Project Extermination (NaBloPoMo Day 29)

One post every day in November

Ogden Nash once said, “God in His wisdom made the fly, and then forgot to tell us why.”

Surely that can be said of the cockroaches too.

I have often wondered what induced the Creator to make the cockroach. Don’t tell me about the ecosystem. I’m sure something else could have been found to fill its place.

Cockroaches are never any good to the general public. They are just a nuisance, what with having to (although unwittingly) feed them and house them. And they do nothing to justify their keep. It seems strange then that they are allowed to exist in such large numbers when their absence would be so heartily welcomed. They aren’t even good to look at. The word eyesore would describe them to a T.

Broadly speaking, they can be divided into two categories. Those belonging to the former are strictly terrestrial. Unable to sever their relations with Mother Earth, they are seen scurrying about from place to place.

The latter of the aerodynamically stable breed are by far the more formidable. These have been known to fly at the remarkable speed of six-and-a-half feet every one and 3/4^th seconds. The flight may not be the fastest in the insect kingdom but the landing does give the jitters.

The cockroach is universally recognised as a creature of the worst order. Call an opponent an oaf or a nincompoop or a rascal and you will find your expletives bounce back at you. Refer to him by any other word of abuse and your words might not have any effect. But call him a cockroach and you will see the rare spectacle of your enemy, quivering with rage and indignation, his self control shattered.

The above fact should suffice to impress upon you my feeling of utter disgust on seeing them. It should also convey my deep desire to witness the extermination of the entire race. I wait in hopeful anticipation of the day when the Ministry of the Conservation of Rare Species declares the cockroach as nearing extinction.

Meanwhile, let us use every weapon in our armoury. These guys may survive a nuclear blast, but they are powerless against poison and footwear. And if there are any people that enjoy eating weird foods, let us ship these creepy-crawlies to them. Hopefully, no one will speak up in their defence.


This article is also from the personal archive.

In defence of the Bombay local trains (NaBloPoMo Day 28)

One post every day in November

A famous American comedian once said, “Don’t knock the weather. Nine-tenths of the people couldn’t start a conversation if it didn’t change it once in a while.” With sincere apologies to him, I would like to take the liberty to say, “Don’t knock our local trains. Nine-tenths of all amateur literary ‘geniuses’ in this part of the country wouldn’t be able to write a word if it weren’t for trains.”

This humble attempt at writing, for example, owes its existence to the Bombay local trains. I am of the opinion that our local trains are deserving of a little more respect than we have been accustomed to giving them.

For where else but here would you be regaled by a rendition of music ranging from Gandhiji’s favourite bhajan to the latest Hindi film rage, brought to you by a couple of urchins to the accompaniment of two little pebbles?

Where else but here would you be badgered by a whole crowd of little sales executives, graduates from Nature’s School of Business, marketing their wares which could be anything from hair clips to ribbons, from nighties to nail polishes, from fruits and vegetables to hair adornments of all kinds, all of them shouting at varying decibel levels, each trying to get to a higher crescendo?

Where else but here would you find ‘state-of-the-art’ technology fans that world only when you bring a slender object (preferably non-living) in contact with them?

Where else but here would you learn to balance on one foot for more than an hour or have someone stand on your foot and be able to do nothing about it except mutter under your breath simply because you don’t know who to yell at, thus learning the qualities of sublime patience and understanding, so very essential for success in today’s relationships?

Those people who have not had the opportunity of spending at least some time in a ladies compartment have been missing an opportunity which, for want of a better word, I shall term ‘interesting’. The ferocity with which they gobble bananas, guavas, idlis and other edibles would make them strong contenders for the eating records in the Guinness Book of World Records. One must be careful and see that one makes cautious manoeuvres with regard to locomotion if one wishes to avoid friction. When they fight for place to rest their tired limbs, it is like cocks fighting for a place to roost, though I am told the latter are more subtle.

The ladies compartment has often been compared to a fish market. I don’t see why the general compartment has been spared in this regard. In all fairness, I declare that the general compartment looks like a mass of buffaloes, quiet for most of the time, occasionally groaning when their horns butt into one another. The reason they don’t gossip is not because they don’t feel like it, but because they are too busy playing cards.

Trains, are thus, the very lifeline of Bombay. If the motormen ever went on strike, life in suburban Bombay would come to a standstill.

This last paragraph is for the reading pleasure (or pain) of those diehard critics of Bombay, who declare that Bombay is an unthinking, unfeeling city. They have only to spend a few minutes in one of our local trains to have their ideas refuted. For where else but here would you exchange tidbits about domestics, rising prices, recipes, working conditions and just about anything? Where else would you open your heart to a complete stranger? Where else would you live a fast life and yet have the time to stand and stare? Where else does the pulse of Bombay throb? Where would Bombay be without trains?

(Since I have been unable to write an original post, I have posted here my first piece of original writing, something I wrote in my second year of college. I showed it to a friend, who showed it to another, who showed it to her dad. Said dad was an editor at The Economic Times, and he gave me some valuable feedback that I still cherish. The piece was written when my lovely city was called Bombay. Sigh!)

Later may be too late (NaBloPoMo Day 26)

One post every day in November

Our world is an intricate creation; the slightest loss

In this delicate balance will inevitably lead to chaos.

How paradoxical that looking after it, a task of importance

Is in the hands of man, a creature prone to greed and negligence.

Despite being dependent on Nature and her bounty

He little hesitates in rendering her resources scanty.

Whether one subscribes to Genesis of the Theory of Evolution

One admits to the scale on which Mother Earth has come to fruition.

Yet in ravaging her and reversing the earlier process

He has very soon carried his vices to an excess

The hills, valleys, forests, oceans and their wealth

Are steadily being depleted; openly, not in stealth.

It’s time to stand up and arrest these trends

If, for our past extravagances, we wish to make amends.

Heed this warning, rise to the challenge, or fate

Now is the time to act. Later may be too late.

This poem was written when I was in college. 

Saving Mother Nature (NaBloPoMo Day 11)



One post every day in November

Our world is an intricate creation; the slightest loss
In this delicate balance will inevitably lead to chaos.

How strange that looking after it, a task of importance
Is in the hands of man, a creature of helplessness and negligence.

Despite being dependent on Nature and her bounty
He little hesitates in rendering her resources scanty.

Whether one subscribes to Genesis or the Theory of Evolution
One admits the passage of time before Mother Earth could come to fruition.

Yet in ravaging her and reversing the earlier process
He has, very soon, carried his vices to an excess.

The hills, valleys, forests, water, minerals and other wealth
Are steadily being depleted; openly, not in stealth.

It's time to stand up and arrest these trends
If for our past extravagances, we wish to make amends.

Heed this warning, rise to the challenge, or fate
Now is the time to act, even today may be too late.


 

Seeing Without Sight



Pic courtesy: Antarchakshu's FB page.

“Living is Easy with Eyes Closed,” said John Lennon. But that is only if you, like this famous Beetle, are talking in a figurative sense. Because actually speaking, living with the eyes closed is far more difficult than those of us with vision, perfect or otherwise, can ever imagine.

I had never heard of Antarchakshu – The Eye Within. But when Pat, my colleague/friend, sent me a mail, asking me if I wanted to go back to college, I jumped at the opportunity. After all, don’t I always boast that you can get the Cynthia Rodrigues out of Xavier's but you can’t get the Xavier's out of Cynthia Rodrigues?

And so we set out. There was nothing I knew about Antarchakshu other than the fact that it was an exhibition related to the visually challenged. On reaching the venue, I learned that Antarchakshu was organised by the Xavier’s Resource Centre for the Visually Challenged (XRCVC), St. Xavier's College, Mumbai, as part of the Mumbai Eye Care Campaign. XRCVC is a state-of-the-art support and advocacy centre, which works towards the holistic development of the visually challenged.

This year’s theme at Antarchakshu was Breaking Barriers, Achieving Access, and it sought to create awareness on education, financial services and employment opportunities for the visually impaired.

I expected to see just another exhibition with posters and other information on the theme. I was in for a huge surprise.

Having registered ourselves, we were allowed to choose one of four bookmarks in various colours on which our names were typed in Braille. We also had a tag around our wrists to note our scores. Nupur, a Xavierite volunteer, announced that she would be my escort at the exhibition.

I don’t need an escort, I protested. I’m an ex-Xavierite, I could find my way around with my eyes closed. In response, Nupur smiled with the wisdom of someone who knew what lay on the other side of the enormous black curtain that hid the exhibition from us.

I was asked to wear an eyemask, soft cloth shades that let me see my feet, if nothing else. For best results, you must shut your eyes, said a volunteer, at the opening in the curtain. My first thought was to disobey. After all, I didn’t know what they had rigged up on the other side. But then again, I thought, there must be some purpose behind these props. If I am going to do this, I am going to do it right.

I was handed a white cane, and ushered into the hall. I heard someone say, “Follow my voice, and do as I say. It’s not difficult at all.”

“Nupur, is that you?” I asked the disembodied voice. Suddenly, all my sureness was gone, and I was left feeling completely disoriented, and dare I say it? Afraid.

My eyes were now resolutely shut. Peeking out, I had already decided, was not an option. It was strange how the blindfold on my eyes and the white cane in my hand made me feel so vulnerable. Every step, every board, felt like a great climb. Every drop a precipice. The fear of the unknown, of what lay ahead, was very real. And above it all, the black darkness all around.

I stepped ahead gingerly, tapping my cane in nervousness, trying my best to follow Nupur’s voice, which seemed to have receded into the distance. Suddenly, “Chai, chai,” someone began to holler into my ear. “What are you doing? Can’t you see that I can’t see right now?” I yelled.

“Ma’am,” the voice shouted back, “I run a chai shop on the footpath and you have walked into my shop.” I apologised, even as the Voice (Nupur’s) said, “Follow me. Walk straight on.”

Having traversed this hurdle-ridden course, Nupur led me on to complete a series of eight activities. The first activities involved the Penalty shootout. I had to kick a football into the goalpost. The football was specially designed. According to the International Blind Sports Federation rules, this ball must weigh 1.25 kg (about 2.76 pounds) and have eight holes and noise bells contained within. The ball's circumference is around 76 cm (about 30 inches). The noise bells serve to announce their presence out loud, enabling the visually impaired to locate the football. Luckily, my kick took the ball home. It was a fluke. But I was pleased with myself.

The next activity, called Financial Access, involved two small bowls, one filled with old coins of Rs 5, 2 and 1 and the other with newer coins of the same denominations. We had to feel the coins with our fingers and make up a sum of Rs 11 out of each bowl. It was the first time that I realised the difficulties that blind people go through when it comes to counting money. The older coins had distinguishing marks in terms of size, smoothness or roughness of face and the irregular boundaries. The newer coins are utterly uniform in appearance and are a source of confusion, even to the sighted. Once again, I passed this test well.

The third activity involved drawing a geometrical figure such as a circle, triangle and rectangle on a special paper with a special pen. The use of this particular pen and paper caused the drawn object or the written word to rise up in relief against the rest of the paper, giving the impression of being embossed upon the paper. I passed this one too.

In the fourth activity, called Talking, typing teacher, I was stationed in front of a regular keyboard, with my fingers on the a-s-d-f-g and h-j-k-l-; keys. A recorded voice dictated certain letters which I would then have to type. I learned something new through this activity. Did you know that the upraised dashes on the letters F and J are meant for the benefit of visually impaired persons using a regular keyboard? I got a few of the letters right here, but not all. Strange it is that I who can easily type without once looking at the keyboard should have lost my bearings here.

The science experiment, activity number 5, involved a large bowl containing magnets and objects made of plastic and metal. I had to use one of the magnets to separate the contents of the bowl into three separate bowls. This one went off smoothly too.

The Pen Friend, the sixth activity, required us to find a particular printed sheet which had been filed away in one of a number of plastic folders in one of four plastic files. All these plastic files and folders were labeled. I had to use a special pen to press an upraised point on the labels. When pressed, a recorded voice in the pen would indicate the name of the folder or the file. I didn’t do too well here.

The seventh activity, OCR (optical character recognition) involved a voice reading software. I had to listen to the recording and answer some questions. I could barely hear over the din in the college auditorium, but I managed to glean the answer.

The last activity involved throwing darts at a dartboard. The only positive thing I can say about my performance was that no living beings were harmed during this activity. Unfortunately, no non-living thing was hit either, and that includes the dartboard.

Afterwards there was a fun activity which involved walking on a tightrope, commando style. This one was fun. Nowhere as difficult as I imagined when Nupur first told me about it. We were then shown a video which sensitised us to the fact that the visually impaired were just like us. Watch it HERE.

 

We then walked through the exhibition area of the event where a series of posters and resources sought to educate us on the various means that could help to make life easy for the visually impaired. These resources included scanners, special keyboards, calculators, voice-reading software and ATMs specially designed for the visually impaired.

Afterwards I made it a point to go look at the course that had daunted me so much just a short while ago – this time with my eyes wide open. I wondered why my mind had made such a fuss. No climb up or down was more than a step here and there.

I came away from the exhibition, my mind refreshed, my vision clearer than it has ever been.

Antarchakshu was meant to give us an insight into what the blind, whether partially or wholly so, go through every moment of their lives. They walk into dangers, depending on the grace of God and the goodness of fellow beings to look out for them. In the midst of this cruel, insensitive world, they walk on alone. For them, life is a battlefield. For me, the event was an eye-opener.

Sure, I’ve always offered to help the visually challenged to cross the street or to put them into a bus, auto-rickshaw or train, but that was done, at best, without a thought, at worst, a sort of my-good-deed-done-for-the-day.

I am ashamed of myself for not having ever given more than a passing thought to this earlier, but this experience helped me to understand the sheer faith and courage with which the visually challenged live their lives every day.

Thank you, Antarchakshu, for a beautiful and enlightening experience. I’ll be back next year. As for you, St Xavier’s College, it’s always lovely seeing you.