From My Cubicle

            Not too long ago, I lived in colonial, two-kitchen, four-bedroom bungalows with high, tiled roofs and acre-big compounds where I grew flowers and plucked fruits from century-old trees. I fed peahens in my backyard, covered our ears to keep out the maniac laughter of the hyenas at night. Dark nights without electricity, spent on cots criss-crossed with linen strips, on terraces, where stars were at plucking distance. The desert moon loomed on the horizon, copper at rise and silver at set. The Niligiri, Shivaliks, Aravallis, Sahyadris and the mighty Himalaya stretched as we drove from posting to posting with our son, dog and scanty luggage. 

            Accommodation wasn’t fancy, salaries were low, we lived from month to month a basic life. But when I opened the windows in my various homes, I saw large slices of our planet as they were meant to be before wheels intruded: hornbills, Malabar squirrels, barn owls, mongoose, iguanas, monitor lizards, wild cats…  ferns, fungi, baobabs...

            The pace of life in the towns around was little different from past centuries. Relationships had been built over generations. Local history was alive, passed on from grandparents to grandchildren. My son went to school four kilometers away on a cycle. The road was a rubble-track. We went for family outings on our scooter, part of the soil, the grass, the breeze, the clouds, the dew. Medical emergencies, higher studies, ‘good’ jobs, computers, mobiles… we were ignorant of them all.

            Once, an airhostess friend who had traveled the world said to me: “You need to see the Real World. This is ok for a holiday. Get a Life, come on.”

We’ve made that transition into that Real World, into a tiny flat. We learnt quickly to squeeze past crowds as we jiggled our way to the market. One caught up with one’s thoughts in traffic jams or on the local train commute. Once, palak, or karela or doodhee took a couple of days from seed to table, that too weather-permitting. Now I just dial and get whatever I want delivered to my door, any time of the year. (Love that amenity!). It meant I have more time to harness my talents. 

Our bank account has swelled a bit. More money means I can explore more avenues.

At the age of forty-four, I took up a job, was introduced to Management Systems, and worked on a computer. Nothing in my past had prepared me for the excitement of modern technology, Quality Indicators, Reports, Presentations. A different, endless world: I love it. The size of a house, the label on one’s car, is meaningless. Occupation brings excitement, satisfaction.

 Music programs at the NCPA, transport me back to the open spaces, the greenery, the seasons… and some part of my brain triggers memories of sights, smells, emotions that cramped city-life has suppressed. I yearn for the different shades of green, the soothing expanse, the sense of belonging to all whom I saw: when there were no strangers in my neighbourhood. I feel sorry for the children who have never felt the pleasure of cool breeze on a sweaty skin. Sweat that was earned, not acquired because the ac wasn’t functioning. Will they know the smell of dawn in winter, summer, the rains? I feel sorry for the elders who can’t sit around doing nothing at all, just watching the seasons change, when they are frail and helpless.

Yet I appreciate urban architecture, the glass-steel towers, the lifts, the glitzy interiors. the way chawl-dwellers creatively use ceilings to hang their clothes on, …even onions, vessels, brooms and tricycles at times. The yard in which boys play cricket and the men park their scooters gets covered by a shamiana to celebrate a wedding or a festival.

I am stimulated here as I wasn’t out in the countryside. Everyone around me is energized. The spirit of success is infectious. Dreams, aspirations and the will to make them come true… exist and flourish side by side. This is where the mind expands…. well beyond the sky. 

            I don’t even have an entire cubicle to myself; space is measured and utilized by the square inch in this city. Still from my chair and table in my remote corner, I access the world, impossible in my previous avatar. My articles are read by people who don’t know my gender, nationality, race, or whether I’m fat or thin. They give me objective, unbiased feedback. My mind wanders across the globe and words follow as they leave the keyboard, straight onto the monitor of an unmet, unknown friend somewhere, anywhere in the world, through cyberspace. I don’t know whether s/he is rich, poor, ill, healthy, mean, generous. I am comfortable thus reaching out to the unknown. My colleagues haven’t seen the spaces I have, the sanctuaries, the forests, the meadows, mountains, deserts, lakes. They pay big money to go on treks, on cruises, and show their children what the Real World looks like. How ironic!

I compare past years with the present: I’ve seen superb spaces outside of me, and have explored the soul within. The spirit grew in the outdoors; the mind has grown within cement boundaries.

Television has allowed the world into villages, inside huts. It has opened the eyes of women, children, farmers…. yes, criminals, too. Roads have changed the geography and vocabulary in many areas. Wheels have displaced trees.

I have benefited by technology which is now an integral part of my life. First hand I have witnessed the grandeur, the splendour of my land… which has sadly been (and is still being) raped and killed ruthlessly.

 If my nation is to have robust health, both kinds of wealth (Nature and Technology) will be needed in equal measure. One without the other would be disastrous. Good luck, India.  

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