The dust bin of my life!

“A life without changing views is a life without questioning your own beliefs and biases”

This quote blew my mind off! One of the worst things about growing old is the trash bin you had used to throw away your own ideas. This bin keeps growing. I had written things down in the mind only to tear them apart and throw them off along the way of life, and written completely new ideologies.

A friend started talking about a movie which she loved back then but now have a completely different view. This got me thinking as well; I decided to open up that trash bin of my life and have a look at the thrown away ideas.

I was the strict culturalist who thought following one’s culture made sense. I had even thought the so-called ‘Tamil culture’ was morally superior. As I grew older I realized cultures by definition change and most of the cultures are in fact a hindrance to human development. Also, attributing moral values to cultures does not make any meaning now.

I once thought the solutions to most of our problems are with the governments; “More the government, better it is”, had been my tagline. Now I realise it is actually wrong and democracy by definition should have very little government. Profiteering was once a dirty word in my world, now I understand profiteering is actually beneficial and all my life I had been profiteering though I spoke against it.

I had often thought of myself to be extremely feminist only to realize that feminism is a much deeper construct and I had been the typical patriarchal misogynist my society had always been. As and when I touch the filth my trash bin had been, it is worrying how life’s constructs are often determined by your circumstances and situations rather than by reading and understanding complex ideologies. Okay, off to the next paper!

The next paper I’m picking up from the bin is about my idea of religion. Religion for me for a long time meant doing things in a corporate. The church was this large building where a group of individuals worshipped God. My conception of religion has changed so much that I don’t envision churches to be places of worship anymore. The institution of religion looks far more suppressive than it had ever been in my life.

And on it goes! The trash bin of life. I’m questioning my own biases and belief’s and hence the bin gets bigger. Is it possible that one day I will wake up and go back to a few of these ideologies? or once thrown there is never going back? Only time can tell.

Do you change views as you go by? Else, you are not questioning your beliefs and biases enough.

Seven young girls, a hope and a miracle!

Seven young girls, like the many millions in this country, lost their job due to COVID-19. As hope always does to anyone, they kept living in their meagre savings hoping that one day the lockdown will be over and life will come back to normalcy. Sadly, one can only hope! Life is a lot complex. Slowly the savings got over. The employer helped for some time with food, but nobody could afford free lunch forever. Realising that very soon they will have to start planning their way back home to Odisha, these girls started to walk towards the Chennai central railway station.

Sadly they attracted eyeballs. By the time a few volunteers from the 'Loving migrants' group found this out, there were men asking all sorts of questions. They were wary of even the volunteers until a few women in the group could convince them about their right intentions.

Now, sending migrants back home is a long and tedious process. They will have to be sent to a shelter house, tested for COVID, registered with the government, wait for their state's trains before they can reach home. All these take time.

The group set the ball rolling. The women shelter houses were informed about the presence of another seven girls. But sadly, the shelter houses weren't willing to take them in, fearing corona. "We don't let them in without testing for COVID", said their in-charge. But COVID tests in government hospitals are strenuously difficult affairs. They never could afford private testing. How long can they be left stranded on the roads? Especially with so many of the men watching their every step. The volunteers decided to spare some money and put them in a safe lodge until further action.

While all these were happening a volunteer 'A' who was packing the kits for the day's train to Assam happened to meet a railway official. A informed about the plight of these girls to the railway official. The official had a brain wave. "The Shramik train for the day going to Assam is supposed to stop in Odihsa to fill water. We will try and put them into this train" said the official.

These girls were packed off immediately in a small car and brought to the Railway station. But as luck would have it, another official from the Assamese embassy stopped the girls from entering the platform. "This is a train by the Assam government, meant for Assamese. We are not letting anybody else in"; A was stuck again; What do we do now? Take them back to the lodge? How safe are these lodges to stay overnight? The questions are many, answers are few and far between.

When the Assame official was looking else-where A managed to sneak in the girls into the railway platforms and with the help of the railway official helped them enter the train before anybody else could step in. The group managed to find someone in the Odisha railway station to pick them up and take them safely to their places.

When A narrated this story, he mentioned it to be a miracle that anyone could get a train the same day and reach home so fast. It is sad, that it has to be a miracle for young women in this country to reach home safe. It is equally sad that so many good people have to come together to safely pave a path back home for young women in this postmodern world.

Hope the situation settles down and hope the young girls can fly their nest again; Well, hope can be a powerful weapon in a world where miracles like these happen!

Finding God in unexpected places!

"What is he doing?" asked my friend pointing to a boy picking up the leftover water bottles at the Chennai central railway station. "Perhaps he is trying to make some money out of it, by reselling the old plastic bottles", I said. Perhaps he is! we both kept watching him as he went about the chore.

It was an odd sight! The central railway station was full of migrant labourers, who are hoping to get the train back to their hometowns. The volunteers were busy giving food to the scores of humans. The lockdown has caused them immense suffering. All of them had lost their jobs. Many had not had food for a few days. Most of them walked many miles to have got there. Everyone looked tired. Sick. Hungry. Frustrated. Confused. The whole atmosphere was a mess! An absolute mess.

In that charged atmosphere, someone cleaning was odd. We slowly went near him. "Aap kya kar rahein hain sir", I asked him. He looked up irritated. What is your business, said his face. He wanted to be left alone. "Sorry to bother you sir, but just wanted to know why are you doing this"; The man slowly opened up.

I don't have any other work sir; I'm a migrant. It has been three months since I have been living on the roads. I want to go home, but don't know when will I be able to get a train. The railway station looked a mess with all the water bottles thrown around. So I thought of cleaning the place. I'm not doing anything anyway, he finished with a small hand gesture used to show insignificance.

The blogger tentacles in me started to feel a story in him. The selfish intrusive idiot I'm, went to him to ask for a photograph. "Sir, I'm just cleaning the station to keep it clean. Nothing else. I don't want my photograph anywhere", he said firmly. That was a slap I badly needed.

To be a good man and to do good is one thing, but to do good work even when the world is against you is divine.

Divinity exists! In those human hearts who can rise above the circumstances to hold onto your convictions. 

My tryst with the migrant labour tragedy!

This was me till yesterday. Hiding from the world and from reality. My brother and I joined a few incredible group of people to help the migrants stuck on the roads due to the COVID lockdown. These people have been doing it for many days and we just joined them for a day to see what is happening. 

Young boys and girls, most of them as young as we are, if not younger,  were sitting by the road. "Kaana kaaliya?" I asked a young man; "Nahin saab", came the reply. He said they were waiting for a train to take them to Bihar. "Train to Bihar?" I asked him. "Haan Ji, hum patna thak jaana padega"; If only he knew that there is no train to Bihar tomorrow, I thought to myself. If only they know? They knew there are no trains tomorrow. Nor for the entire next week. But they are willing to wait. Till they get a train. Do they have a choice? 

As I quietly laid down in bed late yesterday night in the airconditioned comforts of my bedroom, the image of that boy who spoke to me came haunting back. He looked smart. Tall and handsome. In jeans and sneakers. 

How does it feel to beg for food, I asked myself. How does it feel to not know when and where life is taking you? What are his thoughts right now? Is he thinking about his ageing parents? Or his lost dreams? Perhaps he is thinking about the unpaid loan and the after-effects of that. Does he even have the mental energy to care about these things in the absence of the bare minimal food? 

"Where are the toilets for so many people?" I asked one of those there. "Don't ask questions for which you don't have answers for", said he; If only there are answers! I told myself. Till the point, you and I bury our heads in the cacophony of the world without listening to the intricate cries of pain of the real human beings there are no answers. 

Even as these thoughts were wrestling for space in that small brain space of mine, a sudden thought came to me. If a few men, like the volunteers who took us, who had their eyes and ears open to the harsh realities of the suffering could find answers to the questions thrown at them, why can't I?

Perhaps, I have my eyes and ears in the deepest bottoms of my privilege! 

The man I bow down to!

"I know the value of life, I lost my brother due to the lack of ambulance and timely action," said Manikandan.

My sister saw the video of him going about his business of saving lives in his small Ambulance. She and her husband decided to give some money to him for his selfless sacrifice. The man picked up the call, acknowledged their praise and refused money! REFUSED MONEY! "Sir, I am doing this for free; I'm fine and comfortable with what I do, thank you very much".

As my sister pinged me this story, I could visualise her in tears. Here is a man who is serving the society for free, and not taking any money for his service. No, he is not like my sister to be giving a part of her earnings to charity. Never is he the common man like me, to sit and talk away, the society's issues on Twitter and Facebook. This man is real. He genuinely goes out of the way to help. From whatever little he has, he gives; And he gives his all.

There are a few who start strong and wither away. Perhaps this man is like that. He would have started this sojourn during COVID times, I told myself; "I have done this for 49 months and have saved 650 lives. I have not gone home during corona times. I sleep in my ambulance and police provide me with food". Manikandan answers sceptics like me.

"Why do you do this when your life itself is in poverty," many people ask me says Manikandan. I want to do this for my brother. To the best of my ability. Till I can.

I bow down to that man, not because he refused the money, but because, for him, the cause is more important than the money.

Will I ever find that purpose in my life, for which I can give my life, without expecting anything in return?


For those who can understand my language - https://www.facebook.com/584025382087845/posts/831515464005501/

The woman who fought patriarchy and changed Indian health care forever!

"Sir, I want to start a medical school", said Ida. "Come again? You want to start what?" Colonel Bryson woke up from his slumber. "Medical school colonel"; "A medical school for women" replied Ida. Ha, you are joking, ain't you? the colonel just shrugged it off! Do you know what you are asking? Do you know the famous joke on the sheep brains, doctor? the colonel continued. There was this big feast where mutton was served. One guy went to the cook and asked him where are the brains, the sheep's brains. The cook nonchalantly replied, they were all female sheep. They never had any brains. You know this famous Indian joke, don't you doctor, the colonel continued. Women don't study in India doctor Ida. They just don't. Just leave this foolish idea of yours and get going. Colonel Bryson, the in-charge for medical schools in the then Madras Presidency during British India told Dr Ida Scudder, the women who founded the biggest and best medical college in India.

Dr.Ida was not quitting. Colonel, you know the needs of this country. So many women are dying for want of women doctors and please let me start one, cried and begged Ida. Do you at least have the money to start school? oh, the money will come, Ida just shrugged it off. But do you have at least the buildings? We will build them shortly, Ida was persistent. The man was getting irritated. Who will teach Dr.Ida, who will teach? Do you have the teachers? Bryson was angry by now; I can teach colonel, said Ida. Serenity personified!

The frustrated colonel let Ida have the final laugh. Okay, Dr.Ida, you win, I will let you start the medical school, provided you get 3 applicants. Three! I'm sure you won't even get one. But if you have three students, go ahead and start the first medical school in India for women.

Dr Ida Sophia Scudder got 64 applications then. She chose 18 women. The first 18 women medical doctors from India. When the first year of the Madras University exams concluded, the colonel met Dr.Ida again. Promise me you won't quit doctor if all your girls fail. Even the men have found it tough, many of your girls may fail, Bryson told Ida with the typical masculine arrogance. When the results came, only 50% of the men passed, while all of 18 Ida's students passed in first class.

Aunt Ida, for me, is the greatest human to have lived in this country, for she fought against all odds, and the biggest of them all, patriarchy, to give us all health care. What if Aunt Ida had quit against the might of human stupidity that day? I would not have been where I'm now, for my grandmother belonged to the second batch of her students after the medical school became a medical college in 1942. Today more than 50% of medical doctors coming out of India are women. Almost all of the gynaecologists of this country are women. For that day, one woman stood against every nonsense the world threw at her and won, and changed Indian health care forever.

Remembering her on the day 60 years after she died! But for Aunt Ida, we may have still kept our women in the kitchens of the world.

But for him, I would have lost hope a long time ago!

I did not have much ambition. Happy go lucky was I. Sport was all I wanted and all I did!  I was 17 and going nowhere. I had not prepared well for the most important class XII exams, and anyways I did not care much. It was the summer of 2003 when my uncle gave a cassette and asked me to listen to a man speak.

"Listen to a man speak?", I thought to myself. Just to please my uncle, and of course, to show off I listened to that man. I played the cassette once, twice and many times over. Every time I listened to him, it did something to me. My heart missed a beat. Every time!

Then, life happened. Failure in class XII meant I had to reconcile to the fact that I will never be the doctor which the world around me expected me to become. His words gave me my life's meanings. When the mighty and the glitzy world of IT did not give me satisfaction, I turned to him again. When the loneliness of the mission fields of Assam hit me, he was not far away, and when the pain of going through mommy's final moments bothered me, I did turn to him for solace.

For Ravi Zachariahs always spoke the right words. He wrote the perfect prose. He had the poise of the words and dexterity of language, that can attract anybody. But the flowery language was just the music, his life was the words that spoke. My travel music was his words. He was the jogging companion long before the modern-day podcasts got me hooked. When my faith was questioned, and when I question my faith myself, Ravi was the sole voice which had held me onto the belief in Christ. For sure, the voice was his, but maybe the words came from above; For I doubt humanity have answers to some of the questions he had answers for.

I write, delete, write again and delete again! My words cannot justify the life of the man, whose words made me the man I'm! RIP Ravi, for you made my life meaningful, by the power of your words. Perhaps the words were otherworldly!