Yes, there's a war somewhere, but life goes on...

The day it started, we gasped in horror. What, is this actually happening? We followed the news, drone by drone, bomb by bomb, paying attention as if the war depended on it. Schoolchildren killed. Outrage. Global grief—yes, that is still possible. Leaders killed. Anger. Third party cities attacked—third parties are not neutral. This thing is spreading. Worry. Dismay at how my country is handling this. Yours. Ours. Sea-lanes imperilled, then effectively closed.

Our cooking gas supply is going to be disrupted. Do we have enough gas in the cylinder? Our neighbours had their replacement cylinder delivered as usual. Switch to induction. Shopshopshop. There is no problem. If you book at 1145, you will get your replacement at 130. It’s the magic muhurtam for gas.

A hospital named after one of our own. A university. A research institution. Smithereens now.

Never mind but will petrol prices go up? I had planned to go on a road-trip next week but what if I cannot get petrol on the way? I heard that everything depends on petrol imports—not just motor fuel and cooking gas but pharmaceuticals and plastics and all sorts of things. Electricity. Oh god, no electricity, no motor, no water. No lift!

They are also bombing a neighbour now. Oh, that country is like a lingering itch. They bomb them like a chorus in their campaigns. It’s a wonder anyone is still left there. Including those terrorists they always say they are chasing. But wars have a long, long life. Unlike civilians they kill. Unlike homes they destroy.

There is no problem. The government says so. The government is talking to everyone on the phone everyday. There is no problem. We are the most important country in the world. Everyone listens to our wise counsel. But then, why is that country, our alter ego, our nemesis, our enemy, being called to mediate? What matters is to be more important than they are, always.

More bombs. More sabre-rattling. More speeches. More challenges. More death. So much more death. Destruction of things it took ages to build. Homes people scrimped and saved for. Bridges and roads and power plants governments took loans for. The bridal dress grandmothers and aunts embroidered. Bookshelves groaning with a lifetime’s collection, so many still unread. And still they fought, and still the wonder grew that they could hold their own as smartly and bravely as they do. (Sorry, Oliver Goldsmith!).

It’s getting really hot now. So sultry. We are planning to go to the hills. With climate change, we really need to regulate working hours for those who do manual labour in the sun. Also, between induction stoves and air-conditioners, electricity bills will be so high. Rising temperatures are a public health problem. No one will come to work. No one is coming to work because they have no gas to cook their food and eat. People are going back to their villages because they cannot cook and eat. At least there, they can use traditional fuels. It’s like COVID-19 all over again. That’s what the government is saying. Forebear, like you did during COVID-19. Why did these countries have to go to war?

“The guns spell money’s ultimate reason.” Stephen Spender got this right. Those who benefit from war are innumerable. Those who think it makes them more important. Indispensable. Those who think it enhances their power. Those who sell those lies. Those who grow in the shadow of the liars. Those who make the things people fight with, and those are innumerable, from the bullets to the aircraft to the software that powers the drones. Those who have secrets to hide behind the wanton killing of children in school and people on the run and scientists in a lab and fruit-sellers in a marker.

What are going to do in the summer holidays? Some writing. Catch that blockbuster I missed. Visit my native place (I hope it’s not inconvenient for them because of the gas situation. I already bought my tickets in January.). Read some novels. Prepare for next year. Get my house painted. Get the terrace water-proofed.

They heard the sound of planes or drones. They were too afraid to look. The windows were sealed shut anyway. The lights were out. Or, they would be out if there was power supply. Bottles of jam and jars of sweet biscuits and dry fruit were running low as tensions ran high. They did not have long to speculate. One minute they were huddling together in the middle room of their home. In the next, a bomb had hit their terrace, torn through the roof and detonated in the centre of their huddle.

10 kilos rice. 2 kilos toor dal. 2 kilos moong dal. 1 kilo each chana and urad. 500 gms tamarind—if you buy too much, there are insects in it. This humidity is like that. 1 litre cooking oil. 500 gms ghee. Get some ketchup, please. And we are out of mustard seeds, turmeric, cinnamon. Get a couple of packets of batter. And good to have frozen parathas, just in case.

Flour and sugar. Sometimes milk powder. The children have not tasted fresh milk in months. The little ones have forgotten the taste. In twenty years, they will be mocked—those who survive this—for obesity and diabetes prevalence, forgetting who made it impossible to get eggs and greens and other nutrition. Those people, they will discuss in fine dining establishments that serve the cuisines of the decimated, have no idea about nutrition.

4 weeks. 6 weeks. 8 weeks. 12 months. Time passes quietly and swiftly when you stop paying attention to the callous, vicious destruction of people’s lives. Even when villains and heroes are visible, there is too much to do in our own days to think much about them. Hard to sustain anger or concern or even a passing interest when the drama of everyday life asks so much of us. Stop already with the bad news and the endless outrage. It’s irritating. It’s a downer. It’s embarrassing that you won’t stop. You can’t do anything. I can’t do anything. Change the channel. Deal with the problems at hand.

And yet, if no one looks, no one asks, no one is angry, no one cares, then those who start wars to indulge their need to be cruel simply get away with it. The juggernaut started in one place, moved to another, then another. It is a marvel that anyone has the will or capacity to stop it. Should one join the juggernaut or to reinforce the barricades in its path? Those who can dither, confident of their innate righteousness. They have stopped counting the lives that are lost. They have stopped noticing the war. This is just what happens in the world.

 

Horses, water and Queen Mary's College

Posted first at the PSW Weblog.


"You can drag a horse to the water; you cannot make him drink.”

I cannot write a report about the 2011 quiz without remarking on the participation issue. We invited almost 40 colleges. 10 colleges registered after an official invitation and poster went to the principal, calls were made to the union secretaries and to our friends in the faculty. The students were supposed to register at 2:30 p.m. At 3:30, half an hour after the first round was scheduled to start, only three teams had registered.

Our volunteer made a round of calls, only Ethiraj picked up. They weren’t going to come, but did not think it important to let us know. The Stella Maris and WCC cheering squads–barely three-four people anyway–showed up. The teams did not. We still have no calls or email messages from them.

For Prajnya, this is not an isolated experience. We have the same problems for every programme we conceptualise for students. This is the first time that we have faced it on this scale for the quiz.
Apathy in itself is lamentable. After all, these are the people to whom we plan to repose a great deal of responsibility in the very near future–work, family, social. But the lack of consideration and the absence of accountability are far more frightening to me.

These are the people who will work jobs? Have children? Run the world? What if they don’t feel like showing up one day? Will they just leave work and family in limbo? Every single student carries a mobile phone and has an email account. They could not call or email or sms us to say they would not be coming?

We are a small non-profit and invest very scarce resources into creating opportunities for students, from whom our only expectation is that they should bring themselves to the programme. For yesterday’s event, we had prepared three substantial quiz rounds, plus back-up questions, which took about five long days of serious preparation, even with contributions. More than one person worked on this quiz. Our volunteer made innumerable calls and a few visits in between his classwork at the University. We ordered snacks for fifty. Used up our small stock of printed certificates (which we cannot reuse now) to prepare for 20 participants. And how do I describe the loss of morale for all the people who were so enthusiastic about this programme? They are also young, and I want them to continue to feel like whatever they contribute matters.

Why the Prajnya Team loves Queen Mary’s College

As a contrast to this picture, I want to tell you why we love working with Queen Mary’s College. Queen Mary’s in its time was a very prestigious institution, but that really is history. Today, South India’s first women’s college is a very poorly resourced, poorly maintained institution, but with the gift of teachers who are unbelievably dedicated and students who are hungry for opportunities. Whenever we suggest an opportunity to them, they are enthusiastic and fuel the programme with warm and eager participation.

For yesterday’s programme, we had hired their hall. When I walked in to set up, there was a small group of students sitting quietly, with the professor we usually work with. They were very subdued, in low spirits. One of their colleagues, a young hostelite, was killed by a speeding vehicle when crossing the road in front of their college… injured a few days ago, succumbed to her injuries the day before the quiz. They said, hesitantly, we are in no mood to participate, we will help you set up. I cajoled them into putting up a team.

And they did. They stayed. They participated. They smiled and did not let on to the others that they were grieving. They were good hosts to those who had come to watch. Principal, professor, students, staff… made us feel like we were welcome and that they valued this event.


The principal had spent long days at the General Hospital while her student battled death. The professor we work with had coped in the hostel with grieving girls and police questions. The principal stopped by as we set up to apologize for not coming—she was patently exhausted but gracious. The professor stayed through the quiz, to offer us moral support.

This is college spirit. This is the real stuff.

And when the quiz participants told the quiz master, they wanted careers in social work, I wanted to say to the college and parents: you did really well raising these girls. They fill me with hope when others in their generation make me very afraid.

We are proud to have in the Prajnya Archives photographs of flag hoisting on Independence Day 1947 at Queen Mary’s. We are proud our quiz in the centenary year of the observance of March 8 as International Women’s Day was in this college, full of spirit.