Emotions vs. Economics

First two months in the year went by living in the city and doing the same mind numbing metro routine amidst pollution, burgeoning traffic and leading unhealthy lifestyle both health and attitude-wise. I decided to take the much needed break to travel back to my village and spend an extended weekend waking up to the call of the birds and cattle, walking around the green fields covered with dew, and spending sometime on the riverside.

I made conversations with the farmers who spoke high of my lineage and shared anecdotes from my great grandfather’s days that pumped up my pride. I gloated in pride and felt like the “King of the Jungle” for a few minutes, but realities of life soon brought me back to the present. The conversation apart from pumping up my pride pushed me into a self-enquiry mode. Have I gone too far away from my roots? Should I stick to what my ancestors did? Should I quit my job and come back to the village? It was not just the people at the bottom of the pyramid who continue to live in poverty, but the gods too. A few temples that was built and protected by my ancestors were in dilapidated condition and it was impossible to walk past it closing my eyes and disowning my responsibility. Sadly both those who worked in the field and the gods who stayed close to the fields were in bad shape. But the capitalistic side in me was weighing the opportunity cost of coming back to the village vs. the opportunity cost of continuing my job in the city.ROI!

Every meal we’ve had so far, the rice, tamarind and pulses came from our land and not from the supermarket next door. Is it because of that why I feel a deep sense of guilt, shame and responsibility in my mind and heart today? I was unable to shrug those feelings off. Here I am working in the Software industry making the new dollars, while neglecting the sunshine sector of India.

Many of us, me including me, expect our employers to give us raise and promotion year after year, we bargain for better medical insurance, we look around for jobs with better salaries, and on top of that there is gratuity if you lasted in the organization for more than 5 years. But those who work in the farm there is none of the above. There is no guarantee if we will hold on our lands and if they will get employment for life and for those who continued to work for decades, there is no PF, gratuity or even reverence. For life at the root, there are no promises, but only compromises. Life is hard, unappreciated and always nascent.

My ancestors’ alteast for the past 4 generations have all been agrarians. In 1978 my father moved us from village to a metro with the ambition to give us good education. Even then we came back to the village every year during the summer vacation. We played in the fields with cows and calves, we played hide and seek in the haystack and enjoyed the journeys to the next village in bullock carts.

In the city today, we all lead a sedentary profession in air-conditioned offices and in front of laptops, incessantly complain about power-cuts, water shortage and traffic jams, but seldom have we realized the hard work that goes in the fields in sweltering heat and shivering cold to grow grains, unpredictable nature that dumps rain and heat without any promise. Here is the pseudo spiritualist in me weighing which of us reduce our karma loads faster, is it the people in the city or the people in the village?

All said and done my ancestors provided employment opportunities to those in the bottom of the pyramid. Generations after generations these peasants worked on our fields and a few still continue to work. Those were the times when life style involved hard physical labor and people remained healthy and satisfied. Today, hospitals and ailments have multiplied along with disease of the body and mind (dissatisfaction and depression).

Our land holding have been intact for the past 60 years and we have tried to cultivate paddy atleast twice a year and alternate years in every patch of land ensuring employment and food for those who dependent on our land for livelihood. There have been years of bad monsoon, when my mother jewels were kept in the bank to pump some money into agriculture and keep the ecosystem healthy and alive. After having gone through the cycles of bumper harvest and drought for 50 years my dad shared his views when I promised to pump in cash from the city to support the crumbling agricultural ecosystem.

He explained with patience the whole agricultural ecosystem and how we’ve started the chain reaction by moving to the cities. “It is not just us who have migrated to the city in search of greener pastures, but many from these villagers have moved to cities to support our never ending need and greed. Those security guards who guard our homes all night in the company of mosquitoes while we merrily sleep in air-conditioned rooms, those call centre drivers who work all nights to make their ends meets, and janitorial staff who clean behind us and our left over come from this agricultural ecosystem. We have started the chain reaction by turning on the engine of greed and moving to the city. Education may be a cure for poverty, but it definitely seems a killer when it comes to the ecological pyramid. We are both a part of the problem and the solution.”

We haven’t sold even an acre of land in the past 60 years though the number of families and next generations has steadily migrated to the city leaving the farmlands brown and barren. Today shortage of labor is the biggest crises plaguing the agrarian society more than shortage of water or failure of monsoon. But signs of capitalism are seen in agrarianism. Not just cities, but agriculture too is going through the phase of mechanization. From sowing to harvesting machines are making in-roads into the villages. As a result of all this rapid urbanization, deserting the farmlands, abandoning roots we’ve create a harangue in the Parliament over inflation. People on top of the pyramid and at the bottom are feeling the pinch and pain, let us hope Darwinism will heal the pain of evolution in the long run.

Even if I am ready to move back to the village today, the old generation that still lives with sincerity and gratitude is on the verge of extinction and the youth has moved to the cities. I need the older generation to stay besides me for knowledge transfer. Should we sell the land like the rest, abandon those peasants and turn back to the villages or should we continue hold on to the pride and promise with patience and perseverance? A daunting and haunting question in our mind today.

My father’s failing health requires him to stay in the city and more closer to the hospital, while I am in a profession. Is mid thirties the right time for another professional change? Should I perform the duty towards the family or duty towards holding the land and surviving peasants? Should we give some away some land to those who stayed with us for long and sell the remaining holdings and disown the village? How about the gods and dilapidated temple? Is it inheritance of loss, curse or overburdening responsibility?

But how about pyramids? Well climbing the pyramids seem nothing but going through the circle of life. All that goes up comes down? My ancestral house that once hosted 50 visitors per day and per meal hardly had 5 people in the house. Several sanyasis have stayed in this house (Kanchi Maha periaval, Sringeri Periaval, Sakatapuram Swamigal, etc.) The building and us, both were surviving on the ancestral punya, tales and blessings brought by the visiting farmers. I could see striking similarity in the exposed iron rods from the ceiling and those ribs in the farmer’s chest – gratitude! Where is mine?

Everything seemed like yesterday, memories were strong and the smell is fresh. I sat in every room in the ancestral house and recollected tales of my childhood in that house. My mother showed me the swing that I slept on, my father reminded me of the Phantom stories he narrated in the afternoon. The deserted garden and the cows in the shed looked like an orphans without my grandmother. Against the setting sun I looked at the huge crumbling ancestral home (more than 60 years old), cracks are travelling at a faster rate between the cement and iron that once stayed together like nail and skin, exposing the iron rods beneath it, and my grandmother was also not around anymore. The compound wall to the left of the house had fallen and that seems an easy to build, while nature was redefining relationships and reconstructing boundaries!

So this is the story of the fourth generation retiring agrarian looking at the next generation of capitalists for help. The intangibles on one side of the pan and weighed against tangibles on the other side of the pan turning the human mind is into boxing ring where Emotions play against Economics. Does setting sun against rising moon take away hope and optimism? Does climbing the pyramids take you back to the bottom of the same pyramid? Is it a common occurrence to helplessly watch while caught in the cusp of evolution?

I could no longer see things in a capitalistic or Darwinist point of view, emotions created pangs of guilt and responsibility. For now I plan to watch the Super moon from the fields, this is the second Super moon since my birth. Should I take it as a brightest glow before the outage or a new sign of hope and light in the horizon? I left the village with a heavy heart and a conflicting mind. Life seemed more of confusion than choice.

Nature is powerful, wild and runs its own agenda without giving a hint. Let us watch, for now I have my Monday morning deliverables…

Click on the link to look at some pictures taken in our fields: https://picasaweb.google.com/104497790813148988752/PixUp31911345PM#

Farewell to the Princess of Kunniyur

When one of the neighbors came to see her for the last time she remarked at her piety and dedication. “I have watched grandma for a decade now, rain or shine she is busy praying at dawn and dusk”, said Mrs. Malini. Opinions, judgments and remarks never mattered to her now and then. The relationship she had with almighty and with herself seemed paramount and lasting till the end.

I have seen grandma for the past 35 years and prayers have always been a part of her routine. Infact she would drop in a few coins in my piggy bank only if I prayed with her in the morning and evening. She was not buying my devotion with money but rather teaching me to make deposits in the bank for this life and for the next life.

She was hardly 30 when the tempest of the storms turned her life upside down. Her husband was a public figure and the whole city had come to pay respects to him. She didn’t even have her private moments with the man who left her with six children, a few lakhs in debt and a few hundred acres of land to cultivate. Her mother-in-law took her share of the wealth and left the young widow with six kids. She had no choice between cry or care, she had to stop crying and start caring for her little ones immediately.

There was a blanket of peace and ocean calmness on her face as she lay in the hall surrounded by relatives and visitors and waiting for her sons and daughters to arrive. May be she felt peaceful after dispensing all her responsibilities. Even while was in the hospital she would persistently ask me about my marriage plans. It was my marriage that was in her mind more than her ailment. She was always thinking ahead of her times and her outlook was so forward. Many times she said she was okay if I brought home someone outside the caste. Well she knew more about marriage and partnership, I just had to nod my head, not to peace her, but meekly listen to her.

Today she reminded me of the huge busy banyan tree with flowing roots and filled with chirping birds on every branch of the tree. She was mother to six, grandmother to 18 of us and great grandmother to 8 of us, and many to many more. The tree never discriminates; it is birds that decide to either make it their home or just a perching ground.

Her journey of life was not that simple and straight. With six 6 children, the last one was just a few years old, no siblings to support or relatives to even offer words of wisdom and consolation she had very difficult choices to make. A few of the half dozen were sent to her father in Madurai and the remaining was sent to the newly built bungalow in Chennai with a guardian to watch them over while she decided to stay back in the village and manage 300+ acres of land. She was not educated beyond PUC and but where and how did she pick up the art of management – both people and property? When the doctor came out of the ICU at 2 AM he said the last few minutes were very peaceful, though she cried in pain when they ran the peripheral line earlier that night.

Does equanimity come as a result of experience or is it innate? I will never be able to answer this question for you. But equanimity was her companion till the end. Even in the pit of sorrow or in the pinnacle of happiness, she remained grounded. She had considerably distanced herself from outcomes of any event, but never from humanity. Daughters and daughter-in-laws meant the same to her just as sons and sons-in-law.

She had not given an opportunity for the three daughter-in-laws to raise a finger against her. More than giving someone an opportunity to complain she was just too perfect for people to ape, crib or praise. The three could never recall rebuked by their mother-in-law. Freedom was abundant in the house, but never was it misused.

Be it a festival or function at home, she would be the first one to sit down and make plans. But today we were making plans for her final journey. She was the custodian of values would guide the women in the house. Her kitchen, almirah, her room, her prayer room there was decorum and dainty. Her sense of cleanliness and hygiene was impeccable. She presented herself so well that nobody could stay away from admiring her. She kept her distance, but she always left people in awe and admiration.

I have spent so many summers with her and had an opportunity to closely observe her. Her words and thoughts were as orderly as her room and belongings. Measured, right to the context, compassionate, non-judgmental, and unassuming. She knew how to engage with elderly and children. She was both gentle and genteel. In the 35 year I have never heard her speak ill of anyone. We all have a story to say and a script to enact, but still why should we cruelly judge each other? That was her line.

She would spend half hour with the cook in the morning and give instructions on the meal plan for the day. Apart from giving her the menu, she would give her tips to make it more nutritious and tasty. Her prudence and resourcefulness can never be matched.

She spent her afternoons caring for animals and her garden and in her letters she would talk about the new born calves and varieties of hibiscus and vegetables she has planted in the garden. It didn’t matter if I was in Chennai or in Chicago, I would receive a letter from her every month.
After dinner she would spend listening to songs on AIR, talking to her children and writing letters to her grandchildren. Sometimes men from the village would come to her for advice and wisdom, she was just a friend. Those who came for her funeral narrated many incidents of her care and compassion.

When she lived in the village she would visit us alteast twice a year, once during Diwali and during April. Her visit would be like Christmas to the kids. We would have new clothes, fireworks, sweets and unlimited pampering. Every night after dinner and homeworks, we would throng around her for our story hour. Not sure if Oosi pullai story was a legend, but it was a part of the legacy in our family. Every grandchild would know this story. Since we’ve never seen our grandfather we would ask her to share anecdotes from her wedding, her interactions with my grandfather and about the halcyon days. She would still be in the house among all of us, and yet enjoy her personal space and respected ours.

A widow in her 30s, dressed in 9 yards went on the public platform and addressed the political rallies. It was unacceptable for widows to maintain hair and to go out in public with hair and in 9 yards was blasphemy. Many in the family and village criticized her; secretly many women and widows admired her courage and bravado. Her mother-in-law treated her badly, but she never disrespected even when meted with cruelty. Today I see working women struggling to strike a balance between professional and personal life, tradition and modernity, she had mastered the art then. What qualities to admire, what qualities to appreciate, we were always dumbfounded and today we were incessantly starring at her. She didn’t need her diamonds for her journey anymore, she was radiating in goodness and godliness.

She was never short of criticism, aspersions and it came from all corners, sometimes from her sons and daughters. Nothing is more cruel than being misunderstood by your own blood. She stood tall unwavering and unconcerned. Some found her perfection an eye sore, some found their imperfections in her perfection, some found her equanimity troubling, some found her cold and calculative, but yet she managed to live a life of respect and deliver her responsibilities with perfection and mettle.

She was father to six children and duly dispensed the responsibility of finding good partners and caretakers for the family legacy. She was dear grandmother to 18 children and showed us the way to live and lead our life and was a guarding angel for the 8 grand children.

She appeared asleep, but we all knew she would never wake up from this long sleep. She was lying on her right side and her eyes were intently looking at the photograph of her and my grandfather. Together grandfather and grandmother looked like Rathi and Manmathan. It was time for to end the 50 year separation from my grandfather, time to unite with him in spirits. May be my grandfather’s untimely death brought the best in her.

12 grandchildren held the torch high giving her all the respect and love for her next journey, sons got in the van to complete the final rites, while daughters-in-law for the first time felt the weight on their shoulders. They wiped the tears and got back in the house with memories and learnings of their life time. Our “Mummyma” was gone.