The Tribe of Hope Whisperers

Illustration by Harshita Bandodkar

The landing announcements had been made and the flight was on schedule.  As the craft started its descent, the Venetian sun began to rise, its soft orange light streaming in through my window.

Illustration by the author

Never mind the sunshine,
No matter if it rains
Never mind the pleasures
No matter you’ve incurred guilt,
fear & pain
Never mind the sorrows
No matter all the joys
Nothing lasts forever
All these things will soon,
one day pass away

Never dread the threats of war
Prejudice nor revenge
If helpless, homeless, hungry now
No matter you’re insured yet
still feel insecure
Never mind your power ploys
Nor being a helpless pawn
Or if dignified, highly qualified,
Certified insane, outcast or addicted to some cause

Never mind you’re sick or dying
Or if good health is a friend
Never mind your pretty face
Time will steal your youth or
an accident could scar you for life
Never mind your cozy job
Nor being unemployed
Your flashy cars and cool lifestyle,
Famous or unsung or
poor as a humble church mouse

If you’re trying to fit the pieces
Of the jigsaw puzzle of this life
If you’re hoping to steal a glimpse
Of the big picture which the truth reveals
All you have to do is to look within yourselves
Pride is the mist which clouds your inner eye

Don’t regret your marriage vows
Don’t drown your spinster cat
Don’t discard your tattered hopes
No matter if you’re broke
Suicide is only a dead end
Never shun your enemies
Forgive your fickle friends
Never mind you’re an atheist,
Agnostic, pagan or believe
blindly in God’s plan

Never mind your crooked past
Nor if you’re straight or gay
Don’t condemn your dirty thoughts
Shun hypocrisy
Don’t question your pious, celibate ways
Never mind your victories
Learn from your defeats
Don’t bandage-up your wounded pride
Humility is the key which unlocks your higher self

Never mind the game of life
No matter all the strain
Living strictly by the book
Never mind if you’ve rebelled
And broken all the rules
There is neither good nor bad
It’s all in the mind
Life’s a tragi-comic dream
All we do will soon fade from memory….
When the truth wakes you up,
you’ll feel like a stranger out of time…
The truth is stranger than
This fiction that you call life…
Crazy truth is saner than
The madness of human strife…
Humble truth is wiser than
All foolish ego strife…
The truth stands alone
A stranger in your mind !!!

Illustration by Pradnya J

It happened one evening in Bombay. An evening like any other, by all reckoning. The young, the old, and those in between doing their regular evening things – walking on the seaside promenade, surviving the last meeting of the day, taking a train back home,  catching up with friends over a drink, preparing dinner, playing with friends. 

And then, it happened. In an instant and without any warning, all the mobile phones in the city disappeared. It was like they dissolved in thin air. Everything else remained the same. Apparently.

A group of teenagers was found on the seaside promenade, one of them with an outstretched arm while the rest pouted in unison, looking purposefully at the palm of the said arm. They held their pouts and their poses steady, conjuring up hashtags in  their heads for their social media posts – #friendsbythesea #byebyesun #sunsetmadness #eveningfuntime

Men and women who had jumped into the Andheri local at Churchgate to grab coveted seats, sat with earphones in their ears with the jack at the other end hanging loose. They stared at a 2-inch gap between their thumbs and index fingers. Some kept rolling up their thumbs over an empty palm. They could not stop.

At a bar in the city, colleagues who had caught up for a drink after work and a quick bite to eat, waited with the food and drinks on their tables. They placed them like an art installation and waited while one of them held her hands over them – thumbs and index fingers apart. Many hashtags were being thought up while she held up her hands – #drowningworkstress #happyhours #colleaguesatthepub #eveningafterwork

Back in many homes, banana bread and muffins were being pulled out of the oven. Kitchen counters were cleared of all the mess, and the fresh bakes were placed on pretty plates under concealed kitchen lights. The burnt bits were scraped off the bread and muffins. The fresh bakes looked perfect and absolutely ready – too hot to be eaten, but  just right to be photographed and posted with #bananabread #homemademuffin  #destresswithbaking #bakedathome

And then, it happened. In an instant and without any warning, all the mobile phones in the city disappeared. It was like they dissolved in thin air. Everything else remained the same. Apparently.

A couple sat with cups of tea in the living room of their apartment and stared at their palms, scrolling up the air with their thumbs. Their children were playing in the parking lot of the building, with at least a dozen others. They ran around, screaming, shouting,  laughing, and arguing, with not a care in the world.

Some people were driving back home from work in Uber taxis, the voice of Google Maps guiding them back on familiar streets. The taxi drivers lost control for a few seconds,  when the electronic voice disappeared, mid-sentence. They gained back control and told their passengers, “Aapko rasta maloom hoga. Bata dijiye.”

As the reality of the vanished mobile phones hit them, the group of friends by the sea sat down on the parapet, one of them pointing towards the mangrove. “Maine suna hai  mangroves are the only plants that can grow in saline water.” At the same time, the couple looked at their empty teacups and then at each other. “How was your day? Who did you meet? What are you working on these days?” 

At home, the baker picked up a slice of burnt banana bread and ate it. They may not make for a pretty picture but it is the burnt bits that were the tastiest. As the Andheri  local drew into Prabhadevi station, Sunita thought to herself, “I had seen a photo on  Facebook but never saw for myself that the board saying ‘Elphinstone Road’ now reads  ‘Prabhadevi’.” And, at the bar, colleagues looked at each other, picked up their drinks, and dug into the food before them. One of them turned to another and said, “Did you say you grew up in Raipur? Which school did you go to? My wife grew up there too.”

Meanwhile, the children in the parking lot continued playing, with no interruption or disruption. Nothing had changed for them. Their friends were right there, with them.  They could touch them, feel them, talk to them, push them, race them. They were here and now. Without any hashtags or pretty pictures. 

They say, if you listened very closely that evening, you would be able to hear the sound of sighing. Sighs of relief of a million hands, fingers and thumbs. 

Just imagine an evening like that. Imagine, even as you scroll with your thumb to the end of this piece.

Illustration by Pradnya J

Nandita and I, both IITB EE grads [1971 and 1972], have lived in Melbourne, Australia since September 1990; our sons were then but 11 and 4. We’ve lived through many struggles, trying to establish a new footing. Fortunately, we were able to give the boys a fine education, and a lasting set of values. We now have two delightful grandchildren: Asha nears 11, and Alex 8.

Both of us retired in the last decade after rewarding careers. Twice-yearly overseas travel brought added pleasure to domestic holidays, with accompanying photography. No place was too far. In January 2020 we celebrated Nandita’s 70th in Singapore, joined by her sister and brother-in-law from Bombay.

Then Covid struck.

Mobility crashed as we entered lockdown for an unprecedented 111 days. Far from travelling country-wide or even across the state, we had to remain at home, unless shopping for essential groceries or medicines; visiting medical facilities; care-giving; and limited exercise – all within 5km of home. Severe fines applied to transgressions. Businesses large and small had to shut. Restaurants and cafés closed, laying staff off. Weddings, birthdays, and funeral ceremonies vanished, seemingly forever. Schools and universities resorted to online instruction. The once-busy streets were deserted. Aircraft were grounded. Despondency was writ large on most countenances.

The once-busy streets were deserted. Aircraft were grounded. Despondency was writ large on most countenances.

Online ordering of groceries proved a disappointment. Supermarkets substituted items unilaterally. Pickers were known to load a two kg bag of potatoes instead of two loose potatoes. I received croissants instead of a wholemeal loaf; the subcontinental van-driver had swapped my labelled bags for someone else’s, and a prompt refund was no consolation. I resorted to personal shopping instead.

We seniors were allotted a 7−8am slot for grocery shopping. I mastered the art of waking at 6, rushing through my ablutions, driving 1km to the shopping centre, showing my driver’s licence as age-proof, dropping all the needed supplies into the shopping trolley, going through the self-checkout, and rushing back to the car. On one such morning, I found a deep gouge along the left-side doors of my beloved 10-year-old station wagon – clearly, the elderly driver of the Benz parked beside me was totally ignorant of motion-physics as he reversed out of his slot. I could only gnash my teeth in fury, and pray for forgiveness for his miserable soul.

Our sons played a vital supportive role in keeping us sane and healthy. Shom (41), a Consulting Physician and Rheumatologist, was on the front-line looking after Covid patients in one of the major hospitals to which he is attached. He visited us once a week for a sanity look-in. Never entering our home, he spoke from the porch, two metres away, fully masked. Neel (34), a Business Strategy Consultant with Booz Allen, delivered our groceries weekly, per the list his mother texted him, to discourage our venturing out. They were a blessing, indeed!

In our Bombay days we had watched the incomparable Jeremy Brett [no-one else comes close] in the televised series of Sherlock Holmes stories. The lockdown prompted an online search for discs of this British show. A set of BluRay discs surfaced on Amazon/Spain, with selectable soundtracks [English or a Spanish dub]. 41 stories had been televised before Brett’s untimely passing. Nandita and I watched an episode every third day, revelling in the flawless characterisation of Holmes delivered by the actor. [I know many of the dialogues by heart, owning the complete set in print].

Netflix and Amazon Prime played supporting roles admirably. We discovered The Crown, as well as the wholesome joys of Vidya Balan, and even the symmetrical face of Taapsee Pannu – hitherto unknown stars in our firmament!

For Bengalis such as we are, socio-religious events are markers of the passage of time, as are weddings held in the traditional style. My bagfuls of Nikon gear find deployment at a minimum of three Puja events; all were cancelled last year, as were weddings, at which I delight in shooting detail.

 Digital photography by the author using Nikon DSLR gear

My pictures are treasured by my subjects, and equally by those hosting the events, for they are very different from those shot by the professionals – they are very personal. The gear has, sadly, been languishing for over a year. A fast, new lens arrived from the US, only to be put into safe storage. Disappointing, certainly, but this will end, and the ecstasy will return.

The resilience of my compatriots in general, and Melburnians in particular, has been wondrous and inspirational. Yes, the government stepped in with generous relief payments to the affected, to keep families afloat and businesses in slow preservation. Yes, vaccines were promised; they have been developed. And some will be manufactured right here in Melbourne.

Teachers acquired new skills, and rose to the occasion to deliver online remote learning to their wards. We witnessed how Asha and Alex maintained steady progress, completing and submitting assignments, and participating in group discussions, online. Memories of our lectures at IIT Bombay flooded back – we had “live” teachers, in physical classrooms, and never dreamed of the facilities and devices taken for granted by our grandchildren. We wondered – so much progress, in our lifetime, before our eyes?

We continue to live in a virtual bubble; international travel is forbidden. Yet, in all this, we see a glimmer of hope.

The pestilence has not disappeared, though we have hardly any of it in Australia and New Zealand. We continue to live in a virtual bubble; international travel is forbidden. Yet, in all this, we see a glimmer of hope. We are in our autumn; winter will come, but spring will follow, as will Christmas in the blazing summer.

If we behave ourselves, and follow the rules, we shall be permitted to be with our loved ones in near and distant lands again. Good things come to those who wait, we were taught in childhood. In our 70+ years we have seen enough to have faith. As Hamlet had said to his friend: There are more things in heaven and on earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

We’ll just carry on!