Remember who they were
Let’s start today’s spiel on a positive note. About half a billion people in the world are undernourished and more than 20 million people die every year due to hunger-related issues. That brings the daily count to 55,000 or so. That’s quite a number, especially when we, as a species, are producing more food than we ever did in history. It’s another story that we aren’t as good at storing food as we are at producing them – between 35% to 40% of all food produced goes to waste. Again, that’s quite a number. When somebody is dying of hunger, they aren’t dropping dead just like that. Their body goes through a series of agonising motions as their internal organs keep getting weaker due to lack of nutrition. Withering away is a very poetic way of describing starvation: in reality, it’s painfully slow and despicable for the 21st century.
While death due to hunger is based on lack of resources, so to speak, death due to thirst is a tricky subject. 8 out of 10 diseases are water-borne, meaning people are drinking water somehow and paying a huge price for quenching their thirst. Contaminated water does lasting damages both over and under the surface. Turns out procuring clean drinkable water is not as simple as urban-dwellers tend to think. Even today, there are places where people (read: women) walk miles just for a pot of water to drink. To put things into perspective, the struggle continues to be real for those who are yet to benefit from the miracle of running water. Worse still, there is no definite figure to share on the annual number of deaths due to thirst.
Different people look at the same things differently. Some of us grow plants because the greenery of the leaves and the fragrance of the occasional flowers delight us. Some of us grow plants because it brings out the untapped parents in us. Some of us grow plants for that very reason: it’s lovely to witness growth in those slender stems and branches. But here’s something that connects all of us when it comes to nurturing plants: the saplings we buy from the local nursery look lively until you bring them home. Almost as if the nursery gardener whispered “go die” to them before leaving. As soon as they reach home, they appear like they have lost the will to live anymore. Here’s a theory worth exploring: these little plants miss their green friends at nursery and you aren’t putting in enough of an effort to make up for their lost friendship.
Speaking of unnoticed growth, what do you see when you look at a tall tree? Please don’t say life. Well, barely one percent of a mature tree is biologically living because the rest is composed of non-living wood cells. It’s a beautiful facade played out by nature. Yet, when you look at a tree, you get to acknowledge how it’s unique in its ability to give so much and take so little in return. After a point, it’s not about growth anymore—it stops growing vertically. When was the last time you spent some time with your back against the bark of a tree? If you can’t remember, maybe it’s not too late to go find a good silent friend with a strong trunk to hold you. And when you walk towards that tree, do not assume that you are the only one who is capable of moving. A tree might appear stationary but underneath the ground, its roots are constantly moving. Without movement, there is no life.
Interestingly, calm and noise are both universal. You can’t mix the two and yet they can’t live without each other. To truly understand your peace of mind, you’d need to appreciate the noise inside as well as around you. In practice, there are two ways to deal with noise: you either fight it or embrace it. For instance, you visit a friend’s place in Bombay who happens to live by the railway tracks. You enter his apartment and are already disturbed by the unmissable commotion of trains passing by in the background. Your friend doesn’t seem to mind the noise at all. You see what is happening here? You are fighting that noise whereas he has embraced it already. It affects you whereas it doesn’t affect him at all. Always remember that the only thing that sets you apart from the rest is your ability to deal with calmness. The rest is everyday war.
Do you ever go through old images featuring you and your loved ones and realize that you were better looking back then? Shit happens. But here’s the thing, if that person from an image were to meet you, you’d still treat him as a stranger. Why? Because you know him very well but you are not him anymore. You’ve moved on with time. And that, I believe, is the sole purpose of photography—to freeze instances for melting questions in the future.
[looking at a photograph]
“This person looks a lot like you.”
“That is me.”
“That’s what I am saying. He looks a lot like you.”
A society’s ability to create fiction tells us a lot about its relationship with its non-fiction. The second half of the 20th century can help us understand this better. For instance, Indian cinema (and not just Hindi cinema) remained constrained by petty love stories for the most part whereas Hollywood could think of making movies where people are in outer space with pulled-up ears or even imagine a planet where robots have taken over. This happened mainly because the regressiveness of our society didn’t allow individuals to choose their own life partners. As a result, even a love story—where protagonists are getting to marry somebody they love—became a matter of fiction. Conversely, American films were already dealing with extraterrestrial subjects because love stories were becoming too restrictive for their liberal society. So, the writers had to explore much further beyond the comfort of reality. Quite an irony there.
There is not one functioning government in the world that doesn’t use its brahmāstra of all policies: the right to ban. Yes, even the Scandinavian countries ban. Fun fact: this cute little word comes from the Old Germanic ‘bannan’ which basically meant public proclamation. From that, it has come to mean something entirely negative today. Quite a journey. Anyway, the point is, banning is as natural to polities as disappointment is to parenthood. However, when a state bans a work of fiction, it's being doubly repressive. Once, by not letting so-called fiction become a reality in the society. Secondly, by not letting society even enjoy the consolation of a fiction.
Once upon a time, there lived a shopkeeper who was known for his kindness. Some people, as they are supposed to, took undue advantage and let their tabs run over for months, and in some cases, years. He would still provide them with their essentials, knowing very well that he is never going to get his money back. But then, that’s how he was. Some said he was a shrewd man before the passage of his wife. Others said he was always a do-goodie type. Anyhow, apart from helping some really thankless folks in the village with their daily needs, he knew how to talk to the drunkards too. While the villagers spoke disparagingly with them, he would be surprisingly nice to them. If somebody asked him why? He would say, “I know them from the days before they turned into addicts. They weren’t always like this.”
What do you enjoy doing the most? Like you truly enjoy spending your time on? Asking because there is no singular answer here, is there? Chances are you like doing a lot of things on different days. Yet, despite these mundane constraints, I am sure there must have been a few moments in your life so far when you must have thrown your head back and told yourself – “I can do this for the rest of my life!” It could be anything from eating something delicious to experiencing something remarkable to actually not doing anything at all except admiring a mountain view. Now imagine if your wish were to be granted and you are stuck in a Groundhog situation. Doesn’t sound so sweet, no?