, house.”

Leslie was able to finish the construction of his house for a lesser amount than the aid he received because of his contribution in terms of carpentry / masonry work along with family members. So, he RETURNED the balance money so that it could be given to some other needy person. 

I could not believe my ears. I had not been humbled by anything before or after that moment in life... In this divisive world, where profits matter more than relationships, where corruption is treated more like a right than a crime, in a remote village of Galle, Sri Lanka, there lived a man, who returned his aid money, which was his due, so that it could be useful for someone more needy.

Period.

Six years ago that I met Leslie. But his memories are still fresh. Now as I write this, I am encouraged to make a trip south to Galle, to visit Leslie, and sip an over-sugary cup of tea, which is a symbol of the highest level of his hospitality. I do not take milk tea; no sugar either. But if Leslie offers, I think I will.

As this Year is EndingU EndingU...

As the year is marching towards an end, as crackers light up all evening, and illumination on the main roads brightens up the holiday season, contemplation on the passing year also reaches a near end.

2011 had been a quite a year, to say the least.

India became the Wold Cricket Champions! Hurrah! The nail biting finish put me on Antacid for a few days. Man! Many bets went fut in Sri Lanka. And back home in India, it was as if an entire nation’s poverty and corruption issues were forgotten; for a while!

Many shifts. Many turns. Many surprises.

The dramatic end of Laden beats any Hollywood espionage material, though they say it is no free-entrance ticket for Obama for the second term. News reports managed to release loads of adrenaline into my system for quite some time. The intrigue lingered on. Pakistan Government is still lashing out at the military for having ‘housed’ the man.

The Arab Spring sent a message across the world – people are tired of tyranny. They need freedom of expression, freedom from corruption, unemployment etc. They need the fundamental needs addressed. They are sick of autocrats and people becoming larger than institutions and governments themselves. Give us a break! Several regimes fell; leaders either fled or got killed. Mubarak resigned; Gaddafi, they say, was sodomised and killed. Tunisia started it all, it was just a matter of time that the fire spread...

Rags-to-riches story came true in Buckingham Palace. Kate Middleton walked the isle and became the Duchess of Cambridge. Millions world over watched the “I do” part and felt gratified for reasons best known to them!

Later on London was also ablaze. The youth unrest and uprisal was a symptom of a burning problem plaguing the British society – social and economic reasons, inequality, unemployment and a protest against some government policies and the power of police were some of the reasons cited.

Europe was in bad shape; the eurozone debt crisis still lingers...

Steve Jobbs passed away. His life story is one that I will need to refer to many times, in future. Wonder why such stories come out only at people’s death!?

Back home in Incredible India, incredible things continued to happen. Tihar had a galaxy of high-profile political prisoners; corruption became kind of acceptable in India (so sad to say this), only the level of corruption mattered. It was dirty linen out all the time – the tax-payers became dhobis, trying to wash all those mucky linen. Demo-crazy it was most times. Well, that is the uniqueness of motherrr yindia – it is the land of extremes – the best of bests and the worst of worsts. But Indians also have had enough of corruption. They just want systems to function. Was the answer Team Anna? As much as the system is chaotic and dysfunctional as it seems in one level, the fact that an old Gandhian (whether his mission is right /wrong or the best way out is subjected to debate) could hold an entire nation’s and government’s attention, loudly speaks of the space still prevalent in our social and political space. Whether someone takes note of you or not is one thing – but still you can air your opinions, notwithstanding the fact that lathi charge and tear gas might be your only reward. But think of a system where there is no space for such expression? Suffocating – especially for live democracies. With all its chaos, crudeness, unfathomable inequities, something in the system still functions. Incredible India...!

Why this Kolaveri went viral. It legitimised the Tanglish (Tamil English) and it became a fad. Why it took aall this TimeU TimeU to understand regional idiosyncrasiesU? First when I heard, I heard nothing in it and wondered what has happened to our taste? I felt a fossil when millions were dancing to it. Then the second time around, something struck... and then it went on non-stop. Affected my system too. One more to add to my obsessive compulsive rewinding of songs.

In Sri Lanka, the first highway was opened. A journey of 3 hours now takes only 45 minutes flat. If that means Phew!, it does really! A few dogs have died so far on it and a few accidents have taken place. I yet have not hammered down the road, but will soon.

In a political tug-of-war, two parties fired at each other. One died, and the other is still (almost) living with one bullet in the brain! This is only in Sri Lanka!

The government’s Lessons Learnt and Reconciliation Commission released its report on the conduct of the final phase of war, accountability and all those international jargons. This is the report that the UN and the international human rights watchdogs had been waiting for. I have not yet seen the look of the report, but was told yesterday that it is two huge books, which can also serve as pillows, if the need be it. Not the coffee table kind, excuse me ! The island may be small, but not a dull moment or want of happenings I tell you!

Lots and lots more about the world...

And personally,

THE year started with the hum of the Bee. A fresh, revitalising Bee.

It had been a year of vivid and colourful dreams, a bit of bad health and a lot of contemplation. Wanted to get younger, so that my parents would be healthier and younger ... I looked at them, and wondered ....where did all those years go by... when my father would just pick me up in his arms at the East Fort junction to board a crowded bus... how he had a special way of lifting me up - not from the arms, but from my bottom, where he would bend down; .and when we grew up, he taught us that is the way to lift kids up because it does not hurt; how I would finish my lunch and reach the hand out so that he would wash mine along with his fingers...where amma’s relentless chores left her a busy body all the time, how all her rules irritated the life out of me at one time and make me laugh now...how my parents got old in bringing us up, then seeing us getting married, then seeing the grand children, and one of their children stopping the journey of marriage half way... Their wrinkles say a story each. Their forgetfulness is a reminder of something or the other. It tells me they are into their second childhood and that I am the parent now...

They brought me up. My parents. After a while, we grew up together. We still continue to...

Huh.

With very little ‘things-to-do’ for the new year and hardly any resolutions, I am just going to start reading The Argumentative Indian ... hopefully I will understand why, Indians need to be that all the time...?

Happy New Year to all. Good health. Lots of laughter. Good memories!

Fleeting

One month and 19 days. I had gone missing that long. Purposely kept away from looking at the blogspot. Mine or any one else’s lest I will start feeling miserable. Cannot call it a phase – can I ? Then this phase had been quite a prolonging one. Not to my liking either.

This time Diwali was a full day affair with family. Each time it is a new home that I go to. One thing that does not change, and I do not wish to seen changed is the face of my anxious and excited mother, in the verandah, anticipating my visit. This is the thought I nourish from the time I board the plane. The night before I go to sleep with that thought... I never want to miss this -My first glimpse of her and my father. Each time I see more wrinkles on her face, which I hate to see. The very next thought takes me back to my childhood, when one day I visited a grand old uncle, whose ageing hand held mine with affection. His sagging skin, I remember, was the softest thing I had ever felt. That was my first touch with ageing… the fragile state of being old. Immediately I turned to my mother, and looked at her skin – and in my innocent mind visualized amma’s skin as soft and wrinkled some day… As much as it hurt me, I hated the thought…

I still hate that thought.

Each time I see her now in the verandah, holding the pillar, waiting for me… I shift between that child and the woman I have become. My world changed. Our worlds changed. We travelled the same journey with different views and perspectives. Sometimes no words were spoken. I just need to lie next to her for a few minutes, thinking that her ageing body once housed me for nine months and liberated me; gave me the wonderful opportunity to breathe on my own… and now, live on my own too…

Transition. Of faces. Memories. Reality. Yes, changing realities brush past me each time I transit. It takes a while to shift back into what seems to be Current. Present. Now.

An APPEAL....!

Dear God, Oh no...

Dear WhoEver it matters, (Because pardon me God, we live in the DotCom age and I am not quite sure whether you are in control of things any more like those days).

I am writing this note with a humble request. WhoEver it matters, these days I am finding it hard to finish doing all the things I want to. I followed the advice of a friend to replace the ‘things to do list’ with ‘too late to do’ and thereafter with ‘forget it – no point’ list. Even after diligently and meticulously following this discipline instilled by my friend, my ‘forget it- no point list’ list has grown too much in size – almost larger than life. So as they say these days, I started ‘taking stock of my life.’ Honestly I must tell you this stock taking is really an auditing business. I came across a lot of junk and framed this principle of ‘buy what you need not because they might come in handy later.’

In fact, I found out through this stock taking that I have done well in doing things I like to do, and have maintained a healthy diet. For example, I used a ten kilogram gas cylinder (you know, they really have gone up in price) for nearly 7 months and used half a litre of soya oil for two months. Ate lots of fruits, cereals and pulses and truly and sincerely avoided sweets like a plague. Now, if I sound like an American, I am truly sorry. I am a genuine South Asian, with each foot in two neighbouring countries. Truly.

I know I digressed. But you know, at times, to put things in perspective you need to do a lot of beating around the bush.

So, WhoEver it matters, it took me exactly 49 minutes to get back to my laptop to continue what I was writing. You know, last week the right hand door of my almirah fell exactly two inches above my forehead. My mother has taught me to be alert at all times that anything can go wrong anytime. True to her words, I was lucky enough to hold the door and do some wrestling to pluck out the entire door with my own hands before I sat down with my morning cup of tea feeling quite proud of my super power to uproot an entire almirah door – mind you with the fitted glass in it, adding to its weight. So, today, the carpenter decided to come to fix it. While attending to him, I had a friend calling for something and my laptop went on hibernation for 49 minutes. On the dot. This friend and I decided to ‘do coffee’ (these days instead of ‘having’ coffee, we ‘do’ coffee. The old school grammar and language are outdated).

So, WhoEver it matters, I just had to go heat up my tea to continue the rest of my appeal to you. You will need to excuse me, as I had just stopped by to see which stage my clothes are churning in the washing machine. The three whistles to end the action can go anytime from now, and I will need to go and put the clothes out. And believe me, I need to meet a friend over lunch as well.

Before you may think anything else – I am off today from work – On a roster that gives us a day off – thanks to Lord Buddha.

So, WhoEver it matters, though the stock taking had not been totally a disappointing exercise, I realised I still need more hours. I was just trying to see what could be the possible solutions in extending the number of hours for each day and for a week. I know this equation is going to create chaos in the natural Progamming of the Life’s Cylce of Events and immense problems like those anticipated in Y2K.

Sorry, again I had to go off my laptop... truly sorry....

You may really think that I am conning. But seriously not. I had to go check why the anticipated whistle from the washing machine did not surface. I realised I had put the outlet pipe upside (it is kind of hanging like a fractured toe or finger and not permanently fixed to enable mobility) while washing the floor and not fixed it back. The ‘rinse and spin’ action was holding up its energy to flush out the water with such force! Man! What patience these machines also have !

I have fixed the problem and am continuing with my appeal.

So, WhoEver it matters, I really would like to see a change in the Universe. Its concept of Time. Energy. And Life. I know many may like what I seek for and many will not like as well. Because you know, having long hours a day may also mean we may need to work harder and harder, which is actually not a bright prospect. But still, considering the way my generation works, it will be worth reconsidering the proposal to extend the number of days of a week to 8 or 9, or, if it is really unacceptable and is going to create irresolvable issues for Microsoft etc, can you please try and extend the day time a bit more? Well, I am not talking about that artificial ‘day light saving mechanism’ that governments use these days to overcome nature’s rhythm. I am talking about something natural. Possible?

I would really like to place before you my reasons for this extension. But as I said, I need to put the clothes out and then get ready for lunch with friends. Really sorry for the disjointed and interrupted conversation with you...

A friend of mine sent this one liner which I thankfully remember, ‘I have reached that age where I need to watch what I eat, so I keep looking at food a lot.’ I have just given my blood this morning for a lipid profile, blood sugar and a thyroid profile. The results of these tests will also constitute my reasons for seeking this extension, that is, if I get to write to you again.

Until such time, please give it a thought.

Yours truly,

A Dotcom Generation Citizen.

Dreaming...

Don't question my dream...
Because it is a dream.

Don't put a price to my dream
Because it is priceless

Don't ask me whether you are my dream
Because you may only be a part of it.

Don't ask me when I will realise my dream
Because it is timeless...

Part of Everything

Love is in plenty.
Then why would one whimper?

Gestures are made
To touch all day
Why would one then shy away?

There is so much light outside the window
Then, why see the diffused shade inside?

I own nothing ...
But I am a part of all what I had seen and been...

I am a part of everything I had
Known, Felt, Lived and Dreamt...

The free breath and the air
The scent of a new rain
The soiled earth

And the drifting...
between the ocean and shores
between thoughts and the senses...

A Letter

I had been alien to this space – as if I had evaporated into thin air! A moment of reality has struck me … all of a sudden; NOW. And that is because of Bee's memories brought to me by a friend.

The Bee of my life has a mystical presence and magical influence on me… It has remained live… not just in my garden but in the thoughts of some others as well…

Today I received a precious gift from a friend; a hand written letter and a ceramic bee, and a post card from Sabarmathi Ashram – Gandhiji’s haven where he spread messages of peace and love and cared for the sick…

I cannot remember the day I have received a hand-written letter. With the advent of internet and email we have stopped seeing faces of loved ones through the ink and the smudges…

It was a precious moment – opening the letter and reading the contents of my friend’s letter. She is across the ocean, celebrating Onam in Kerala, when I am typing this before chasing a deadline…

Thank you Manju for the thought – your impressions on the paper… and everything it said…

She says, she loves the concept of the Bee…

Yes, it is mystical, magical and romantic too….

HAPPY ONAM ! And what a gift I got today!

Velocity

Alacrity has overtaken desires.

Day and nights shift.

I cannot remember yesterday.

How did I look yesterday?

This morning?

As I try to remember my face

It is a new day.

My mirror looks different.

Its reflections too.

When the Ocean Stays Still in Pasikuda...

The very thought of the ocean evokes many feelings; a great sense of liberation; vastness; cosmic; unreachable; infinite depth; mystery and a lot more. Moreover, standing alone watching the sea is the most humbling experience – to think how powerless we are in front of those mighty waves! Can only marvel at the rhythmic roar of the waves and how they fade away...

If the sea is connected with the sound of roaring waves, ‘Pasikuda’ in Sri Lanka is an exception to the notion.

Last week end I made a trip with friends to the East coast, Batticaloa District (Batti). For those who do not know about Batti was once a hot spot of the protracted conflict. The Province is also the rice bowl of the country. Has its charm and is unique in its weather conditions and of late has become prone to the changing climate patterns with flash floods disrupting livelihoods.

This is a new phase for the country since the armed conflict ended and this is the early recovery phase. The post-war dividends are becoming apparent. About 230 kilometres away from Sri Lanka is the Pasikuda beach – one of the best beaches in Sri Lanka and probably in the world as well.

It was like a thousand imageries coming together to create an unbelievable dream come true. Had only seen one other beach before, where the water stays so still. That was in Trincomalee, also in the Eastern Province.

In Pasikuda, there is hardly any sound of a wave; if at all, merely a hum – that too music to the ears – when you relax by the beach and watch the divide – of the coast merging into the sea and then the vastness of the sea joining the sky at some point– and beyond... the eternity! Up to a kilometre (I guess) one can just walk and the water is only up to the knee –clear and pure sea water– yes, the water looks slightly green and clear that one can see the clean sea bed.

If one can float, this is the place to get lulled – any lost childhood memory of being cradled will come live. Yes, the sea becomes a cradle, gently rocking, lest it hurts you, its hum a soothing lullaby - you just float like a wispy leaf, and let all the cares to melt away in the salty, deep sea. I did leave a few worries in the sea bed and came out lighter thinking the ocean is so huge to take my small cares away.

We stayed in a recently opened resort ‘Maalu maalu’ – the name resonates with Sri Lankan day-to-day life – and could not have been more apt. ‘Maalu’ means fish – and saying it twice is something that you hear common – especially when the small fish vendors knock on your door on their bicycle. The resort has tastefully done cabanas, with large rooms and exotic bathrooms. Perfect place for a perfect abandon. As you get out of the room, you walk into the sandy beach and then to the incredibly beautiful ocean.

The sun has decided to wake up early here – by about 5.30 a.m. The rising sun, splitting through the deepest crevices of the sea beds is an incredibly energising sight. Picture perfect. Marvel. Soon after, the sun is up, the heat becomes brutal and stays that way until you are ready for the lull of the evening. Then again, it is a dream-like evening.

Pasikuda, sure is a must- see beach in Sri Lanka...