Fiction writing

So, while the world is busy blogging on BarkhaGate, 2G Spectrum Scam, Manmohan Singh's impotency as a PM, even Ms. Dolly (of BigBoss fame) who has (un)surprisingly stolen the limelight,  I'd stick to what I think I enjoy doing the most-weaving stories out of thin air :-)

Following is a magazine assignment I wrote wherein we had to write a personal story on someone you met who changed your life. 

Personally, I don't think anyone in my life has changed it any large way. Not yet. And, not at least a person yet. Maybe watching someone, looking at something, reading on something might have changed the way I look at things, my broader perspective on life, in general. But, I think I'm usually careful enough not to let my thoughts wander in that direction, if you know what I mean.

Anyways, here's the personal story I wrote. Well, its not entirely fake/fictional. Parts of it are true (and there may be a few who might get the connection of this fictional piece with the reality of my life). And as they say, fiction is inspired from reality. 

Happy reading :-)

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She looked too happy to be in a hospital. It is precisely because of that seemingly positive expression on her face that made my mind divert from the pain I was going through. For someone who had been diagnosed with Leukemia (from what I got to know much later), she had a distractingly calm expression on her face and looked as if she had simply chosen to ignore that glaring fact.

If you are wondering what was I doing there, let me make it clear that that a  hospital is not one of my favourite places to hang out and just stare at people who’ve been bruised, hurt, diagnosed with some unpronounceable disease or deadly virus. I happened to be there because I had met with an accident, owing to my own foolishness and haste. In a space that could possibly be the most melancholic, sad and unhappy environment, Zooni seemed to be out of place.

This was probably the first and the worst accident of my life. And I had been punished for not having worn a helmet. A collision with a speeding car had resulted in my current form—six stitches on my left knee, a fracture on my nose, a couple of bruises on my cheek and three more stitches on my chin—enough to complete the distorted version that I had become. It had been almost six days in the hospital now and I had begun hating anything that began with H. The very atmosphere of my ward depressed me to the core. The accident had caused a heavy blow to my self esteem. I had missed my mid-semester exams because of the damage done to my body. And the doctor later informed me that I also had to give the Inter-State Swimming Championships a miss, thanks to my current state. Every time I looked into the mirror, I felt like breaking it into a million pieces as I couldn’t even recognize who I saw there. I was almost bordering over committed pessimism. Until I met her.

Zooni looked younger to me. But she wasn’t. She occupied the bed right next to me. So, there was no way I could avoid her sight. Every day the doctor would come and do some random check-ups, of which I had neither the knowledge nor the patience to ponder over. The doctor would ask her questions weaved in medical jargon (I was too occupied with my own troubles to even bother about others). She always looked amused at my irritated outbursts which were usually directed at my doctor, nurse and mother who used to visit regularly and monitor my ‘progress’. And Zooni’s amusement irritated me even more.

After weeks of staying in what I saw as the most morose environment, when the doctor finally declared that day for my discharge, I couldn’t stop myself from asking Zooni. What made her so happy? How could she remain so? Wasn’t she suffering? And if she wasn’t, what the hell was she doing in this hospital? Her response to all these questions was but one. “I know when I’m going to die. I want to enjoy whatever is left of my life,” she said with a vehemence I could see in her eyes.

“It just amazes me how little things in life can manage to irritate and frustrate you so much. How you let them win over you. You have an entire life in front of you. Can’t you be happy with the fact that you survived that accident to actually be alive to crib about life? And when you are alive, what’s the point of complaining?,” she asked. It wasn’t the questions but the sheer confidence with which she asked them that rendered me speechless.  

Here was a woman who knew when she was going to die and who, ironically, seeked amusement at the petty things in life that I complained and fretted about. I, who still had something that Fate had denied her—life. I was later told that she was diagnosed with blood cancer (leukemia) and had less than few months to live. I never heard of her later. I never even visited the hospital after that. But she left a mark on my life. She taught me how to look at things positively and ushered in a new era of optimism in the way I began looking at things since then. This happened over a year ago and I’m sure she isn’t alive anymore. But, I don’t feel sad or gloomy or upset about it. I’m glad I met her. And I’ll always be thankful for the woman who taught me the real meaning of “life”. 

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I expect heavy criticism (and maybe a word of compliment, if that isn't too much to ask for?) after you've read this.

Feel free to comment.

Cheers! :-D

Of media, ethics, corruption and "error of judgement"

Barkha Dutt answers allegations of corruption and corporate lobbying in this 48 minute unedited video that was aired on NDTV yesterday.

A MUST WATCH

Panelists include:

Manu Joseph, editor of Open magazine which published excerpts of Barkha-Radia conversation

Dileep Padgaonkar, senior journalist, The Times of India

Swapan Dasgupta, columnist and senior journlaist

Sanjaya Baru, Editor, Business Standard

Host: Sonia Singh, Senior Managing Editor, NDTV 24*7

P.S. For now, I shall refrain myself from giving my opinion/viewpoint on this issue due to lack of complete knowledge of the same.

Reservations in the private sector. Will it work?

“Reservations legitimises demerit”

--Gurucharan Das, author and public commentator

In simple terms, reservations may be seen as an invariable consequence of years of systematic discrimination on the grounds of class, caste, colour, creed and/or gender. It would not be an exaggeration to state that caste has been an undeniable reality in India. It may be termed as a historical “wrong” today but no one can deny its existence. The question to be asked, then, is whether reservation in any sector—public or private—was a logical outcome of the caste reality in India. Though reservations were introduced in the early 30’s, they were formalised only in the latter half of the 20th century. In 1989, the V. P. Singh government decided to implement the recommendations put forward by the Mandal Commission, granting reservation for OBC’s (Other Backward Classes). However, Tamil Nadu was an exceptional State as it offered 75% reservation for the backward castes. This led to heavy protests which compelled the Supreme Court to intervene and give a final verdict that the total reservation for government jobs in any State shall not exceed 50%. In 2004, the United Progressive Alliance (UPA) promised to provide reservations in the private sector in its National Common Minimum Programme (NCMP) igniting debates and arguments from across the nation as to whether reservations in the private sector will work and if they should be introduced at all.


Before analysing anything about that, we first need to understand why and how reservations came into effect and how efficient and fruitful has it been in its current form. As mentioned earlier, reservations is usually seen as an attempt to correct a historical wrong done to our country—caste discrimination. By providing reservations for a certain section of society marred due to its social and more often than not, economic status as well, it emerges as a potential tool to erase years of oppression and discrimination meted out to certain sections of society and attain the constitutional aim of attaining “social justice”. People who support this concept often cite the example of Tamil Nadu, a state that (possibly) has maximum inhabitants belonging to backward castes. There have been instances of OBCs outshining “forward” classes in the Southern state of India.


When it comes to introducing reservations in the private sector, one has to look at how successful it has been in the public sector. Past experiences and examples have shown how reservations remains a reality only on paper and how the actual backward sections, who are meant to benefit from it, hardly get to reap them as it is often the “creamy” layer who gets the entire cake. If the idea is to attain social justice, the opposite has been true as truly deserving candidates are rarely benefitted from these quotas with rich, powerful “backward” people enjoying all the privileges entitled to them on the grounds of their caste identity. Of course a generalization on the success rate of reservations cannot be thoroughly made. But going by the current situation in India, it would not be wrong to say that attaining social justice is a commendable and ambitious aim that is yet to be achieved and reservations have not helped in any significant way.


The most obvious and common argument against reservations in any sector is that in the process of its implementation, it compromises merit. However, this may not always be true. Malaysia is an interesting case in point. It is an example of a country which has combined a restrictive form of reservation with remarkable economic growth for several decades now. The Indian private sector, consisting of an overwhelming number of MNCs, obviously doesn’t have a tarnish-free image. Notorious for employing people on large discriminatory grounds and a place that is increasingly being seen as a space of red-tapism (often associated with the government and not the private sector), reservations in the private sector seems to be a “social necessity”, as Dr. K. Vidyasagar Reddy argues in his essay. If inheritance, contacts and other social networks determines an individual’s job prospects, reservations for the socially deprived seems to be a necessary corrective measure in order to set things right and give equal opportunity for all.


In one of his earlier interviews, Ram Vilas Paswan, President of Lok Janshakti Party, had once said: “Reservation in the private sector is necessary and inevitable.” His argument is that since tribals, Dalits and other backward castes have neither land nor business, this has resulted in their heavy dependence on government jobs whose number is reducing with each passing day. With no vacant seats left in the public sector, there is no other space except the private sector left for them to look at. Post-liberalization, many public sectors were also privatised. Thus, there is no other way out but to introduce reservations in the private sector in order to achieve two main targets—one, address the problem of unemployment, and two, an attempt to provide equal opportunities for all. But, this remains more like a thing to be read rather than a thing to be seen in action.


Once reservation is introduced in the private sector, “efficiency” is most likely to be affected. What separates and differentiates the private sector from the public sector is this USP that the former boasts of, the reason for which is considered to be absence of reservations. When there is no reservation, there is no discrimination; the very concept of reservations perpetuates caste discrimination. Another argument is that it further weakens the democratic notion of social justice, as reservations evaluate a person on the basis of his/her caste and not merit. Quota implies a denial to the right to equality. Caste prioritises merit, when, ideally, it should be the other way round as far as jobs are concerned. A person’s caste may be decided and decisive but his/her merit is something that the person acquires during the course of his/her life. And by introducing reservations now even in the private sector, merit is definitely seen as secondary which, in effect, is very likely to affect efficiency.


If reservations are introduced in the private sector, it will be difficult for the companies to get rid of non-performing personnel simply because the employee has come because of reservation. This holds good for the public sector as well. Introducing reservations in the private sector would also invariably imply interference of the government as well as politics into management affairs. The productivity as well as the competitive edge that distinguishes the private from the public may get heavily affected. The move could also result in brain drain—a phenomenon which is not new to our country that is already witnessing students leaving India and deciding to go abroad to foreign universities for higher education, only to almost never come back. Reservations in the private sector could also make international clients suspicious and sceptical about the quality of products made in India, and this might lead to a setback in export business. The government has to keep in mind that the quality and credibility of any product and/or company is not affected as that would defeat the very purpose of introducing reservations in the first place.


Paswan made an interesting pointing when asked about his opinion on reservations. “Reservation should be ended if there are equal opportunities for all,” he said. As one knows, attaining equal opportunities for all can be the utopian ideal and target to be achieved in order to attain the constitutional aim of “social justice.” Given that caste has been a reality and there have been years of systematic discrimination and prejudice owing to social discrimination, reservations seems to be the only way out to correct what has been historically gone wrong. However, since reservations have not been really been a success in providing government jobs to “truly deserving candidates” belonging to backward castes, introducing them in the private sector just seems to be an ambitious project that is very likely to go wrong and possibly, also backfire.

Poor, pregnant, prostituted

By Deepa Ranganathan   

Covered from head to toe in a black burqa, her face looks tired. Her eyes are moist as she fights tears. She rubs them every time she mentions she is a sex worker.

Fatima*, a 20-year-old resident of Yeshwantpur and a sex worker “by chance and not by choice,” as she puts it, is a typical example of a woman who was driven into the sex trade as a result of being caught in a bad marriage.

Married at the age of 17, Fatima was impregnated by her husband, whom she describes as “a drunkard,” months after their marriage. He abandoned her last year, but has continued to demand sex and impregnated her again five months ago. Poverty forced her into this profession. Her 18-month-old old son, who hardly knows what his father looks like, is the only hope left in her life, she said.

She pulls her veil back to reveal her left ear, which is stitched at the top—a mark left a few days ago, when her husband assaulted her. A victim of a marriage gone wrong, Fatima is a pregnant mother with no money to have an abortion or raise another child.

And with sex work, she is invariably exposed to all the dangers of the job—the risk of being infected with HIV being the biggest one. If there is one thing she can be thankful for, it is the fact that she did not test positive when she took the HIV test four months ago. But this relief may be short-lived as there is uncertainty attached to the result of the report. She is in a job that can infect her with the deadly virus anytime, and even safe sex practices can sometimes fail.

5 million HIV cases in India

Sex workers, like eunuchs and transgenders, are one of the high-risk groups most prone to contracting HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases. Other high-risk groups include men who have sex with men, migrants and truck drivers, among urban poor, according to HIV/AIDS specialists.

According to the latest National AIDS Control Organization report, India has an estimated 5.1 million cases of HIV, the second-largest per capita number in the world, and Karnataka is one of four large states of southern India, along with Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh and Kerala, with a relatively advanced HIV epidemic. The adult HIV prevalence in several districts has exceeded 1 percent for the past nine years, according to Karnataka State AIDS Prevention Society (KSAPS) statistics. 

People living with HIV and AIDS are often victims of stigma and social discrimination, regardless of their economic status. But being poor adds to the misery an HIV-infected person faces in society. Though not affected by the virus yet, Fatima is a case in point. Abandoned by her husband and living with a family that already has to feed three other mouths, she is struggling to make ends meet.

The KSAPS statistics show that out of a total of 1,127 people tested in the Yeshwantpur area alone this year from January to September, 29 have been identified as HIV-positive. How many of them are sex workers is unknown as KSAPS does not maintain records on the basis of the economic status of the patient, only on age and gender. Fatima belongs to the high-risk 25-34 age group.

“Given the very nature of their job, sex workers are the most vulnerable lot of the high-risk population. And since their entire economy depends on sexual activity with multiple partners, the aim of spreading AIDS awareness becomes all the more necessary and challenging,” said Dr. Vijay Inamdar, a consultant for HIV-TB, KSAPS.

Bhoruka Charitable Trust (BCT), a nongovernmental organization supported and funded by KSAPS and under the supervision of the Health and Family Welfare Ministry, launched its Female Sex Workers HIV-testing program in 2005, when an estimated 4,400 sex workers were identified for the project. For the current year, the target is to test 2,729 sex workers.

A BCT report says 26 women, who are all members of the Karnataka Sex Workers’ Union, tested positive out of 1,195 tested in Integrated and Counseling Testing Centers between May 2009 and August 2010.

Deepa Vasanthkumar, program officer and counselor at BCT, said: “Even if a sex worker has tested negative for HIV, it certainly does not rule out the possibility of their acquiring it in the near future, given that the nature of their work invariably involves multiple partners. We try and educate them about safe sex practices and distribute free condoms, asking them to insist their clients to use the same.”

‘It’s all about the money’

Sometimes clients lure sex workers into unsafe sex practices by offering them more money in exchange for not wearing a condom during the intercourse—an act that puts them doubly at risk.

“What do you do in such a scenario? You’re getting more money at the cost of your life. It becomes a matter of priority then. Often, money wins over almost everything,” Fatima said. But she says she has not yet faced this problem with her clients.

“I tell them about HIV, how it can spread to both the partners, and brief them about its fatal consequences. That usually scares them into wearing a condom,” she said.

Fatima, too, might get infected someday, given the risk factor involved in her profession, but she says she fears some things more than AIDS. If she doesn’t work, her child goes hungry.

“I don’t wish to do this work,” she said. “But who will support my fatherless child? Which other job can fetch me 1,000 bucks in an hour? And that, too, isn’t enough. It’s all about the money.”

*Name changed to protect the individual's identity
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Link to the above article is here

5 things you should know before dating a journalist

One of the BEST things I've read in recent times. A MUST READ

5 things you should know before dating a journalist

How fair is to be 'fair'?

-By Deepa Ranganathan


His identity is defined by the colour of his skin: an unforgettable dark. He can’t get the right job, the right girl or the right confidence owing to the darkness of his skin. His self-esteem and he probably even feels emasculated.



Boom! Then enters the fairness cream, the religious usage of which, for six weeks, will guarantee a fair, glowing skin—the one thing required to get that right job in the office, to impress the ever-annoyed boss, to woo that one elusive girl in his life who suddenly begins to notice him thanks to his “fair” skin (pun intended).

No, this is not a fake, made-up story, but an actual narration of what the advertisements on these fairness creams for men portray in order to sell their product. Forget about the ads and the success level of these products; what is more interesting to note is this sudden growing obsession of men, particularly youths, with fairness cream products.


Whiteness sells

To say that fairness creams never ruled the market would be too naive and simplistic a conclusion. According to trade analysts, men’s fairness products are valued at Rs.30 million and constitutes 35 percent of the market for men’s beauty products. What has now emerged is an increasingly growing popularity among urban youth and the involvement of men in the market of fairness creams—a domain that was once restricted and meant exclusively for women. Traditionally, women have been expected to be physically appealing, which is closely linked to another booming market—marriage—and hence the need for such enhancing products. But gradually the marketing industry is noticing the sale and growth of fairness creams for men as well. According to a recent report, the men’s fairness products market is estimated at Rs.1.75 billion (nearly $40 million) and is growing at the rate of 25 percent annually, while the women’s fairness market is growing at 7 to 8 percent.


This raises some serious questions. Does the earlier notion of “tall, dark and handsome” no longer hold true, as far as “dark” is concerned? Why is there such an obsession with the need to look fair? Why is there an almost instinctive association of positivity and goodness with white and negativity and badness with black? What is this white-black dichotomy and how deep-rooted is it? The question thus raised is not whether such creams are useful or serve the purpose of lightening the colour of the skin, but whether men ought to be using things traditionally seen as feminine and how such products perpetuate colour discrimination.


Ads play on inferiority complex


A strong argument in favour of men using such creams is too obvious to be ignored: that it’s a matter of personal choice, that it complements the lifestyle of what is popularly termed as metrosexual. According to the definition provided by Merriam-Webster, metrosexual is “a usually urban heterosexual male given to enhancing his personal appearance by fastidious grooming, beauty treatments, and fashionable clothes.” But, the fact that the man is using a fairness cream and not just any other moisturizer, sun block or anti-aging cream speaks volumes about the inherent need to look fair, possibly arising out of a deep-rooted inferiority complex.


Coming back to the advertisement of the fairness creams, it is interesting to note that the ads, too, play on this inferiority complex. Going by what they show, the man is unconfident of his looks, talent, his real calibre and worth primarily because of the colour of his skin, which is dark. Thus, consequently, what the ad implies is that fair skin brings with itself not only better looks, but also confidence and success. Isn’t the ad derogatory to people with dark skin, as it categorizes them as a bunch of low, dull, rejected and pitiable souls? And we haven’t even spoken about looks here yet.


The central question that so emerges is: How fair is it to use a fairness cream, more so by a man? India and Sri Lanka have the biggest market when it comes to fairness cream products for men and women. In India alone, this market is worth a whopping Rs.7 billion. It is no wonder that the ads for these creams are coming up with innovative ideas like never before: a bit player getting the role of a lead actor, transformation from a rejected lover to a male heartthrob, getting employed at a top-notch company that chooses its employees by judging their confidence (which is suddenly upped by regularly applying the cream). The list goes on and on, while the obsession seems to be never-ending.

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Link to the above article is here

Of freedom and expression

Following is the assignemnt I wrote for my Law and Ethics class...thought this would be a good platform to share it:

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Arundhati Roy’s latest public speech has landed her in yet another controversy, with critics accusing her of having committed a crime of sedition, while those supporting her continue to defend her by justifying Freedom of Expression. Article 19(1)(a) of the Indian Constitution clearly states that “all citizens have the right to freedom of speech and expression.” However, this seemingly liberal fundamental right, as guaranteed by the Constitution of India, also has certain limitations as mentioned under Article 19(2) which states that reasonable restrictions can be imposed on freedom of speech and expression in the interest of security of State. Since Ms. Roy has dared to express her opinion on something as controversial as the Kashmir conflict—an issue that has been existent for over six decades now (since independence)—she is being targeted more.



In her speech, Roy has very categorically stated that “Kashmir is not an integral part of India and that is a historical fact.” Historically, this is untrue, though the statement may be justified on the grounds that it is emerging out of a legitimate sentiment, a genuine feeling of ill-treatment towards the people of Kashmir. Roy, in her speech, has also raised a very significant question—“An independent Kashmiri nation may be a flawed entity, but is independent India perfect?” There are two things to be noted here: firstly, this is a rhetoric statement, and, secondly, it is subjective, thus inviting multiple opinions and viewpoints. Since it is a personal opinion, there are bound to be disagreements. However, since the statement is on nation state, there are possibilities of looking at it from Article 19(2) of the Indian Constitution.


In an interview with Tehelka, Roy has made it clear that more than her opinion and/or interpretation of azadi, it is the people of Kashmir whose opinion matters. Roy advocating for Azad Kashmir is no different from the claims and causes of separatists like Geelani. However, it should be noted that Geelani is not the lone man fighting for Kashmir as a separate state. More than anyone else, it is the majority of Kashmiris, particularly the youth, fighting for this cause. For many such people who have been victims of a systematic system of corrupt and inefficient governance and administration in Jammu & Kashmir, Roy is probably a mouthpiece for their frustrated desires, expressed through pelting of stones. While I’m not supporting violence in any form by any one, when one looks at the barbaric and bloody history of Kashmir, one can at least understand the root cause for such a situation prompting the State to impose curfew every single time, with no effect.


Paromita Vohra, in her article published in Mid Day, Mumbai, says that Roy has simply voiced her opinion on a given topic, as “just another citizen of India.” The hullaballoo created in the entire nation over her statement is simply uncalled for. If anyone disagrees with what she has to say (which should be the case in an ideal democratic space, of which India is an ostensible example), there are ways to express discomfort, other than simply cornering, targeting or hurling abusive words at her. As Vohra rightly states: “On your blog, in a letter to the editor, in a Facebook note, in any language…prove her wrong,”


When Roy has made any such statement, the question is not whether she is right or wrong. The question is how well we can take it. Do we create a hullabaloo and advocate strikes and bandhs, burning her effigies (almost our area of specialization after 60 years of democracy)? Or do we listen, understand, form our own argument to counter her (if need be) and express it in as dignified and acceptable form, as she did?

To conclude, it would be best to sum it up with what The Hoot's editorial has to say about this:
" When you raise your voice a little too stridently against injustice in India’s districts you invite charges of sedition."__________________________________________________

Back in Bangalore

As promised earlier, this one's a pictorial post:

On our way to Kollegal...clicked from the bus

 

Another one...

The deaf and dumb school in Kollegal where we landed on Day 1

Martalli village...we lived amidst those hills

A kid eager to pose for me : )

A rainy day in Martalli. Look at the way the clouds romance with the hills!

Clicked on my way to Sandanapalya, a nearby village

View from our backyard

Kids at Government High School eager to get clicked

Roosters at a village house

 Random click

By a random ranter. . . .

DAY 5: Goodbye Martalli

DAY 5



Kollegal


I’m typing this from the same lodge that we started our journey from. Yes, we left Martalli in the evening bidding goodbye to almost all the villagers there. It was amazing to see them all showing their genuine concern and interest regarding the purpose of our visit.


It was a pretty good day today. We visited the High School in Sulvadi to meet the Headmaster there. One should see the sheer look at the face of those hundreds of kids when they look at ‘outsiders’ entering their school. For them, we represent what the city and city life stands for. And, there’s this sense of extreme enthusiasm and eagerness to know more about the place where we come from. When they spotted camera in our hands, all of them lined up together, started posing, laughing, asking and begging us to take their pictures. It was a nice break from regular classes for them. And once the pictures were clicked, it was an amusing thing for them to look at them instantly after being clicked. It was a funny experience...both for them and us.


We then proceeded towards Sandanapalya, another nearby village, to meet Sister Meera to talk about the NGO that she runs. Time passed by like anything and it was time to catch the evening bus back to Kollegal.


We visited Bosco’s house for the last time and took each other’s contact details.


And by 8 pm, we were back in Kollegal.


It’s over...the trip is (almost) over.


We might visit M.M.Hills tomorrow....


But, I feel weird.


Next post will be with pix : )

Day 5: I'm still alive

DAY 5 in Martalli



Apologies for late update...there were significant factors involved.


Hmmmmm....


So, how do I begin with what happened yesterday? From the beginning? Na...that wouldn’t really be a good idea.


To say the least, I did all of those things I thought I’d never do here...alone. (I din’t do anything illegal...so relax).


Boarded a bus at 8 in the morning for Kollegal only to be told that the information that I need will be available in the District office in Chamarajnagar (another 35 kms from Kollegal Taluk office). This, after having already travelled 65 kms and for roughly 3 hours in a jam-packed bus. And, as I had earlier mentioned in my post...we are all on our own now and not moving in groups anymore.


Too tired and dejected to travel further, I looked for a North Indian restaurant somewhere around. As I found one, my short-lived happiness was soon shown the exit door when the waiter told me that Puri is the only “North Indian” thing available.
Willing to adjust just for the sake of consuming anything “North Indian”, I agreed to order the same. Fifteen minutes later, 3 puris arrived, the size of a large Bhatoora with chutney to go along with it. Ever had coconut chutney (that’s usually consumed with Idli/Dosa) with Puri? That’s North Indian food in South India for you. I gestured the guy to get me some pickle (gestured because there was no Tamil but Kannada here) and that’s how I somehow managed to eat it. And, of course...coffee is my saviour. Anytime. Anywhere.


Interestingly, this wasn’t the case before. Despite being a South India and expected assumed to be a coffee addict, I never was one and hated tea/coffee. I always preferred milk over anything. I still do. But, of late, I’ve noticed my craving for something as bitter as coffee and that has left me quite surprised. Maybe they make it really well here. Who knows? The other day I consumed 3 cups of caffeine while waiting for Gaurav in Ramapura. It’s not really a good thing. I don’t need any more addictions in my life right now.


So, anyways.


I waited at the Kollegal bus stand for over 45 minutes for a bus to Martalli (via Ramapura). Yesterday was the only day in these 5 days that I wore a pair of jeans and kurta (the reason being that I had run out of suits!) and the kurta was long and ‘decent’ enough, in my opinion (lol). And yet, it guaranteed unwanted stares from men and women alike. With the sun right over my head, a heavy bag, disappointment level at its peak, tired and waiting endlessly for that one goddamn bus, I’m amazed how I survived those 45 minutes there.


After another 3 hours of travel, I got down at Ramapura Police Station. I had already spoken to the Sub-Inspector and the constable with respect to the information I needed. I arrived, soaked in dust, with some hope of getting something out of here only to be told that the constable concerned had left for some remote place in Tamil Nadu and the Sub-Inspector was really busy handling a recently arrived theft case.
Another constable there knew Hindi (IMAGINE!). For the past 5 days, I haven’t had the chance to speak a word in Hindi owing to my location. I was pleasantly surprised at his knowledge of Hindi (heavily accented though it may be). He asked me to write down my contact details so that they could post me the data. Left with no choice, as I wrote my name, address, telephone number, another fellow constable noticed that I had written my name in Tamil. He instantly recognized and pleasantly greeted me in Tamil, asking where I hail from, what’s the purpose of my visit and such like. That’s the power of written language, it seems.
Until I was struggling to talk to the cops in broken Kannada, English, Tamil and even Hindi, I wasn’t given any value. The moment I showed my knowledge of writing a South Indian language, a Tamil-knowing constable (Mr. Murgesh) suddenly emerged out of nowhere and offered to provide me with all the information.


Mr. Murgesh and I, then, spent the next hour compiling all the information that I needed amidst odd glares from constables, lady constables, inspectors and criminals. A possible reason for the same was the fact that I was the only woman among around 50 men in that shady place. Another reason could be the fact that I was conversing in Tamil with Mr. Murgesh,who was helping me out with the compilation (But, I'd rather belive in the former than the latter as it makes much more sense to me tahn anything else)


This is another thing I thought I’d never do in my life....visit a police station and a prison cell, on my own. And, I did just that.


It was raining cats and dogs by the time my work got over. I had to wait till the 5.30 bus that arrived at 5.45, again amidst glaring eyes and doubtful looks.  
Do I look like a terrorist?


I reached Martalli at 7, soaked in dust, drenched in rain and dead tired at Bosco’s house. His wife offered me ambrosia in the form of a hot cup of coffee. Yeah, the addiction is soaring now.


I had a long chat with Bosco’s father. He strangely reminds me of a distant (now dead) grandfather.


By 8, all my other group members had also arrived. We then, left for our quarters with packed food and drinks (water, cold-drinks and such like). I was too tired and moody to update my blog in the night...after my varied experience yesterday.


Today could possibly be my last day in Martalli...and I’m already feeling nostalgic about it. It’s rare that you build a connection with people in such a short span of time....


I end this post with a genuine feeling of. . . . *searches for the right word but can’t*
Adios!

Day 4: Bus Rides

DAY 4




Martalli, visited Ramapura and Hannur


Not a bad day...but not that great either.


The day started quite early for me. 7 am, to be precise. I was quite energetic and enthusiastic in the morning and decided to go to Ramapura Police Station, the nearest police station from here, to find out about the Crime Record in Martalli and surrounding villages. I boarded an alien bus at 8 am in the morning, after having had coffee at Bosco’s place.
Bosco is one sweetheart that we’ve come across in these few days and he’s one person I’ll remember forever. We had the most awesome supper at his place yesterday. Chapathi, mixed vegetable, chicken curry (which I did not taste owing to my vegetarian vows), hot rasam, hot steamed rice, boiled egg, fresh yogurt and fresh apples for dessert. I swear I’ve never hogged on so much food before at a stranger'splace...and yet it felt like home.
I just couldn’t stop myself looking at the sheer variety of food that was being offered in a platter FREE of cost. Yeah, you can call me a cheap pervert. But, where else do you get a man who’s willing to offer you good, free home-made food to 5 complete strangers who’ve come from as far as Bangalore? To come to think of it, I don’t think a city dweller would have entertained us. That’s where the difference between a city-dweller and villager comes up. I don’t wish to draw any conclusions...but it’s just a general observation I couldn’t help sharing.


Anyways,


I visited the Ramapura Police Station in the morning only to be told that the sub-Inspector will not be available until 11 am. In an alien city, with people speaking less of Tamil and more of Kannada, I was quite lost and clueless as to where to go. I decided (please note that I DECIDED) to proceed to Hannur and contact the Block Education Officer there to get some useful information and statistical data about the education sector. That wasn’t really a flop...we (me and Gaurav) did manage to get some preliminary information. But, as I said earlier, as days are passing by...I’m getting all kinds of information from all kinds of departments making me confused about what to use and where. Every time I meet someone, I get his/her contact details, talk about the problem areas and issues and proceed for the next stop. At this rate, my ‘contact’ list is increasing in an alarming rate...I need to urgently sort that out.


From tomorrow, we start working individually on our Masters’ project. I’m quite looking forward to it (despite being unsure and not-so-confident, which is a case on all my beat days anyways). It’ll be a different experience to now work on our own...


People in my group are coming up with multiple story ideas and discussing them with me, the reason being that I’m the co-ordinator. And since I'm one, I am assumed to be the best person to be contacted for feedback and criticism.
Someone famous once said: Never assume.
For all those reading my blog, make note of these golden words. It will help you all your life...trust me.

Day 3: Clueless and lost

DAY 3



Maratalli






Today can be summed up as one of the most unproductive days, so far, thanks to my indecisive skills and my group-mates who have multiple viewpoints on varied topics of interest.


Till yesterday, I was very confident about me and my Tamil...until I met Mr. Augustan of Otherethothi, a village about 3 kms from Martalli. Apparently, he is a Tamillian too but I could not get a word of what he said. He hails from Metur, Tamil Nadu and I had to listen hard enough to actually find out what language was he speaking—Tamil or Kannada. His Tamil probably had a rural touch that I couldn’t grasp as easily. And on top of that, I’m supposed to be the bloody translator for the group. When the translator himself/herself doesn’t understand the language being spoken, God save the others.


Perhaps I could have made more sense of what he spoke had he spoken a bit more slowly. Also, a lot of words he mentioned were either too raw/rustic or too pure and sophisticated. I’m an expert at neither. A key learning for today was that a single language has multiple dialects. When I was young, I was told that Chennai Tamil is different from Coimbatore Tamil, which is different from Madurai Tamil and so on and so forth. I never bothered to care enough. Today, I’m faced with a kind of Tamil I find extremely hard to relate to. It’s scary to actually listen to your mother tongue and go: Huh? What? Say that again?
And, at the end of the day, you’re not really left with any positive feelings...which is a serious threat for some one like me.


Anyways, we interviewed Mr. Augustan and a Father at the village church there, had a look at the Milk Dairy run by Mr. Augustan who was also a former member of the Martalli Gram Panchayat. We took some bytes and shots...but I’m completely clueless as to the extent of it’s usefulness for the purpose of our visit. And, when the translator herself is at a loss for words and doesn’t exactly know which questions to ask, it’s a failure, to put it simply.
As a journalist, I’m expected to come up with “intelligent questions” (in the words of Professor Kanchan Kaur). And, I had none. What was worse was that my team-mates had none either. We ended up asking such stupid and obvious questions that I was actually feeling ashamed at the end of the interview.
I seriously don’t know what went wrong. How my brain cells stopped working suddenly? Why my pen wasn’t moving when he was talking? Why did I suddenly felt the craving to come back? Why was rural reporting suddenly emerging out to be a not-so-good idea?


Strangely, our day today did not start on such a horribly negative note...
We boarded a bus till some place that starts with V (it’s too un-pronounceable and forgettable to remember it now) as there was no direct bus to Martalli available in the morning. We took an auto from there and trust me, if you want to know what village roads are all about, you got to take this route. For those who love all kinds of rides in those fake amusement parks, I suggest you take village roads as a better option for travelling. You’ll certainly be rewarded of a ‘ride’ that can guarantee a pregnant woman the birth of her child by the time she reaches the destination.


We passed hilly areas, scenic beauty and cool breeze on our way and everything was stereotypically village-like. After having dumped our luggage in the Convent-run hospital (which the sisters had so painstakingly cleaned and made ready for us), we proceeded for Otherethothi. And the rest is history.


After the Otheretotti disaster (which, according to my team-mates isn't really a disaster contrary to my conclusion), we proceeded for Sulvadi, another village that boasts of having the only Government hospital in and around Martalli. We were supposed to meet the doctor there, who, as luck would have it, wasn’t present and had urgently left for a meeting. Disappointed (especially more so because we had again taken the pains to travel on those Om Puri+Pankaj Kapoor-like roads), we decided we’d have to come back again the next morning.


Too dejected and tired to go anywhere else, we I decided that we get back to our place and wait for supper-time when a promised supper with Mr. Bosco was waiting for us.


I have realized that this trip is a real test for complete indecisive people like me. I have no other option but to pass it...and that seems to be a distant possibility right now.


Ok.


To divert my mind (and I seriously need that right now), I’ll rant about the villagers here.


I don’t wish to eulogize anybody nor sound cliched but from what I’ve experienced so far, I have noticed a willingness to share and talk to ‘outsiders’ in all these villagers. Most of them have mobile phones and are readily willing to give their numbers, talk for hours, express their grievances, share anecdotes and also show a genuine interest in where we come from and where our interest lies.
I have already build up so many ‘contacts’. I don’t really know how useful it is going to be in the long run but it’s a great feeling to be the embodiment of the trust of these villagers whose eyes sparkle when they see someone from the media trying to cover and explore the problems faced by these people who are literally dying in neglect and isolation.
To be very frank, they are an everyday reminder of what my responsibilities and duties are as a significant person from the media industry.


I’m quite worried, as of now....due to a lot of reasons. And I’m completely clueless as to how to proceed with my group. I seek help in any form from any one on Planet Earth.  


P.S. Too long a rant. I guess that's permissible in accordance with the state of my mind right now.