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!