My last blog post was a long while back - May 2017 to be precise, and since then so much has happened in my life. I didn't plan to take a hiatus from writing - it just happened that my studio work and other management areas took over my time, leaving me with very little spill over to fit in anything "extra". I was sleeping only between two to four hours every night during this time - and in-between all of this was also supervising the building and completion of a new residence that we had purchased. I turned sixty in 2018 and we decided to reinvent our lives to suit the next 25 year span - so we moved out of our bungalow and into a large single level flat - which though bigger in square foot area to our older bungalow - allows me to zip about at mad max speeds within my multitasking world of choices. June makes six months since we have moved into 901 Raama Palacio in Gotri Vadodara, and though we are well settled, there still remain a few teething problems that occur from time to time.
I received a number of queries from well wishers asking me to resume my writing and was deeply touched that my "conversations" with the outside world had held areas of connection and value for others. Thank you, those of you who have so faithfully followed my blog over the years, for the embrace of belief.
It seems too obvious to talk about COVID19 and the strange new reality it has bequeathed us. But there is no escape. That it is an experience that connects the entire global population within a single time frame is what perhaps makes it so unique. What is the greatest pain and sorrow in all of this has been (and continues to be) how the helpless and less fortunate are being mistreated through this surreal phenomenon we are facing. As politicians argue and put up smoke screens to fudge the truth- the economically less fortunate are stripped of their livelihood and their dignity, as each day passes. Today as cities like Vadodara attempt to limp back to new semblances of normalcy, our labour force that really is the heart of our survival are uncertain of whether to trust their lives back within our safekeeping any longer. When they needed our help the most, too many of us sadly looked the other way. Today, for many, the safety of their small patches of land and their existences in their quiet villages are more comforting despite the hardships they face, in comparison to the horror of abandonment and disregard that their city employment offered them.
I now live on the 9th floor. Our flat has large glass panels in every room from where I can look out. It is located in a posh part of the city. However that is really only the snobbery of a postal code mapping. In reality hungry street dogs scavenge from the garbage piles along the road side. I watch people drive along this quiet road in very expensive cars, who slow down and callously throw out their garbage and drive on. Who cares? Not many. We are the Indian's whose mantra is "tolerance"! So whether we throw putrefying trash out or drag the corpses of the dead like meat in a slaughter house - we are supposed to practice that Indian mantra of "tolerance". I don't know about you but my threshold is near breaking point these days. I voted as a responsible citizen for an elected governance at both the state and the centre. Can all the politicians stop playing blame games and take accountability. Wake up! Its time to put actions into play. Placating public speeches are like bad bedtime stories - they don't hold the imagination that allows us to achieve betterment or provide us a landscape of believable probability. It is after all crisis that allows true leadership to be seen - so far there are no real heroes from any spaces of elected office providing us the answers we need.
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