Only the act of writing aimlessly keeps the pain of not being understood out.
I grew up in a township. The land was acquired by the Company, & they planned the township. The township was upwind from the plant. So, whoever the smoke from the plant affected, it did not affect the employees & their families. The planner of the township planned it in colonial fashion. The way the colonizers built bungalows in the colonies. The houses had gardens. Even the smallest of the houses. The non-executive quarters. The non-executive quarters had small rooms, less rooms. The non-executive families had more members. The non-executive inhabitants built additional rooms in the gardens. They needed the living space more than the garden.
Still, the small non-executive houses, even after extensions, still had gardens. A neem tree, a mango tree, a drumstick (moringa) tree, or at the very least, a guava tree. And flowers in winter. Regal dahlias, lush chrysanthemums, abundant marigolds graced the scrubby frontyards as benevolently as the manicured lawns. Some of the non-executive families even had a little shed in their little garden for one cow or buffalo & her calf. They wanted fresh milk, & they had carried their ways with them, the "house cow". Regardless of the size or interiors of the house, the garden was a matter of unadulterated pride. It was a gender-neutral hobby. In some families, it was the uncle who was the gardening enthusiast, in others, it was the aunty. It was also the topic of discussion which cut through the gender divide & the executive divide, & made a different classification - the green-thumbs & the green-dumbs.
Till I was in school, in my Bhilai, I had not even known that there can be houses, where the compound wall opens into the living room, without a porch or any width, & the 2-wheelers are stowed in the rooms itself. I did not know that houses may stand directly on main roads & truckways. Only the streets held houses. The first street after the main road was separated from it by an open field, or a plantation of Teak. We used to play on the streets, but not always, because there were so many open spaces unused, enough for a decent badminton court, & even a children's street cricket ground. The teak plantations were later additions, "reforestation" efforts. Can rectangles of 60 teaks at 50 places inside an industrial township do the planet good? I do not know.
What I know is that it was my way. My way of life, my way of town, my way of roads, streets. I learnt to ride the bicycle on the streets. I learnt to roller skate on the streets. When I roller skated down the main road, 2 neighbour uncles complained to my parents about my unsafe play in the traffic. The traffic which was a scooter every 2 minutes, a 3-wheeler every 5 minutes, & a car in an hour. Sometimes, we won't feel like playing, we would sit down & chat. There were some weird cement structures jutting out of the open spaces. Then there was the old rusted "stage" which had, at some point, used for a speech by Indira Gandhi. I remember stomping all over it, listening to the gong of vibrations with every step. I remember sitting on those low rails discussing "secrets" with Renu. And, once, I was below the stage, with Kiran, with a watch, we were timing & counting heartbeats. Kiran was one of the brats who climbed the supporting pillars rather than the stairs. It made my skin crawl to just think of scraping myself on the fully surface rusted pillars!!
Chasing dragon flies with Amit in the monsoon. I knew he was going to kill them, impale them, use them as bookmarks, I knew that was unspeakably cruel, but I just went along. Now that I reminisce, I am completely lost as to why I needed so bad to camaredize with him? Was I trying to check whether I was a tomboy? I was in serious identity crisis around age 8. As far as I remember, he hardly managed to catch any insects, his technique was to hand-catch their wings, & even if he did, I made him leave them. But I remember Red, Green AND Blue insects with crystal wings ... they were beautiful ... & he probably only needed to assert that he was quick & silent enough for them.
In the monsoon, the open spaces turned green. So green, it would hurt your eyes if you weren't a crazy green-lover like me. When we were older, & the boys played only cricket, I took Renu to one of the triangular patches, the one between the last two streets & the main road on the hospital side. The one beside an abandoned bus stop. I've seen enough snakes in my time. With Amit, as well as with Renu. Wonder what my parents thought about that! But , we were brought up in "benign neglect", as specified by Sarita Talwai. Besides, in my family, snakes were never killed, only chased away. Not due religious beliefs, but my mother simply believed that "every organism has a right to live. Don't hamper it till it is impossible not to". Yes, we do kill bacteria with antibiotics.
& there was the horizon. It was all around. I saw a few sunsets in my time. I saw a few sunrises. I can't anymore. There is no horizon. The city is all around me. The city of opportunities. Where can I go? Where is the horizon? Where will the horizon not be built up on by "development"? Where should I take a "transfer"?
I grew up in a township. The land was acquired by the Company, & they planned the township. The township was upwind from the plant. So, whoever the smoke from the plant affected, it did not affect the employees & their families. The planner of the township planned it in colonial fashion. The way the colonizers built bungalows in the colonies. The houses had gardens. Even the smallest of the houses. The non-executive quarters. The non-executive quarters had small rooms, less rooms. The non-executive families had more members. The non-executive inhabitants built additional rooms in the gardens. They needed the living space more than the garden.
Still, the small non-executive houses, even after extensions, still had gardens. A neem tree, a mango tree, a drumstick (moringa) tree, or at the very least, a guava tree. And flowers in winter. Regal dahlias, lush chrysanthemums, abundant marigolds graced the scrubby frontyards as benevolently as the manicured lawns. Some of the non-executive families even had a little shed in their little garden for one cow or buffalo & her calf. They wanted fresh milk, & they had carried their ways with them, the "house cow". Regardless of the size or interiors of the house, the garden was a matter of unadulterated pride. It was a gender-neutral hobby. In some families, it was the uncle who was the gardening enthusiast, in others, it was the aunty. It was also the topic of discussion which cut through the gender divide & the executive divide, & made a different classification - the green-thumbs & the green-dumbs.
Till I was in school, in my Bhilai, I had not even known that there can be houses, where the compound wall opens into the living room, without a porch or any width, & the 2-wheelers are stowed in the rooms itself. I did not know that houses may stand directly on main roads & truckways. Only the streets held houses. The first street after the main road was separated from it by an open field, or a plantation of Teak. We used to play on the streets, but not always, because there were so many open spaces unused, enough for a decent badminton court, & even a children's street cricket ground. The teak plantations were later additions, "reforestation" efforts. Can rectangles of 60 teaks at 50 places inside an industrial township do the planet good? I do not know.
What I know is that it was my way. My way of life, my way of town, my way of roads, streets. I learnt to ride the bicycle on the streets. I learnt to roller skate on the streets. When I roller skated down the main road, 2 neighbour uncles complained to my parents about my unsafe play in the traffic. The traffic which was a scooter every 2 minutes, a 3-wheeler every 5 minutes, & a car in an hour. Sometimes, we won't feel like playing, we would sit down & chat. There were some weird cement structures jutting out of the open spaces. Then there was the old rusted "stage" which had, at some point, used for a speech by Indira Gandhi. I remember stomping all over it, listening to the gong of vibrations with every step. I remember sitting on those low rails discussing "secrets" with Renu. And, once, I was below the stage, with Kiran, with a watch, we were timing & counting heartbeats. Kiran was one of the brats who climbed the supporting pillars rather than the stairs. It made my skin crawl to just think of scraping myself on the fully surface rusted pillars!!
Chasing dragon flies with Amit in the monsoon. I knew he was going to kill them, impale them, use them as bookmarks, I knew that was unspeakably cruel, but I just went along. Now that I reminisce, I am completely lost as to why I needed so bad to camaredize with him? Was I trying to check whether I was a tomboy? I was in serious identity crisis around age 8. As far as I remember, he hardly managed to catch any insects, his technique was to hand-catch their wings, & even if he did, I made him leave them. But I remember Red, Green AND Blue insects with crystal wings ... they were beautiful ... & he probably only needed to assert that he was quick & silent enough for them.
In the monsoon, the open spaces turned green. So green, it would hurt your eyes if you weren't a crazy green-lover like me. When we were older, & the boys played only cricket, I took Renu to one of the triangular patches, the one between the last two streets & the main road on the hospital side. The one beside an abandoned bus stop. I've seen enough snakes in my time. With Amit, as well as with Renu. Wonder what my parents thought about that! But , we were brought up in "benign neglect", as specified by Sarita Talwai. Besides, in my family, snakes were never killed, only chased away. Not due religious beliefs, but my mother simply believed that "every organism has a right to live. Don't hamper it till it is impossible not to". Yes, we do kill bacteria with antibiotics.
& there was the horizon. It was all around. I saw a few sunsets in my time. I saw a few sunrises. I can't anymore. There is no horizon. The city is all around me. The city of opportunities. Where can I go? Where is the horizon? Where will the horizon not be built up on by "development"? Where should I take a "transfer"?
2 comments:
I would argue that we humans can also have a positive effect on the environment,and indeed live in harmony with Nature.Of course we have abused the earth and its natural resources but it's never too late to help heal the land,if only in a limited,regional way.
I hope you are right!
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