Death of the coin

On our way to work, we stopped by at the usual roadside garage to fill air in the tyres. The 10 year old boy, after giving me a leering look, proceeded to check and fill air. Though there is over Rs. 30 in change lying in varied purses back home, we struggled to rummage the needed change to give the boy. Three Rupee 1 coins and four, 25 paise coins were finally discovered and given to the boy. The conversation then, went something like this.

Boy after checking the change- “Its five, not four”

We grumbled and dug around for Re. 1 more, fully aware that it was five. Ahh, a coin.

Boy once again counting: “It has four chavannai (25 ps coins). Wont do’

Satya (surprised): “Why?”

Boy (rolling his eyes and trying to look incredulous, all at once): ‘Cause no one takes it anymore’

Me (trying to sound dumb): “But there are four coins there, that’s one re.1. You can easily give that to someone.’

Boy 9 (not convinced): ‘Na one, one uses 25 paise coins anymore.’ (looks at us like we are from another planet)

We didn’t know India doesn’t use 25 paise coins anymore. When was the last time we used change here, er, hmm.. No memory of giving coins 25 paise coins. Gasp! We were in another planet!

Satya (prince to the rescue): “Then how come we have it?”

Boy (at loss of words): “ Nahi chalega Saheb, wont do”

Satya (glad at stumping him): “If it wont, thenn give it back to us the next time we fill air here”

Me: “I am glad he didn’t throw it back at us.”

Satya: “Well we shocked him there. Was too stunned people use 25 paise coins”

(end of conversation)

Hmm. Do any of you still use 25 paise coins? I am thinking of adding the few I have to my coins collections.

Speaking Out

A conference I attended earlier this year was filled with people from varied backgrounds, all of whom were present to speak, share, talk and discuss their views and thoughts on gender and the information society. It was the first of the kind seminar that I had attended and was suitably impressed by much of the discussions and the people I met. I expressed my desire to many about contributing more in whatever capacity to the sector and my views were enthusiastically received. Till I realised all were just nodding their heads and following a much followed routine. Smile condescendingly at the bubbly upstart and send her off to someone else to talk to.

The development sector hampers much on upliftment of the downtrodden, removal of poverty, catering to the marginalization, improving governance etc etc. And in the process it marginalizes and ignores many educated citizens (not necessarily in English) who may nurture the desire to be a part of the growing momentum of change. Opportunities for new-comers into this sector are few. You can weave your way in but only if you have an academic education to back or gleefully indulge in idol worship. It is without doubt the domain of a selected few who circulate the same message in various conferences around the country and globe. The role of such leaders who possess a higher vision and policy approach cannot be disregarded but the pride and ego that accompanies their activities is quite hard to swallow. The influx of information and communication technologies for development has become another sector within the arena for development that has a few who talk about the poor and laugh with the rich. Rich maybe not monetarily, but rich in words, work and mostly friends.


Sadly the civil society is being represented by a select few who do not speak the language of the laypeople. Reading a normal project communication document or proposal can be an affair that truly tests your brains. The sector is currently all about networking and proving your mettle, but mostly your point. The educated citizen in reality has got lost in this struggle between the torchbearers of civil society and those who cannot afford oil for a lantern.

Where does that leave us citizens who are watching it all but are unable to do anything? Licking our wounds? Isn’t it time we decided to be recognized as a part of this civil society? Or does the civil society only consist of the academic and monetary doers and the mute rural receivers?

No I am not against this sector. In fact I am part of it. But what I’d like to do is actually contribute instead of just expressing the desire. But unless I start my own organization, I don’t see how I can do anything. And maybe that is exactly why there are so many NGO’s? Not only are there millions who need support and encouragement but also thousands who are not finding anyone who hears their voice. Hundreds who possess the desire to reach beyond themselves but who do not find a forum where ideas are not only shared but also aided to reach fruition.

Its time we move beyond working in isolation. Its time we actually shared and encouraged and not just spoke about the need for partnerships. Forging connections does not differentiate between whom the connections are being forged with. Its time half the country who are labelled as youth are made part of the process. Inclusion needs to be redefined, digital divide needs to be redefined for now the exclusion has begun even among the educated among the society.

Who is going to create this change? Not you and me, but we. We can start by speaking out. No matter if all you say doesn’t make sense. Just speak out, and demand to be part of what is being done in your name, for you, be it by the government or development sector.

Mumbai wait for me

Monsoon is when everyone including the rain is going bonkers. So much for my previous post gushing about the monsoon. My plans of going to Bombay tomorrow have literally been washed away. SOB… SOB.. Dad wait for me.. N don’t open those bags till I get there.

If not for me at least for the sake of those chocolates craving to be eaten, god should have stopped the monsoon and cleared the way. Now those poor lil darlings will have to wait to be savoured. Dad is wishing he had stayed on in the US another week and I am wishing the monsoon had chosen the next Tuesday to show its might, at least then I’d be stuck at home in Bombay and not here in Hyderabad.

And on a totally different note, Google earth is awesome. I am getting to revisit US without leaving my chair. Yes, I did sniff a little when I saw Presidio (my ex-apartment complex).

Coming back to the rains, as bad as the situation there is, I want to be in Bombay right now.

Monsoon is

When my heart goes bonkers, when it refuses to get bound by walls or any physical confines. Can I run around arms outstretched feeling each drop drench not only my body but every emotion, wipe clean the slate of life and mind? Crisp and cold, pleasing and teasing, making me lose myself, and disappear in these looming clouds. They don’t daunt me (at least not till lighting goes bonkers and starts her feverish jiggle) and now I want to just get up and go, where I don’t know.

My mind though inside this room, this office, is busy flying far. Seated here I cannot see but can sense the trees outside, the sluggish birds struggling to hop onto the next branch, the grass which is sucking the moisture off the earth’s breast and who playfully waves an arm to call the clouds. The campus is empty but is so alive. I miss those Western Ghats where I discovered my fetish for green. Nature’s best colour, the colour of life. The cheeky blue tries to make her appearance only the puffy clouds pushed by impish winds are faster and dodge her around, smothering her in grey. Matheran, Lohgad, Tikona, Nane Ghat, Rajgad, all come rushing into my brains. Those treks, I relive them each second. Those cute little streams, your music courses in my blood. Monsoon is those mountains, where I find peace, joy, tranquillity.

Monsoon is Bombay, with her crowded streets and the view from my balcony. People huddling below the shop shutters, waving their colourful umbrellas to get the water drops off, drenching themselves and their neighbours more in the process. Monsoon is those children that hop on all puddles on the way back from school and wait by the road corners to let passing vehicles splash water on them. Monsoon is that beggar on the pavement seated on the cement ledge bordering a tree, wearing clothes of plastic bags to keep himself dry. Monsoon is that fluttering black plastic sheet, spread by the painter of signs atop his rack-shop, to keep his name boards dry. Monsoon is the smell of hot pakodas wafting from neighbours kitchen into my nose. Monsoon is those trees outside my window which shed their dusty skins of grey and don on luscious green natural makeup. Monsoon to me is an excuse to eat ice-creams and catch the drops with my tongue before the rain melts them and carries the drops to the ground.

Please tell me reasons why I should stay in this room.

MIT survey for bloggers

A beggar's life

cloth wrapped around
unkempt, crushed, careless; less
to cover the shame, the indignity
which is now worn unassumingly
like a dress itself.

breast struggling to hide
hairy legs streaked with brown dust
running from vehicle to vehicle, signal to signal
marking the territory
for the clink in the begging vessel

eyes pleading, words repeated
an act mastered, spirit undefeated
expressions ignored, sometimes rewarded
turning away uncaring
next vehicle, a new target

a child from nowhere wanders
clings to the cloth less,
protruding stomach, gangly legs
eyes beseeching, inners empty
a slight nudge received, work again begins

drifting through the streets
mocking, laughing, serious or morose
living on the edge of life, society
mocked, shunned yet defining their own norms
living on change, their pieces of life.

J's words

Acceptance is everything
And my god how hard that is

To have the wisdom to accept
things are they are
So much courage, and much of patience
Which I am always short of
If I can move above the "what it appears to be"
To "what it is"
I know then I am improving myself
And my journey with it

-Jean Yao

She writes so well and spontaneously too. Often she casually ends up saying things which make so much meaning. She is a writer but doesn’t really write. This poem was actually short sentences she said during our chat today. I saw them for what they are, let her type it all, edited it and lo a poem.

Created a word: Soul-roots

Well it’s my word, my creation and hence I’ll define it. I checked in dictionary.com to ensure it doesn’t already exist. And it doesn’t! Hurray! (Please this maybe my only claim to fame and don’t put a damper on this lovely thought of mine). Feel free to pass it along freely though. But let it be remembered who first uttered it.

But on second thoughts no one went famous for saying a word, except Archimedes. But I am not running around naked. (Yes, I am aware he didn’t invent the word Eureka. But it is pretty famous and common, thanks to his antics). Hmm. Well I am free to use it, right?
Actually I did and then explained it too. First response was good, so hurray!


Word:
Soul-roots : (Used in hyphenation)

Definition:
Soul-roots is an inner connection struck with a place, people, etc which leaves you with a sense of attachment and déjà vu. Usually used in a positive manner and with reference to people or places, it is a feeling that makes you feel this place, eatable, people etc. has been part of your life in inexplicable ways previously ( for those who believe in rebirth maybe even some previous lifetime).

Example:

1) Maybe my soul-roots lie in India. Maybe that’s why despite the fact I have never visited the country before this, my heart feels like it belongs and wants to live here.

2) Ah, that lecture by Dalai Lama was magical. Strangely I feel so connected to His Holiness, as though my soul-root were a Buddhist.

The paradox: Development sector does development?

There. Finally even Satya has accepted that I am an idealist. I expect honesty and integrity and a dash of ethical behaviour in my area of work and workplace. More often than not this is unrealistic in today’s world!

Increasingly I am offended and disturbed by what goes on in the name of Social Development. If I have to succeed I have to either suck up to everyone, or speak in a language no one understands eg:- Language of development is a parlance that the general public is not familiar with. Thus arises the need for promulgation of grassroots advocacy in a patois that the civil society can understand.

Ok that was a poor attempt. And, yes, now you know why I cannot be a part of the development sector. I can never ever cook up a sentence like that. Sometimes I want to devote my whole life to the cause of simplifying the language used by development sector and governments. I put up a tough fight every time at work and am glad I win sometimes.

But my dears, that is the success of being someone people know and think of as great. A very sensible woman I met in one of the workshops (among the few who actually do good work told me a very interesting thing: Write so no one understands what you have written and speak or write verbosely on controversial topics so people don’t know what you are talking about. It sounds good and so is good. This I have noted time and again I true.

Sometimes I believe the corporate sector with its open discriminations, prejudices and sometimes activities is by far better. At least the pretence is not there. Sustainable development, pro-poor development and many such popular key-words are used indiscriminately. You talk about solutions for people without taking them into the dialogue process. Oh yes dialogue process are there, haven’t you seen the mega- conferences on which lakhs are spent. But where are the people you are talking about? Power, monetary or administrative brings with it, a thought, ‘I know’ and the moment this starts, all is lost. Most projects money never really reaches the person whom it is meant for.

God, I am tempted to write about so much more in this blog. There is so much more I want to say. If only I didn’t have these stupid values I carry inside. But a lot of what I see out there disappoints me. But I also want to do some work that makes a difference to someone. That day will hopefully not be very far away. I am so eager to get back to freelance writing/editing and working for the development sector part-time. I need to find people who really mean what they say and who do what they say. I know that this middle path is the best. I am really not meant to work full time anywhere. If I only write am unhappy, if i only work in the Development sector - all the accompanying nonsense makes me unhappy. So I am going to do both.

Someone give me a job!

Drawing parallels

Sometimes I feel my words are like a prostitute and I the pimp. They have to sell themselves to feed my tummy. But they haven’t gone out there in the world to hook, bait and entice from long. They now have no customers. Maybe they don’t know how to market themselves well and are thus without lovers. Behind the reckless façade, they are vulnerable to let themselves show for no one seems to understand. They are laughed at, mocked but mostly ignored. Will someone come looking for them, I ask myself. Someone come and rescue them from this darkness? There really cannot be any rescuers. This might be their fate. Soon they will be hiding behind a veil scared to even reveal themselves for rejection can take its toll on any soul.

Unless I decide to rescue them now, unless I decide to stop putting a price on their head, unless I decide to start looking for other things to sell; to earn my livelihood. But No, this is my bane. For I know they are worth more. For their sake, I have to believe that they will find their admirers who will come free them, and carry them away to their lovers. For I know I am their lover too who can and will set them free...

I have been alternating between feeling thrilled at finally seeing monsoon arrive and getting irritated at the fate and state of the roads and infrastructure here in Hyderabad. What apathy! I am sometimes disturbed by all I see.

Growing up in Bombay has its own disadvantages. I was at first very surprised to see wires run across from poles to buildings, outside roads, across roads, outside people’s balconies, just about everywhere; in cities like Bangalore, Chennai and now here in Hyderabad. I was surprised to hear from my husband, Satya that apart from Bombay, none or maybe a few cities have underground tube system for electricity cables.

Most political organizations don’t even seem remotely interested to address the hazards that such wires can result it. Last monsoon as I was entering a building, I felt a slight tingle of electric shock in my arm. Shocked (literally) I looked up and saw the maze of wires overhead. Water had dripped from it into my arm? Since then I make it a point to avoid standing, parking etc below such wires. But getting back to what I was talking about, why aren’t people more interested in getting their city in shape.

At a talk, I once attended by Vandana Shiva, she mentioned very casually that digging was India’s national professional. Though we all in the audience laughed heartily at her words, the truth in them is undeniable. Every second some thing is being dug up somewhere in India. Why India, I bet even in this city at all seasons something is on. If you are going to dig up the roads anyway, why not lay some tubes for wires too! I can empathize with people not even noticing this in Hyderabad. Water is a perennial issue. It either doesn’t come or is dirty or is bore-well water. Roads are full of potholes. Who has time to worry about electric wires?

Madhapur, the hi-tech city, of tomorrow has no drinking water pipeline. Most tankers, I hear, are owned by politicians. Is it any surprise there are no pipelines? Supplying drinking water rakes in the moolah like nothing else does here. There are gardens galore, but there are no trees. The ones that are there are being chopped off for wider roads. From my fifth floor balcony, I can count at least 30 buildings and 3 trees. What a ratio. Ok yes those tiny shrubs and hibiscus trees abound in each building compound. But I see them bringing, no rain, man.

I open my window and look into my neighbour’s kitchen in the northern end of the house and into another neighbour’s living room in the southern end. If we each stick our hands out of our windows, we can shake them. Only the west end overlooking a concrete sea is respite. Thank god for the sunsets, else I would be able to survive.

I can’t help but feel this will never change. Someday I fear people wont be able to see the sky. I feel it can only get worse. Satya feels that something major will happen to make it all change. But he feels before that many cities will die and there will be hundred of small towns which will crop up. People, he says, wont go live in cities becauses towns will have it all. Wasnt this the Gandhian model of development?

Hmm. Brain is working overtime today.

Defining joyous freedom

Joyous Freedom: A child on a rooftop, running around in wide circles, face raised in expectation, arms outstretched, with palms welcoming the first drops of rain.

That to me is joy unshackled and letting itself dance. Watching the boy in the neighboring building from my balcony yesterday, for a moment I was jealous. And then I was running with him, reveling in his happiness. Remembering my childhood and hating that I was grown up.