Eyelids closed.
Nerves move, the lids move, and the eyes are opening slowly.
A scene showing the wind pushing open the door.
Light penetrates past the threshold.
A clear eye. Dark pupil in the center. Pupil turns into
globe and revolves around it.
Oceans, continents, countries as cut pieces of continents,
states as cut pieces of countries. The globe revolves. Tides in the
ocean….trees, animals, fields, villages, uncivilised people, deserts, cities,
civilised people, hills, valleys…..
Tides in the ocean…. globe revolves slowly.
Europe, Africa, North America, South America, Australia,
Asia, and in its southernmost tip India.
India
in green showing it’s an agricultural country. Green turns into dark dots. Dots
start moving. The spots turn into human heads. Faces appear. People stooping
under the weight of responsibilities. In millions. Chaotic and filled without
space…….Emaciated face, a small neck below that, chest showing the bony cage,
shoulders, stomach touching the back, a torn loin cloth, lean and thin legs,
mighty shackles on those legs, hands cuffed in the back, the common man in
agony looking like pasted figure on the map of India. All around him everywhere
similar people, similarly in shackles!!
Something fell on the hand. It appeared as if it fell on the
ideas. He came out of the stupor and saw. A ball, round like the globe. A ball,
round like the earth.
“Dad, My ball…..”
Yadava Reddy turned aside and saw. It was Rohin. He was
going around the cot for the ball.
“Here! Play somewhere else!” No sooner was the ball in his hands;
the boy jumped and scampered to another corner of the room. Round ball filling
his little hands. Vertical lines on the ball. Red, blue and black. ..Ball, the
earth ball.
It was not headache alone. Whole body was hurting. Could not
sleep well for the last two days because of the duties. He has not recovered
from the tiredness. Eyes were still heavy with sleep. The room was hot. Sunrays
infiltrated into the room and filled it. Traffic sounds from outside were
audible. Yonder from the window the Thelawallahs voice was also audible. He was
perhaps selling hot onions and other vegetables.
“Little one! Where is the mother?”
“ mmmmm?”
“Mother! Where has she gone?”
“mmmmm! Yes.. Mother! …..Mother is it?…..Mother and brother
gone to market.” With a lot of difficulty Rohin could tell that and was happy about
that.
Queues for kerosene and sugar appeared before his eyes.
Himself was a commoner. Running around for news was his job……He recalled
something. He stood up suddenly. Looked at the watch. It was three in the
afternoon. He prepared himself to go out. That took fifteen minutes. Within
around an hour he must reach the office.
“Close the doors!”
Rohin came running, fear filled in his eyes, perhaps that he
did not want to be alone.
“Don’t you worry. Mother must be on the way back. …I will
bring chocolates for you when returning in the night. Don’t cry…” Steps were
proceeding further as words of solace dropped back. The lane from that house
joins the main road. He caught the bus that appeared. It was moving slowly.
There were three busloads of people in a single bus. It was him who wrote that
there were buses after every five minutes.
He, once known as yadav Reddy and now turned into simple
Yadav was hanging on to the bus like he was hanging on to the life. He thought
falling from the bus is equal to falling from the life. Struggling for two or
three minutes he could make it onto the bus. Catching hold of the iron rod
fixed to the roof he peeped out of the window. Cool air from the window was solace. The man sitting next to the window had a clean-shaven
head. Dark, lean and with a small beard he was looking uncivilised. A simple
muffler made of jute was there around his neck. He was trying to close the windowpane.
Bus was on the move. Window in the bus, the scenes in the window were also on
the move. Shops on the roadside, hotel, garbage bin, iron cages symbolic of the
trees planted on the Vanamahotsava day, bare body of the heroine on the banner
covering the theatre, compound wall wet with the pissings, Cart selling mirchi
bhajji, the one selling ground nuts, males and females chasing themselves on
the road, banana seller, singada seller, taxi cycle shop, mutton shop,
furniture shop, petrol bunk, vehicles clamoring for the petrol, their owners
like statues in the hot sun, here and there wine shops like sex queens in
inviting postures. And the obedient bank.
The trial of closing the window was futile. “Gee aaina
utraainchu sir, gali ghusaainchi sataaistandi”
(Please bring down
this glass pane. Wind that is blowing is causing trouble. – in typical
Hyderabadi slang) Yadav could not understand. He looked in confusion. The man repeated the same sentence.
People listening laughed in themselves. That language - was then clear. He was
asking for the window to be closed. He did it. The man laughed in gratitude.
Cough obstructed the laughter. He put the muffler to his mouth.
City bus stopped at the Post office. Like the fan was put off,
wind stopped and it grew hot. Conductor was toiling about the tickets. Standing
itself was difficult. It was like he was standing atop two people and four more
were on him. “Tank bund One” Yadav said. His hand was not reaching the
conductor. There were at least ten people in between. He could succeed in
buying the ticket with the help of somebody else. He felt relieved. Among so
many in the bus it was near death feeling. Stamping each other’s feet, it was
like stamping the mud.
Looking at each other’s back, enjoying each other’s sweat,
picking each other’s pockets, planning each other’s falls, stabbing each
other,….. Thut! The journey on the
bus was like life in society. If you extend the looks beyond the window, dogs
are fighting for a rag near the garbage bin…..he could imagine mean politicians
fighting for power.
“What sir, Laughing so much! Have you read this news or
what?” Said the man in the front seat who was reading the paper. Yadav was not
aware he was laughing till that man said so. It was a clean man in whites.
“No, No. I recalled something.”
“Is it? I thought you read this paper. It looks like the
offices will work in the nights and be closed during the day. They are
facilitating people to spend time with family members and shopping during the
day.” He was laughing unmindful of people on the bus. Yadav also vomited ugly
laughter onto his lips. He was reminded of the history lesson about Tuglaq.
There was a photo of a burning bus on that paper he was reading. A little above
were captions like “Revolt in the armed forces” and “Workers on strike demanding
DA” etc. The man turned the page. Here was a photo showing people attacking a
Police Station, irritated due to the death of a man in Lathi charge. News
regarding the demand of students for textbooks and teachers. Protection needed
for womenfolk - Price rise to be controlled - thousands of women submit
memorandum to the governor. Lorry collides with a tree. New cooking utensil
from Japan.
Murder in a remote village. Nalgonda declared a drought hit area. A boxed item
congratulating the Minister. Man with the paper closed it hurling abuses. He is
looking out as if searching for his destination. Driver applied sudden breaks
on reaching the stop. Bus shook badly. People were already one upon the other,
so, that jerk did not make anybody fall on anybody. The man with the newspaper
got down hurriedly. Before Yadav could park himself in that seat another man
rushing and settling in the seat as if thrown into it occurred. The man was in
a suit and looked very modern. Had a handbag with him. Bus moved on, again. It
was moving heavily and making a loud noise. “ Emandi! You only! Are You in or not?” a female voice from the front
was asking.
“Ya. Ya, I am in alright. Be careful with the kids.” A
hoarse old voice from the rear of the bus answered. Some people on the bus
laughed. Among such crowd Yadav could not locate where and how those couple
were. He stood looking out. An office lazily ruminating corruption appeared.
Cloth shops spreading attraction with the mannequins – smiling grocers shops –
general stores – silver and gold shops that grew to unattainable levels – a
permanently closed government school – stadium showing the cricket and hockey
matches to divert the youth – a private college running under police protection
– foot path laid for orphans – café distributing life to the rickshaw pullers –
paan shops here and there – hospitals sharing and eating the patients – court
that is sending students, intellectuals, and workers to the gallows – stray
cattle on the road reminding of the attitude and the activity of the
multimillionaire brats – play ground now useful as urinals and lavatories –
university paying huge pay packets so that the intellectuals do not raise
questions – footwear shop - sports goods
shop and the radio shop – photo center – bar and café – chit ( cheat ) fund
office – private hospital – barber shop – bakery – lodging not yielding to
raids – book shop – sweet house – over bridge on the sewage canal – railway
level crossing – fruit shop set up well like the Nirmal dolls – office of the newspaper
that closed six months after the launch – watch company – optical center –
Xerox corner – snacks and snacks –
printing press on its last breath – automobile shop – marriage corner –
open place – hotel – Air India office – computer coaching – cross roads –
auditorium built for exhibiting rotten arts with added fragrance – boot licking
academy – opportunistic Akash Vani – state assembly that captured the power and
dosing, lecturing, and making noises – bus is stopping… “If we are able to
exist today like this, it is only due to the planning. I humbly submit to you.
On the day when each of the village comes forward and takes part in our future
progress programs, whenever each taluq and each district, every state comes
forward and take part in our progressive activities, then, that each India also
progresses, I humbly submit to you. Moreover, because you have given me the
chance to serve you like this my….” A familiar face appeared and greeted. “Hello”
said Yadav. Foolish speech of a Ministers which he reported for the paper two
days back stopped reverberating in his brain. He thought the man who greeted
will also talk. But he did not. He was in conversation with someone else.
Stains of bird droppings were seen on the domes of the assembly building.
He himself reported the statement of the candidate who
expressed his happiness for the people’s verdict and declared his aim was to
serve people. He himself reported the statement of the defeated candidate from
the opposition who said it was against the democratic practices to win wooing
people with flowing liquor taps and the bait of money. He reported about the people’s
agitation protesting the rape by the policemen on duty, of a woman who was
waiting for a bus. He himself reported the statement of the police officer who
declared that she was not raped and was put by the police in a hospital after
being found unconscious. The news that the old teacher who was on hunger strike
protesting the nonpayment of salaries was made a victim of lathi was also given
by him. Governments announcement that he was sick due to old age and cold was
also his contribution to the paper.
Bus stopped once again with a jerk. On looking out, he could
make out that after the assembly the bus has skipped and reached the next
stage. Secretariat is a little further. There was confusion all around the
place. Everyone on the bus was getting off. What? What happened? Nobody
answers. Rush and pell-mell. “Get down and run away, Brother” conductor
shouted. Yadav got down turning into a particle in the flow. Found his stance
and looked around. There was confusion everywhere. Tear gas was used at the
next crossing and firing orders were in force. That was the information. It is
not good to stay there. Bus was turning around. People were disappearing into
lanes and by lanes wherever they were. A police van was coming fast from the
opposite side. He recalled the beatings he experienced during the turmoil in
the old city despite saying that he belonged to the press and the experience in
the hospital thereafter. Should he take risks once again? There is no time to
think. His feet moved away from there without his involvement. How to reach the
newspaper office?
Yadav entered the lane. It was miserable. Stench, broken
pieces of caked mud, shops burnt during the caste feuds a few days ago, black
soot, ashes, houses in ruins, glass pieces, broken branches of trees, mud and
stones…..After running for two furlongs he saw a narrow road. There also the
situation appeared not good. Everybody was retreating into the houses. The café
and the paan shop were closed there. People ahead of him rushed into a house on
the street corner. He followed them. He could make out after the entry. It was
not a house. But a small library. Many were there in the hall. Someone after
him closed the door. Fans were whirring. Papers on the tables were trembling.
People there left the tables and reached the windows. Looking at the police
force occupying the road.
It was inevitable for him to spend some time there. He
thought of calling the office on the phone. But there was no phone around
there. He looked all around. Almirahs in a row. Papers and books peeping
through their glass shutters. Yadav's heart was roaming in the magazines.
Mine collapsed and five hundred people perished. Two died in
lorry collision. Famine, flood, excess rain, scanty rain, Ministers reviewing
from helicopters, sympathy, a dhoti each, and half a kg rice distributed –
Hindu Muslim feuds – blood shed – hunger strikes – assuring hands – looting the
grain and even the bull after stopping the cart in the jungle – hijacking, the everlasting
politico who survived a plane crash. In
north India’s Hoshiarpur police experiments with the body of Preetam kaur in a
Gurudwara. Neealm, the new bride burnt in the fire called dowry in Gangapur.
Peace talks in the capital with the representatives of other countries….. Bills
introduced in the Lok Sabha. Cats jumping into the winning party. Inquiry into
the rapes. People revolt demanding punishment to the erring officials. Nepal Kings
tour in India.
144 section in force. Curfew. News of extremists dislocating railway tracks and
burning files. Award in Moscow
for an Indian Danseuse. A mother who fried and ate her own child unable to bear
hunger. A man who killed his elder brother for property. Journalists wife raped
for his exposing the truth. Acid in the prisoners eyes….
Yadav was disturbed. He turned aside. Bound books
majestically placed in glass cases. Harrowing truths filling those books. Books
that read the people. Melody master Paul Robson punished for singing freedom songs.
Angela Davis tortured for fighting for the rights of Negroes. Charlie Chaplin
who could not reach America since his passport was impounded. Bertholt Brecht
exiled from the country. Rosenberg
couple hanged for opposing nuclear arms.
Liberty?
Individual liberty? Freedom of speech? Freedom of press? …. Writers in jail.
Artists in jail. Intelligentsia in jail!!
Books were all closed. They appear to be sleeping. Revolts
in books, movements in books, wars in books, bloodshed in books, books are the
human brains. Books are all closed. But
history? History is open. History is awake. History is bubbling and boiling.
Yadav moved impatiently. People at the windows were also
impatient. He felt as if confined in a jail and the blood flow into the heart
was cut off. Newspaper office – the job – It is the minimum duty of him and the
other colleagues to work against the papers selling polished lies and for the
understanding of the people. There were many with similar ideology to support.
Brandings left by the time on the stomach are clearly seen.
People like him must work like the mirror that shows the truth. Should show the
truth to the people. Then they should not stop at the glasses and the windows
that stop them from getting into the truth. Only when they are across it is
participation in the struggle. Inevitable. In this struggle of life, he can’t
help being a major part. He looked out of the window. There was not much
apparent change there. The whirring of the police jeep’s wheel was still there.
With all self-confidence Yadav
walked out of the library hall in pursuit of his duties.
Like an agrarian country India in green color. Green color turns
to black dots. Dots started moving. The black dots are turning into human
heads. Faces, faces are seen. Faces were red with thoughts. Were trying to
break open the shackles on the hands tied at the back. Feet were proceeding
further pulling along the heavy chains. Their imprints are being left behind.
Little kids are searching and following those footprints…….
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