Freedom

I can begin writing about my idea of Freedom by quoting some of the most famous speeches made by remarkable men, both Indian and otherwise. But that would rob the whole exercise of its purpose, wouldn’t it? Yet, I would do exactly the same, not because I am shorn of ideas or that I do not have any contoured definition for myself, but because I want to trace what has been talked about and juxtapose that with what I think. That way, a long due process of dedicating some time in thinking about a subject that has been the hallmark of the existence humankind can be initiated. I am no scholar, and I do not proclaim that I will produce something momentous, but what I can do is reflect on what defines my being, the rationale of it and the ultimate objective that underlines it.

Of all the recorded exemplars, Lincoln probably was the earliest, and perhaps the most influential architect of the concept of a free land, “a nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.” There might have been many more advocates of freedom before him, and even more philosophical, but what sets Lincoln apart from them is the nature of his campaign. While others might have been fighting for their freedom, the independence of their land, Lincoln was advocating for freedom in a nation already free from foreign rule. Those days, the ghost of slavery was rampant in the States, and being a northerner himself, Lincoln was more vocal than any other political figure in the exorcism of the ghost. What might have freedom meant to him? Was it the same for his fellow Americans? I cannot guess.

The only other example I would like to cite before I go on to my rendition of freedom is that of Gurudev Tagore. While he was arguably the single most intellectual figure in the history of modern India, he was also a freedom fighter within his ambit. I do not belittle the gargantuan contributions of many other Indian freedom fighters, but this is not what we are talking of is it? Freedom, a territory “where the mind is without fear and the head is held high”, was much more than the independence from British rule for Gurudev. Where tireless striving stretches its hands towards perfection and where the stream of reason has not been lost in the dreary desert sand of dead habit, it is that free land where he wants India to awaken.  

When I think of Freedom, suddenly everything starts becoming nebulous. The independence associated with the flight of thoughts suddenly starts getting arrested as I find myself caught in a situation where I have lot of views but am really short of an opinion. One might wonder what the difference is, and that is where it becomes difficult to identify what is a cultivated view and is an original opinion. There is so much of brouhaha, and in such a limited time-frame, that it becomes overkill. Everyone, all of a sudden, has an opinion.  Is it a patriotic feeling? Is it about killing the rampant corruption? Probably…not infringing on the freedom of someone else?

I was walking along the boulevard, thinking about the meaning of freedom, the significance of freedom and went on to ponder on relevance of Independence Day in the modern day context. Unlike most other people, who talk about patriotism and all that blah, what was more vocal in my concerns was the tolerance, and more than that, acceptance of the idea of individuality. When I say freedom, I think I should mean the “swikriti” of my being, not only in my immediate surroundings but also in the proximity on which I do have a direct bearing. I can claim to be a member of a free society and go on to exercise my freedom in plentiful ways, but will that guarantee my acceptance? I am doubtful. I can, likewise, lay a claim to being a free citizen but will that assure me of being treated as one? What happens when I impinge on someone else’s individuality, directly or indirectly? Is there something at all that can be called someone’s individuality? Is freedom trying to break free from all obligations that one feels were a restraint? We can discuss at length about these and many more questions, and that will not establish anything; it will not precipitate anything from the pall that already is.

Gandhi had a very eloquent definition of freedom, or independence, if I may. People say he was free from any fear, that he taught his countrymen to rid all reservations that restricted their thoughts, thereby making simple things complicated. Fair enough. He had his own ways. Does he, by any means, if measured by the methods of achieving his ends, become any greater or any different that many of his contemporaries, Indian or not? No. Many others say he was an industrious schemer. Will that reduce his impact world over? No. The one thing that can make the simple crack in the perception of Gandhi’s and others look like a wider chasm is the acceptance that he has gained in the history of humankind. I am not polar when I say that he can be called one of the most influential and popular political figures of the last century, almost as tall, if not taller that Churchill or JFK. And many today might not like eulogies being written about him, but that fact of the matter is that when we talk about freedom, we inherently talk about Gandhi. Such was his stature and such is his acceptance.

Was Gandhi a free man? I am too diminutive a person to talking stuff of such magnitude, and trying to make sense simultaneously. I am an ordinary person, and like ordinary beings, I have ordinary opinions. What I say of believe is undoubtedly conditioned by what I listen to, what I see and what I am subject to. The emotions that an American has about freedom are visibly different from what I am subject to. Money minded person might think the Laissez-Faire to be the ultimate form of freedom; a patriot might want to see his nation’s flag waving high above in the space of nationhood; a socially ostracized entity might want acceptance; a painter has a different pair of glasses to envision freedom and they all might be different. Agreed. But do I have something that I can say is my idea of freedom? I am afraid.

Allow me to take another step towards understanding freedom and putting it before you. When I see people from different walks of life, engaged in completely disconnected activities, acknowledge a particular code of conduct, without begrudging the necessity or perhaps the need of it, I think I am living in a society where the civic code can be indubitably be called Freedom; when I see cultures intermingled to the extent that the physical divisions seem a mere camouflage to the real congruence that resonates in those cultures, I think I am a part of a free social echelon; when I see conflicting ideologies, and the subsequent disposition to harbor the differences argumentatively, I think I am witnessing a free thought process, “where”, to quote Gurudev, “the words come out from the depth of truth”, and “the world has not been broken down into fragments by narrow domestic walls.”

Now, there is a little skepticism growing in my mind, even as I point out my definitions of freedom. Will these ideas be accepted as illustrations of Freedom? Am I able to talk sanity? Here is where I will conclude. If I am a free man, I have all the time and entitlement to produce my variants, and if I am a part of a free society, the populace will, magnanimously tolerate my catharsis and accept it, even if after a stimulating and provocative discourse. By the virtue of being living beings, we are free to follow any course of action or voice any concern/opinion, but that alone does not vouchsafe a free identity. The collective unconscious of a people that can together represent a level of acceptance for any independently expressed thought, action or deed, will indeed be the hallmark of freedom for me. Freedom is not, and cannot be a product of a fleeting thought, but a companion of an ever present identity.

Signing off

Vivek Sharma

Settling Down

I got a place to live in. And quite a swanky place that is, let me tell you. For those who are a little too concerned with the details, it is a 2bhk without an expressive toilet and an open, even smaller kitchen. I got a sofa in my kitty, even as I stand to lose a seventh of my salary every month along with the three others I am sharing the flat with. The flipside is that I am not sharing the place with someone I have known well enough. Besides, methinks this joy, the kind that I am feeling after having finalized a place, robs me of the pleasure of enjoying the company of dearer people, and those who helped me put up with this unclean city for one seemingly unending month. You can’t have the best of both worlds, tells a fellow employee, and very rightly. On a second thought, I realized that there is a third angle involved, the one which now has assumed paramount importance: the employment that I have. A recent, random browse over the internet seemed to pull up a fascinating report in which they ranked my employer as the best people to start your career with. How many of us, fresh graduates, will agree is the question. But that is what reports are meant for, aren’t they? And what different work are we, as consultants (this is still a far-fetched euphemism for the labor we are entrusted with), providing to our clients, if not detailed reports on things they already acknowledge and the labyrinthine maze of details that stares in their face if otherwise. To account for the third angle, this place is closer to the office, theoretically.

I got a new job in one of my dreams. In fact, I was offered two jobs, one with QUALCOMM, and the other with ZS Associates. No sooner did I accept the ZS offer than I was shaken awake. Would I leave for zs? This was a moment was realization that my dreams are no longer the pleasure they used to be. What has become of the brain-box that was the source of a Bengali-British romance? Or a Russian, in the worst case? Instead, all I dream is about abandoning one clerical post for another, and even worse. The QUALCOMM thing was just the dream, one of those which you can attribute the “too good to be given a thought to” phrase to. The dwindling memories of the college days bring a cheer or two to the chapped lips. Ah! The days of glory! (I hereby announce the poetic liberty to concoct stories that render exuberance to an otherwise drab personality).

I will come back to the city and its attributes, and not just for the sake of it. Besides, there is a lot more to this city than meets the eye. Now this one is not a hateful ranting, but just another piece of observation and something that co-incidentally turns out to be not-so-pleasant for people who admire this city. This thing is about the fact that no matter how early I leave for home after work, there has not been a single day that I have reached within two hours. It so happens that I do not get a bus that goes to my place within half an hour. And when I do, the traffic here does not allow the vehicle to move. So, I am not at fault if I am left thinking that this whole city contrives against me, and wants me to be out. But I am a gutsy feller and I am still sweating it out here, ain’t I? Another incident that I now remember is a train journey and some help I thought could have done me some good. Never mind the details, but I was hurried into boarding the wrong train by none other than the station master. I was going to get the paperwork done for the new place I am going to be in. And the perfectionist that I am touted to be, I found flaws with the land-lady, the broker and almost everyone else involved with the handing over. (i am back to writing this after a span of 3 weeks or more and I can assure that this was not how it was going to be at the moment of inception).

Ok, so the place is somewhere in a locality called Chunabhatti, just of the eastern express highway. Does it ring familiar bells? Nopes, because the bell tolls for the four horsemen. Yeah, I am done improvising (fooling around).

Now, theoretically, it should take only thirty minutes to get to my workplace. But the place this city is, and Vivek Sharma, the perfectionist, does not want to try and find fault with it, makes it impossible to get back to my so called “home sweet home” after a boring day at work before an hour and a half. Do I give up? Nopes. I am still trying alternate routes, and discovering that travelling through slums, on a theoretically longer path makes your life easier. This is almost equivalent to saying that you want to catch your nose with your fingers, proverbially, and there is this “catch”. There is a plate full of palatable dishes, let’s make it sweets, and your hand cannot avoid them once you set your eyes upon it. Hence, whenever it gets an option of reaching for your nose directly, it first glides through the highly contaminated space to the plate, thrusts the delicacy into the ever small-ing mouth, and then “tries” to locate the sensory organ that was instrumental in causing the delay (can be both the eyes and the nose, and I would chose the nose here). Now, there is always an alternate. Life is a little too generous in a way that it always offers you a choice. You can restrict your hand to catching your nose from behind the neck. Not that the sense organ or your eyes would not get a whiff of the mouthwatering delight, but that since you hand is only as long, the prospect of pampering yourself first would seem a far-fetched idea. Consequently, after a bearable spell of disliking the process, it consummates. You have the tip of your nose in your finger tips and can award any punishment for causing the pain of missing out on your favorites. Need I say more?

Once upon a time Vivek Sharma was a student. Ah! Those days seem so far removed thoughts. Now Vivek Sharma is a salaried employee who cannot afford to miss a single day in office lest he should lose a valuable chunk of his monthly gross. The trouble is not about being regular or having been stuck into a routine life; that was anyway the case back in college. The issue here is that I “cannot” miss here whereas I did not “want” to miss there. Those were the days when I used to be a “potli baba” is you remember one from our childhood. For those who were sophisticated enough to watch Simpsons or any other cartoons for that matter, he had a lot of stories in his “potli”. Now, I fare no better than a grandma who keeps repeating the same stories. But then there is always a better way to repeat a story. I have some of them in my repository as well. How many of you think that as a writer, I need an apprentice? I don’t think; a friend here does. She asked me to employ her as my secretary who would keep giving me ideas on topics to exercise my writing skills on. Not a bad idea at all, if it is a she is it?

I get my bus from a stop named Priyadarshini, right on the Eastern Express Highway, and that is the busiest route in Mumbai, so far as I can tell. Anyone who has to move out of Mumbai to the central suburbs and the harbor line areas, has to go through this route and via Dadar. This causes an understandable amount of suffocation on this route. There are 15 buses to my destination. Only one can avoid this route, remember the catching-your-nose story. So I always have 15 choices. Yesterday, I took a bus which was vacant but with a swarm of people towards the back door. I thought of getting in through the front door, and I did. To my horror, the drover and the conductor, both, blocked my way, asked me to get down and board the bus from the back door and no sooner did I get down than they started the bus. I was aghast at this pompous behavior of those public servants. And they say Mumbai has the best people you find in India. I have yet to come to terms with this. To add to this, the bus dragged on a rather old man while he was trying to get on to it. I was more the more fortunate one to be able to set a foot on the stairs. Later inside, when a few sympathetic travellers raised the case of the poor fellow, the conductor simply shrugged off the responsibility by saying that every day, everyone boards the bus, there is no different treatment to any one, and that the driver was not at fault. There is a proverb saying that the boss is always right. Here, everyone, right from the bus driver and the conductor, let alone the boss, is always right it seems. This land of dreams gives me dreads.

One thing that I realized from my stay here in Mumbai is that overstaying your welcome is not the best of ideas. A fool that I was, I was already a bit late to realize it and even more late to act upon it. As they, if you do not make mistakes, you do not learn. I am a wiser man now.