The Samosa Seller

 

In my hometown, I had gone to a neighbouring sweets shop after a long time. I found that while other sweets were handed over to the customers inside the shop, for samosas we were asked to take from the outside stall. When I went to the stall, I saw that there was a small boy of about 10 years old packing and handing over samosas. When I visited the shop the next time, it was the same arrangement. But this time I noticed that the boy was not only packing and handing over samosas, but also frying it in a big iron kadhai.

Since samosas are typically consumed as evening snack, and by evening the weather is already tolerable, it was fine that day. But when I went there for third time, it was day time and hence sunny. Even during the daytime, the same boy was making samosas, frying it in kadhai, packing and giving away to the customers who paid for the same inside the shop. I was shocked to observe that there was no real roof above stall since the stall was made outside the shop. The boy was standing in partial shade and partial sunlight and making samosas whole day. This time, the boy was appearing weak, perhaps he was not keeping well at that time. His hand was shaking while picking up hot, fresh out-of-pan samosas.

I felt really bad this time seeing this child-labour happening in front of me. When I went home, I told my mother about all this. She gave an instant solution by asking never to buy anything from that shop again in future. After doing a little ponding if that will benefit or harm the kid, since such situations are complex in real life, I concluded that it was a better idea not to buy from that shop. I did not want to inform the government authorities because child labour cases are rampant all across our hometown and if I complained about that shop, the boy may just get employment somewhere else.

I can remember boys of similar age working at kirana shops, welding shops, painting shops, etc. Even in the 21^st century and amidst so many claims of good governance, this child labour is happening rampantly. And in most of the cases I can see only boys and not girls working in such shops. When people talk about “male privilege” etc on social media, they forget to check real life on the ground. It also reminds me that many people like us take childhood for granted, believing it is always beautiful for all of us, without being aware of many such kids who skip whole childhood for a few rupees. Thanks to human greed which has no limits.  

After that incident, I have been to the sweets shop area and purposely avoided that shop once. I plan to continue doing the same in future. It may not improve the overall situation in the city, but at least I can feel a bit better that I am not part of it.

- Rahul

The Kid On a Traffic Signal

 

I have a few memories of the time when I was a kid and used to go to school on a ‘school rickshaw’ in my small hometown. It was a manually pulled rickshaw, with specially made wooden trailer, where four or five kids used to sit facing each other in each of the two parallel rows. I think I still have some glimpses of the rickshaw-wallah who used to service our school-rickshaw. He was dark skinned, had nice hair, and was very talkative. And how the roof of the rickshaw was made of “tin” like metal which used to make sound whenever the rickshaw moved or came across a jerk! When railway ‘gumti’ (level crossing gate) came, a couple of boys used to get down and push the rickshaw so that it could ride the small hill called the ‘railway gumti’. We also enjoyed the other side of it, when the rickshaw rolled down at high speed due to the slope.

Recently, after many-many years, I had stopped at a traffic signal and noticed that there was a ‘school van’ standing besides me. I think it was a yellow colored ‘Tata Magic’ vehicle which is popular as a school van these days. There was a kid sitting near a window, perhaps a boy, and he happened to observe the vehicles who were stopping at the red traffic light and said to his friend in Hindi, “Jo log imaandaar hote hain, wo rukte hain” (Those who are honest, follow the traffic rules and stop when the signal is red). His statement instantly went deep inside my heart.

The kid had thought that stopping at a traffic signal was a conscious choice of riders which could tell about the person’s integrity. This was such a touching thought. I think after growing up, today I believe that most of the people who do not stop at traffic signals do so because of general carelessness and disregard to the traffic rules, irrespective of their personal integrity. Although I stop at traffic signals most of the times, but the boy’s statement made me reflect on several occasions when I did not. I did feel a little embarrassed. I was not aware that if I did not stop at a traffic signal, a kid could be watching and judging me, thinking that I was not an honest person.

The way the innocent kid pronounced the long word “imaandaar” in Hindi still wanders in mind when I think about the incident. May the magical thing called childhood be always enjoyed by all kids everywhere, in all times and places.

- Rahul

Cow, in the Middle of the Road

 

While going somewhere in my hometown, I came across an interesting scene which made me wonder. In the middle of the road, unfazed by the passing traffic, a cow had started feeding a calf. The cow was totally white while the calf was totally black; but it was possible that it was her own child. I was in awe with the cow’s courage, or her lack of bother for ‘external validation’ (if such a thing exists in animal world too), that it decided that the calf needed to be fed then and there because it was hungry.

At the same time, I felt disgusted at the owners of the cows who force them to wander on the streets and eat whatever they can scavenge, just to save some money. This happens only in the towns and cities and not in the villages where there is plenty of free natural fodder available.

There is a very popular idol of a cow feeding her calf which is considered sacred in Hinduism. Cows are associated with many gods in Hinduism, along with Shri Krishna who acted as a cowherd in childhood. But I never imagined I would come across the sacred cow feeding her calf in such a modern context: in the middle of the road.

May the cow and her calf enjoy a happy long life, always.

- Rahul

A Saint from the Internet

 

I know many people have very low opinion of those who watch or enjoy ‘Bigg Boss’ TV show. But I happened to watch and follow last season’s beginning and later episodes and hence became well versed with it. If you followed it too, you would have found one participant of the show, his name was Afreen Khan if I remember correctly. He was introduced as a “life coach”. The producers of the show thought it was worthwhile to explain to the audience what a “life coach” does, and hence they consumed many hours around the same theme. Luckily, I had come across one such man claiming to be “life coach” on the internet before this Bigg Boss happened, and hence I was aware of it.

I had happened to find one “life coach” on the internet. Initially I had mistaken him for another man I used to follow many years ago on Orkut, but later realized he was a different person. Now, this person was an author – he had just published a book at the time I started following him. You can guess the topic of the book – it was motivational – in line with his “life coach” badge. Reading about him, I got to know that he had a family business in manufacturing which he had joined and was devoting his life to it, until one day he met with a road accident and took time to recover. After surviving the accident, he quit managing his business as a full time executive, hired employees to manage everything, and just overlooked the work as an owner. Instead of doing real work, now for many years or decades, he was just focusing on his health and wellness. He used to tour around the world along with his wife, took very nice wild life photographs with his expensive camera, and had a knack for writing and hence he used to write all through the day on the internet. The topics of his writings were about teaching people what to prioritize in life and what to focus on – which was health, peace of mind and family life. It was pretty basic stuff – he was preaching what he was practicing. I was impressed and fascinated with his writings and things he was doing.

Given that he was a life coach and a writer of motivational stuff, he used to always preach others on how to speak, how to behave, how to dress, how to manage money, etc. Hence, I chose the title of this blog post as “a saint from the internet”. Everything was going on well and many months or more than a year passed, when suddenly I discovered a new face of his.

Once he had written about something, praising some people who were doing something, and I felt differently and hence I posted a comment mentioning my disagreement and futility of what he was appreciating. I received a terse reply from him within a minute! He did not use any bad words but just used “sarcasm” to ridicule what I had said. I was taken aback, since I was not expecting such a response from “a saint from the internet”.

Exactly same behaviour repeated afterwards whenever I posted anything in criticism. Through his terse replies, he had made it clear that he did not like what I said (i.e. he did not like me expressing what I did not like). At the same time, he never used any bad words, or did not block/ban me, which was a relief. Since I understood that he did not like criticism, I almost stopped writing any comments/replies on his posts. I even avoided writing comments in appreciation, because naturally, if he did not want both good and bad from me, then he did not deserve anything from me.

Many times I did not like what he said but stopped myself from writing any comment in criticism, fearing his reaction. But after a year or so, this morning I once again posted a comment in disagreement with what he had written. Again, within a minute, his sarcastic reply came. He did not change!

The reason why I am writing this blog post is to send a central message that the “saint from the internet” was not really a saint but just a human being who had learnt to tell nice things to others. He had projected an image of being a very successful businessman (while he had already quit his full-time job), a man in total self-control and a role model to follow for others (while he snapped at every single criticism like his deck of cards were to fall down with a single gush of wind). He was living in a make-belief world, and I decided I was done with him.

I know it is pretty common for people to be very protective of their writings or ideas and to get upset whenever someone criticises them. But they do not claim to be saints, or life-coaches! If one is putting himself on a high pedestal of being a life coach and a motivational writer, one has to also practice a bit of self-control and show some tolerance and empathy. I have seen many people who are not very brilliant or geniuses at what they do – but they are more tolerant and accepting of criticism, and such a maturity is often rated more highly over other forms of excellence.

As I shall let him go down my forgettable memory lane, I would take away a lesson from his life. It is better to be a human who does mistakes, than to be a saint who shouts at any finger that points at one's mistakes.

- Rahul Tiwary

Death of an Influencer

 

Recently, a very popular Indian social media influencer died due to an ailment. He was a meme creator and a photoshop artist. He went by a pseudo name on social media platforms and had used a profile picture which showed his face only partially but gave away his age and fitness to a certain extent. I had come across his posts many years ago, and although I suspect I could have interacted/commented on his posts a few times many years ago, now I don’t have any memory of any interaction with him.

After news of his death came, his fans and other social media users started mourning his death. There was a huge shock and disbelieve among people, though all newspapers had published about the death. People were horrified with the news; perhaps many even cried. He was still young, to make it worse, newspapers told he was only in his late 20s. After reading people’s posts, I understood that they did not know how to cope up with this news. This brings into my memory my first experience of coming across such a news: death of an influencer.

I used to write blog posts, and there was a very popular blogger who wrote mainly on politics. I shared his political inclinations too and I understood that he was a senior person while I was only in college. I quickly began to look up to him and was fascinated by his knowledge and understanding. I remember he adored me too, like his younger brother. A few times he would write comments to guide me or enlighten me on political topics, since I was really a novice back then. He had an image of Bhagwan Ram carrying a Dhanush Kaman as his profile picture, since those were the days of post-Ram Janmbhumi Andolan and perhaps he was inspired by the movement. Both of us had a few common connections (bloggers) who we mutually respected and I remember once another blogger said to me, “Oh, you are also a Ram Bhakt” and I took it as a huge compliment because I knew she was a big fan of that senior blogger and I was flattered because she had counted me in the same league of Ram Bhakts.

After many years, the blogging platform looked deserted since most people migrated to social media platforms like Facebook or Twitter, and after a gap of few years once I found him on a platform. He was very popular there too and I realized he had entered politics by that time as I understood he assisted some politician in Haryana.

Once he gave me his phone number, asking not to share it with anyone else (since he was in politics) and he asked me to call him and meet him whenever I was in Delhi. Once a common connection had tried to call him for a get together but he was not available. Afterwards, I visited Delhi few times without remembering to meet him and then once finally I thought to call him. Now I don’t have exact memory if I did call him or if my call did not get through or what happened. But I remember that I tried to check his blog and social media accounts to check on him and I came to know that he had died a year or few years back due to an illness. I guess he must be in his late 50s or early 60s or somewhere in his 60s when he died. His daughter had posted using his social media account about his death. I was shocked for many days and I remember I did not know how to process that news.

How to mourn the death of a person you never met but have only read his writings on the internet? You have never met him, so you don’t have his images and pictures in your mind. You have never heard his voice, so you can’t recall what he said and how he said it. With passage of time, you do not remember even his exact blog posts or writings. All you can garner are glimpses of his posts and some broad category of topics which he chose to write on. I don’t think human brain has evolved to fully connect with totally virtual experiences. Or maybe it has, by believing virtual entities as real, just like I imposed “big brother” image on him based on how he interacted with me in the comments section or chats.

This whole experience of coming across death of social media influencers also makes us think about the time we shall be in their place. If we are writing/posting on the internet, there are many others who know us only by our writing. Maybe they also project some kind of image on us, like a brother, friend, senior, or an enemy. In the end, everyone deserves a coping mechanism.

It has been about three weeks since the photoshop genius died. I searched about him on the internet and realised that barring the news of his death three weeks ago, not a single media house published any single news about him after that day. Maybe because they did not know anything about him other than the known facts that he was a photoshop artist, his age, real name and picture, which they had shared in their breaking news article about his death. Or maybe they did not care.

Such things make us realise the mortality of everything we are about. After we die, a few family members will remember us for many years in the real world. But in the virtual world of the internet, people will not really remember us because they never knew us, and now, with fading memory of many things, I am not even sure people will remember our writings, or our poems, or anything about us.

In the end, we shall all become like an unnamed star in the vast sky. Or maybe, we were always one and did not know.

- Rahul Tiwary

 

 

A Little Muslim Girl On the Train

 

On my recent train journey, a middle-aged Muslim woman and her 6 to 7 years old little daughter boarded the train from Prayagraj railway station. The woman seemed illiterate, spoke too loudly, did not have manners, unnecessarily interrupted co-passengers with some or the other help, and it felt sad to travel in the same compartment as hers. But her little daughter left me totally in awe and seemed like a fairy of some kind!

The first thing I remember hearing from the little girl was when a teaseller passed in the morning, and she said to her mother, “mummy chai kharido” (mother, buy some tea)! From the way she sounded, it seemed as if she was asking for tea for herself. Her mother ignored her at that time, but later in the evening, she did buy tea from a teaseller, and she had ordered “two cups” of tea! It was shocking to see that she had taught her little girl to take tea from such an early age! And this was not the only thing out-of-age about the little girl.

The little girl used her mother’s phone to make several calls during the travel. I found that she was in habit of calling her mother “mummy” instead of “ammi” and father as “papa” instead of “abbu”, the latter terms are typically used in Muslim families. But she gave away her religion when she called someone over phone and called “Assalam valekum”, which sounded so weird coming from a little girl.

She remained on her berth along with her mother most of the time, and early morning next day when the train was about to reach the destination, she came down with her too. Her father called over phone and the little girl picked up the call and after saying “Assalam valekum”, the father went silent; and the girl asked, “Aur?” I was shocked to see such a little girl using this trick of saying “Aur?”, “Aur?” during phone calls to extend the discussion and probe the other party to talk more. Her father seemed to be totally non-talkative type because he was at loss of words even though it was he who had made the phone call. The girl herself asked him, “Aap majaar ke paas milenge na, jaisa pichhli baar mile the? Ham log majaar ke paas wait karenge”. I wondered what majaar she was talking about (later after reaching the railway station, I saw a small majaar (shrine) made on the Railway land just besides the main entrance; she was talking about that as a landmark). She told her father about the count of bags she and her mother were carrying. Later she gave the phone to her mother. The father asked the mother “who all are coming?” and she said, “no one else came” (meaning only she and the daughter were coming) in a voice of disappointment. The father again went silent and then said he was cutting the call, and it almost felt as if he did not like his wife much.

Just before the train was to arrive at the platform, the woman went to the loo after telling her daughter to remain sitting at her berth. But she did not specifically tell her that she was going to the loo, and hence after a minute the little girl became anxious and ran towards the way her mother had gone. By that time, I was already standing near the gate waiting for the train to arrive at platform, and I told the girl to wait at her seat and not to move, but she totally ignored me and went to the toilet door and banged it till her mother shouted from inside. Then the girl came back to her seat. I was really impressed that the girl had not trusted her mother and was fearing any untoward incident (like her mother leaving her behind and vanishing), which was a crime stuff from the newspapers. I guess such things happen in the worker-class families and such kids learn to trust only their instincts and not any other from their childhood.

When her mother came back and both were sitting on their berth, the girl looked at her luggage and after finding several loose carry bags, she said to her mother, “Ye allar-ballar lekar ham kaise utrenge?” (how shall we deboard the train carrying so much loose stuff?). Her use of the term “allar-ballar” (or something like it, if I don’t remember exactly), totally floored me! It was like cherry on the top, climax of a thriller novel.

I think the only one who vanished from the train was me, since I shall cherish the little girl and her interesting talks for a long time to come. May she always have a good and happy life; like a little fairy she is.

- Rahul Tiwary

A Tale of Two Gloves

Mother had asked me to sort out and throw away some old items from a showcase almirah. I hardened myself and started throwing away whichever items I could, in a big dustbin kept for that purpose. Whichever item felt useless and not collectible for the memory’s sake I just threw it away. After a while, I came across a pair of gloves which belonged to my father. I had some childhood memories associated with it too. It was meant for winter and was made of black leather of good quality, and it had white beautiful furs inside it. Father used to wear it while going to his bank on a motorcycle during the winter months. In childhood, we siblings used to play with it sometimes and were very much fascinated with it. But what was its use now? Hence, I threw it away.

As soon as I threw it away, father came there from some other room and saw it being thrown away. He said, “ye mera hai..” (this is mine). I asked, “par ab iska kya karna hai?” (but what to do with it now?”. Father was a bit taken aback and said, “no, I am not asking to keep it. I just said this is mine.” I remember feeling it a bit, but I was convinced that the old pair of gloves had to be sacrificed. It had no practical utility and there was no need to preserve it till eternity. The matter was forgotten.

I forgot about this incident, until one day while opening one of my almirahs which I do not open often, I came across a pair of my own old gloves.

That pair of gloves was also kept by me for sentimental value. It was a “safety glove” from my first job after engineering. After passing out of my engineering college, I had immediately joined my first job and was posted in a manufacturing plant. It was a new world for me. Whenever I went to visit a site in the plant, I used to wear safety gloves, safety googles and a safety helmet. I remember when I switched my job after two years and I had to leave, on the final day when I returned from plant, I did not know what to do with the gloves. I had left the helmet somewhere, but gloves were not supposed to be used by others and hence I just kept it along with my luggage and departed. That was my first job-switch and that was also the last time I stood on the soil of Chhattisgarh. Sometimes I remember those days fondly now.

As a memento from my first job, I kept those gloves with me somewhere, even when I changed cities and places, and years passed by. But what now?

As soon as I saw my old gloves, I remembered my father’s gloves which I had just thrown away. I felt a sense of guilt which would not go away. My pair of old gloves also did not have any practical value. How could I throw away my father’s gloves but keep mine? I could not have two sets of principles: one for myself and other for my father. Still, the attachment was deep, and I did not really want to throw it away. I had kept it safely for so many years! I knew that the gloves, which were in good shape, also contained some dust particles from the manufacturing plant. It was a time machine which could make me remember those two years of my life.

I spent a few weeks in dilemma, while knowing from the inside that I had to give it away. In order to do justice with my conscience, either I had to get my father’s gloves back, which was impossible since it went out with the trash few weeks ago, or else I had to throw away my own gloves.

Finally, after a few weeks from the day I mercilessly threw away my father’s old lovely gloves, I threw away my own memories-filled gloves too. May be in a few years, this blog post will be the only place both these gloves will find their remembrance.

- Rahul Tiwary

 

Thoughts: What is With Children and Water?

This morning, besides a very busy road, I saw a small girl. The road was not good, and it had cracks through which water from was flowing, perhaps thrown by some nearby shops. The little girl who was alone was carrying something; perhaps having bought it from some shop and returning to her home. She had stopped and was dipping one of her footwears in the stream of water. She was completely lost in thought, not bothered by the chaos of busy traffic and neither caring for safety or any concerns. She was totally focused on ‘understanding’ water. That moment and her state of mind felt totally like ‘nirvana’ to me.

A few months ago, I saw a similar scene where a small boy who was going somewhere with his grandfather, had also stopped and was completely immersed in thoughts and focused on a little ‘pond’ of ‘water’ on the road.

I wonder what was so special about these scenes that I paid attention? It is not that I was wandering around in an observation mode; I was actually riding and moving. But these moments got captured in my mind like still photographs. I think first, these moments were so ‘out of the ordinary’. In the adult world, we are so used to doing things on purpose and we are always on to something, that such moments of pure carefree indulgence feel strange. Second, I got curious also because I thought about the ‘state of mind’ of these kids. And I could not name it or could not find words to describe it. It was like a ‘blank slate’; and anything blank is so precious in the modern world because it is full of possibilities.

I hope that out of the many things frozen in my memory, these too remain safe and secure. The little kid checking out water on the roadside – what is with children and water? Perhaps it is better never to figure out.

- Rahul Tiwary

[Reflections] Innocence Can Move Mountains

Happened to watch a movie ‘Flipped’ on TV which is about teenage love or crushes. In the last scene, after having disappointed the girl a lot and since long, the boy decides to plant a tree in her garden, a kind of tree which she loved and one such was cut down in the neighborhood. It was truly a lovely gesture and heart touching. Apart from other things, what is clearly seen in this case is ‘innocence’ of both the kids.

I remembered my own childhood when I planted plants and trees; though in our own garden and not in some girl’s! I remembered how I decorated our home; though not to impress anyone else but to feel good myself. That pure innocence with which we built miniature clay houses, forest, pond – a whole world – with our own little hands! How we tried to make ourselves as ‘ideal’ human beings, not doing anything wrong and doing all things right. Oh, that innocence I doubt if I possess anymore!

That is how life is – the same person keeps evolving. I remember in childhood I had thought over how I would look like or what I would do when I grow old. I imagined myself till school days; even stretched my imagination to imagine how I would be when I join the college – perhaps taking inspirations from some others older guys I came across – but I had not been able to imagine how I would be after I take up a job or get married. My little world in my head could not stretch to imagine myself into things beyond a limit. I still remember that day when I concluded this. I asked myself if I agreed that I couldn’t imagine myself beyond that stage – and answered that I could not indeed. And see, here I am and I can look back into those days of childhood. While looking into future, we can’t go beyond a limit; but while looking into the past we can go as we please. But that limitation in my head – which made me say that I did not know beyond that limit – had to do something with innocence.

It occurred to me some time back that being all wise and all was not really an asset. When you know that something would not work; would you give your 100% to it? You won’t even try properly! May be if you did not know that it would not work you could have tried better and may be it could have turned out well, just for a change! So knowing too well has its negative side too!

One problem with life is that we can’t go back to some past stage of evolution. I remember what someone said once – if I tell you a fact, I can’t again tell you something which could negate the first learning you made. It is an irreversible process. So where does that leave us?

Having lost innocence once, we can’t go back to be innocent again. And that is some real precious loss I feel bad about…

- Rahul 

Think of Trees

At engg college, our department's seniors were hosting 'welcome function' for us. As part of interactions, they were asking us (1st year freshers) questions. One of our classmates (many would remember who she is) was asked something like "what would you like to become in your next birth? Or if you could become something other than what you are - what would you choose?" She replied "I would like to become a tree because a tree is so at peace and ..." 

That was an extraordinary thought and answer and it was so true! 

From that day onward, somehow deep in my mind whenever I think of 'peace', I think of 'trees'...