There was a time that, when the weather in summer suddenly cooled down because the clouds decided it was time to shield the sun, I and my friend would pick up our bicycles and roam around the town feeling on top of the world. Vast swathes of the town were then open land and whatever businesses there were, went about their way without much fanfare, without gaudy neon signs or glow signboards. Now, there is virtually no space left open and come night, the neon signs glare at you, street lights are so bright, they try to put daylight to shame, headlamps of cars and scooters and bikes are always on high beam bleaching your retina and air – air heated during the day – is trapped and is further heated by the lights, by the fanfare of business, by the exhaust of the air conditioners and by the passions let loose otherwise and also by people losing their temper because of traffic snarls. Everyone says this is progress. I don’t see how.
Time was when we came to live in this locality having built a house on a plot that we bought at one rupee a square feet. There were just five houses in the colony and the rest of the spaces were open in which dogs and cats bred their families and trees grew their thickets and wild flowers bloomed depending on which season they were fond of. The nearest grocery shop was a kilometer away and the bus, when it came, was visible from a mile away. And wind – well it blew! Today, there are high rise flats in the locality and people live in their own little cubicles from which they get out during the day and disappear into when the dusk is falling. The bus is not visible till it turns the bend and then too, who cares? Everyone has his/her own two/four-wheeler. The grocery stores are a dime a dozen, scattered all over. The dogs are still there and they rear their flea bitten families on the roads. The trees? Some are there, stunted. The wind? Well, it is trapped and tosses back and forth between the walls that radiate heat. The prices of the land have skyrocketed – someone was telling me that the land I live on now costs more than a thousand rupees a square feet. Should gladden my heart, right? So why do I not find that feeling in my heart?
Time was when in the summers we pulled our beds out in the open and waited for the sheets to get cold under the moonlight. When we lay down on those beds while the cool night breeze sang a lullaby, we talked and talked and gradually, imperceptibly slipped some of the words into the dream world. Today, we sleep in our own rooms cooled by air conditioners. The moon has been banished, we read about it in the newspapers or watch it on the telly. And our worries and tensions shatter our dreams. But this is progress, right?
Time was when we did not know what career we were going to opt for even when we were quite grown up, doing our postgraduate studies. We studied for the love of the subject. We never asked what the ‘scope’ of the subject was. Why, we never knew such a question existed! We were more interested in learning the lanes and bylanes of the subjects that we were smitten by. By and by, willy nilly, we got into the careers that roughly complemented our needs and passions and capabilities. Within it we carved out our niche. Today, I see youngsters who are worried about their career right there in their school days. They seek from me and people like me what the scope of the subject is. They are not bothered about what their own scope is. They are bothered about the ‘package’ a subject can offer them. They are uncaring about whether they find pleasure in the subject that offers them the highest package. If I ask them about pleasure, they hit back by saying that they will definitely find pleasure in something which gives them a lot of money. I think they are plain wrong. They think I am an old fogy. We are progressing now like we never have. You think so?
When the day broke on a holiday or when we got a sudden few hours free, we would put the bat on our shoulders or drag it on the ground behind us eking out devious lines in the dust, clutch the ball in our palms and head for the ground. Or we would simply go and lodge ourselves in some friend’s house and in the compound chase butterflies or just roam about in the streets plucking guavas or sitaphals (custard apple) or imlis (tamarind) or cheezbilais (don’t know the English for this) from the roadside trees and gorging ourselves on those divinities. Occasionally we went into a huge hall which sported a huge screen and giant speakers and saw and heard Amitabh Bachchan dishuming the baddies and then singing paeans to his lady love. Today, the youngsters get stuck to the computer screen playing games without moving a limb. They interrupt the game momentarily and look at the tiny screens held in their hands and talk to their friends through it without ever seeing the animation on their faces. From the third screen Shahrukh Khans and Saif Ali Khans and Abhishek Bacchans pour inanities into the living room throughout the day. Ah! This is progress indeed – you don’t have to go anywhere to enjoy your holiday.
Yesterday, in the summer nights, we were thrilled to hear the tiny bell sound and to its accompaniment the shrill sales cry “Ae Ras!” (Hey, sugarcane juice). A clamor would start and we would get out with a few paisas clutched in our hands and demand whatever could be got with the circular metal pieces in our palms. Then, the liquid would be shared till everyone got a little of it. It was cooled by ice made from water sources that were supposed to be dirty. But everyone was pleased by the effect, by the taste and the cool feeling it left in the mouth. Today, packets of juice rot in the fridge and get thrown in the waste basket after the best before date is over. There is plenty for everyone and yet I don’t see that pleasure on the faces after they have imbibed it. We can put it down to progress, right?
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I love it.
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Avinashjee
Reminded me of the bliss during my childhood days. Uncongested streets, quiet nightimes on the terrace under starlit skies, eating nongu (fruit of the palmyra tree, taadgola I believe in Hindi) straight from the hawker's hands....
We are missing so much of life in the name of progress.
Very well essayed. Left a longing ache within me.
Melody
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going down your memry lane
and the lane of the saunter durung summer
was very interesting....
enjoyed it.
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Kitna badal gaya insaan ?
Yes, Avinashjee I too fondly remember thos days. That is why I decided to live in my native or
another village after retirement. DMR Sekhar.
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Felt nostalgic reading your piece. I miss those good old days when there was so much simplicity about life. But change is the law of nature and it will take place whether we like it or not. I don't think all change is 'progress'. Much of it is not.
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Avinash,
Wonderfully written. I also think on the same lines, you have put it much better than I could. True, progress is a strange word with even stranger connotations.
More money, more things, more comforts, more luxury...... for what and for whom? Is progress the opposite of peace, happiness, knowledge?
Apurba
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avinashji
it is scientific and technological progress....and may nostalgia live forever..recently when i went to delhi...to the university...the landscape has changed so much .. made me looooooooong for the old university..kamla nagar..
You made me nostalgic...maybe summer is the time to be..
reflector
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Avinashji
Thought provoking blog. The fun and frolic of nature and little things have become a history now overseeded by the technology. Kids are grwoing in high pressure, high IQ environment loosing to be just themselves kids.
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Avinash: This is a powerful piece, as I belong to nearly a generation before you, I remember things that were probably told to you by your parents. Those were sylvan times, but there was more starvation. In my lifetime, the Bengal famine raised its ugly head: I think there are more people in hunger than my time but may be proportionately less: I really do not know, which is better.
Rgds, Girdhar
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interesting write Avinash
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