The young parent!

That photo evoked intense memories. A family photo with my mom, brother, uncle, aunt and a few cousins. Damn, we all looked so young. 

The mother looked the youngest. She looked all of 25, perhaps she was 30 then. I looked 10. My mom wasn't the youngest by Indian standards when she had her children. She was a medical doctor and so had many more years of education, which prevented her from getting married early, as is the case with almost all Indian women of her generation. Yet, it hit me hard. She was at least 10 years younger when she had her first son than I was when I had mine. 

With the wisdom and understanding that only grey hairs and time can give, I huff and puff every time there has to be a decision on my children. Will it be the right one? Am I doing it well? Are we being too strong? Are we being too brash? So many questions go through my mind, and I know wifey asks similar questions too every time we do something for our children. 

How was it having children when you were so young and Naive yourself? A whole lot of my mom's patients became parents when they themselves were in their teens. How was it going through the emotional trauma of having to guide a child when you yourself are lost in the big, bad unknown world?

That picture was taken in New Delhi, thousands of kilometres from our place. None of us knew the language spoken there. In that picture, when all of us cousins and aunts were sitting and facing the camera, my uncle is seen standing, facing elsewhere. He would have been 40. Having two teenage children (my cousins) sitting there with us.  I'm just trying to understand what he would have been thinking at that particular moment. A young male. Not knowing the language. Taking his sisters and extended families, five children, and three women on a trip to a faraway land. The entire burden of keeping the family safe and secure is on him. Imagine what a burden that would have been for a not-so-old man then himself? How many much younger people had to do all these and much more for their own families. 

As and when a child is born, so is a parent! Through the complexities of managing one's own life, the intricate world of another young human being is thrust onto the parent. Sometimes life takes most of us through without giving time to intentionally think through what is being taught and what is being learnt by our children. Sometimes our lives are too complex to actually think about anything else. 

When I reminisce on the family picture, I realise through all the complexities I mention here, the mom, the uncle and all the aunts in that picture had done a fairly decent if not a great job at parenting. We have all become pretty decent adults ourselves. 

I wish we, the children in that picture, could get such grace as that was attributed to the moms, uncles and aunts. I wish there would be a family picture that our children will look at a few(many) years from now and say, "Phew, my parents have done a pretty decent job of parenting". 

Till then, I hope, wish and pray that my brothers and sisters and I navigate not only our treacherous lives with aplomb but also steer our children's as well. We are, after all, blessed with a few more years of wisdom, knowledge, understanding and grey hairs to do that job than perhaps all my forefathers ever had. 

A different world this!

 "My life is so happy, I'm helping people and saving lives", said Justina, a teardrop peeping through her eyes.

 Justina manages the High-Frequency Radio Station; I know; I understand; I was equally surprised listening to her story as much as you, dear readers. How does someone operating a radio station save lives? Welcome to this world. The world of radios. 

"There are remote places in the highlands which don't connect to mobile telephones. People might have to walk one or two hours to get a signal. Hence, the primary mode of communication for such villages is through High-Frequency Radio waves. So MAF Technologies, the Organisation that employs Justina, has installed radio stations in many of these villages. Most of these radio stations are kept along the airfields. Yes, airstrips, the only mode of transport for them is a small aircraft. 

In times of emergencies, like last month, when a wild pig had bitten a lady, the villagers go to the airstrip agent. The agent calls the MAF Technologies monitored radio station. If the case needs emergency transportation of the patient, like in this case, the flight operators are informed over the radio about the emergency and emergency air ambulances are flown in. If the patient just needs an assessment, a doctor is patched up on the radio for long-distance assessments and advice. 

Even in non-emergency situations, when any person in a village, wants to pass on a message to someone in the bigger towns, the radio stations are used, again through the airstrip agent and through MAF Technologies, and in most cases Justina. "I monitor the radio station from 7.45 am to 5 PM, but we will have to monitor it 24*7*365 and hence other staff pitch in and take turns during weekends and evenings", Justina concluded, in her measured radio-trained tone. 

At a time when Non-Governments are scoffed upon and a generation for whom altruism and selflessness are foreign words, there is a motley group of men and women monitoring radio stations and saving lives. 

The numbers over the years have come down! Cell phone penetration is happening, albeit slowly. But Justina is sure that there are still villagers who will need her and her ilk. Last year had 368 calls, out of which 116 were medical evacuations and 69 were medical assessments done over radio. 

I could not complete my graduation. Violence in my village at that time did not let me complete it. My home was burnt. My parents could not afford to send me to university. It is God's grace that I ended up joining here. I'm happy. I save lives. Justina concluded. 

It is indeed a different world! A world where quiet, simple and sincere people like Justina are fighting odds to save lives. 

As I sat straight and buckled my seat belt, I realised something interesting. To my left was an Aboriginal Yolngu woman, and to my right was a White Australian. 

I was travelling around Arnhem land researching the impact of MAF on that part of the world and had just hopped onto an MAF caravan to reach the Elcho Islands, which are close to the northern coast of Australia.

What is so interesting about having a Yolngu woman and a white man on the same flight as I am? 

No, it is not uncommon for Yolngu folks and non-Yolngus' (called the balandas) to interact, but the power dynamics are extremely skewed usually in favour of the balandas. In the church, at the marketplace, at the school and even the playground one can see the Balandas often are at the receiving end of the equation. 

I guess, power dynamics are complex things and it might not be right to frivolously use such complex equations in blogs, but I just realised, that on that MAF plane, where the Yolngu and the Balanda sat together, I could see a glimpse of an equal world. 

As one MAF staff said, the Westerner or the balanda is often there in Arnhem land, the aboriginal heartland, to serve the Yolngu tribe. To be the police officer, to be the teacher, the church pastor or the community health worker. While as lofty as the notion of service is, it sadly does come with the baggage of power, especially with so much loaded history behind it. 

This power dynamic inevitably takes away the confidence of the Yolngu. 

An Indian, as I read the history of my nation when the Westerners ruled, Indians always looked up to the Western world. The white skin was awe-inspiring. It took generations for the  Indians to realise that they could stand together on the same platform as everybody else. 

Of course, MAF is there to serve. To serve the Yolngu. But on that flight, I realised, that MAF doesn't only serve but also facilitates travel for the Yolngu tribes and in that process, puts everyone together on the same pedestal

Can MAF be the facilitator of equal power dynamics? Will there ever be a time when a Yolngu tribe will pilot a Balanda across Northern Australia, and perhaps across the world? Can MAF be the harbinger of an equal society where there is neither a Jew nor a Greek, there is neither a slave nor free, neither a Yolngu nor a Balanda, and everyone is seen and treated as those in the image of Christ? 

On the last day of the trip, I was asked to take devotions to the MAF Arnhem land community. I realised everyone in the hall at that time was a Westerner. When an Indian from a small town can stand on par with the Western world, there will come a time when the complex thread of power dynamics that bind the Yolngus will be broken. 

And MAF indeed has a huge role to play in it. 

Building an ecosystem, one flight at a time!

 "This place has the potential to be a Bali, this has among the highest number of marine species in the world" said he. I had just hopped off a small 6-seater aircraft onto a tiny island in the Indian Ocean, between the Australian subcontinent and the Indonesian archipelago just off the coast of a country called 'Timor-Leste'. 

There was a tuk-tuk waiting along the airstrip. This random Australian was waiting near the Tuk-tuk. Perhaps he was a tourist there. As is my usual, I started talking. We got into the tuk-tuk together and were taken along a dusty road into the village. 

I looked around. A single old broken basketball board stood in a corner. A few mud-unused dilapidated buildings as well. The greenery on one side of the road was covered with dust. The other side was the blue of the Ocean. The tuk-tuk huffed and puffed through the bumpy ride.

After a few minutes of travel, we entered a small compound. "A small resort", he said. Well, it's a resort of sorts. A few white men were having a meal. My co-passenger introduced me to his friend. Apparently, a volunteer helping out in one of the resorts. The volunteer called me to pull in the chair. 

I had recently been to Bali. That is a different world. How on earth will this place become a Bali? His statement was still ringing in my mind.  

I pulled in the chair and sat cross-legged on the chair like only I could. He was just finishing his meal. We started chatting about tourism on this Island. I was mandated to look at the life of the Indigenous people on this remote island and of course, learn about the importance of MAF on their lives.

What was I doing talking to this white man there? 

"This place has live corals and some of the most beautiful marine beings in the world" he continued. Imagine if they could make this place an important tourist destination, the money will start coming into this country. This being so close to Australia actually is a big advantage I suppose. Snorkelling and scuba diving are big sports in that part of the world as well and where better to snorkel than a place with live corals and thousands of marine beings.

"So what is preventing the place from becoming a Bali", the curious man in me asked. 

The biggest challenge the Island faces is the inability to have, regular, dependable, transport services to and fro. The boats could not be trusted. Rough seas are often a dampener. Since the place is only 15 minutes from an airport, having a small air service is an absolute game changer he reckoned. 

"That was the original plan when we started the flight services to Atauro Island", said the MAF country director of Timor-Leste. "We could bring in more tourists and this can revive the sinking post-COVID economy of the place".

"Imagine, if someone stays there over the weekend, he will have to buy food from the local market, which could help the fisheries business in the village, and that could slowly help create a tourist ecosystem here", said one of the seniors of the Island village. 

I did end up talking to a few more people from that Island village. One of them, a tourist, who had flown down on the MAF flight himself said, he would end up spending a few hundred dollars there in the village. More people, more money coming in I suppose! More money, better lives for local indigenous people. 

"Would you be coming over, if the flights weren't available?", I asked a few of them! Many of them replied in the negative. MAF flights are a definite must it seemed like, for the building blocks of this village to be created. 

I had often asked myself the question, "Why should MAF fly commercial?"

I realised then, before the commercial honchos of the world step in, to establish an ecosystem of business, someone has to do the dirty job of setting up the base. Before the money starts to come in, someone has to be creating the stepping stones.

That I guess, is what MAF is doing to the Atauro Island. Creating an ecosystem of Tourism. One flight at a time! 

When dreams become reality!

It is dark. The night is too far gone that the faint crescent of the waning moon hangs over the trees. The house is dimly lit, too! An old-fashioned yellow chandelier of sorts gives a more cosy feeling than the clean, energizing white light. In a corner, I am randomly looking at the screen, intensely thinking about the few months that have gone by! 

It has been two months and it is still sinking in. The little baby girl is ours. We have named her Diya, meaning Lamp. 

Oh wait, what is happening? 

Cut to the year 2002. I was in class XI. My uncle had taken me to a movie theatre. A movie called "Kannathil Muthamittal (A peck on the cheek)". Something in me broke that day. I promised myself then, that I would adopt a baby. A baby girl! Well, very foolish indeed. Perhaps, childish.Whoever makes such random promises. 

Well, 22 years later, here I am, a father again, having adopted this beautiful baby girl. Sometimes dreams become realities too, I suppose! 

She just slept on me. It all feels surreal. 

Apparently, she was abandoned. Perhaps she was thrown away. Whatever that means. For me, it just meant one thing, She is mine. Ours! 

As she slept on me and I was about to put her to bed, I whispered a prayer, a wish; that one day this young girl of mine would stand on the pulpits of the world and pull down patriarchy and casteism and every nonsense this world had thrown at her and thousands of young girls like her. 

I wish that she will one day be bold to stand for the truth and show light to the dark world, question the unquestionable, brave the high and mighty, and fight every hatred, challenge every bias, bigotry and prejudice. 

Hope one day she will question me, my own insecurities and my idiosyncrasies! The nonsense I throw at her in the name of culture and tradition. One day she will go back to the land of her birth and the land that didn't want her then, will embrace her. She will realise that one day love will overcome; hatred and evil will eventually be destroyed. 

I wish that she doesn't have to walk around dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas as Arundhati Roy puts it, but rather walk freely, over the sepulchre of the broken old world, with little luggage and heads held high to reimagine a fresh new world.

So we start another journey! It could well be the most interesting of all: parenting a girl. How different will this be from being a parent to my now 2-year-old boy? I don't know. How different can parenting an adopted child be? I'm not sure. 

The dreams I had dreamt 22 years ago had come to light. Why not the dreams of today? 

What is a better life?

"There is a crocky here", we should look out for him said 'P'. 'Crocodile' you mean, I asked him. Oh yes, there is one crocodile here, came the nonchalant reply. "Ah, we are fine. We are sitting at quite a distance from him", said he. His body gyrations suggested he wasn't bothered much about a crocodile. 

We had just found a place to talk! On the northern tip of the Australian coast, deep into the aboriginal territory of Arnhem land, in Northern Territory, Australia. I was in my usual cross-legged position till 'P' told me about the crocky. We looked around for it, and a little further down in the shallow sea, we did spot him. Strangely we were comforted having spotted him. "It is easier to have an eye on him if we can spot him, said 'P'". His actions did not suggest a tensed muscle. He was as calm as the surrounding ocean.

So with a crocodile as a listener, albeit at a distance, we started our conversation. 

My organisation had sent me there to listen to and if possible measure the work of  'P' in that part of the world. 

We started discussing his life, his work and its impact on the community! Aboriginals, the ancestors of the land till people from Europe came colonising the land, had lived there forever. Their population though has over the years diminished and only a remnant remains. Now there are workers like 'P' who are trying to empower these people to live better lives.  

But, what is a better life? 

How do we define a better life? Who can give one a better life? Can human beings help each other to have a better life? 

'P' is a professional pilot. From a country and a culture completely different from his current location. All his batchmates are captains in big commercial Boeings and Airbuses these days. But he chose this place. "In the middle of nowhere", as he defines the place. Among Aboriginals who the world doesn't want to live with. 

It suddenly dawned on me, that 'P' is not even facing the crocky. He had an absolutely stunning sense of calmness to him. Perhaps there is a better life. Perhaps 'P' knows it. Perhaps that is where the calmness comes from. Perhaps the 'Ps' of the world, will keep throwing us the light on our dark paths to the so-called 'better life'. 

Is there a better life? 

"P" showed us a freshwater spring right beside the sea

In the middle of nowhere

                                                      We flew this to the middle of nowhere

Of 38 or some such random number!

Writing absolutely heals! In times when life sucked, when the world collapsed right before me, when darkness was all I could see around, when the light at the end of the tunnel could never be seen, I always, always turned to my pen! Rather, my keyboard. Inevitably, every time I have come out better; stronger; and sometimes, even cleaner. 

I guess, to each their own. 

But why do I come back to this page today? It is such a clear day. I'm as happy as happy can be! Everything I had been prescribed in life has been good so far. So why write now? 

My earth completed one more of its round around the sun! It has done so many times that I don't even want to remember the number. Some random number! Yet, it feels good to be alive and well and happy after completing one more of its rounds. 

Well, I'm absolutely grateful for what has been billowed to me. Surely there have been frustrating times but in the long run, it has all evened out! Only the good things remain. 

Do I look forward to running one more round? Absolutely! I look forward to many more rounds. 

As I get ready and drag my earth along for more rounds of the same, I promise to be kinder to the world around me, to keep my senses open to learn more new lessons, to be more intense and to push more hard. 

For there are miles to go; kingdoms to conquer; more people to love; novel lessons to be learnt; and The future beckons. For the 39th time around the world. Or some such random number. I don't care! 

Writing not only heals pain; It also cleanses! And that is why I'm here again. To clean the cobwebs of the mind and get ready to run again.