Lemonade

“Bikram…Bikkraamm!” we were used to getting up to these calls. It was the lady who used to live in front of our apartment, calling her son. The kid must have been two year old or so. Back then, we used to live in a rented place, just the two of us, me and my husband .The flat had a balcony opening above the road in front of the apartment. Not too frilly, the apartment just had 15 flats and a parking area. There was a small road right in front of the apartment (here they number it as cross and lanes, ours was the 3rd lane from the main road). Facing our apartment building, on opposite side of this road stood a house and a vacant plot. The house was bigger and the plot looked one third of the plot size on which our apartment was built.

Bikram and his parents lived in this vacant plot. There was a small shed erected on the left corner of the plot. The walls were of red bricks and the terrace was of asbestos sheets. On the side of this hut, which was towards the road, a disclaimer was written in bold black letters “This property belongs to Ramesh Rao”.

Our balcony used to open facing this plot. I used to sit there with a cup of morning coffee, looking at little Bikram annoying his mother.  His mother’s name was Reena , they came to Bangalore from Bhubaneswar few years ago when our apartment was being constructed. His father worked on construction sites; he used to work in our building and somehow managed to get this place to live in. On the condition that they will vacate the place, the moment they were asked to. I used to give Reena some of my cloths and stuff from time to time, for this mom and son used to come over to my place.

There was no bathroom in the hut. On right corner of the property, next to the boundary wall separating the road and plot, they had a small booth which was covered with old rugs; this was their make-shift bathroom. There was a big tree standing right out of the boundary wall, in a way that it concealed the bath shed. Reena had told me couple of times how grateful she was for the tree to be giving them shade and cover.

It’s beautiful when it rains, but with rain comes lot of water, the drainage system doesn’t work every year and there is water everywhere. The small road in front of our house wasn’t spared either, it was filled with water and it was getting almost impossible to walk on the road with knee deep water at times. On top of all this our municipality decided to start the work of re-laying the road and the drainage around a month before the monsoons. The whole place was a mess. With water and grime, big pot holes and half of the so-called-road-work.

We used to complain every day to our landlord that our car can hardly move out and get back into the parking space because of this mess. We wanted him to do something about this as he was a local and had his own network and connections. There was water and slime in Bikram’s plot too. But that never kept him from running around getting dirty and wet in the rain.

The spoiled road and drainage was a hot topic of discussion for the people in our apartment. Everyone used to talk about how bad the system is, how unorganized these municipal people are, how exactly every year they have some road work going on just before the rains. And how could they leave incomplete work unattended for months, like right now they had dug up the lane half the way to lay pipes and left without doing anything. The other half was left as it is and we wondered where would rest of the pipes go? How will they ever finish it at this rate? Mr Murthy of 201 even suggested we should vacate the flats together to make the owner learn a lesson, as he had connections with all big shots of the city and still did not bother to take any action.

But all this happened only when people met in corridors, over tea/coffee in each other’s place or buying groceries in a nearby supermarket, standing in the parking lot, waiting for the rain to stop. No one really did anything. It was just part of socializing. Conversation starters.

On a Friday, the rain god was taking a break, it was just drizzling. I was walking down the road towards home after office, when I saw that finally the workers were back. They were now digging up the rest half of the lane. I went up to my flat and my neighbor Shailaja asked enthusiastically “they are here, did you see?” “Yes, I just saw” I said with a smile opening the door. Shailaja wanted to talk more about how bad the whole system is but I was tired so I smiled again and got in and locked the door.

It was a beautiful Saturday.We woke up late and got on with our chores. There was a constant noise due to the road work. After we had our breakfast, we got out on the balcony with coffee. Bikram and family were out working on a construction site , Reena used to go along with her husband to work some days and used to take little Bikram along. Hubby was getting another chair when I noticed that the workers were cutting off the tree that stood next to the road. I was taken aback, this was the only bit of greenery left in that locality and they were cutting this off too! Both of us were upset about this and decided to go down and ask what is going on.

We found the supervisor of the lot and enquired. He reasoned out to us that this tree was on the way of the trench they were digging for laying pipes and there is nothing they or we could do about it. “Moreover its Government’s tree madaam “he said. We suggested they move the channel bit around the tree if possible. But it was not possible and we understood we can’t save the tree.

I did not get out on the balcony the whole day, within an hour or so the even noise of cutting was gone and we knew the tree is gone too.

Around 5 PM, I got out on the balcony with my evening tea, almost all the workers had left for the day with only a few remaining. The sight of our good old tree lying lifeless was upsetting, what was even annoying was that it had fallen on top of Bikram’s bath shed! The make-shift bathroom couldn’t handle the weight and had given up. The whole place was a mess. Workers did not even clean up the leaves or broken branches. They just removed the stump and left the fallen tree unattended! I was furious. I felt bad for Reena .What would they do now?  Where would they shower? The so-called bathroom was also gone and the whole tree had fallen inside their plot. So many leaves and branches all over the place.

This was not fair. I called one of the workers and asked him to clean up the mess created by them. He plainly said “time over madam- waise bhi humara kaam nahi madam(the working hours are over and its anyways not our job)” I argued and he argued back that this wasn’t in their contract and they are not responsible for the tree. They couldn’t let the tree fall on the road as it would have blocked the road. Other families were out on the balconies in some time, and some of them supported us, asking the workers to clean up in native language. Sensing trouble, within seconds they packed up and left. I was very upset thinking about Bikram’s family’s plight. It started raining, very heavily. Suddenly the wonderful climate had turned into a sad, teary one. Power went out in sometime and we decided to turn in early. I kept looking out of the window to check if Reena was back, but didn’t see them around. We guessed, seeing the mess they might have decided to spend the night somewhere else.

I did not sleep very well that night, partially due to the mood and rest due to the long Power cut. Power came back in wee hours of morning and that’s when I dozed off.  It was almost noon when I woke up to the sound of an Axe cutting wood. I woke up with a jolt, wondering if the workers came back and were indeed cleaning up! Surprised, shocked and somewhere delighted I opened the balcony and stepped out.

The tree was gone. The place where the bath-shed stood was cleaned up. Instead there was now a brand new bathroom, in the other extreme right corner, away from the road. The walls were held with pieces of wood. Wrapped around and in between, with a large blue plastic sheet (generally used in construction and make-shift tents). The roof had wood and blue plastic too, but it was covered completely, with Leaves! Lots and lots of leaves!

Bikram was sitting with his Dad on the doorstep of their shed. He was curiously looking at his father, who was cutting the rest of the wood into small logs. Reena was tying the finished logs in small bundles and taking them inside their home. They were going to use it for cooking.

I was speechless, I couldn’t even call up my husband to come and have a look. I was amazed by the turn of events. By the way a residual of destruction was converted into something so constructive and positive. I was astounded by the way they had used all the bits and pieces of this resource that had come their way and by the very fact that they were not complaining about anything. They were happy. Smiling and laughing, simply delighted that nature had found a way to gift them something.

Something had been tossed on them, which was considered unfortunate and destroying by everyone. They picked it up and created the best they could. They made use of everything they found, to make life easier. Happier.

“They made a bridge out of the stones on their path; they made sweet lemonade out of the lemons thrown at them”

TBD (to-be-done)

Bangalore: the serene good-looking city with a climate to die for. Dewy chilly weather, uncalled drizzles, leaving you nostalgic anytime anywhere, regardless if you are sitting in office attending to some very important work with a closing-in deadline or walking through the streets of a market trying to get the grocery list checked. The weather at this time of the year is so deadly that it will leave you in any mood without any prior notice. As much as I love this part of the seasons, I feel it is dangerous also, feeling nostalgic and laid back is sometimes very relaxing but when you have a hundred things to do in a day like this, it turns out treacherous. For the whole day it gives you a feeling of peace, relaxation and happiness only to reveal the wrath at the end of the day when your list of things to-do stays untouched.

On a normal day, that is five days of the week (excluding the weekend, hoping they are a reward for the week long hard work), one has office work to attend to. No matter what kind of job you are in, if it is a full time job and if by any chance it is paying you well (or you think it is paying you well!) most of times you will be dead deep in work whole day.

Sometimes very joyful, satisfying work and most of the times, unsatisfactory, machine like (no errors!) work. So by default we all have a long list of things related to work to be done by the EOD (end of the day, in layman’s world). Other than these we have another list, the neglected, always pushed-till-it-blasts-list of personal work to attend to. These lists are like the “Akshaya Patra” in Hindu Mythology, it keeps filling with more and more things to-do how much ever you take out from it. It’s the never ending list of chores…

There are a thousand reasons not to get to the list, from being very busy at office to blaming the beautiful monsoon like I did at the beginning of this post. From catching a movie in whatever free time you get in hand to finishing a book you were reading. One gets time or “makes” time for everything else in life which they find interesting, other than things on their list. So we don’t get to these chores because they are plain boring and because they can wait till you finish day dreaming. The boring list.

This list can be very interesting for someone who is not responsible to get it done. I saw a friend’s boring list once, other than the common married-woman things to do, she had very amusing things on hers. Like scolding the maid for not cleaning the tea pot properly: when asked why is it there, she said that she feels sorry for the woman the moment she looks at her face, thanks to all the sad life stories of hers the maid keeps telling. And so she keeps pushing this tedious task to the next day and to the day after that.

On days when there is nothing to do, I mean nothing with fire written all over it to do (note that these kind of days are very very rare and hence precious), one gets plain lazy. To do nothing and pass the time is bliss and everyone wants some of this. The poor old list lay there, with its contents almost overflowing, like the leaking tap in my bathroom (number 5 on my list) which is screaming for attention right now but as I can switch the main water supply off when not in use , I live with it.

When some of these tedious tasks get in the way of life, you have to get to them. And when one finally does so and is able to remove this one item from the list its pleasure beyond words. Oh!  To tick off a task and see it checked or removed from the list, you wonder why you didn’t get to it earlier. The after effect of such simple things unattended for so long pushes one to think if they are responsible enough in life, are they making use of their time properly. Sometimes this feeling of self-development is so strong , that it makes you promise to yourself , you must get a grip over yourself and finish everything on the list today, or probably by tomorrow morning or rather by end of the day tomorrow for sure, after you submit the report which has to go by then. And within minutes of the wide awakening, just like that, you are lost again, in another list or another book or just yet another rain which brought back childhood memories.

The cruel list of boring things....

                                         But nothing just a frown it brings...

Wish I had a magic wand of fun…

                                          With a whoosh I could get all this done…

The Slate

It’s wonderful how the human brain stores memories, so many of them. Starting from the forced feeding of the entire text book content to the useful information like passwords of accounts, important dates, places where important things are kept safe. Other than all these logically important stuff stored knowingly, it also stores emotional moments. And what adds to the astonishment is that how exactly it is able to reproduce all those moments of various emotions with the slightest details, the images, sounds, fragrances etc as one always remembers them. With a flash of thought one can reach people, places, to the small pleasures of life, long lost and untouched.

Every time someone wants to turn back the pages and read again few lines, mind opens up ways to do so.

There are things that trigger this process of thought, like the smell of a perfume that caught my attention in the lift, reminds me of someone or a phase when I had used that perfume. I stay lost in thought so as to remember what exactly it reminds me of or of whom. Its fun to at last find out and pat away the dust deposited on an old file. I wonder if it only happens with me or only with people who like perfumes, who pay attention and relate an incidence with that particular smell.

And then there are colors, of various shades, a sad day will be very blue according to the intensity of pain. Bright yellow days when heart was excited, like when one found out his name in the list of people qualified for a job. Orange days, nervous with colorful butterflies in stomach, like the day when you conquered stage fright and heard a good applause. A smile appears unknowingly or sometimes a tear. With every passing day, a memory is stored and according to the importance either retained or replaced by another. Very simple logical process but still amazing and important.

I have traveled across India, seen various places, and known many people. Thanks to my parents job with Indian defense and the resultant transfers. And may be because of these vast experiences I have many stories to tell, many characters I remember, many schools and houses in which I studied and lived in. All these places are related to many of my memories which flash whenever I tell anyone about it.

There is this strange thing that I found out recently. After growing up traveling so much, I always had an urge to visit all these places and lately I got an opportunity to do so. I went to Hyderabad, went to my old school and when I stepped inside , the walls were dull , the black board was not as black as I remember it, benches a pale brown , corridors not as long as I thought they were. I had mixed feelings when I got out of there, nostalgic for sure but a little disappointing too.

When my brother asked me later, I just told him what I felt. He had a very simple answer to it, “chill kid, memories are always brighter than the reality”. For few minutes I was lost thinking if what he said made sense to me.

Later when I went to my old school at Bhopal, I found it was so very true and eventually that my memories of these two old schools were not the same anymore. The incidents, people all were there but the place had changed.

I have stopped going back to my childhood places in reality, in thoughts I still do.

I wonder what happens when people come to an age when there is nothing much to add on to the deposit, may be that’s when this RAM is used the most. I remember my grandma talking about my childhood stories almost every time I visited her, as a kid I was very interested in listening to all of them. But later on when I was in my teens, I used to wonder why she keeps repeating the same tales. May be when all your kids have grown up and are away, all duties of life completed , and actually nothing special to do that’s when there are not much of additions to the tales you have stored. All you do is read them again and again. Some people are lucky enough to remember everything till the end. Till the last day they know what had happened, how it felt. Some of them forget everything on a fine day.

My Dad’s friend (“Vasu aetan” that’s what he called him) falls in the second half. His wife died when his kids were small. He never married again and after all these years of loneliness now his sons were not ready to let him stay with them. Dad says that it was one of their other friend’s daughter’s wedding, when it started, he suddenly started behaving odd. He kept looking for his wife, calling her name and not listening to anyone, not recognizing anyone. He was a changed man after this day. Doctors called it Alzheimer’s disease. Gradually he couldn't remember anything, anyone except his late wife.

I remember visiting him once, the home nurse complaining about his forgetfulness, that he forgets that he had his dinner already and asks for more, that he walks out of the bathroom without cloths. The list was very long and all this while he just kept staring at the ceiling, looked like he was searching for something. He cried when dad asked if he recognized him. He died after some years.

Even if he had his memory I think because of his children giving him a tough time, he anyways might not have enjoyed the last years of his life. So now should I rephrase my statement that some people are lucky enough to remember all of it till the end and few of them lucky enough to forget everything?

Its like one day the multipurpose, multitasking , highly efficient RAM changes into a slate , a black , blank slate.