THE LONELINESS OF THE FEMALE RUNNER

The red Puma head-band is plastered on my forehead. Hair tied back, I feel free and fresh. The shoes are soft and comfortable, the arm band tightly tied round my bicep. My feet start moving on the road. The same rhythmic movement repeated thousands of times over the past decade: the movement of freedom, pain, tiredness; the movement of loneliness in a crowd.
Why did school hours not spent studying seem so painful? Shakespeare was a special pal in high school. He was better than the puny boys in class or the alien seniors. At least he didn’t speak; he was just there to be read. He let me be alone. Mostly, he didn’t force me to speak, joke or be giggly. He let me be silent. Heathcliff was more real than my friends. Georgette Heyer’s world was far better. At least the heroine got the hero in the end. There were no heroes in the ‘real’ world. Actually I didn’t belong to the ‘real’ world. I wore little shorts or divided skirts on the outside, but inside I wore gowns and danced at balls and spoke with Victorian humor. It was all so confusing. Was I really living? I later came to know of the Bovary syndrome. Flaubert did have insight after all. The evening breeze changes parties. It seems to be mostly against me. Sweat drips from my hair onto my neck. It rolls down my back and into my shorts’ elastic.
My friend chatted more than usual with our senior. They had exchanged some music. I heard of their wooing. Another told me of the caresses of her partner. I was surprised. They were fast. My juniors followed suit. I heard of the great ‘love stories’ of my seniors, the elders, the teachers, almost everyone had a story, except me. It was ‘love story’ saturation. Then I seemed to hear no more. I only saw: how my friends all left single hood and me far behind. It felt lonely. Of course, I had Gandhi, Renoir and Satyajit Ray, the praise of my teachers and the proud look in my parents’ eyes.
Then I saw the young man with the big biceps, the charismatic one and the one who always looked irascible. They made me want the impossible. I dreamt in vain. I didn’t feel lonely for a while. But it actually worsened. Soon Desirafe was born, so was Angus.
Shakespeare wasn’t a friend anymore. The ‘real’ world seemed to strike back with a vengeance, a lonely fish out of bookish water. It was Guilome’s birth. The boys selling shiny flying toys on the road get in the way. The men and women out on a stroll gape open-mouthed. The dogs are unaffected. My calves tighten.
Guilome and Desirafe were fed by silence and more of Guilome and Desirafe. It was like a dumping ground, an endless landfill which threatened to explode one day. The assigned project lay untouched. The TV was blaring, the women dancing and the men singing. The couple was talking sweet nothings, the camera on a soft-focus mode. The ants crawled to a presenter’s voice, it was some exotic island. A pact was signed amidst much controversy and heated discussion. Then it all went blank and silent, or rather blue. Nothing seemed interesting anymore. What a sheer waste of fifty minutes. Desirafe sighed, grumbled. Guilome screamed. Nothing can be done now, it’s too late. My feet keep moving. My mind keeps racing.
Wednesday’s newspaper had an article on relationships. Young couples, changing trends in society: ignorance, precociousness, the influence of the media, the ever-alluring West. Also, Saif Ali Khan had changed his girl friend, so had some cricketer. My friend gave me a call. She was going out with her boyfriend. She wouldn’t be free this weekend to hang out with. I called another friend. She seemed to have the same story. I cycled down to the coffee joint. It was yet hot in August and the traffic hadn’t changed one bit. The coffee prices had increased by 5 rupees. Damn the inflation. And why did they keep a table for two when I was alone? Why not for singletons? What’s wrong with the world? What’s wrong with me? I moved out of there before I beat up someone or show a finger. Desirafe was hungry, growling and ready to taste blood. Instead I taste my sweat which runs down my nose into my open mouth. I’m gasping for breath. My stomach is cramped. I need air. My legs are yet moving.
Loser was a household word for me. Angus ruled my life. Guilome and Desirafe fed off me. I felt Desirafe on my lips, on my stomach, sliding down my back. He was all over me. The attacks were worst at night. I woke up feeling tired and helpless. “Desirafe, Desirafe” that’s all I could hear, think of, want and feel. I wanted to kill Desirafe. Then probably Guilome and Angus would also die a natural death. I needed to find Desirafe outside me to destroy him. I can see the end. The rounds are over. I stop and double up. My t-shirt is drenched.
I’ve to pay the tuition fees. The bank loves to torture people in the afternoon, making them stand in long queues at 2pm. The fan near the main counter is out of service. The windows are small and the panes are broken. This is the side effect of higher education. I look around for familiar faces. I’m too early as usual. My friends are a lazy lot. They love the thrill of the last moment. I spot a tall guy with a goatee. I don’t know him, maybe he’s new.
The next week I see the goatee chap again. Our eyes meet. He smiles and I respond. A few days later I know him as Alberto. Months pass. I know the time has come when at last I taste blood. It is the blood of Desirafe. A great relief courses through my entire body. I’ve found Desirafe outside me in Alberto.

MAKING ROBOTS OUT OF CHILDREN

The latest quiz show to come up in India after Kaun Banega Crorepati (KBC) is Kya Aap Paanchvi Paas Se Tej Hain? Its savvy, well marketed, has the desirable Shah Rukh Khan at the helm as host and a bunch of smart kids. The entertainment factor is undoubtedly strong; Khan is doing a good job, adding warmth and fun to the show. His charm is unmistakable: the Don act, the Om Shanti Om references. It seems all in place. Five crores is the winner’s booty, and though most loose, they at least get to take home a few thousands or lakhs, which is commendable. The show poses as an effort to increase general knowledge and encourage children to study. Many are hooked to their TV sets like couch potatoes and in return they get entertained by Khan and learn a few things like Brihaspati is the largest planet in our solar system. But is the show really about learning and education? Doesn’t it seem to be doing more harm to the viewer than good, especially to children?
The questions asked in the show seem meaningless general knowledge; more than that it seems to encourage rote learning by placing five children who seem to have mugged up their whole syllabus in school like good parrots. It is known that TV programs and the elitist position it holds in Indian society is worshipped by most middle class Indians. Children seem to be the worst affected. Advertisements only add to their greed and consumerist urges. What this new game show seems to be doing is encouraging children to be walking memory boxes, replete with unnecessary information like who was the ruler of England when the Capital of India was shifted from Delhi to Calcutta. Is it necessary for children to know this kind of meaningless information, or is it more important to inculcate in them from grade one itself the ability to think independently, originally and ask questions. Shouldn’t creativity be given more importance over empty GK? This show will spark off many encyclopedias in our country, many wannabe quiz masters without a mind of their own. The young ones will mug and memorize because it will be cool to know more, and not because of an urge to know more. Children will want to ape the role models- the five kids on the show- placed before them. What more, it will give more reason to old-fashion teachers and educational institutions to impose rote learning, to cram more for exams, fatiguing and killing the inquiring mind of the child. Indian parents who seem endlessly after their kids to excel academically will also get a chance to push their children further, at times with dire consequences.
By bringing in five fifth graders, the show seems to be committing one more faux pas. The children on the show are perceptibly grown-up, far beyond their age. Their behavior seems artificial, a construct of the self. They are not themselves- natural, spontaneous, innocent children. They speak like grown ups, their actions and body language is that of an adult. One has to just watch their hand movements and their answers to their hobbies to be shocked and pitiful towards them. The children have lost their innocence and childhood. It is true that in all reality shows, the self is always constructed. It is natural to build an image of oneself when in front of the camera. Everyone does it from stars to actors to politicians. Very few are free from the trappings of projecting the other rather than the self to the world. Why blame these children then? The reason is that again, the children who are watching the show will be under the illusion that this is the way to be. They will take artificiality to be the order of the day. Their role models will be children who have been taught to act grown up, to give smart answers, to reject spontaneity. A normal child uncorrupted by the crooked ways of the adult world will enjoy her/his play, her/his creative pursuits and her /his mischief. She/he will not think of impressing others by dancing Dard-E-Disco like Shah Rukh Khan. We might be adversely affecting a whole generation of children through this construction of the desirable Indian Child.
What Taare Zameen Par strove to do for children and education is continuously being undone by this game show and by most advertisements featuring children. The culture of superficial success and behavior is hegemonic. It is infiltrating slowly, almost unperceived through mass culture. Now, it has become so natural that anything other than that seems queer, weird, out of place. Resistance to this hegemony is weakened because of the worship of the elite in India. A critical approach to all mass culture products has now become necessary. Resistance from the yet uncorrupted is required, without which mindless superficial robots will rule.

DROWNED

Two leaves marooned at sea,
Old, jaundiced, crispy,
Cradled by waves, and with
Lullabies by gulls and sea birds.
Awoke.

“Hey you, how did you get here?”
“Huh?!”
“Silly old fool, right in the middle of the ocean
What do you think of yourself?”
“???”
“I say…”
Words swallowed by oil spill, fishing net.

One leaf marooned at sea,
Alone, old, jaundiced, crispy,
Silent.
Lullabies by gulls and sea birds,
Slept.