WHAT'S YOUR PASTIME?

Nothing can equal the warmth of human companionship. None of the numerous devices that reflect the achievements of modern technology are capable of producing the same effect as the familiar sight or sound of a friend or family. Not even the so-called 'social networks', which are a feeble attempt to simulate the essence of human relationships within the unrealistic bounds of an artificial computer screen. But then, something is precious only when it is irreplaceable. If the presence of a companion could be exchanged for a playstation or a facebook chat box, he/she would lose his/her true worth.

But as is often the case, we value something most when we are devoid of it; when we face a nagging dearth of it that constantly reminds us of its magnanimous influence in our lives. It is at times when we are alone, when we are surrounded by a swarm of strangers and a fleet of cranky, noisy, thoughtless machines, that we realize the futility of all artificial forms of entertainment and the indispensable bonhomie of a coterie. It is then that we look to fulfill the void left by the absence of a familiar face. When we find nobody to occupy that void, we turn to our own inner selves - our true interests, our hobbies, to give us company. We create pastimes that we can call on any time we want to. Gradually, they come to define us, and become an integral part of our identity.

Each one of us has his/her own way of nurturing this inseparable part of the self that manifests as a hobby or a special interest. In my case, I write. It is one of those rare talents that I enjoy engaging in. It saves me from boredom, for I take the refuge of words from my pen when threatened by monotony or loneliness. It is an eternal friend to whom I can confess feelings otherwise forbidden to be spoken of to anybody else, who helps alleviate the weight of a hard-kept secret. It breathes life to thoughts and endows me with a purpose, even though a brief one. It is a safe haven I can always turn to for shelter, an abode impervious to the heat of the burning sun or the numbing chill of a snowy winter.

Perhaps its only other equal is a long walk alone in the midst of nature’s serene endowments on a summer midnight, when the air is cool and the environs quiet. The shimmering stars overhead become my navigators - little patches of light in the dark sky that stay with me no matter where I go. The pristine stellar light from up above the heavens gives me solace and strength when I’m down and alone. It helps compose and gather my thoughts, and in the absence of all forms of sound other than the rustle of leaves in the woods or the song of waves in a flowing river, helps me find answers to cope with the challenges that confront my life every day. It reminds me that I live in a beautiful world, and that I can forget about anything else atleast for a tiny while.

These little pastimes, seemingly unproductive activities that apparently make no addition to intellectual “value”, have come to my rescue whenever I have heeded them, as they have today. And I am certain they will always be at my side, giving me company and wisdom and strength for all my life.

Today, I raise a toast.

To you, dear hobby !

NIRVANA

Most of what I have written about in recent times has been somehow connected to travel. I think a journey often endows us with new perspectives; it molds our perceptions of people and cultures, and of our own self. Travelling helps us explore the marvels of nature and find peace in its numerous embellishments. Sometimes it can transform the way we see the world around us, reconcile us with unknown truths and change our life in a manner which we might never have imagined. It is a necessary component of the cognitive process. A man, however literate, who has never traveled, has not completed his education. In the words of Saint Augustine :
“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.”

If you are reading this post on the internet, or even know the meaning of the term 'blog', you probably live in one of the country's flourishing and rapidly growing cities, bustling with commercial markets and office complexes and automobiles plying on busy roads. You probably dress up in western attire designed by one of the major clothing brands, largely converse in Hinglish, listen to hip-hop rock music and spend your weekends in a pub or a cinema theater, if not in a shopping mall. There is a good chance that you do not know the name of your neighbour who lives next door. And you proudly declare yourself a citizen of 'shining' India. Well, that's pretty much what I do.

The original flavour of India, however, can only be found in its villages. They give us a glimpse into the lives of our forefathers and a peek into our rich and eventful history. They teach us that the charm of skyscrapers in a metropolitan city is dispensable. That we cannot live without the comforts of an air conditioner and a luxury car is merely an illusion. And that amassing wealth is not the primary way of life. If you have never seen life in the village, you are yet to understand the heart of India.

I do not clearly remember the last time I visited my ancestral village, the place where my great-great-grandfather established the family mansion that still stands as a shadow of its past glory. I was still in middle school at the time. And I probably would have never visited it again but for my grandfather's funeral ceremony.

The news had come as a shock. It was only days before that I had sent him a small present via the internet. I still remember the smile that used to light his face when he showed me the letters I wrote to him in my childhood days. A scholar of English himself, he would affectionately pat me on the back for my writing. I imagine he displayed the same expressions upon getting this last present from me. A few days later, when I woke up in the morning, I was told he had departed to the heavens. It was thus, he, who brought me back to my village after a gap of eight long years.

In those few days in the countryside, I saw that most of the people in the village were happy and content. They were self-sufficient and capable, and yet they did not seem to lack ambition. Everybody knew everybody else in the small village and in the settlements nearby. One did not require the television or the internet to while away time, for he would always be in someone else's company. One did not need the ceiling fan or the air conditioner when sleeping in the night, for the breeze would bring cool air laced with the scent of dew from the fields. There was no fear of theft or burglary, and people kept their doors open all the time just in case a guest would drop by. One would treat the entire village as one large family, and express genuine happiness or sorrow in the well being or misery of others.


In the evenings, I would climb to the roof and examine the village from above. Sometimes dad would take me around on a tour of the peaceful hamlet, walking through crop fields and fruit orchards. Sometimes I would go on a stroll alone. Almost every time, somebody I met on the way would ask me - "Tum Thakur jee  ke bete ho na?" and invite me for a cup of tea or a snack. More often than not, I gladly accepted. Small children stared and smiled at me when I wandered alone, trying to figure out the right direction on one of my random excursions. I would offer them chocolates in exchange for information, and they would happily oblige, scampering away grinning as soon as I placed a bunch of goodies in their hands.


I spent a major part of the day overlooking preparations for the grand feast that culminates the final ceremony. This included managing the supply of grains and groceries and entertaining guests who arrived unannounced.

In the absence of a pastime, my thoughts would often wander back to the city, and I would miss the fragrance of Gurgaon that I have unwittingly grown so fond of. I missed my little sister back in Gujarat. I sometimes thought of friends from Roorkee. I wished I could have seen grandpa before he left. But it is said you are never far from the people you love. Whenever I wanted to see them, all I had to do was close my eyes.

A fixed set of rituals had been scheduled for each day. The mornings comprised of prayers and daan-dharm and a feast was hosted in the afternoon or at night for the entire village. Every guest was well fed and served, irrespective of his or her stature. I was amazed at the sheer number of people who came to pay homage each day in that small settlement. And each one of them left with a smile and a blessing in return.

According to village folklore, a happy spirit displays its pleasure by summoning rain from the clouds. On the 11th day, after all the invitees had been served and after they had left for their own homes, I sat down in the pandal for lunch. As I started digging into the sumptuous meal of dahi-chooda, a faint drizzle began to fall from the sky above.

FREEDOM

On January 26, 1930, the Indian National Congress proclaimed the need for complete self-rule by the Declaration of the Independence of India, which read:

"The British government in India has not only deprived the Indian people of their freedom but has based itself on the exploitation of the masses, and has ruined India economically, politically, culturally and spiritually. Therefore, India must sever the British connection and attain Purna Swaraj or complete independence."

We still haven't attained 'Poorna Swaraj'. We are yet to achieve freedom from the shackles of casteism, dowry, infant mortification, child labour and other social evils that bind the society. We live in a time of economic disparity where the rich continue to amass wealth as the poor plunge into greater destitution. Some of our own chosen politicians, bureaucrats and industrialists continue to exploit India and its people as the British Raj did 80 years ago.

I, therefore, reiterate the call for 'complete independence'.

THE ZEITGEIST

Does the name "Nadia Comaneci" ring a bell? No? Let's try a different name. Perhaps "Yelena Isinbayeva" might sound more familiar. While the former is the first female athlete in Olympic history to be awarded a perfect score of 10 in a gymnastic event in 1980, the latter is the only female pole vaulter to have cleared the five-metre barrier in the event and has recently been the cynosure of several tabloids and newspapers on account of both her performance and her appealing looks.

There are numerous other examples of Olympians who have carved a distinct stature for themselves by surpassing the realms of ordinary achievement in the field of sports and transcending to the extraordinary. There is Carl Lewis, who dominated track and field for almost 20 years. Muhammad Ali, known for his boxing prowess as well as his pre-match bursts of aggression on his opponents. Amongst contemporary athletes, there are Usain Bolt and Michael Phelps, world record holders and legends in sprint and swimming, respectively.

There also are a few prominent Indian athletes who have brought glory to the nation from their Olympic feats. Major Dhyan Chand, considered to be one of the greatest field hockey players of all time, has led the Indian hockey team to many a victory during the mid-twentieth century era. Milkha Singh, nicknamed 'The Flying Sikh' and 'Payyoli Express' P T Usha are two other figures who have received international acclaim and reverence for their scintillating performances on the race track. And then there are sportsmen without Olympic fame but with no less skill, with the likes of Prakash Padukone (Badminton) and Geet Sethi (Billiards).

Now browse through the following list of names:
1) Sir Donald Bradman
2) Sir Garfield Sobers
3) Sir Vivian Richards
4) Sunil Gavaskar
5) Kapil Dev
I'm certain most people would recognize the cricketing legends that this list refers to. Also, compared to the time it would have taken to recognize the names cited in the preceding paragraphs, these would have been recalled to memory almost instantaneously.

There is perhaps no other sport in modern India that has ever enjoyed the same stature as cricket, which has maintained a monopoly across all sporting events in the last two decades, largely owing to the associated glamour and media coverage. It has become more than just a game; it is rather a thread that unites the whole country. Whether it be the World Cup or a clash with archrivals Pakistan, we think of a win or a loss for the Indian cricket team as our own. Victory brings jubilation; defeat spells despair. And this feeling of victory or defeat dominates the spirit of the entire nation, spanning almost all age groups and all classes of a diverse population.

The Olympics are perhaps the closest comparison to a cricket tournament that can orchestrate such a feeling within the country's people. We root for a Mary Kom or a Gagan Narang, who until yesterday, was a stranger to the general public, to bring to us an Olympic medal. With each victory and each medal come a million facebook status updates such as "Well done, Saina !" or "I knew you had it in you, Sushil !", and the like. Of course, most of these messages are put up by people who are complete strangers to boxing or badminton themselves, who would probably be tongue-tied when asked about Abhinav Bindra or Karnam Malleswari, whom they had apparently rooted for the last time. In reality, therefore, it seems we don't really care if the medal is won by a Saina Nehwal or anybody else, as long as it is won for the country; for us. We wouldn't have been as enthusiastic if it were a regular sporting tournament not encompassed by the Olympics. We probably wouldn't even have wasted our time watching the game in that case. However, the Olympics is a stage for the whole world, and we wouldn't like to be called the citizens of a country which is, by any means, inferior. And so, we cheer.

It's a pity we shall have to wait for another two years for the Cricket World Cup to elevate our spirits again. But let's hope that at least by then, the stars of this year's Olympics are not thrown into oblivion.

GIVE AND TAKE

Vadodara is rightly called the cultural capital of Gujarat. It is a city that combines the traditions of yore with the advancements of today to result in a vibrant culture that represents the lasting values and progress of a humble yet ambitious people. These traditions are imbibed in the architecture of the city's major buildings including the Maharaja Fateh Singh museum, the Nyaya Mandir, the Maharaja Sayajirao University, the Laxmi Vilas Palace and the Vadodara Railway station - monuments that represent a prosperous people with a rich history and a flourishing economy. The city is home to wealthy businessmen and a squandering middle class population which constitutes most of the crowd swarming expensive retail stores and ostentatious restaurants on a weekend day. Seldom would you come across a beggar, and it seems the entire city dwells in peace, with each denizen capable of fulfilling at least life's basic necessities. Of course, all this is merely an illusion that conceals a harsh truth - a fact that is visible to barely a few of its lakhs of affluent inhabitants.

But sometimes, all it takes to draw the curtains off this illusion is just one meeting at the right place.


It was 11pm on a Sunday night. I was wandering on the railway platform, waiting for the Mumbai Rajdhani Express to arrive so that I could escape from the summer heat into the comfort of my berth in the air conditioned coach. I had reached the station a little too early, and the announcement that the train had been delayed by a few minutes did little to dismiss my boredom. Finally, I dropped my luggage near a tea stall and stuffed a pair of headphones into my ears to cut off the noise of the loudspeaker bellowing railway itineraries amidst the honking of trains and the cries of hawkers. I then extracted a copy of 'Shantaram' from my bag and started reading, and soon I was completely ignorant of the bustling activity I was surrounded with.

I had read only a few pages when a gentle touch on my arm prompted me to look up. I saw an old man, probably in his sixties, with his right hand swinging up and down in anticipation while his left hand rested on his stomach. At first I thought he was a beggar, and decided to turn back to the pages of the novel. But then I noticed his appearance, which forced me to think again. He wore a simple, blue half-sleeved shirt and a pair of plain cotton trousers. A gunny sack was hanging from his left shoulder. His face was freckled and wrinkled, a sign of old age. His hair was thin and white, and he had a desperate look in his eyes. 


He repeated the gesture, hoping I would pull out a banknote and hand it to him. I had more than enough money in my wallet than I needed. It would not have been a huge loss to take out a hundred rupee note from my pocket and place it in his open palm. But I was busy considering the appropriateness of what I was about to do. Did he really need the money or was he yet another impostor just trying to take advantage of a person's sympathy and kindness? Would it set a wrong precedent? Couldn't he earn a wage in exchange for work or labour to fend for himself? While I was still in that state of indecisiveness, he left. 


Perhaps he was just asking for help. Probably he was just another drifter who needed some money to travel to somewhere else, or to have a single meal which had eluded him for the day. It might even have occurred that he had lost his own wallet somewhere while commuting and couldn't retrieve it, and had to depend on the charity of complete strangers to reach his destination. Even though he looked destitute, he was definitely not a beggar. He never pleaded to me with fake tears in his eyes or made excuses. He just stood in front of me silently, hoping that I would have the heart to help him out.


As I saw him leave with a disheartened look on his face that portrayed anguish and helplessness, I was moved. I was angry with myself for having wasted all this time in making a simple decision that could help him reach home. I watched him step down from the platform onto the railway track and walk along the rails. I guess he was searching for a packet of 'Lays' with a wafer or two remaining or a carton of 'Frooti' that still had some of the liquid left in it that he could squeeze out to quench his thirst. When he could not find anything, he climbed back up onto the platform. 


Having watched all this, I lifted my bag and headed in his direction, hoping to correct the blunder I had committed and help him out of his misery by giving him a sum of money that would serve his purpose and at the same time not hurt his self-esteem too much. But as soon as I approached close enough to call out and stop him, a storm of passengers disembarking from the Intercity Express blocked my way. When the platform cleared, the man had disappeared, leaving me in a state of despair. I looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen. Disgusted with myself, I slowly walked back to the tea stall where I waited for the Rajdhani Express. I hoped I would see the old man again before I boarded the train. 


But I didn't.


I had a chance to do something that I could be proud of, but I had failed. Because I spent a lot of time thinking. Had I acted sooner, I would have been much happier from the joy and satisfaction of helping a stranger in distress. Days since this incident, I still regret my first line of thinking.

Most of us run after riches and exorbitance all our life. Some of us even manage to achieve more than we had initially asked for. But what do we do of that surplus money that we can do without? We spend it buying redundant additions to our numerous, unending luxuries. We build a multi-storeyed residential complex, replete with a multiplex and a five-star restaurant when we already live in an opulent bungalow. We buy more cars, when we already own one belonging to one of the most expensive brands. We purchase more of the latest in fashion, and when our wardrobes are full, we get more wardrobes.

All this when we can help the larger society by building a subsidized hospital, starting a small scale cottage industry, or simply sponsoring a poor child's education with those extra finances that we do not need. Or as an average citizen, donating a small fraction of our income to charitable institutions and public trusts which can act on our behalf. And if we do not believe in the integrity of these institutions, establishing one ourselves. If every person who earns well beyond his necessities starts to contribute, the collective effort should be good enough to significantly shrink the size of the nation's population that lives below the poverty line. As they say :
"Every drop makes an ocean."
And what fire dare not submit to the might of an ocean?

There is more to life than avarice and indulgence.
We should realize the joy of giving. Before it's too late.