A Strange Encounter: Bin Laden and the Value of Life

Many years ago, I had an interesting encounter. At my workplace, there was this grumpy young accountant who I rarely interacted with. He wasn't very social, but was professional while being uninviting. He was a north Indian upper-caste guy who religiously performed puja every morning and came to office with a teeka on his forehead.

The Ordeal

I felt a great surge of agitation envelope me. I did not know if I was dead or alive. I realised I was in one of those deep slumbers that makes you feel almost dead. Was I having a nightmare? The ringing of the distant mountain bells was coming closer and closer. Finally it pierced my skull and started drilling into the grey matter within. It was intolerably painful! I regained some consciousness - it was the wake-up alarm of my cell phone.

I willed it to switch off automatically. But that didn't happen. I fumbled along my bedside like a drunk and managed to get hold of the phone. It felt like eons before I could manage to switch it off. And then the peace that followed was enormous! But the realisation that it was the first day of 2003 AD and I had to go to work soon made that feeling very temporary.

Delhi was having a very chilly winter. The warm blanket felt like a mother's womb. It was 6 am. I knew that it would take me another twenty minutes to muster up enough courage to expose myself to my cold room. I lay there thinking and gathering will power.

I thought about the people I loved and the people who loved me. I planned the day's work. I wondered about my next assignment. I felt bad for the condition of the world. I decided not to have breakfast. I tried to cook up an excuse against getting married anytime soon, that I could give to my parents. Somehow all my problems seemed to get solved if I could just do one thing right now - go back to sleep!

I was warm but stiff. I tried moving my arms, but no success. Wiggled my toes - some success. Let me try and move a bit. I'll open my eyes the last; no point in feeling any worse than I already am. It took so much planning just to get out of bed on a winter morning. But it wasn't working. Finally, with a quick jerk, I threw the blanket onto one side and sat upright. I was numb. I opened my eyes but didn't move them. I was born! First day of the rest of my life! Quietly I cursed to myself, "Happy New Year asshole!"

Somehow, surviving in adverse conditions gives you a kind of satisfaction that you do not get in normal and more comfortable situations. There is an immense sense of achievement even out of small things like getting up in the morning or driving to work through thick fog. You feel good about yourself. That was a challenge - a compulsory one - and I made it! Its my accomplishment for the day!

Two hours later I was done with the newspaper, tea, motions, shave, bath and dressed to kill. I locked the house and strode off to the car with a purpose in life. I don't know what it was, but I felt it there - somewhere within.

I did have breakfast - an apple.

Rocky: A Belated Obituary

The first time I met Rocky was when I moved into his neighbourhood, Andrewsganj in mid 2001. Rocky's initial belligerence was understandable. He didn't know me, I didn't know him either. But it was not long before we bonded fabulously. I guess he liked me for the way I treated him and his family. It also helped that his family loved me a lot. On the other hand, I liked him simply because..well simply because he was he.

By all calculations Rocky was middle aged. He was certainly older than either Joyattam or Jayeeta. I being the eldest of the set, perhaps he liked my mature outlook. He would get excited every time I visited their place. We would go for long walks together. He loved nature, so did I. But while I did all the talking, he would just take in the fragrances of the environment. He loved my company, I loved his. But I could never be as energetic as him.

Rocky had that senior feel about him. You would never see him prance around or get over-excited about something. He loved to rest, sleep, eat and throw an attitude. The only person he was afraid of was Kaberi aunty. Rocky was quite guarded. He loved his family and made sure that they're safe from any intrusion. If you wanted to be friends with the Dutta Roys, first you had to be friends with Rocky. Once you had Rocky's trust, you could truly enjoy the great hospitality of the Dutta Roys.

Rocky could eat like an elephant and Kaberi aunty is a great cook. I and Rocky both loved the fish and chicken made by aunty. Aunty was a bit strict on Rocky, but that was all for his own good. Once, I was at Dutta Roys with just Rocky for company and we had a fight over who will sit on the sofa that was near the cooler. It was hot and the cooler was blowing away cool, humid air. We both wanted to sit on that sofa but Rocky, the sly thing that he was, took the seat before I could stake a claim. We had a series of pushing and pulling but he didn't budge. I even poured some water over him, but I think he enjoyed that even more! Finally, I lifted the couch and turned it upside down thereby dropping Rocky off it. Rocky accepted defeat and went to lie on the bed. We didn't talk a word that evening.

Rocky was not allowed to eat too much sweet. But he loved cookies and an odd roshogolla. whenever I'm there, aunty makes it a point to serve me with some strong, sweet tea and biscuits from a bakery in Kotla Mubarakpur. I used to sneak a few pieces to Rocky, who would eat with relish and demand some more without worrying about aunty's scolding. I've been caught a couple of times and have been reprimanded for that too. But I and Rocky were buddies, so it was ok.

Rocky was getting old and losing health. From the beginning of 2006, his health began to deteriorate very quickly. First to go was his eyesight. He had cataracts and could hardly see where he was walking. During our walks in the the neighbourhood, he would frequently stumble over stairs, footpaths and stones. He simply couldn't see that they were there. It was becoming too sad for me. His diet went down. He tried eating but he vomited most of it. When I visited them, I made it a point to take him for walks, but by April he had become so weak that I had to lift him while walking. I could feel each and every bone of his frail body. There was no muscle left on his skeleton. He would just look into my eyes as if saying "thank you." He couldn't even cry and tears would well up in my eyes. Towards the first week of May, he stopped going out. He would lie prone on his belly and very lightly acknowledge my presence by just lifting an eye. I would caress him and talk to him for a while before my throat choked up. It is painful to see any living thing in that state.

I don't remember when was the last time I saw Rocky and I'll regret that forever. 17th May 2006 was my birthday and I was treating a couple of old friends at Ansal Plaza. I parked my car at Andrewsganj and informed uncle and aunty. While leaving I glanced towards Rocky. It was dark in his room and I couldn't see him. Normally I would go and talk to him, but that day I had neither the time nor the courage.

I asked uncle, "How is he?"

"Not good. Might go anytime now" he replied.

I just hoped it wasn't anytime soon because I wanted to see him once more and say goodbye to him.

The next day I came back all the way from Vasundhara Enclave to meet Rocky. But he was gone.

"He went away last night" uncle said.

I hated myself for not talking to him the previous night. I hated the fact that my birthday fell on that day. I tried to take it in with as much fortitude as is expected from a twenty nine year old. I just wanted to say goodbye to him. Why couldn't he wait for another day?! I sat there numb and silent.

"Its ok, he was suffering. Good that he went" uncle reassured me.

I drove back home with moist eyes and a heavy heart. I kept repeating inside my head, "Goodbye Rocky.."

Overcast Morning

26 May 2002
New Delhi

I don't remember what woke me up but I vaguely remember the noises emanating from the kitchen. I'm a light sleeper. As my mind regained consciousness, I started becoming aware of the cool wind blowing from the fan above me. It was cool; it was soothing; it was so comforting! I hadn't felt so pleased early in the morning in a long long time. I was a bit annoyed about the noises in the kitchen but at the same time I was glad that I was awake to enjoy this soft breeze. The windows were open too. I had rained last night and the sky was overcast - a rare event in Delhi. It seemed beautiful outside. I was becoming more and more awake. But what finally made me get out of the bed was the urgency of my bursting bladder. I hated this part of a perfectly fine Sunday morning. I didn't want to leave the bed but I had to. This was so irritating!

I stumbled into the loo half asleep. My eyes opened just enough to position my member. Nature's call should have a more meaningful connotation. My eyes were shut involuntarily and as the warm urea-filled water gushed out of my body, I could hear nature calling outside. Subcontinent birds and animals of all kinds - sparrows, crows, squirrels, cats, dogs, humming birds, bumble bees, parrots and many other birds and creatures whose names I didn't know. It was a delightfully melodious cacophony. Either they were quarrelling or they were competing in their celebrations. It was a party, a rave! I tried to open my right eye to look at the Mango and Bel trees outside in the hope that vision would aid my hearing. All I could make out were fresh clean leaves, sparkling green, dark and light hues. It was so fresh and bright that I had to shut my eye; even though it was an overcast morning. But I was enthused.

I finished the job and walked towards the bedroom windows. It was beautiful outside. A lovely silky cool breeze was coming into the room. I wished it would remain the same the whole day, the whole month! I had to go for a movie around noon and it would be easier in this weather. The fragrance wafting in made me nostalgic. It reminded me of my village, which looked, smelled and sounded like this for most of the monsoon season. I felt very relaxed. Especially, the breeze was heavenly! I gave a longing look towards my bed. It was a Sunday for god's sake!

I went and sat on the edge of the bed unable to make up my mind. The fan was blowing away. I gave it a fond look and flopped onto my bed - mmmmmmmmm this is soo good! I guess we're allowed such little indulgences. I went back to sleep, dreaming nothing at all.

Rain and Thunder

25 May 2002
New Delhi

It sounded as if the cat was up to some mischief, knocking over something or scratching some object. Then I thought someone was knocking on the windows from outside. Was the cat trying to get in? It had been lightning for quite some time. It was a full moon night as well. Maybe the cat was getting edgy. But I heard the hail minutes before the rain started pouring. As soon as I realised that it was hail, I got excited. That should cool Delhi down. It didn't occur to me that it could rain too. It had been so hot and dry the whole of last week that I couldn't imagine that there was any water left in the skies.

I left my writing desk and opened the windows. I was dark outside. I could hear the hail stones crashing against terra firma and the walls of my house. But I couldn't see anything. The sound was happiness enough.

Then the water came. At first in in a few drops; big ones that make a lot of noise. The earth let out the rainy dusty earthy aroma that everyone, without exception, loves so much. I'm yet to meet someone in this dry subcontinent who doesn't like that scent of mother earth. The magic never fails to wonder me.

The storm came very suddenly; quite suddenly. I didn't expect it to rain, let alone a storm. A torrent of thunderous streams of angry water came charging against the parched but indignant earth. It was like a battle of epic proportions. It was like copulation between celestial objects. In short, it was very violent. But this violence will calm down and bring peace to many hearts in this starved city. I wish this would happen every evening!

The wind was so strong that it brought in rain water through the windows. I left them open so that some freshness creeps into out blast furnace of a house. I got more than I asked for.

My mother was happy. I was happy. I guess the cats were happy too. They had been suffering this heat silently. I mean they did meow a lot meaninglessly, but nothing compared to mom's cribbing. The bed was next to the windows and the pillows got wet. Momentarily mom was angry at me for that. But only momentarily. Then she settled down with her dinner, feeling cool and happy, chewing away to salvation. I rested my pen for a while.

Canine Xenophobia

I go to this lovely half jungle half landscaped park at the edge of Kalkaji for my morning jogs. That day, as I joined the dogs in their stretching routines before beginning my walk, suddenly my co-stretchers started growling. I tried to figure out their object of attention among the healthy patrons of the park, but couldn’t see anyone particular they might be displeased with. Humans are, after all, their co-habitants and overlords. There was a motley group of quasi-religious beggars who joined at this joint for a joint every morning. But they were even more rooted in that place than the right wing loyalists (i.e., the doggies).

Presently, the growling morphed into low intensity barking and a pack began to form. Looking in the general direction of their pointed noses, I found that the culprit was none other than a weakling of their own species. I say a weakling because she appeared as such – cowering with fear. Or maybe she was pretending to be afraid (body language we were told). All of a sudden, the pack of indigenous mongrels descended upon her. Mongrels of all hues – black, white, brown, grey, shades of those colours and colours that I don’t know names of – but all mosaics. Some barking, some yelping and some others just too excited to make a sound. Some stout, some emaciated, some lactating and some mere pups; but all pretending to own the planet. It was obvious from the scene that the cowering fellow was an outsider and this was a territorial dispute. As if Saddam Hussain had walked into New York Central Park and Bush & Co was re-enacting Abu Ghraib around him. Anyway, after due admonitions, threatful posturing and some passionate (and occasionally angry) appeals by the foreigner, the trespasser was unceremoniously driven out of the canine country via the no-dog’s land at the edge of park.

I was disappointed with the dogs. I really was! I have great regard for dogs (more for bitches), and place them higher in character than humans. But man’s xenophobic tendencies have somehow infected them. Where there are so many of them, why can’t they take in another who needs shelter? What would it take for her to become a member of the pack – mate with an existing member?

They say dogs are territorial. So are we. The difference is, that tendency resides in the genes of dogs, but in us it resides in our egos and balls. At least dogs have character! Oh how I wish the world were going to the dogs!

As I was walking back home, I saw two dogs sprawled attentively alongside the watchman inside the gates of a primary school. Another three were guarding a hundred metre stretch of road near my house. I thought, “Damn, these guys know their purpose in life!” I was jealous! I went back to securing my place as a cog on the wheel.

Just Another Job

I cursed as I braked. I just missed the green light. It was now red and it would take another 156 seconds before it turned back into green. It was peak traffic time. The weather was very chilly and even the inside of my heater-less car was freezing. It was the usual route. And she was the usual beggar girl doing the rounds knocking at the windows of the cars. They avoided the two-wheelers - they didnt expect much from them.They had a carefully targeted consumer segment. So what did these beggars sell? They sold you the satisfaction that you did a good deed today. That you've been kind and generous.

It had been a bad day for me at the office. And missing the green light wasn't helping to calm me down. The beggar girl knocked at my window. I shoo'ed her away. She wore scraps of cloth and was shivering as if she was going to collapse and die any moment. But that was just a trick to make you feel more sympathetic. I knew that. The greater the pain, the more you pay and the bigger is your consumer surplus. She went to the car in front of me. The sucker started to give her a coin.She took it with a pained face. Of course she was acting. But I'm sure the sucker got his money's worth out of that class act.

The light turned green. I was impatient. I honked rudely. More so coz the car ahead was delaying by paying that beggar girl. Was I being cruel?

The girl quickly hopped and sat on the pavement laughing and giggling with her other colleagues. That made me madder! But then, with a realisation, I sported a crooked smile on my face. Its just another job and they're good at it! Even though their boss - God - has not been very supportive.

I drove on. A bit placated.

PS: Read Peter Foster's interesting blog post on this topic.

Sylvester

He was sweating profusely from the hot May sun of Delhi. He was dark with a hard lean body and working hands with age touching forties. He had a pair of common leather chappals on his feet; dark tan and dusty, but strong. He was in a pair of indeterminate coloured trousers. I couldnt tell whether it was beige or white gone dirty. I think it was chocolate coloured! In his right hand was a slip of paper with my address on it. With his left hard he was carrying a tool case - patent leather, quite old though, but again quite strong. His eyes were bloodshot. I wondered if he had been drinking or if he was ill.

I heard his name - "Shrivastav". Well, I thought, he looks like a 'Shrivastav' enough, a north Indian Hindu. Later, I was quite shocked to know that it was actually 'Sylvester'. I could not imagine a Christian electrician working in Kotla Mubarakpur. But he was! Guess I did not know enough about socio-economic demographics in such commercial areas. And guess what, I was also quite surprised to know that the previous electrician's name was 'Aslam' But I could imagine a Muslim working in Kotla Mubarakpur.

I am a die hard secularist and multiculturalist. So I felt strange and in some ways guilty about my feeling surprised. Was it sub conscious bias or pure statistical evidence that was behind my finding Sylvester and Aslam odd in their contexts? Maybe a bit of both.

I could not place Sylvester. I mean I could not tell whether he was a North Indian Christian or a South Indian one. They differ a lot actually, though they all look purely Indian. I revel in the variety of India and love coming across someone who is so far removed from me and yet swears allegiance to the same Constitution.

Sylvester looked like quite a serious kind of person with no smile on his face and a droning voice. But once he started working I found him quite talkative. And I joined him with my 'Ahans', 'Ohs' and 'OKs'. He was not intrusive or curious, he just liked to talk - to speak, not speak with. I felt a shade of sadness leaving him alone to work. But he was ok with that - he talked to himself.

On Chain Mails

I was going to tell you about an incident that happened to me a long time ago. I think I was 4th or 5th standard (grade) at that time. And I have always been god fearing (or at least god respecting, as now). I was more so then. One evening (we were in Calcutta then) I had gone to the local market with my parents. As I was standing on the pavement, a short ragged looking man with pock marked face and brownish dry curly hair came upto me and handed me over a leaflet, a single thin page of printed matter on one side only. I took it expecting some sort of advertising material or SALE announcement. I started reading it. It was a yellowish paper with black broken lettering in Hindi. It started with a logo featuring a well-known Baba. As I proceeded with the reading, it explained the greatness of the Baba and his miracles. Then it requested the reader to pass on the message by printing hundred new leaflets and distributing it to hundred new people. Then it went on to list the immense fortunes that accrued to the people who did exactly as told. Till that point I was happy for the people who got so much in return for spreading the Baba's word and so on. But then came the clincher. The leaflet went into a totally different zone, a different galaxy, warning of untold damage and misfortune to the people who failed to do the bidding of redistributing the leaflet. Men who lost their businesses, children dying, wife going mad, cyclones ripping apart homes, money turning to ash, blood vomits and all sort of graphic violence you can imagine. When I was finished with the reading, I was numb. I was having pins and needles all over my body. I was scared to death. I knew I could not do what was written in it. I didn't have that kind of money. If I told my parents, they would scold me for taking that thing from a stranger. I didn't want all those bad things happening to my family. Yes I was more concerned about my parents and brother than myself. It is natural for me to love them more than I love myself. And at that time, my whole existence depended on them. I was seriously freaked out. I folded up the leaflet and we returned home. After a few hours and after considering a lot, I went to my mom and showed it to her. She took it calmly and asked me to keep it near god's pictures in our wooden temple and pray for forgiveness. I pushed the leaflet deep inside the drawer of the temple and prayed hard. "Please god and Baba, forgive me and do nothing to my family.” After a year or so after considerable sobering up, one day I found that leaflet while cleaning the drawers of the temple. I promptly tore it up into minute pieces and threw it in the trash bin. Nothing had happened so far. So gods must have forgotten the whole thing. But I still believed in that mechanism and was generally afraid of getting another one of that by mistake. By the time I was sixteen or seventeen, I had matured enough to understand the conning effect behind those chain mails. Most of the pseudo-religious chain mails in India and across the world derive their momentum from fear rather than the love of god or temptation for money. Fear is more powerful than moolah. We still get chain mails by post occasionally. Rich, powerful, educated, men and women indulge in it. Maybe because they are superstitious or immature or plain stupid. But fear still is the driving factor. Most of these postal chain mails are anonymous and don't have a "reply to" address. People forwarding them know that the receiver wouldn't like it. The receiver will surely hate the sender for setting him up. Since quite many years, I've made it a principal not to forward chain mails. And I stick to it. The ones I forward do not have intimidation or baseless lures or false claims. And are e-mails only. Nowadays whenever we receive a chain mail by post, I read it slowly and surely and completely, like one would read a humour piece. Then I smile. And then I laugh out loud, pitying the person who sent it. Then I enjoy great ecstasy in shredding the mail into smithereens. Then I get back to work. Chain Mails = Bullshit!