Banking on nobody?

Sitting in a dark somber hut with her three children the widow of Vasudev Chuahan, has eyes that speak a lot. With a slight parched tone she says “ He had taken a loan of Rs.50,000 from the Madhvarti Bank. We had 5 acres of land, all dried up now..” The uncanny attitude of being immune to any more distress is writ across her face. “What can I do now? The bank authorities come often to ask for the money, but I have none. I sold the land and I am surviving on the money now.. But that will be over soon too..” Vasudev had three children, all too small to help their widowed mother.

As one walks down the village of Madmasola, empty eyes follow. Children are the most open. Raju, a 10 year old walks along with a cart he made on his own. “ I want to grow up to be a Doctor,” he says, “ I will work very hard. I am learning English also you know.. My name is Raju, how do you do?” The simple innocence of his question brings a deep smile. “ Should I take you to the Sarpanch? He stays around here only..”

The village has not been given any form of assistance yet. It has no water, no electricity, a sight which is very common around the Yavatmal district. The loan waiver declared benefitted little. The Government only took note of bank and cooperative loans, though the vast majority get their credit from moneylenders. So large number of farmers have been excluded in the counting. Shared an official, “First the banks give the farmers no loan, and then their suicide is not counted because they have no loan. Lack of bank credit forces farmers to go to moneylenders in the first place. The region claims of having more than 48 percent credit from the unorganized sector”

In this area alone 71 thousand crore were given to banks to give credits to farmers, but shamefully 70 percent were denied institutional credit, on the grounds of being unqualified to get the loan. Says Shrikant Nanurkar, Branch Manager, State Bank of India, Pandharkawda Branch, “ Bank loan is given to every farmer who has a piece of land on his name. In case anyone is not given the loan, it is because he doesn’t own a land or hasn’t repaid the earlier loan.” While this seems logical from the banking point of view, the plight of the farmers thus remains unchanged even after major policies and schemes that are brought in.

AS one approaches the school, there is a small crowd waiting. Old women, hopeful of some help linger on. A few widows sit and talk about their loss. “My husband died of alcoholism. He was a farm worker, used to earn Rs.50 a day. What could we do with fifty rupees and two children to take care of,” says Vandana Khandekar. The case of Vandana is very common. While farmers are given benefits at least on paper, a major population of farm labourers are ignored. Worst, many of them do not have their Below Poverty Line (BPL) card. Without the card, even the scheme of subsidized food grains is not availed. Surprisingly, the government is still using BPL survey reports which are around 3-4 years old. Some of the villagers who do have the BPL cards, are not given the benefit or are given so late that they become unhopeful. When Nanda Vasudev Rao Bhagware went to get her subsidized food grain scheme implemented, the Tehsildar kept her card. It has been over a month now and nothing has been done. Adding to it is the fact that most of the village folk are uneducated and unaware of the benefit that they can get. Shares Raju Rathod, Lok Sarpanch, Ambejari, “ They do not know of the benefits that they can get. Most of the time the Panchayat doesn’t even bother finding out. What is needed is an information centre at every village which tells them of their rights and guides them on how to avail the benefits.”

Meanwhile, the National Rural Employment Guarantee Act, made to give benefits to the poor is faring baldy in the region. Says Kishor Tiwari from the Vidhrbha Jan Andolan Samiti, “Officially out of the registered labourers only two percent have got jobs and that too for only 13 days out of the 100 days promised.”

As the sun sets, the children run back to their houses. The setting sun behind the cotton fields and the labourers returning back, gives another picture – that of their continuous persistence of fighting for their very existence… Lost eyes still follow, but the quiver of hope is not missing.

Sound of the bugle?

It's not often that you find yourself storming off into nowhere... I was angry, and ya I wanted to throw away my phone. But I couldn't do it, I guess I wasn't angry enough to do it.. that happens a lot when you don't know what are you angry at... With almost nothing to turn to, and nothing to throw off I furiously re-entered the office.. a few curious glances at me and I was reminded that may be my anger was actually precipitating outside too... I quietly sat down. Sir gently asked me if I wanted coffee.. I quietly nodded... Coffee always did me good... And writing made me feel better.. It took me about 30 seconds to refocus to what I was doing, and 30 seconds again to get my mind drifting somewhere else. Anger is a funny thing.. it does crazy stuff to you. . It makes you feel cheated, makes you feel like the walls are closing in on you, makes you feel that the damn fan is too noisy and that the coffee is too bad. Normal daily stuff that you would be okay with - anger treats them all with a new hostility. But mis-placed anger I would say is the worst of all, and worse still is the kind of anger you feel at life in general. I was angry - in general. About life, about a lot of things, about unfairness, about loss, about loneliness, about getting it-all- still-not getting it- correct. Bang! Bang! that's what I was mentally doing.. I finished my work in record time. I figured anger gave me one more thing - speed. And I rushed outside, no after work gup-shup, I just wanted nothing. I waved bye and everyone around gave me an extra-large, be-okay kinda smile. I left.

Outside my two wheeler was waiting for my wrath. I took it out, only to give a loud bang to it's neighbour. ..well ,well..

As I drove past the streets every other thing felt like a conspiracy to me. I was listening to this sad number from a new movie and my anger quickly transcended into deep melancholy. Tears feel different when you drive- the wind makes them cool, and it feels nice to let them roll down.. I entered home like I had all the burden of the world on my shoulders and quietly went in to make a quick snack for myself.

As I was putting on the stove, I heard my little bro laugh out loud..I quietly stepped out to see him rolling off seeing some stupid really stupid comedy movie. There was something very cute about his laugh, it was a laugh that wanted to come out since long, but wasn't. It was a long laugh, a laugh which to me was mocking at life..as if telling it - " Listen I am not gonna give up, so you keep trying to get me down, but you won't succeed." I stood there watching the scene, till the smile and the laughter quietly jumped in on my face.. I laughed too... Sometimes the biggest problem have the most simple solutions - mine was sorted, my mis-placed general anger, quietly admitting defeat, bade me a good night....

--

Lessons from a cashless day! :)

It was really late when I realized that money in my pocket was really scarce. I usually take the 11 0 clock bus from my campus, Lavale to the city. It was 10.55, I was in my room and I had to rush to catch my bus. I left the OMG messy room, wore my sandals and ran, only to realize that by the time I reached outside my hostel, my sandal was broken from the sole… there was no time to return otherwise I would have missed my bus. So I ran to the bus and finally made it to the city. On the way I was thinking about my balance.. A hundred rupees and some ten rupees chillar.. Basically I spend around 125 rupees everyday only on travel… how would I manage today? What about my lunch? What shall I do? If I take the auto now... I won’t be able to come back. So after much deliberation I decide to take the Pune State Transport bus, because it is cheap! I walked down to the University bus station and waited for 15 minutes before getting the bus to the Railway Station … You see my office is at MG Road and there are no direct buses till that place, so I waited and waited and finally the bus arrived… it was stuffy, people were hanging out and the bus driver didn’t look like he wanted anyone to get in… I literally ran (my shoes didn’t help) and for the firs time in my life I jumped on a moving bus.. ( I couldn’t afford to miss this one) The bus ride was equally interesting… there was hardly any place to stand... I saw men every where and I felt like someone will steal my wallet from my bag… so I quietly hung near the driver, clutching my jute ka jhola… with every break that the bus took I felt I would fall no every other guy. … Finally I managed to station myself against two girls so that even if I fell it wouldn’t be the other gender! God, I was never so shy of my feminity ! J Some twenty minutes of struggling… Seeing people from all walks of life...a maid, a sales person, college students, school kids, working women and men, old men and frustrated bus conductor, the Railway Station finally arrived. I asked the conductor rather diffidently, if I should get down here for MG Road.To my utter surprise, he helped! He said, no… get down to the depot and walk to another bus stop, and then get a bus from there…I walked… and at the other bus stop waited for another 15 minutes. Buses came and went. People stood and boarded their buses.. Some looked at me weirdly, while some smiled, some even helped.. After realizing that I was rather late I took an auto to MG road.. Thankfully I had to pay him just 13 rupees… which meant that I had spent only 18 rupees till now.. Including the 5 rupee for bus ride.. Everyday I spend around 55 rupees just getting to my workplace… I got down the auto as tired as an old man. My legs felt heavy but I felt good… Why must I feel good I thought? I hadn’t even started the day and I looked tired. I had dressed up neatly for office but now I looked shabby (my kurta all creases and my hair all radically unkempt) but I still felt good. My dad would put money in my ATM and by the evening I would be flourishing with cash again… But millions of people in my country struggle even for food. I didn’t feel good that I was better off, I felt good that I had had a chance of seeing life like this. My internship has made me go to places which I would never have stepped in- stuffy buses, chauls, and footpaths with little children begging…. I have seen life the other way – the harder life, I was glad I just had to see it, not be a part of it. I know its rather sad of me to say that I felt good not being a part of this mess, but I seriously felt glad that I was wearing an American earring, was carrying a 150 rupees diary, a proud ATM card, a driving license and a voter’s id card. I even had a sunscreen lotion, an IPOd, two mobiles. I was a lucky bitch. Nothing more. For all I know, I could ‘ve been born somewhere else and may be, be a part of that mess. I could have been anything. Today, a cashless day, taught me life’s hardest lesson – to appreciate the little gifts that life passes on our way.

FROZEN

What do you do when you feel miserable inside? Lash it out to someone? And what do you do when you know you are wrong? How do you mend it? How do you make things fine? How to find a way out? How?

I received the call with a smile, and 1.5 hours later when I put the phone down, my heart was heavy. Madonna was singing , 'Frozen' , was I frozen too? Should I sing aloud, do I knock on my friend's door and cry out to her? Do I go off to sleep? Do I forget everything and move on... What should I do?

"You only see what your eyes want to see, how can life be what you want it to be.."

It kept playing in the background long after I had slept.... and my dream had a strange clarity about it, it was light and my head was heavy....Or was I heavy too?

Memoirs of Geisha - A fine read...

The part of life that touches us the most intimately are I would say the barest of all.

We conceal so much within while it's all there- spilled across at your face.

Memoirs of Geisha was a fine read, I sipped it slowly like I was having a sake myself and by the time it finished I felt I had lived a life in an Okiyo as a geisha, going through all waht Chiyo had gone through... I even felt I underwent a mitzyu, while I know very well that it was just a book. But I must confess, nothing has ever consumed me so much as this book has.

'I tried to flee my misery, but of course we can never flee the misery that is within us...'

And then the last line made me smile. I udnerstood what it means when Hilary Duff says - " Sooner than you think , life turns around..."

and I understood wht Arthur Golden chose to end it this way - "...all too soon they bleed inot a wash, just like watery ink on paper..."

I understood.

:)

CLASS DISMISSSED!!!

“The paths of the images never meet…” blurted out the Prof…

The paths in my mind never meet sir. He carries on. Overlooking the podium, he continues.

I take a scan across the room.

Nodding heads, drowsy eyes, crumpled news sheets, adroitness at making notes, confused eyes, sleeping minds, blank feelings and oh, the lecture ends!

The randomness around is striking, and it carries on…and now that the power (no power)-point (no point) attraction is annulled, eyes start meeting eyes-

Across the benches,

Across the room,

Above the benches,

Below the benches,

Diagonal, straight, curves and burps!

“How much time do we have?” says the lone-face in the crowd – the faculty…

“ Half an hour”, a dreamy mouth replies.

Planning begins… Dev D? Sree? Film Cameras? Shutter Speed? Coffee bite? Mung Aya? ISO? Master the art of clicking? Blah..blah..

Ramblings ramble on…

Class Dismissed!!

ELEGY OF AN ASPIRING JOURNALIST

So I wanted to stand up for a cause. Witty, to the point, suave, sensitive, courageous and not at all feeble minded that’s what I thought a khaki clad journo was like. The memories from my one news channel days only made me feel a sense of respect for professionals from this field. And so when I had to make a choice I went for it.

Post high school I went in for an arts graduation. 3 years of my graduating life I breathed about getting into a top notch j-school and getting into my world. The world where, as a prominent newspaper ad says, “Where there is light.” I wanted to be in the light. Not the light of breaking news ( oh they feel so clichéd now!!!) not about some mega star getting a tattoo, not about marriages , not about stupid fights, not about men giving birth to babies!!!! But about the power that pen beholds. My dreamy eyes never saw that the journalists are making news, not finding them. They aren’t the lighthouses of the society, no more.

And here I stand on the foothills of entering into a brand new world. But alas I can never be a good journalist… my feeble eyes can never understand why an Indian WWF player has such strong feet… what does he eat and cook…. I can never realize the strength that a story holds, what aura it has to move the nation… I can never devote my self to those cricketing demi-gods, who lose their worship as soon as they lose a match.. they fall to a bottomless abysmal as soon as they climb the pinnacle of godliness… how can I recognize what an effect it holds on my nation, on people… alas I have no skills whatsoever .

This elegy is then written by an aspiring already dead journalist… at least I can still wonder on the oxymoron…