The Endless Fields of Possibilities

I was the first born to my parents. Many, many moons ago. My grandfather was some kind of a philosopher, a college professor of mathematics, the father of eight children and spent his spare time doodling with the stars, writing almanacs for sundry people, mostly children born into the family. A family that lived and ate together, scores of them, in the house they called home in Mymensingh, now in Bangladesh, then the largest district of undivided India. A lot was happening in those tumultuous days. The British were preparing to abdicate the jewel in the crown and hand it over to the soon-to-be-independent country of India, the Congress, the Muslim League and all the players were hastily drawing lines on a piece of paper, coloured in the hues of saffron and green, dividing what was a conglomeration of more than 500 princely States into two independent countries of India and Pakistan. Believers on both sides knew they were right and dissent was replied with in violence and vengeance. The trains were packed to the rooftops and the trails going to either side of the divide we teeming with people looking forward to the uncertain future of possible opportunities and unknown destinies. Streets were wet with the crimson colour of blood shed between fighting members who till recently were neighbours and called themselves brothers to a cause of a shared destiny. It was in this backdrop that the family moved to what was hoped would be a more tolerant environment. Bags were packed of those who would make that journey into Calcutta of a Hindu majority India, while others decided to stay back among what they considered their own, within the familiar smell of the evening dust and the colours of the now barren and mostly forgotten fields. The family exodus took some time to materialise and by the time those who would make the journey arrived at this new country they would call home, a few years had passed by since Partition and Independence and both countries were settling down to relative peace and quiet, trying to build a future from the remnants of a torn past.

The years went by, people graduated from School, some went to college, some found jobs to support the family to put food on the table for the many hungry mouths. My father followed his elder brother into the Army, continued his love and passion for soccer and went on to represent the country on numerous occasions. He entered the Armed Forces, became a Gorkha, went on playing until one day the bubble burst and he never donned the football boots again after being dropped from the national team for the Rome Olympics of 1960. A year later he was married and after another year rolled along, I was born. And as was possibly the norm, my grandfather spent many hours reading the stars, making calculations on his note pad and finally penned down what was to be my almanac. It used to be with my mother till a few years ago, maybe it still is, I don’t know, but I did have the opportunity to glance through the illegible figures and indecipherable charts when I was still growing up. (Have I stopped growing up, I winder!) Anyway, in the few pages of the almanac that paraphrased the squigglies, I remember a statement that has stayed with me till this day. It mentioned that one day I would renounce the world and head off into the unknown. The thought stuck with me ever since and often times I sniggered at it since I liked what this world was giving me in terms of its many wonders, its people, friends, food, games and sports, the movies, drives into the country, train rides during the summer holidays and the many wonderful experiences growing up meant.

I grew in years, passed college, got a job, fell in love, exchanged garlands, was blessed with two beautiful bundles of joy, lived a happy and contented life, watched the girls grow up, travelled extensively, but the little part of the brain that hosts the memory glands did not allow me to forget that one phrase from my almanac – I would renounce the world.

I was never much of a talker. I liked my solitude, I liked my peace, I liked my space, I liked to be left to myself, lost in my own thoughts and dreams and sometimes demons. I liked it that way. The passion for long drives was born when I picked up my first car and had by then moved to Delhi. I would drive anywhere, anytime, any distance. And my job allowed me to do that quite often. Sometimes I think I purposely designed it in such a way that a long drive became necessary. And I would head off for a few days. Often times alone, sometimes with people since the purpose of the drive, dictated by the job, demanded such company.

As days went by, I found myself sitting on the banks of the Ganges near Rishikesh every other weekend. Ostensibly to raft, sometimes with a few friends who knew about my new found love for the sport, but often enough just to be in the solitude of the sand, listening to the sound of the gushing river as it cascaded down the mountains to meet its own serene self a few kilometres down, in the holy city of Haridwar. I found myself sitting on the shore, gazing interminably into the frothing waters. Come night, only the sound remained in the blackness of the night and it was then that the mysteries of the universe would be attempted to be unravelled in the flickering flames of the camp fire. Often there would be other people who had come down to the river to enjoy the exhilarating experience of river running and we would all be sitting around the fire. Liquid refreshments would be flowing aplenty and sometimes someone would break into a song. Often the songs were full of fun and gaiety while sometimes the singer would get lost in some memory stuck deep inside the heart, singing as if the world did not exist, as if no one was listening, as if the soulful tune would somehow find its way through the valley, skim the waters and find its way into the heart of its intended recipient. Those were some happy days indeed.

People talk of civilisation and the need to get away from it all. I wonder what is the definition of civilisation. Does it lie in the middle of a concrete jungle, speeding its way down the black, bitumen encrusted tarmac or does it lie in the confines of the open fields, the dense jungles, the snow capped mountain ranges, the glistening glaciers, the specks of sand or in the crest of the never ending ocean waves? Does it lie where there is intense competition to be one up on the other person or does it lie where life’s entire existence depends on food, shelter and survival? Why is civilisation defined as a place where we eat more than we need to and is not defined by the place where no one kills more than is required to feed the family? Why is civilisation governed by the size of the car and the address of the residence than by the strength of character that so defines virtually every other species on Earth barring mankind? Is civilisation something that Man has invented, or has it been there for millions of years before the first Neanderthals walked this planet? For every human being that lives and breathes, there are possible hundreds of thousands of other creatures that call the Blue Plant home. Yet, the only two legged animal that stands upright defines who and what this Earth should be, what the rules to live by are, which trees to cut to feed our growing demand for conquest of the land and territorial supremacy.

How much better the world would be if we could get up in the morning and leave from wherever we find ourselves, without having to worry about locking the door and securing our belongings. How much calmer everyone would be if all that we treasured could be confined in a pack on our backs. How much more pleasurable it would be if everyone would share a rock to rest the weary head on with another equally fatigued individual. If the food would be communal, shared by one and all, without the thought of “mine” and “yours”. I frankly believe that the homeless are very content people. Of course life is difficult. But when I see the smile on a child’s face, playing with another at a traffic light, I do not see the pain, I just see the joy of the here and now. Money does not buy everything, people say. Others agree that money is not important, but go on to say that tears are more bearable sitting in a car than lolling by the roadside.

Money is what corrupts our world. Money and what it stands for and what it represents. But really, what does money really buy apart from greed? A better job, a better salary, a better car, a bigger house, better clothes, better lifestyle, the holiday abroad, the fancier college, life in air conditioned comfort, shopping in snazzy shopping malls buying over priced goods. That is what money gives us. I hear people say that is the face of growth, of ambition, of development. But what good is development when we have forgotten to breathe the fresh air, feel the tickle of the grass as we walk barefoot on the park, feel the cool, clean taste of the water from a mountain stream? Why do we have to live a cocooned life drinking bottled water, eating packaged food, living in a house that does not allow fresh air to circulate, driving in cars that ensure that our muscles atrophy in time? And technology has brought in more trouble. In the olden days we used to write letters in a 15p postcard. We would send telegrams with important news and send money home through a money order. Today’s life is defined by how fast the thumb can operate the buttons on a cell phone and life continues in its merry ways without us ever having to leave the confines of our recliners. God forbid that mobile telephony or the internet were to go on holiday for even a few hours, The world would descend into chaos, riots would break out and there would be Breaking News on television announcing the end of the world.

What a sad time we live in when children have to be taken to a zoo to see what Nature is all about. Protected forests, far from the city, is where we get to know about plants and trees. Children today do not know the joys of skinning their shins while climbing a tree or knowing where their friends are by the collection of bicycles on the pavement. How many children today have seen a catapult? How many have savoured the delight of the first bite of a freshly plucked fruit? There might still be some but unfortunately they are becoming the fast receding minority. No, I do not attribute it to evolution when we LOL instead of laugh out loud. How many milliseconds are saved when we text KEWL instead of COOL? In these days of instant gratification, life revolves around 140 characters. We as a community are losing basic moral values, forgetting something called etiquette that was so dear to our forefathers. Why, we are even forgetting our spellings when we have to compress our thoughts in a few characters where vowels become irrelevant and unnecessary.

I have a feeling that every generation goes through the apocalyptic thoughts that my words above seem to depict. Yet, generations have lived on this Earth and hopefully many more generations will continue to thrive. I am not against development and technology creeping into our lives. What I am against is the forgetting of our legacy. We have become so dependent on external factors for our happiness, health and well being, that if we take anything away, apocalypse is deemed to be at hand. And that is a sad state of affairs. I am not against driving a fancy car, provided we know the joys of a summer breeze on our face as we ride the bicycle.

But I have digressed into a whole different argument and that was not my intention. I started of by being born and my grandfather penning my almanac.

Increasingly, over the years, I have sought solitude. At every opportunity I have tried to go away somewhere, beyond people, beyond “civilisation”, beyond the noise of the city to savour the sound of the jungle, of the wind kissing the leaves, the snow falling gently from the skies and resting softly on the ground. I like to see the rocks grow. I revel in watching the sun as it makes its way across the sky. I like to watch the rabbits scampering across the fields. I like the sound of a mountain stream. I like to watch the fish as they dart around in the shallow waters. I like to see the birds flying nonchalantly in the sky catching the thermals or pausing to trod the ground looking for some worm or seed that will become their meal. I like the scrunching sound when I walk on the dry leaves that the trees shed knowing that soon it will be a new beginning with new leaves covering the branches.

Yes, I love the wild.

But is it really the wild? Or is it something that we call wild because it is not what we call civilised? Personally, I find civilisation in the wild. I would rather be in a geography that is as pristine as the Maker wanted it to be. Where life just is and does not need to be defined artificially by what Man thinks life should be. It is in the pristine calmness of the wild that I find my solitude. Is it lonely? No way. It is solitude, but it is not loneliness. It is where I can find myself and listen to my thoughts without having the din, chaos and cacophony of the world drowning out all thought.

I would love to be called a Leather Tramp. A person who goes from one place to the next. A vagabond maybe, an explorer certainly. An adventurer out to discover himself and his destiny. Somewhere I can realise the reason for my existence. I know I have a destiny to fulfill, all I need to do now is to figure out what that destiny really is.

So, am I going to give it all up and become an ascetic as my grandfather predicted? I don’t think I will end up quite the way he may have predicted. But I certainly see my sojourns into the invigorating and rejuvenating wilderness becoming more frequent and longer in duration. I certainly see that happening. I also see a place for myself where I can go and settle for some length of time. A place that is open to one and all. To come in as they please. To stay for as long as they like. To come for the solitude. To meditate. To cool off. To chill. To get away from it all. To just sit around a camp fire and talk about stuff without being judged, without being thought of as odd, without being in any way conscious of this bunch of people sitting around a fire talking about fate and destiny and the wild as the place where civilisation really resides.

And I will be equally content if no one comes there at all and I am left there with my own thoughts and feelings, my own questions and answers, my own solitude, gazing at the distant horizon, knowing that no borders exist. Either literally or figuratively.

Yes, there is an endless field of possibilities out there, and some day I am going to make that journey to discover those possibilities. Someday real soon.