Never Mind the Floods

“Whatta month,” exclaimed Bai Goanna on the last day of August. “Floods, rain, more rain. And then the government does away with Article 370, BJP’s stalwarts dying, a Major General dismissed for sexual harassment, fish still being injected with formalin, taxi-mafia being tamed by the CM, so many things happening.” “Do you,” said Shri Husband, “have any idea what Article 370 is about?” To my, and definitely to Shri Husband’s, surprise, Bai Goanna could tell us the pluses, minuses and in-betweens of whatever has happened in Jammu and Kashmir and Ladakh, what is likely to happen and the pros and cons of the Parliament’s most controversial recent decision regarding that region/ State/Union Territory. Before we could react, she explained that she’d been watching a lot of television lately and hence her knowledge of current events. Ah, technology, keeps everybody informed, stupid or intelligent, illiterate or schooled… What would we do without television crews sitting in Army boats? Does it occur to anyone that the Press guys might actually be hampering work? I remember, during the tsunami rescue operations in Tamil Nadu, reporters had to be given shelter, food, whatnot by the public servants (cops, municipality workers): they were coming the way of the real rescue teams. Also, spiritual-messengers from modern ashrams teaching the distraught to de-stress when what the ‘victims’ needed was drinking water, food, dry clothes, preventive (allopathic) medicines and sanitary napkins. …Bai Goanna was quoting leaders, writers, politicians, historians… pat! Shri Husband and I almost simultaneously vocally agreed on one thing: “We have to thank the electricity department of Goa and Saligao-Porvorim in particular, for keeping the facility going come storm or blocked drain-water.” Shri Husband took the first breath and asked me: “What does blocked-drain-water mean?” He’s the only one in India who’d ask such a question. And my grammar-Miss in school. Then, having successfully irritated me, he said: “I’m joking, re. Really, the light-men and the water-men did a fantastic job, hanh. So, also, the fire-men and the poder.” Truly, our village, marooned by the Guirim flood and the Porvorim traffic, was not much inconvenienced thanks to the utility men. Except for the one day when the government of Goa declared a holiday, come hell or high water, our teachers and students made their way to school for exams, sometimes wet, but always smiling. The scowls were more on the faces of habitual cribbers, more to do with in-house politics, less with Nature’s fury. In cities, the municipality workers who are the world’s greatest shirkers, according to some, rose to the occasion to clean up whatever mess they could. A question of too little too late, perhaps, but they did it. In our village, the postman and the gas-delivery chaps did their work with a sense of duty-is-duty. Valor, guys. No vegetables bothered my wado as, a rarity in Goa, it’s a vegetarian wado. Please note, I do not use the juvenile word, veggie; always the full forms, vegetables and vegetarian. The nustekar, too, unfailingly made his rounds to supply ‘fish-food’, as English-speaking Goans say, to us ‘fishies’ (like ‘veggies’). Formalin-laced or not, it’s a treat to eat tisrya-ek-shipi with hot rice and bhindi-solan kodi when it’s pouring. Available only in people’s homes. The fungus, the cobwebs, the damp clothes, the sunless days, we smile through them all, we Indians. Now, with Facebook connecting us, we smile into our mobile phones and then share the pics with the world, for those who know us even vaguely, to say ‘awesome’. I often wonder how many of those from non-affected areas contribute to the rehabilitation of losers of limb, life or property. Even those who claim they support the Indian Armed Forces and are proud of them, seldom give jobs or pay for the tuitions of the dependents of the soldiers/airmen/sailors in times of need. We’re still into the mode ‘government must do it’. I dislike this question that reporters ask: ‘what has the government done for you?’ We citizens love cutting down trees, using tons of plastic, refusing to segregate our waste, showing off our bullying talents, and we expect our elected representatives to be responsible. Ha. Strangely, whilst our national media was crying itself hoarse defending or attacking the government’s way of dealing with the removal of Article 370, an important national event, our school teachers were worried about seating arrangements, supervision, answer-sheet collections and marking. Truly, the lives of the migrant junta and we who deal with the daily living of their children, our students, is far removed from what’s happening in Parliament, Delhi. When the new Education Policy comes to us, we’ll wake up. Until then, it’s chalta-hai. By the time this goes into print, Ganapati would have visited and gone. The rains, too. A large number of us, unfazed by natural calamities and other such silly words, would have bought and discarded un-dissolvable statues of the beloved Lord. The traffic snarls and cars that need unnecessary trips to workshops are mere nuisances in times of heavy rains and floods. We in Goa take those in our stride. Tillari and other faraway places are, well, too far for us to worry about. Ditto with forests. We urban folk are happily detached from reality. I wasn’t surprised when a modern, well-informed mother told me there are no Dalits in Goa; her daughter had heard about the floods, saw them on television, also, but her world begins in Porvorim and ends in Panaji, so watching them on screen was no different from watching a movie in Inox. They faced the problem of not being able to celebrate a birthday properly because favourite restaurants weren’t getting the correct ingredients for the items on the menu. In my school, in contrast, the parents are worried about their next meal. The women who make the midday meal made do with green grams for a couple of days; but they did their duty well, cooking it in different ways, making sure it was freshly cooked and served hot. Teachers managed with leaking ceilings and sniffles. Never mind the floods, was the attitude, we’re there to make the school run, we’ll do it. Floods? said an acquaintance, it’s a temporary thing. Life goes on, true. Without safe drinking water, with destroyed homes, dead pets, it takes time, but life goes on. Right? What worries some is the fact that the auto-industry has a slowdown happening.

Three Anti Opinions

(29 Aug ’10)

           In the locality I live in, in Mumbai, I’m sort of sandwiched between the headquarters of Shiv Sena on one side and the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena on the other. Friends from upmarket areas like Powai feel it’s some sort of a ‘backward’ area. I gave it thought: if I lived in any of the high-funda skyscrapers, I wouldn’t have been able to move around in a synthetic, glittery-shiny mass-Surat-produced, deejhayner sari. Here, I can wear my jeans, my neighbour can flaunt her ghunghat, or nine yards or burkha, and it’s ok. Firstly, wearing short tops or skirts doesn’t make you a progressive thinker, and neither does living in my neighbourhood make one a Hindu horror. There are plenty of moderate, mild, balanced people around here without vitriolic opinions about any caste or creed. Indeed, one of the things I love to write about is 6 Dec, Ambedkar’s punyatithee, when lakhs of dalits from all over the country converge to this park. It’s a sign of fourth-generation urban hospitality that they go back pleasantly surprised at the smoothness of their stay. None of the newer neighbourhoods would be able to manage that. This is one place where one can loudly say we need to rid ourselves of non-Maharashtrian people… and the very next day, the non-Maharashtrians get a chance to declare that this is their homeland, has been so for the past four generations. Where a Gulf-rich neighbour said: I could have a bigger car, but it would look out of place here. Talk of sensitivity…We’re pretty much tolerant of even the intolerant here.

            Another anti-opinion: schools in India must be doing something right. The Olympiads, for physics, chemistry, maths and biology have thrown up world champions year after year from India. Not from the fancy city schools, but from government vidyalayas and private ones with names like “Jai Hind Higher Secondary School”. Since my son studied in schools where the fees were barely Rs 15 for a term, in several states in the country, I can speak from some experience. In Rajasthan, I was possibly the only literate mom of my son’s class. In Goa, too, he studied in the T B Cunha HS school. Products of these schools don’t have the impression that ‘they know it all’ and that those who ‘don’t belong’ are in any way inferior. So also, whilst we must take in the good from the West, we aughtn’t to throw away all our processes. Learning by rote has its advantages: vocabulary, dictation, spellings, tables, colours. Rote has its limitations, but one can’t or shouldn’t do without it. I’m told by those who’ve lived abroad, that they appreciate the discipline that our children display. I recommend ‘A Road Less Travelled’ for those who believe that discipline is not required. In the long run, good habits taught in time help a person, a community and a nation. Even small things matter: calling an elder by the first name isn’t part of our culture. A mark of respect is appreciated the world over. Our schools do teach that. If we have so many Indians making their mark across the planet, we have several invisible, unsung teachers to thank for that.

            A third: my job requires me to work with the disabled. I know it’s politically incorrect to say anything but ‘special’ child, but blind is blind, deaf is deaf, and all of those need extra care, extra effort, extra everything…. From Normal people. Parents and family of course, but teachers, bus conductors, everyone. Seldom do I hear any of the differently abled persons or their families thanking those that are reaching out to them, spending a lot of time and energy to make their lives easier and as close to normal as possible: doctors, nurses, technicians, wardboys, educators, friends, relatives, strangers who donate money….. I have many instances of people who walk into my office to donate a part of their salary for a deserving patient. Rarely has a patient come to thank the anonymous benefactor or even track him/her. Sad.  It’s important to fight for one’s rights. It’s also important to recognize timely help and show gratitude. It’s not demeaning.

            Fourth: my favourite: we blame the government and the municipality for things we don’t do for ourselves. On this … some other time.

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