The Only Constant

“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.” 
- Lao Tzu

Last month, after celebrating my son Adithya’s birthday with a boisterous bunch of fifteen of his friends, we were terribly exhausted. A dinner table discussion that followed amongst three families revolved around the changes that have taken place over the years in our daily lives. And the birthday was the starting point.

Most of the middle class families in the eighties, especially in small towns and rural areas almost never had birthday celebrations. I remember my mother or father saying to me, ‘Oh! You are twelve now’ or ‘tomorrow is your birthday’. That’s it. No cake, no wishes, no gifts, no party. A mom-made delicacy of our choice was the only deviation from the routine. I don’t think we were disappointed by the absolute lack of festivity or fanfare. We had never seen any birthday parties then. So, nothing to compare with and crib. Ignorance is always bliss.

Now the times are different and so are the societal ways and habits. Today, here in Bengaluru, my children attend the birthday parties of their friends and so it is quite natural for them to expect to have their own! Cakes, sweets, presents, return gifts (I discovered this phenomenon recently!), music, a bit of shouting and a ransacked house. I don’t see anything wrong with this, especially when the group is confined to kids. Of course, it is a bit tiresome job-arranging the parties-but it’s okay. I do not wish to pontificate to my kids about 'I never celebrated birthdays, so why should you?', kind of stuff.  Even though it is an overused cliché, change is the essence of life.

When I joined the service, I remember a senior officer giving me a long sermon about how he used to ride a bicycle as a range forest officer in the early seventies. He went on and on about his exploits as an officer ending with the criticism of present crop of foresters who ask for vehicles as soon as they join the department! Thirty years is a long time and I graduated to a motorbike during my range officer days. Today, the trainee foresters are usually provided with Gypsies or Boleros. Should I envy my younger colleagues? Swift mobility is critical for efficiency.

Thanks to mobiles and internet, we are now inundated with forwarded emails, smses and whatsapp messages on the emotional tug of our childhood. Mostly on how different our younger days were in comparison with the present generation’s. Jagjit Singh made us collectively sigh with nostalgia listening to his immortalized rendition of ‘woh kagaz ki kashti’. I have come across some wonderful quotes on how we (the older generation. C’mon, we are pushing forty!) enjoyed our evenings and holidays a few decades ago, maybe not uttering the word ‘bore’ even once, even though there were no mobiles, TV, computer, Xbox or tablets. Nowadays we do not see our kids playing hopscotch and lagori. Innumerable indoor games like ludo, snake and ladder and different versions of cowrie-based dice games have all but vanished from the lexicon of our children. Almost all city-bred kids possibly cannot recite a single rhyme in their mother tongue. Is this something to be worried about?

 Twenty years back I might have perhaps laughed if someone had told me that I would be paying money to eat jackfruit one day. Or shell out twenty rupees for a litre of drinking water. But that’s how things stand in the twenty first century. We buy and eat jamun, guava, ber, anjur and all other assortment of local fruits which were a part of the regular diet of school children not far too long ago. 

In our homes, electronic appliances have all but substituted hard labour. Washing clothes, baking, grinding and increasingly, floor mopping and dish washing have been taken over by the machines. A relative of mine who is very traditional and conservative used to criticize the use of gadgets at home. ‘If you don’t bend and work, how will you get physical exercise?’, was his irritated jibe towards his tech-adopting relatives. He detested the invasion of dining tables into our kitchens in the eighties. Within the next ten years, he had almost all those machines in his house. And yes, the dining table too. It is very convenient for the elderly, no?

Our diets have been altered considerably over the years. Oats, cornflakes, readymade wheat flour, canned food articles, pepsis and colas, innumerable bakery products etc. are a regular part of our meal. We see a mad rush in the sweet shops on the eve of festivals. Who has the time to roll laddus or bake halwas?

Life has gained pace over the years. People have new aspirations and ambitions. Education is becoming more eclectic and also competitive. Families have grown smaller. Women are increasingly becoming financially independent. Everything is 24 x 7. Time is at a premium. Changes are inevitable.

But all the sighing and shake of heads about ‘things have gone bad’ are firmly based on the assumption that things were wonderful in the (g)olden days. Or to take the argument further, that there was always a utopia before. Was it during the Maurya period or Ashoka’s rule or Gupta dynasty or Akbar’s regime? Or Vijayanagara empire? Does this hypothesis stand the test of closer scrutiny?

Bengaluru was heavenly once. It is in a shambles now. We can curse and despair or look at it as a bouquet of opportunities. Metro connectivity, increasing awareness among young voters, positive alternatives in our otherwise bleak political spectrum, talent pool of educated youth, local initiatives for a greener city. One day, this city could well be one of the most livable in the world.

Change is the biggest leveler of all, just like death, or the traffic of Bengaluru!

As long as change does not adversely affect human beings as individuals or as a society, does not threaten the basic fabric of our peaceful existence, there is perhaps no need to battle this force of nature. 

Outsmarting the Mir Jafars

In his first presidential address, Mohammad Ali Jinnah told the constituent assembly of Pakistan in August 1947 that one of the biggest curses that India was suffering from was bribery and corruption. Sixty seven years down the line, things have not changed much. If we go further back in history, whether Mir Jafar helping Robert Clive or Mir Sadiq stabbing Tipu Sultan in the back, or the intrigues and conspiracies in the Maratha clans, all point to a basic human trait. Some kind of Murphy’s Law.If there are opportunities to bribe and to be bribed, there will always be some people who will utilize them for their benefits.

Therefore, in these interesting times when we hear some people shout from the rooftops that they would root out corruption from India, it is pertinent to pause for a moment and ask, ‘can this really be done’? When Transparency International or any similar organization comes out with the ‘corruption index’, the countries are graded from very clean to highly corrupt. None of the countries is classified as ‘corruption-free’. If Denmark or Finland or Switzerland – small, developed nations with miniscule populations-cannot wipe out corruption, can we, a country of a billion plus with a multitude of cultures, languages, aspirations and attitudes, achieve this? I think what is needed to be focused on and can be achieved to a considerable degree is lessening of corruption by reducing the opportunities to indulge in corruption.

When I joined as a trainee in Chhattisgarh in 2004, Right To Information Act was on the anvil. It was still not obligatory for the babus to part with what they perceived as ‘sensitive’ information. Once I observed that an officer who was ahead of his times had declared the results of the written examination for a government post on the same evening. This is a rarity even now in most state government recruitments. ‘If you are transparent, there is nothing to fear about. If you delay, then there is a lot of scope for mischief’, he told me. So, transparency is the key to trim down corruption.

To achieve this transparency, we need to wholeheartedly embrace information technology. IT can revolutionize governance and reduce corruption in a big way. Along with IT, use of widely connected mobile networks can help to improve the quality of life of ordinary citizens. Here are a few examples.

1.   One of the biggest areas of corruption in government sector is civil work. It is so brazen that the public has almost accepted substandard works as a part of their environment. But a little enthusiasm and enforcement from the top can go a long way in changing this gloomy scenario. All departments that take up any kind of civic work-road repairs, laying of new roads, repair of footpaths, building constructions, repair of sewage lines, creation of playgrounds etc- can be mandated to put all the estimates, GPS locations, approvals, certified reasons for taking up the work, details of contractors, purchases and costs, certification of quality, inspection reports etc. of each work on their respective websites. This would make it easier for people to know more about the work in their neighborhood or elsewhere. When there is a fear that someone might question the quality and quantity of work with hard evidence, the executioners will be more careful.

2.   Wages is one more important area where government employees make money. Underpayment, non-payment, extraction of more work than what is permitted in a day-there are different ways to shortchange the poor, deserving laborers. MGNREGS was perhaps the first scheme where it was made mandatory to remit wages to the bank/post office accounts of the workers. This does pose a problem in backward and naxal-affected areas but can be implemented successfully in more accessible regions. When it was suggested about four years back by a relatively young forest officer that this could be implemented in Forest Department, he was advised ‘to learn to live like a bureaucrat’ by an affectionate senior while another superior did not want to see his face.Making it binding for all government departments to pay wages to the worker through bank accounts could be a giant stride forward in substantially minimizing corruption.

3.   Government purchases is another significant function of the departments where shady deals are routinely struck. Apart from paying more than what the items merit, there is also the possibility of purchasing substandard products at a higher cost.Then there is the question of necessity. Again, mandatory online display of all the purchases above a particular ceiling, say 10,000 rupees, by all the departments with information on the rationale of purchase, procedure followed, the authenticity of the supplier, verification of the quality of the product, online market price etc could bring down the level of fraud drastically.

4.   Whenever I pay my income tax dutifully, I wonder about the businessmen, doctors and shopkeepers who evade tax flagrantly. Doctors don’t give receipts, businessmen show losses and shopkeepers avoid issuing bills for the purchase we make. Only technology-driven intervention like mandatory billing monitored by linking the computers of the sellers/service providers to the government’s database etc can improve the situation bringing in more revenue to the government coffers.

5.   Several state governments have adopted guarantee of certain basic services in a time-bound manner to the citizens through Acts such as Sakala in Karnataka. Is it not possible to extend grievance redressal to all citizens of the country through a uniform system like the 911 helpline in the United States?

If someone complains to a civic body about the non-existent street lights or unusable footpath near her house, she will in all likelihood be directed to contact the concerned engineer. Now, is it not the duty of the civic body to ask the concerned engineer to address the problem and then inform her?

Let us suppose that a socially and economically disadvantaged person in the interiors of Bidar district of Karnataka has a complaint that a powerful landlord is trying to take over his land with the connivance of local tehasildar and police. What can he do? Give a complaint to the district Superintendent of Police or Collector? How will he follow up the case? How many times he may have to visit the district head quarter? If he is given the facility of complaining through mail/phone and if it is mandated that the complaint has to be addressed within fifteen days and the outcome intimated to the complainant, then there is some hope of justice for the farmer.

These are but only a few examples which one can think of without going deeper into the malaise. The effects will be clearly visible when the implementation is from top down. A few scattered individual efforts cannot have a national resonance. And ultimately only those initiatives that are clearly defined, commonsensical and time-bound will have an impact on the lives of common man by reducing the scourge of corruption. But no effort can ever eradicate corruption completely. That will always remain a wishful thinking.

Kids Will Be Kids

Some time back while I was giving bath to my son Adithya, he suddenly dropped a bombshell.

‘Appa, what is life?’

Spirituality, religion and philosophy have never been my cup of tea and my knowledge on these subjects is at best peripheral. As I picked up my jaw from the bathroom floor, wondering how best to answer this existential puzzle that bothered my seven year old son, Adithya helped me with a second question.

‘Why is it written that two life left, one life left?’

Ah! There you go!! From then on, I reduced his quota of computer games by a good thirty minutes every week.

As a parent, we are supposed to appreciate and encourage kids to ask questions. I remember a teacher admonishing his eight year old son when I was a post-graduate student. ‘Ask me anything, but don’t ask ‘why’ for everything’! What the heck, I had thought then. Now, a wise father of two boys, I have no hesitation in agreeing to the sage words of my teacher. There is one more thing I have discovered in my short profile as a father. Parents experience tender and loving thoughts about their children when they are fast asleep or after they have left for school. Really!! Once I called a friend of mine and asked him what he was doing. ‘Relaxing. I have just dropped my daughters for the tuitions!’ Similarly another friend quipped, ‘son has left for school. And there is peace at home.’ Though told in a lighter vein, this also shows the talent of kids to exasperate parents.

Children are capable of astonishing us with their amazing abilities that can send any Limca World Record holder scurrying for cover. One Sunday morning I found my two sons discussing something animatedly sitting on the bed. They had just got up, had not brushed their teeth and their faces were hardly ten centimeters away from each other! Kids are immune to common irritants like smelly mouth, untidiness, homework and squalor. I can bet my neck that the amount of dirt and grime you scrub off their bodies during an evening bath would not be less than the quantity of muck spewed out by the washing machine after cleaning a heap of doormats. Homework is perhaps the most important activity that most kids are allergic to. They can tell you with a straight face that there is no homework on a particular day but the next morning they startle you by asking why you did not make them to do the homework last evening! Now the teacher would scold them and only you are responsible for that!! The drama and absolute lack of focus young children exhibit during studies is something that can put to test patience of the most composed parent. When exams approach and my wife begins to teach Adithya in the evenings, I volunteer to do the dishes or other chores in the kitchen. Else it is easy to fly off the handle at the study table with kids who are staring blankly at the books waiting to watch Doraemon!

These days it is interesting to listen to the lingo of small kids. When I ask my son to hurry up so that he won’t be late for school, he responds with a lazy ‘chillax, chillax appa’! Initially innocuous and funny, the language and slangs used by kids pose a challenge to the parents as they grow up. We start worrying about the company they keep and it is indeed a struggle against the inevitable trying to filter curse words and expletives in their conversations with friends. Oh my god, how will I explain to him why he should not use those words!?

All the parents daydream that their kid would one day become a scientist or an officer or a great musician or even a software engineer. After the rise and rise of Arvind Kejriwal, may be, a politician too. ‘She picks up the tunes so very well’, ‘my daughter is only three and she is such a good dancer. You should see her dancing for munni badnaam hui’!, ‘he is very good at counting and yesterday he told me exactly how many chocos he ate with milk’, ‘my son is going for robotics class you know! He is just seven and the teacher says he does better than the thirteen year olds’!! For all these planning and dreaming, children keep shifting the goalposts relentlessly. My elder son wants to be a space scientist one day, a Virat Kohli or Chris Gayle the next and then an actor and then a singer and so the list goes on and the younger son wants to be a train driver, pilot and doctor. But today, given a choice and chance, most kids would prefer to spend their evenings playing with their friends or watching cartoons. Just being kids.

In the tiger land - a brief visit to Dholkhand

          

Dear friends, yesterday while I was going through old files stored in an external hard drive, I found this article written more than ten years ago. I do not know whether this will appeal to all but somehow, this piece is close to my heart and I thought of sharing it with you.

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In the tiger land - a brief visit to Dholkhand

It is more than one year in the Academy and still we have not been to Dholkhand. A bit shameful, really. Hardly 40 km from the IGNFA (Indira Gandhi National Forest Academy, Dehradun) campus, Dholkhand has a long history of forest administration. When we finally decide to explore the wilderness of Dholkhand, seven people volunteer for the endeavor. On 1st of November 2002, we start at 3 p.m. in one jeep and one bike.

Before entering the National Park, we stop at Dholkhand town for a tea break. Inside the Park, the presence of Gujjars, the traditional migrant herdsmen, is clearly evident, what with hundreds of grazing cattle and lopped tress. Mani and Manoj, who are riding ahead in the bike, spot an Indian Rock Python crossing the road. I get a chance to click a couple of photos. The reptile is nearly six feet long and hisses in alarm as it senses our presence. We retreat without wishing to trouble it further. The FRH is 12 k.m. from the entrance of the Park. Across the rau, at the horizon, the setting sun is like a fireball. Red and mild, not fiery, against the dusty forefront. Yonder, on the edges of a small ridge, smoke emanates from the thatched Gujjar huts.

When we reach the FRH it is 5.30 pm. Built in 1883 and renovated in 1958, this is perhaps the second oldest FRH I've visited after Kathiyan. Surprisingly and unfortunately, the department personnel are not aware of our visit. There is no drinking water, no electricity. Achchelal, the forest guard, who is in charge of the FRH, goes out to fetch water. There are cane chairs put outside in the verandah, on an extended circular portion of the floor. We sit and relax, waiting for Achchelal to return. This place is at an altitude of 475 meters implying that we have traveled down from Dehradun. A 'namkeen' packet is opened and aimless discussions begin. Manoj mentions mildly that if everyone remains silent for sometime, we might hear some animal calls. All of us prick up our ears and promptly hear the alarm calls of chital and barking deer.

Achchelal returns at 8 pm. with water in a tractor and with him is Ramsharan, a field assistant working at the field station of Wildlife Institute of India at Dholkhand. Manoj knows him and the plan for tomorrow is chalked out. Ramsharan is a true gentleman. Mild-mannered, soft-spoken and according to Manoj, excellent in field. He volunteers to prepare dinner and the lady probationers chip in with their might. I sit in the dining hall and go through the old register of the FRH under the dim lantern-light. Many well-known persons have visited this place. In almost every page I find the name of Mr. A J T Johnsingh, the renowned wildlife biologist. The furniture in the bedrooms and dining hall are old but give that 'period' look! Dinner is simple. Rice, dal, aloo sabji and pickle. But in this wilderness setting, it tastes wonderful. Post-dinner, we again sit outside hoping to hear some more alarm calls.

02-11-02

                   When there is a stream flowing near the place of your stay in the wild, all the problems of ablution are solved! It feels great to complete the morning formalities near the stream, looking at the wide-eyed chitals!! There is a lot of bird activity near the FRH. A big flock of Indian Pied Hornbills is cackling endlessly. Manoj says that they fall silent once the sun comes up. Ravi spots two gorals silhouetted against the sunrays atop the 'goral ridge'. One is feeding and the other is standing still near a stunted bush. We watch them for about five minutes.

                   It is a bit late when we start after completing the breakfast at 9 a.m. A snake path winds down behind the FRH before joining the now almost dry 'Dholkhand rau'. Hardly 100 meters behind the rest house, on the sandy banks of a small nalla, we find fresh pugmarks of a tiger. "Big tiger", gasps Ramsharan and measures the dimensions using a tape. It must have walked along this route yesterday night. "Had we come in a smaller group, some of us could have sat on this tree and would have definitely seen this tiger", Manoj quips pointing to a small tree overlooking the stream. Further ahead, along the rau, we find more tiger pugmarks. The sand bed is awash with the footprints of other mammals, mainly chital and less frequently, sambar, porcupine and jackal.

                   A small bridge is being constructed across the Dholkhand Rau. It would help in more connectivity for the forest department personnel, further destroying this already fragile habitat. Noise of stone crushing, movement of tractor, chatting labourers, smell of burning bidis. No wonder we do not spot even chitals all through our walk along the rau. On a small ridge, just above a salt lick, 40-50 langurs are resting. The rau ends and we take a turn to the right towards the base of Goral ridge. As we approach a small patch of Crotalaria plants at the base, suddenly a swarm of butterflies flies off. Glassy tigers, striped tigers, common crows and emigrants. Since we are already late, I don't have time to wait and photograph. I can click on our way back.

                   There is a big Banyan tree near the base of the Goral ridge, with thick prop roots. Manoj opines that if we can spend some time sitting on this tree in the late evening or early morning, it would be rewarding in terms of sightings of wildlife. The initial stretch is grassy and a bit slippery. But the climb is not tough. Ramsharan walks ahead with the gait of a goral along the narrow path atop the rising ridge. Padma needs a helping hand here and there but manages admirably. Geetanjali, as usual, is the last person, ambling along enjoying the views on either side of her. Suddenly we hear the loud alarm calls of a sambar. Lo, there! Right below us to the left side of the ridge, on a small open patch of the forest, a hind is standing. She must have seen us and hence the alarm. After a couple of seconds she turns and bolts.

          We reach the top at 11.45 a.m. From a height of 715 m from the MSL, the peak gives a panoramic view of the area around. There is nothing much to see here and after relaxing for half an hour, we start back. Walking down is always trickier than climbing up. At some places we are forced to crawl. Still, it is an easy walk. Near the rau, I don't forget to take the photos of the butterflies. Along the way, the sour taste of Zizyphus and Carissa fruits does not desist us from devouring them. We reach the FRH at exactly 1 p.m. Lunch is ready. New cook who has come from a nearby village has done a good job. Dal and sabji are delicious. No mood to go out after a sumptuous meal. Most of us resort to the best possible course of action-a siesta!

                   The evening walk to the watchtower overlooking the rau proves fruitless. Mani and I go to a nearby area and hide below the drooping braches of a tree overlooking the stream, hoping to get some good snaps. Not even the spotted deer are interested! We return to the watchtower after a 40-minute vigil. On the way back, Mani spots leopard pugmarks on the wet sand bed. Disappointed at our unproductive evening venture, we tread to the FRH. Amla fruits are ripe and inviting. The sweet taste of water after you eat amla fruits always makes me nostalgic! Later, after the sun has completely gone down, sitting silently near a streamlet, we watch a sambar approaching gingerly. It walks off at the same pace after drinking water.

3-12-02

                   Breakfast can wait. Not willing to repeat the mistake of yesterday, we start early, at 7.30 a.m. Ramsharan has decided that it would be more rewarding if we walk along the Sambavali rau, which runs in the opposite direction from our yesterday's walk. There are plenty of tiger pugmarks on the sand bed. There is fresh dung of elephants all along. A herd must have passed by a few hours before. Even after walking for half an hour, elephants are still elusive.

                   Ramsharan decided that the best way to sight elephants is to follow their track. And it works. Through the binoculars, Ramsharan spots a lone elephant slowly feeding on a ridge top, about 200 meters in front of us. Its face is not visible and we are not sure how many more could be there. Manoj, Ramsharan and myself volunteer to find out. Our guide knows that we have to be extremely careful while approaching elephants. A lesson he has learnt that hard way! Again we follow their tracks. Ramsharan asks us to stay put about 30 meters behind the elephants and moves ahead to investigate. As we watch, he silently proceeds very close to the feeding elephants and signals us to go closer. There are three, which we can see. One of them is a tusker. Some more must be feeding down the ridge. For the first time I am watching the elephants from such close quarters. Later, Ramsharan walks down to bring the rest of the group. I dare to get a bit closer. There! A small calf walks in front of the feeding elephants. I wonder whether the pachyderms are really oblivious to our presence or they are just not bothered since we are not disturbing them. But after a while the tusker stops feeding and stands still. A female, which is standing hardly ten meters away from the tusker, has also stopped feeding. Perhaps they have taken note of our intrusion. We decide not to trouble them further and silently withdraw after everybody has got a closer look.

                   It has been a satisfying morning walk. Again, on our way back, we see several fresh tiger pugmarks. Ramsharan spots a goral on the top of a ridge opposite to us. It is my closest sighting of the goral. I walk slowly, looking at the golden light falling on the creepers clothing a ridge wall. Looking ahead, I see all my friends huddled together in a group, frenetically looking through the binoculars at a bushy patch on the banks of the rau. Sensing something interesting, I rush towards them. Then I hear a clear growl. ‘Tiger, tiger’, Manoj whispers. I scan the entire area through the binoculars, but it is gone! One tigress and two cubs. Ravi saw the tigress and Raja Mohan could get a glimpse of the cubs.

                   The king of the jungle has eluded me, again. Even though I am disheartened, it is a nice feeling to know that still there is a viable population of tigers here despite the mounting anthropogenic pressures. After this exciting encounter, all of us feel elated and energized. On a different route to the FRH, we see broken branches of Rohni trees and fresh piles of elephant dung. It is 10 a.m. when we reach the rest house.

                   A walk towards the Ranger's office after the breakfast proves very productive. Sightings of Blue-bearded Bee Eater, Lesser Yellownape and Lineated Barbet. We are back in the FRH at lunchtime. No zeal left to venture into the forest again! After lunch, we wait for the vehicle to take us back. Susheel, our driver, who is late as usual, says that he saw a tiger on his way back to Dehradun, after dropping us here. Knowing him, we take his claim with a generous dose of salt. As the jeep winds through the dusty road cutting across the rau, we spot nilgais and jackals. It has been a good outing. We have spent only two days here and it has really whetted our appetite. This is perhaps one of the best places to spot tigers. Most importantly, what has struck me during this visit is that, despite the relentless human pressures, the resilience of nature is amazing. It is the duty of all of us to see to it that the tiger lands like this continue to provide us an opportunity to be one with the nature, albeit for a fleeting moment.

The Measures of Progress

With moist eyes, my office driver Basappa told me that he would never work in Kerala again. I understood him and empathized with him. He had seen his government jeep vandalized and burnt down in front of his eyes. And he along with his four colleagues had managed to escape death by the skin of his teeth. ‘Even when we ran into the naxals in Andhra Pradesh, we were treated well’, Basappa said.

Kannur district in Kerala has a well-chronicled history of political violence. But this fact never crossed my mind when our team went to Kannur for the forest inventory work. The first few days were uneventful even though the local forest staff cautioned about some public protests in the region. This is nothing new in Kerala and my staff is used to being interrogated, their ID cards checked and clear resentment shown by the local people. But what they encountered in Kottiyur range of Kannur on a fateful November night is terrifying.

The irony is that my staff had not even heard about the Kasturirangan committee which has recently submitted its report on Western Ghats to the central government. The report has been provisionally accepted by the Ministry of Environment and Forests and the same news was being broadcast during that period across Kerala. The villagers mistook the FSI team to the Kasturirangan committee members who they thought had come to survey their land, measure the extent of encroachments and evict them. The local forest staff explained to them about the mandate and work of FSI and so did our staff. But the reasoning fell on deaf ears. The local people are wise enough to grasp this but they did not want to listen and understand. The idea was to create an unrest that would effectively preempt the implementation of the Committee report which would allow the encroachers and quarry mafia to preserve the status quo. The FSI team was taken hostage, approach road blocked and a mob of more than two thousand people gathered in no time. Soon, miscreants in the group began to pelt stones and a young staff of FSI was injured on the forehead. When blood started gushing out, he was not allowed to be taken to the hospital. ‘Let him die here’, was the response of the crowd. A small, unarmed contingent of thirteen policemen who managed to reach the spot was chased away and our staff was attacked. My staff, which included an ageing driver, ran for their life with several drunken men in hot pursuit. Fortunately, they managed to scamper into a thick and steep patch of forests. They spent three hours in the darkness not knowing where to go. A good Samaritan gave them shelter and police reinforcements managed to reach the site in the midnight and rescue them. Eleven government vehicles including an FSI jeep were burnt that night.

Violence happens everywhere and when there is a mob situation, things usually spiral out of control. But why I am saddened more today is because this happened in a literate, forward looking and aware State like Kerala. In 2005, when our first son Adithya was born, we went to a government hospital in Kottayam for vaccinations. I marveled at the facilities at the hospital and the clockwork efficiency with which it was run. The building was spic and span, staff was helpful and the doctors were on duty. Such well-managed government hospitals are unimaginable in any other part of India.

But beneath these apparent signs of progress, there lay layers of maladies which afflict the Malayalee society today. Highest per capita consumption of liquor, the highest crime rate in the country, one of the top States in crimes against women, institutionalized dowry system, insatiable infatuation with the yellow metal, obscene display of opulence in the form of palatial houses and luxury cars.

Ram Chandra Biswas from West Bengal has bicycled across 157 countries over a period of 29 years. He says, ‘I have never received more hospitality than in Africa. In a poor country, you will find hospitality, humanity, love and peace. In a rich country you will find anger, jealousy, fear and selfishness’ (Down To Earth, Nov 1-15, 2013). Me and my wife can say without an iota of doubt in our minds that we have never come across people who are more peace-loving, genuine, dependable, simple, trustworthy and wonderful human beings than the adivasis of Chhattisgarh. When we progress materially in life, do we gradually become more self-centered? Do we tend to be indifferent to the importance of relationships, love and empathy? Do we transform into egotist, glum, aloof, stiff upper lip society that is more concerned with its own ilk?  

The rich States of Haryana and Punjab have the highest rates of female foeticide. On the Noida expressway last year, a father pleaded with passersby for help after his wife and a baby were fatally injured in an accident. Nobody came forward for twenty helpless minutes as vehicles zoomed by. A similar and more tragic case was reported from China recently. I cannot imagine this happening in Bastar or a village in North Karnataka.

I remember having read an article in Geo magazine on the Nazi crimes. The author writes that what is shocking is not how a crazy dictator like Hitler became the premier of Germany. History has often thrown up such freaks. What is inexplicable though is how the ordinary citizens of Germany-young and old, women, mothers, sisters and brothers-unequivocally supported his each and every action. It is a different matter that the then victims (Jews-again a prosperous community) are the perpetrators of inhuman offences now in Palestine.

On similar lines, the USA becomes more hospitable for outsiders as it is a country of immigrants at heart and is a potpourri of disparate cultures whereas many Asians perceive Europe, perhaps with the exception of England, as a closed society which is cold and indifferent. But European countries top almost every parameter of human development index. Is it not anthropologically perplexing how human beings manage to fail the test of humaneness so often? 

A Room In The Woods

The drive up the hill for a stretch of three kilometres is rough. We park our car at the forest check post and take the departmental Bolero jeep with four-wheel drive to negotiate the boulder-strewn path with sharp, steep bends. A porcupine crossing the road is caught briefly in the headlight. It raises its quills in alarm and scampers into the bushes. After a five-minute drive, a desolate, old, Mangalore-tiled building greets us at the summit of a hillock. The Forest Rest House (FRH) of Makuta looks diminished since my last visit sixteen years ago. Our small batch of nine students was here in 1997 taking part in a project work. We had thoroughly enjoyed our short stay at Makuta. There was no electricity then but now, solar lamps are working quite fine. Raghavendra, the caretaker is not sure about the year of construction of the building but points to the pediment where the number ‘36’ is inscribed. ‘Might be 1936’, he says and adds that ‘the British built this rest house’.

Makuta in Coorg

 The charm of an old FRH is unparalleled. I say old because the new or the ‘renovated’ concrete structures are bereft of any appeal even though they are full of modern-day amenities. There are three most important considerations for a lovely FRH - location, location, location. (Ok, I filched this. Somebody has told the same about hotels).  Even in the remote corners of the country, where you cannot find a single tea-shop within a radius of five kilometres, you come across colonial-era forest buildings. They surprise you with their elegance and muted beauty. You are walking or driving through muddy forest track and then suddenly the edifice appears at the end of a turn. They materialize in the middle of nothingness. A brown or brick red façade against a background of green wash. The chowkidar, if he is present, would offer you ‘lal chai’ and a couple of Parle or Marie biscuits. No light, no TV, no music, no running tap. You dump your luggage in one of the bedrooms, located on either side of the central dining hall. The bedsheets are clean even though the room is a bit musty. There are wooden pegs on the wall to hang your dress or hat. On the way to the bathroom, you pass through a spacious dressing room with a mirror on a tall wooden stand. A long cloth stand with two crossbars, again made of wood, stands in a corner. The bathroom is spacious enough to be a bedroom in Bangalore and the water closet seems to have survived the tests of time, at least in existence if not in functionality.

Near Agartala

As darkness descends, you settle in front of the glowing fireplace in the dining room on a cane chair with a cup of lal chai (or a peg) and turn the pages of the timeworn FRH register. If the book is well-maintained, you might spot the names of some British officers complaining about leaking roof or commenting on the flora along the bridle path. If you are lucky, there could be interesting observations about forests of the area or sighting of tigers by some officers or other visitors. The cook announces that the dinner is ready. It is a simple fare of roti, dal, sabji and rice. The ambiance makes the food wonderfully delicious and you devour as if you have not eaten for days. Then you read a book for a while under the lantern or venture out for a brief night walk. You sleep to the lullaby of owls and the distant alarm calls of a barking deer. This joy of an FRH experience is without equal.

A 'hut' at Eravikulam National Park

My profession has given me opportunities to visit some of the most beautiful and secluded forest guest houses across the country. I find the FRHs of the Himalayas and the Western Ghats to be most alluring. The old buildings of the Central India, I feel, are falling prey to the growing menace of ‘renovation’. What happens in this tragic exercise is that regal cane or wooden furniture are replaced with flashy and gaudy sofa sets; pillars of huge, round, supporting timber give way to cement poles; air-conditioners are installed and so are satellite TV sets. Mercifully, this renovation bug has not bitten the foresters of other parts much.

Inside an FRH near Ooty

In the Himalayas, you feel privileged to stay in ancient forest buildings and to gaze at the white peaks when you come out in the morning! The crisp temperate air, towering firs and deodars and the view of the Himalayas take your breath away. Apart from the physical beauty of the place and the building, the FRHs play a vital role in forest protection and management. Officers camp here and conduct field inspections. It is arguable whether forest officers still halt at FRHs regularly or prefer to return to the comforts of their homes. I think we can safely say that the frequency of stay at FRH has reduced over the years but most of the young officers still do camp.

Devban in Uttaranchal

On several occasions, I have been witness to interesting conversations among foresters about allowing public to access the remotely located FRH. The conservationists argue that with more visitors, the sanctity of the place is destroyed as most people treat FRHs as a place to picnic with liquor, meat and loud music. Many tourists behave rudely with the local people and the forest staff and leave behind a trail of garbage. The other group argues that by involving people and by exposing them to our beautiful natural heritage, we can promote the cause of conservation. There is a sizeable percentage of public who is responsible, environmentally aware and assiduously follows the forest ethics. Such citizens deserve to experience the delight of forest stay as they would be able to appreciate the importance and fragility of such places. But the difficult part is prejudging whether a person is a true lover of the wilderness or not!

The Turn

Dear friends,

short-story writing is an unchartered territory for me. But somehow I have mustered up the courage to put this up on the blog. Hope you enjoy reading this.

The Turn

This is the story of Sukumar uncle whom I knew as a kid. He used to wave at me and my brother occasionally as we walked past his house to the school. My father knew him well. We lived in a village and everybody knew everybody. My father owns a small areca nut plantation. Sukumar and my father used to discuss prices of crops and efficacy of pesticides. Sukumar uncle never visited our house and looking back now, I don’t think that it was because we were from different castes. Perhaps there was something in Sukumar’s persona that repelled people and it was as if they did not want him to pollute their houses with his negative aura. As me and my brother grew up and went to different schools and colleges, we forgot about him. Much later, once when both me and my brother had come home from abroad-me from London where I was a dentist and my brother from Australia, where he was a successful doctor-my father asked us whether we remembered Sukumar uncle. ‘Yes, I do’, we replied in unison. Father smiled and went on tell us his story, with a bottle of beer in his hand. So, here is Sukumar uncle’s story as told by my father with a little modification in the narration without affecting its heart.

…………………x…………………….

Sukumar ran his dark and stout fingers over his sumptuous belly and belched loudly. ‘Good meal, good meal’, he repeated so that his wife, who was cleaning the greasy utensils in the kitchen could hear him. Gayathri had cooked a lavish dinner of mutton biryani and fish curry that night. She knew that her husband was in good mood and that comforted her. Sukumar could not live without eating meat at least once a day. Only Gayathri knew how he liked his food and she took utmost care not to disappoint him at the dining table. Any laxity from her side would mean nursing a bruise, a cut or a burn for weeks.

Sukumar sat in front of the television and began to eat pieces of neatly cut apple, arranged artistically on a glass dish. Monsoon rain of the Western Ghats was lashing heavily outside and Sukumar stared through the glass windows at the steady flow of water falling down from the rooftop. It was time for his daily news on television and politics interested him immensely. After all, he too was a party man. He supported the ruling party and he had considerable clout in the political affairs of his village. In fact, his ancestors were the oldest registered members of the ruling party. Sukumar took pride in this. His family had benefited substantially from its association with the rulers. They had built a sizeable empire over a period of several decades in the form of land holdings and stashed cash and jewelry in bank lockers. Sukumar owned areca nut, coconut and rubber plantations, all cash crops with considerable revenue. He was once the local Panchayat president too. He made his money, had a fling with a lady secretary of his office and lost the next election. It did not bother him much. He was respectfully called the ex-president anyway.

Apart from his promiscuity, Sukumar was also well-known in the village for his temper. He lost his cool for the flimsiest of reasons and he had even man-handled a couple of servants for not doing the household chores to his satisfaction. After the second incident, people refused to work in his house. You may argue that the era of feudal landlords, wherein it was a common practice to whip the servants and take their women as a matter of right, is over. Especially in the coastal regions of Karnataka which have always been progressive, these things were almost never heard of even when we were kids. That is the reason why there was no help for Gayathri at home and Sukumar found it difficult to get laborers to work in his farm. So, he had to make do with occasional smacking of his wife-for sugary tea or bland fish curry.

As he watched the local news on television, Sukumar heard somebody calling out his name outside the gate of his house.

‘Sukumar sir, president saar! Lend me a torch to go home! Sukumaar saar!’

Sukumar rushed out of the house and switched on the lights of the gate. It was raining steadily now and suddenly the power went off. A bolt of lightning struck somewhere with ferocity followed by a deafening thunder. Sukumar saw the face of Aitha in the momentary flash of the lightening, holding the latch of the gate. He had a torn umbrella in his left hand and an old and dirty cloth-bag hung from his right shoulder. He was drunk and he wobbled.

Aitha was a tribal who lived a kilometer away from Sukumar’s house. He was around thirty, lean and had a bony countenance. He worked as a laborer in plantations and was an expert in climbing areca nut trees. This was a tricky job as the climbers once atop a tree, had to pull the top of the adjoining areca tree towards them using a hooked stick and hop onto that treetop. In this fashion, the climbers covered the plantation in quick time by not getting down from a tree to climb the next one. Aitha executed this task effortlessly and was good at his work. But over the years, as the price of rubber rose and rubber plantations increased in acreage, he had shifted to the job of rubber tapping. This was more rewarding to Aitha in terms of money and gave him more spare time to loiter around. People frowned and disapproved of his choice but it was after all Aitha’s life and his choice. Wasn't it?

During the previous year’s harvest season, Sukumar had asked Aitha to pluck areca nuts from his plantation but Aitha had flatly refused. He was a regular in Sukumar’s farm before but this time he was not interested. No other laborer was willing to work for Sukumar either and this had infuriated him. He was firmly of the belief that Aitha had instigated others against him but he could do nothing. He had to hire laborers from the neighboring village at exorbitant wages.

Sukumar went inside the house and fetched a torch and umbrella and slowly walked towards the gate.

‘What happened?’, he shouted at Aitha.

‘I lost my torch. It fell down somewhere. I can’t find it. Can you lend me a torch so that I can walk home? I will return it tomorrow morning’.

Aitha was reeking of liquor and Sukumar noticed that his right hand placed on the gate was shaking. Sukumar thought about Aitha’s refusal to work for him and seeing his temerity to come to his house on a rainy night and ask for help, his blood boiled with rage.

‘You bloody bastard! You can’t come and work for me and now you have the gall to ask me for a torch!!’, Sukumar screamed.

Standing sideways near the gate and holding the grills with his left hand, Sukumar slapped Aitha’s arm hard and pushed him back. Aitha swayed unsteadily and then fell backwards on his haunches.

‘Saar, don’t hit me. How can you hit me like that? I am just asking you for a torch. Give me that and I will go away! I promise that it will be returned tomorrow’.

Sukumar was beside himself with anger. How dare this lowly tribal talk to me like this? And look at his tone! Sukumar opened the gate, walked up to Aitha who was slowly trying to get up and kicked him on his chest with all his might.

‘That serves you right, scoundrel! Get lost from here’. Sukumar turned around, closed the gates and walked back to the house.

Aitha writhed in pain and cursed Sukumar loudly. ‘You are a shameless coward’, he yelled at Sukumar’s back. ‘And a tarty crook too. You think I don’t know what you did to that panchayat secretary!? Hah!! Hitting a poor soul like me! Motherfuckers!’ Aitha let out a hearty laugh and stumbled away from the gate.

Sukumar heard every bit of Aitha’s humiliating words clearly. He could feel his ears heating up and his moustache jumped in unrestrained fury. He was in a state of frenzied wrath unsure of what to do about the unexpected insult. ‘I must teach him a lesson. I must make sure that he regrets his words till his death’, he muttered under his breath. He stood silently for a while. A thought ran in his mind as a curved smile broke on lips. ‘Why not?’, he asked himself aloud and took measured steps towards the bedroom. It had been a long time since he had the thrill of thrashing anybody. He flung open the wardrobe and pulled out a long leather belt. As Gayathri watched from the corner of her eyes, Sukumar rolled the belt around his fist and walked out into the rain with a torch and an umbrella.

Aitha had started trudging slowly and unsteadily towards his house. The terrain was undulating and there was not a single habitation in the vicinity except Sukumar’s. The rain was a steady drone and it was almost impossible to make out the bald contours of the forest path which led to Aitha’s house through a shrubby forest patch. Sukumar caught up with him just as Aitha took a turn from the main road and hit the forests. Suddenly there was a whizzing sound as the black length of leather hit Aitha’s back violently. He screamed in horror and pain and fell flat on his face. Sukumar kicked Aitha on his ribs and again on his shocked face. Blood spluttered out from Aitha’s mouth through broken teeth as he made a painstaking effort to get onto his knees.

‘Saar, don’t hit me saar! Why are you hitting me? What have I done to you?’, Aitha pleaded in a hoarse tone and with great effort sprung to his feet and suddenly made a dash into the forests. Sukumar was taken by surprise and he ran after him hurling abuses. He quickly caught up with a limping Aitha. This time a hail of blows fell on Aitha as the leather belt swished incessantly. Aitha rolled on the ground trying frantically to block the strikes with his elbows and satchel but the attack was relentless. Sukumar was panting. His eyes were bloodshot, heart thumping and he could feel the rise of blood in his loins. He enjoyed the sound of the belt whipping Aitha’s skin through his torn shirt. ‘This is what I have been waiting for, to show this asshole his deserved place’, thought Sukumar as he continued the assault.

Exhausted, Aitha almost stopped his protest and efforts to ward off the blows. His frail frame was no match to the masculine massiveness of Sukumar. The stinging pain of the flesh and the ceaseless rain began to unclutter his mind. The high of the arrack had long evaporated and he was acutely aware of his battering by Sukumar and the unbearable agony. As the cobwebs in his mind cleared, Aitha remembered his visit to the blacksmith that evening. He was asked by his wife in the morning to get an old knife sharpened and Aitha had paid ten rupees to the blacksmith for the job. The knife was in the bag! ‘If only I could get my hands on the knife!’

Sukumar was continuing his attack with belt and his feet. Aitha went on with his pitiful cries for mercy as he slowly pushed the satchel under his stomach and lay with his face down. He groped inside the bag and amongst the modest contents, soon found the wooden handle of the knife. He crawled slowly towards Sukumar’s feet and continued to beg him for mercy. Sukumar laughed and spat at him, mocking him, ‘Oh, you know how to beg too’! Suddenly Sukumar felt a stinging pain near his right ankle. Warm blood gushed down and mixed with the falling raindrops. A screaming Sukumar bent down to hold his leg with dread in his eyes. Aitha sat on his knees in a flash and pulling Sukumar’s head down by the hair, stabbed him hard on the back of the neck. The knife sunk easily into Sukumar’s thick flesh as he made a gargling sound from his throat. Blood bubbles trickled from his nose and mouth as he flailed his hands feebly and collapsed to the ground in a heap. Aitha stood up, steadied himself and briefly looked at the convulsing body of his tormentor. Then he bent down near Sukumar’s head and jabbed him thrice on his back, puncturing his heart. He pulled out the knife, held it against the torrential rain, washed his face and feet and walked home.

………………………..x…………………………….

We looked at father in disbelief as he finished the story. ‘What happened next’?, we wanted to know. ‘The usual things’, father said. ‘Aitha was arrested after a couple of days and charged with murder. The case dragged on for years. Aitha spent some time in jail, may be a year, I think. Then everybody forgot about the incident. Sukumar’s wife moved to Dubai to live with her only son. After seven years, Aitha was acquitted. The police could not find the murder weapon and they could not prove that Aitha was responsible for the death. They did not even appeal against the judgment’.

‘Where is Aitha now’?, my brother asked.

‘He is still here. Must be over sixty now. Nobody can beat him in hopping from tree to tree in areca nut gardens, though whether he will climb any tree or not is entirely decided by his whims!’, father said with a smile.

                                       ------The End-------

(You can also find this story here http://yourstoryclub.com/short-stories-social-moral/social-short-story-turn/)