I finally reached Vishakapatnam after a long and uncomfortable flight. The man whose seat in the front row I had requested for glaring at me as he passes by in the aisle. The man next to me reading “The Power of Now” all the way through – at the “entering the now” chapter, suddenly closing the book and his eyes and going into deep breathing mode – short sharp loud breaths. Enough to frighten any small children who may be lurking… Not the ideal companion on a flight where you are seeking silence…
The announcements of the flight attendants – ab farsh pe lagey battiyan dheemi kar di jaayengi… and later on landing, agar aapko kisi prakar ki sahayata ki zaroorat padey to kripaya hamare vaanijya karmachariyon se sampark karein… huh? I had written about the schizophrenic nature of Tamil… I guess all languages acquire a schizophrenic slant in their time and place…
At Vizag, the car waiting to take me to Kakinada… I get into the front seat so I can stretch my legs out and fumble for the seat belt… The driver smiles at meand shakes his head – and tells someone else in telugu (which he believes I do not understand) – these Bombay people, they have such strange ideas… And the next morning, I open the Indian Express and see the Chief Minister YRR’s smiling face on the front page – CM in the hot seat, says the caption; the photograph is of the CM inside a car wearing his seat belt, appealing to everyone to follow the rule…
A drive of nearly three hours to Kakinada we pass theough small villages. Villages like those elsewhere in India, except maybe more prosperous – children shouting and playing on the streets, tractors and bullock carts carrying huge bales of hay, the women outside the homes preparing food for the night, old men sitting in groups and talking – and staring through eyes glazed with cataract as our car passes… The one thing I notice is the statue in the middle of each village – not the emaciated figure of Mohandas Gandhi that is seen in villages across the country, but that of Dr. Ambedkar… These statues, short and blue suited, having lent their heads for passing crows and pigeons to relieve themselves over decades, stand as silent witnesses to the social and political struggles this region has seen…
Finally home… a strange uncomfortable peace has settled in by the time I reach. Everyone has had time to get used to it, if ever one can get used to someone’s death… Life goes on…