When Death Knocks A Little Closer

In the last few months, India experienced the worst wave of covid. Almost every other person got infected; and almost everyone knew someone who didn’t make it out.

I was part of the luckier few. Although many of my close family and friends got covid, all of them managed to come out of it. So even though I was aware of the really high number of fatalities happening all around, in a way, they remained largely in the form of high statistics.

Until this morning, when I received a message on a whatsapp group, informing that an ex colleague of mine passed away from covid.

Initially, I was in disbelief. This was a large whatsapp community; surely the message was not about the person I had worked with. It must be someone else. But a few frantic messages and calls later, I realized that it was, in fact, him.

Not just a distant statistic. But someone I knew. Someone who in the brief period that our lives had crossed paths, had left his mark through happy, calm memories. Someone who I hadn’t been in touch with lately, but always smiled when I saw a Facebook post from. Someone who was one of the genuinely nicest people I had ever come across.

And suddenly, as of this morning, he is no more.

We’re in the second half of June, and this second covid wave is well into its receding phase. States are starting to come back to normal life. The worst of the pandemic (at least for now) was supposed to be over. Everyone who had made it, was supposed to have made it.

But hearing about his death is a jarring reminder that we’re not out of it. That at no point can we take what we have for granted. This virus doesn’t care who you are, or how nice a person you were. It doesn’t care how many people’s lives are affected by your loss. Every friend and family member who survived this virus might just as easily not have. Like he didn’t.

A part of me knows this isn't about me. The loss I'm feeling is probably not even a fraction of what his family must be going through. But maybe there's something about death that makes you recall details that life lets fade away.

I can still picture him, smiling that kind smile of his that made you feel like everything was okay. Those tired eyes, humbling me and reminding me not to take life for granted, and to cherish every moment while we can.

Because we never know when it will be gone. 

**********

I hope wherever you are, you’re free from all pain.

The F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Conundrum

I love Friends. And no, I don’t mean the generic noun for a group of close people, but the show, F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Anyone who knows me, knows that. I commonly refer to scenes from the show to explain or understand something. I love those six characters - often more than people in my real life. One of my favourite possessions for several years was a poster from the show. And I’ve watched and re-watched all the episodes about a dozen times (and also made my mom watch them alongside me).

But in the last few years, I’ve found other emotions cropping up when I talk about the show: emotions that are not just enjoyment or love. There are scenes - many of them - at which I earlier used to laugh unabashedly, but now find myself cringing uncomfortably. And now, when I explain my love for the show to someone who has never seen it, it’s with an apologetic rider: look, some aspects of the show aren’t very....well, nice.

After all, there’s a definite current of homophobia that is often used as the primary source of entertainment, which we can see in the interactions between the guys. And also a decent amount of fat-shaming, through Monica’s character and her earlier overweight self. As someone who considers herself to be a strong ally of people with any sexual orientation, and someone who crusades against societal standards of beauty being used to stump people's confidence, these aren’t easy things to overlook.

And so, I find myself facing two very different kinds of emotions emanating from the same source. A part of me really still loves the show (as I was telling a friend recently, two decades worth of love isn’t going to suddenly disappear). But on the other hand, the current me finds myself disapproving of many of the scenes and ideas shown in the episodes.

And my conundrum is that I don’t quite know how to reconcile this. Can you really claim to love something if part of it makes you cringe deeply and feel apologetic?

In a world where everything is so polarized, it seems like the answer should be no. I have to choose: I have to either be on the side of the show, or against it. There isn’t a middle ground, because a middle ground would mean compromising on my values. If I love the show, then I should love it wholeheartedly, accepting every single bit of it. If I consider myself someone who believes in equality and dignity of all people, then I should shun any show that tries to ridicule this belief, including this one.

A part of me gets it. Given how chaotic our world seems to be, it seems almost easier to clutch at something and stick with it. To have at least one thing in our life that is clear and dependable. Maybe that’s why we’re getting split into more and more camps each day: to find some kind of certainty and not give in to opposing ideas.

But the remaining part of me just can’t reconcile. Because choosing any one side means denying the other, which means denying a part of myself. If I say I love this show no matter what, then I’m denying my own growth over the years as I’ve become a person who is a lot more open and understanding of differences in this world. If I say I hate this show because it goes against some of my beliefs, I’m denying the fact that the show was (and to an extent, still is) a huge part of my life and is intertwined with so many of my best memories. Both of these aspects are part of me, so it doesn’t feel right to deny either one.

So where does that leave me? In the murky, gray area in between. It’s the one without clean boundaries, right in the centre of chaos. It’s where I reject the notion that we have all been raised with, that 'there is only good or bad, right or wrong, and we have to choose between them'. Reality does not exist in binaries; rather, it exists in the hazy complexities in between these binaries. And that’s exactly where I am.

I’ve spent far too long feeling stuck in the middle, struggling to choose between the two extremes. So now, I’m giving a shot to a different approach: one where I don’t choose. Of course I loved this show. It has given me countless moments of laughter and joy, and it is still something I occasionally turn to when looking for a light moment. And of course there are parts of it that are problematic, parts where I won’t laugh, parts that I’ll call out as discriminatory.

The two contradictions exist, and maybe the point is, to let them, and accept them both.

Choosing a Life: Mine or Yours?

India is currently facing the worst possible brunt of covid. Cases are rising everywhere. So is the death count. 

However, unlike the last wave, this time around, people are not just dying from covid. They’re dying from a lack of treatment, due to a lack of resources.

There aren’t enough beds.

There isn’t enough oxygen.

There isn’t enough medicine.

There isn’t enough plasma.

There isn’t even enough space to bury or cremate the dead.

So what do you do when you’re in a situation where demand is high and supply is limited? How do you decide who gets access to the resources? 

Maybe we opt for ‘first come first serve’, though that would never happen in this country. When have we ever waited in a line?

Maybe doctors take a call on who absolutely needs what, but most people aren’t even able to reach the doctors. 

No, more often than not, it’s the old Indian solution: jugaad, vaasta, connections, network. If you know the right people, you can get access to what you need. (As much as I want to judge this system, I can’t. If it’s your loved one who is in critical condition and in need of a bed or oxygen, you’re going to do everything you can to get that resource for him or her. And if you have better connections, then the better for you. This country was built on vaasta, and it’s not going to shed away its core identity now, not in the middle of a crisis. Though, even this system is failing these days).

But regardless of the way people are getting access to the resources, the grim truth that remains is this: there aren’t enough resources for everyone.

This means that for every person who gets a resource, another person does not. 

How do you come to terms with that?

I read a news report recently that an old man, in his 70s or 80s, gave up his bed and oxygen in a hospital for a younger patient, and chose to go home. And there, he passed away. 

Something about that story really hit me. Of course, there was a sense of admiration for the man who took such a daring and selfless step. But more than that, there was a sinking feeling in my stomach: a reminder, that in the current situation, for every bed a patient gets, somebody else loses out. 

Which means that for every life that is prioritized for saving, another life is lost.

And I don’t know how to come to terms with that.

Of course, you can say that ultimately, this is life. Everywhere we look, even in a non-covid world, resources are limited. Only some get access to them. More often than not, it’s the ones with some kind of economic or social or political privilege. Others lose out. That’s life. That’s survival. 

But I guess that there’s something about the current covid crisis that has brought us face to face with this reality in a jarring way. Multiple lives are on the line. And unfortunately, only some can be saved. How do you decide which life is more valuable? 

At a personal level, I know I’ll probably opt for saving my family over an unknown one, because that’s the most natural instinct, and I can’t fault that. We all want to save our loved ones. But there’s something really unnerving about the realization that saving my loved ones means, in many cases, damning your loved ones. Saving my family means not saving yours. 

How do I choose a life to save, when the choice is between me and you? 

When Statistics Meet Reality

Since we seem to have divided up our world into binaries and labels, let me start by identifying myself with one: I’m pro-vaccines. 

I’m a child of two doctors, who grew up with medical conversations being a regular feature of the dinner table. I’ve gone through my complete share of vaccines as a child (and bawled my way through each of them, because, you know, injections). I’ve grown up hearing my parents and other elders talk about the advancement of medical science, and the kinds of diseases they grew up around which have almost been eradicated now, thanks to vaccinations. My parents would often look at the news in recent times and shake their heads and wonder: how can you possibly be ‘anti’ vaccines, given how many lives they have saved?

So when vaccines came out for covid, to me it was a no-brainer that people should get vaccinated. I know in India there was some concern about a particular vaccine given the speed with which it was pushed out, but a conversation with my dad assuaged that concern. He admitted that the effectiveness of these vaccines was hard to be completely sure of at this stage; but at the same time, there was no major health risk from getting one.

As a result, I became a fairly vocal advocate of the vaccine (vocal when asked for my opinion, that is). A friend once messaged me, asking me to check with my parents if they felt it was safe to get the vaccines. I relayed their response (which was a resounding ‘yes’). Before signing off, my friend jokingly messaged saying, “In case I die because of this vaccine, I’m going to come back and haunt you and your entire family!”

I laughed it off. 

But somewhere, deep down, a tiny part of me squirmed. It was safe, right?

Well, every vaccine carried a risk, but the point was, that risk was very, very low.

And for the most part, the data confirmed it. The world over, vaccination drives had begun with enthusiasm. Most people seemed to develop mild to no symptoms. I could see the same at home. Dad developed no symptoms; mom got some fever and body ache for a few days after her first shot. All the senior citizens in my extended family had a similar experience.

But occasionally, in the news, a report would pop up: about people (in other countries) developing adverse or critical effects post vaccination. A few people were developing blood clots, which were becoming fatal. Research was undertaken; some restrictions even placed on the vaccines in western countries. But again and again, the data said the same thing: the chances of developing serious adverse health effects were very, very low. I remember reading somewhere that 5 in a million people were getting blood clots. That’s a very small amount.

Even in India, a few news reports began showing up about people suddenly becoming critically ill or passing away after getting the vaccine. But the default response was that that was a coincidence, and not a reaction caused by the vaccine. I don’t think India still has a comprehensive analysis of the health effects of the vaccines. Still, the statistics that do exist remain comforting: the risk was very, very low.

And so there I was, living in this statistically comforting zone, rolling my eyes at the anti-vaxxers, nodding along with news articles telling people to step forward and take vaccines and stop listening to people saying negative things about them, when one day, I got a message.

The father of someone I knew had passed away. Suddenly. One day after receiving the vaccine. And before you ask, yes, he had comorbidities. But no, he wasn’t sick. He was fine. But a day after receiving the vaccine, he fell seriously ill, was rushed to the hospital, and died within a few hours.

When I heard this, something within me shook very deeply. I didn’t know the father, but I knew his son, and so, suddenly, this felt very real. He might still have been one of the 5 in a million that this happened to, but suddenly, that didn’t matter. The statistics and data all lost their meaning. I didn’t care if the risk was 0.1% or 0.001% or 0.00001%. It wouldn’t have mattered if he were the only person from the entire global population whom this happened to. 

Because this person was real. He was not a distant news report. He was not a number. He was someone’s entire world. And he deserved better than me scoffing at anyone questioning the adverse effect of vaccines, and he deserved better than a government that even refuses to consider any adverse deaths as having some connection with the vaccine. 

In that moment, I realized that all the data and statistics of the world become meaningless when it's you or your loved one who is facing the brunt of those tiny figures. Even last year, when India witnessed its first wave of covid, a lot of people would comfort themselves in the knowledge that the death rate was low. But tell that to the person who lost their family to covid. What do they care if the death rate was low or high? That data point isn’t going to bring back their loved ones.

The purpose of writing this isn’t to advocate for anti-vaxxers. No, I’m still very much in favour of people (including myself and my family) getting the vaccine. Because at the end of the day, they have saved millions in the past, and might just do the same going forward.

The difference though, is that now I try to advocate for vaccines with a little bit more humility. The arrogance has faded. I’m more conscious of the risks, and I think the government should work harder at identifying those risks and educating people about the same, instead of trying to brush them under the carpet. And I hope that despite the risks, people will be willing to take that leap and go and get vaccinated, because that might be the only solution we have to fight this disease in the long run. 

But I think the one thing I won’t be able to do going forward is to see a statistic as just a statistic. Maths is clean. Life is not. A number is not just a number. It’s a life. And it might do us some good to remember that.

The Beacon

What do you do
When you look around
And see the world crumbling
Nearby
Far
Everywhere
Every home
Knowing
That it's probably a matter of time
Before that impact draws closer
And closer
Right up to where you're standing
And perhaps even more

You’ve been given a task
To carry a beacon of hope
One you're desperately trying to hold on to
But it flickers quite often
There are days
When it takes all your strength
To just light it up once
But you know you have to light it
Because too many around you are flickering
Too many have given out
After all
Hope is in limited supply these days

You do anything you can
Whatever people suggest
Eat this, drink that
Take deep breaths
Try to work out
Start a gratitude journal
Post happy pictures of colourful flowers
Whatever you can
To keep your circle untouched
To keep that beacon burning

But every effort
Feels like a trick
An attempt to evade
What definitely seems to be coming
And deep down
That gratitude is mixing with guilt
The hope is mixing with grief
And the effort to smile
Is weighing you down
Starting to feel like too much

So maybe for a bit
Just a short bit
Let me put that beacon down
And allow the darkness to engulf
To feel all the emotions
That I've been holding back
That I’ve not been allowing myself to feel
Just lay here
And let the tears flow
Without any attempt to stop them

And in some time
Whenever that is
When the waves of emotions subside
To take those deep breaths
Pull myself back up
Pick up the beacon
And continue to keep it lit
With every bit of me that I can

Because the thing is
The world around is crumbling
But as of this moment
(And who knows how long that moment will last)
I'm not

And I have to keep reminding myself of that

Movie Analysis: "Sir"

Note: Contains Spoilers

I recently watched the movie, “Sir” (available on Netflix). It’s a story of two protagonists: a man (Ashwin, aka ‘Sir’) belonging to a wealthy family in Mumbai, and a woman (Ratna) who works as the full-time maid at his house. Over the course of the movie, we see Ashwin begin to fall for Ratna, and the struggles that stem from the class differences between them.

I’ll be honest: I loved this film. It felt relatable, showing the lives of maids that many Indians living in the urban setup have grown up seeing. I also loved the characters, who felt real yet inspiring in their personalities, each in their own way. Ratna, as the young widow aspiring to become a fashion designer and break away from the poverty and class barriers surrounding her and her family. And Ashwin, a young man dealing with his own personal problems, but at all times, treating Ratna with politeness and respect, without caring about class expectations.

The movie holds up a mirror to the way urban India generally treats its domestic help, without being overly dramatic. When Ratna interrupts a conversation between Ashwin and his sister to ask whether she should lay out dinner, her sister rudely lashes out at her for the interruption. When Ratna accidentally drops wine on a guest’s dress, she is yelled at and humiliated in front of everyone by the guest. Common words like “moron” and people like “them” are thrown, a generalization that we’ve seen all too often used when talking about domestic help in our country. There’s also a shot of the camera following Ranta from behind as she moves through a party serving food to guests. The viewers get to see from her angle how more often than not, she’s ignored, as though she’s non-existent in that room, a faceless, nameless person existing only to serve the upper class.

In the backdrop of this reality, Ashwin’s behaviour towards Ratna is refreshing. It’s not as though he goes out of his way (at least not initially) to cross the class barriers. He doesn’t ask her to sit on the table and chair with him, or give her a bigger room in exchange for the small servant’s quarter she resides in. As much as I hate to say this, that would be unrealistic in a world where servants are treated as nobodies (however, at some point Ashwin does ask Ratna if it doesn’t bother her to have to sit on the floor in the kitchen and eat after feeding everyone).

Instead, the film takes baby steps, and shows simple ways of treating people with humanity regardless of the class they come from. It’s something as simple as saying “please” and “thank you” - words our country reserves only for people of the same or higher class. It’s as simple as smiling and looking at the person when talking to them. It’s something as simple as using a calm and polite tone of voice. It’s as simple as saying “sorry” when you have said something to hurt their feelings, regardless of their social status. It’s as simple as refusing to stoop to the level of humiliating your maid at your party, even at the risk of offending a guest.

I’m using the word ‘simple’, but in reality, they hardly seem simple for most people. I’m starting with highlighting these points, because this is the most basic level of humanity that the film asks us to reflect upon. I’m sure a large section of the audience will look at the love story between the two characters (which I will get to below), and write it off as bizarre and unrealistic. So before we get to the parts that seem too big to fathom, maybe let’s at least start with the smaller, simpler steps. Sure, don’t fall in love with your maids. But at least start treating them with the level of respect that all humans deserve.

Now, let’s come to the elephant in the room: the love story between Ashwin and Ratna. In terms of class relations, it's blasphemous. Of course, we come across the occasional anecdotes about men having sex with their maids, but rarely do they fall in love with them, the way Ashwin does with Ratna. He respects her and trusts her as a person, and genuinely seems to want to be with her, regardless of what people say. When we say that movies play a role in shaping how society thinks, Ashwin’s character is the kind of shaping that our society needs.

But while Ashwin provides us the window into the ideal society, Ratna holds up a mirror to the real society as we exist today. She gifts him a shirt on his birthday, but insists that he doesn’t tell anyone it’s from her. She is hesitant to be seen with him in public in any way that might lead to people talking about them. There’s a dialogue in particular that I felt drove the point home, when Ashwin asks Ratna to go out with him:

Ratna: Log mazaak udayenge (People will make fun of us)
Ashwin: Kaun log? (Which people?)
Ratna: Raju...Watchman...Sab log (Raju, watchman, everyone)
Ashwin: Mujhe farak nahi padta (I don’t care)
Ratna: Mujhe padta hai, Sir (I care, Sir)

While Ashwin can choose to not care about what people will think, that’s a luxury Ratna cannot afford. Her dignity is bound to her class status, and to her adhering to its rules. She can’t ‘choose’ to ignore the societal pressures and expectations, because they come at the very real risk of becoming a social outcast or even losing her employment. She has seen how people like her are treated and mistreated by the upper class. She knows that no matter how much it bothers Ashwin, her place is always going to be on the floor, and never on the dining table. Ultimately, the choice of not caring about social obligations is one that’s limited to the rich.

Ratna’s fears are warranted. Ashwin’s friend points out to him the bizarreness with which the rest of the world will view their situation. He exclaims point blank, “But she’s your maid”. That’s really the only argument needed, because that in itself carries all the social conditioning that’s ingrained into us. “Your mom wouldn’t even sit on the same table as her,” he adds, validating the thoughts that Ratna shares about her place in this society. “People will never let her forget that she’s a maid. Your maid.”

I liked this interaction. Because while it started with almost putting the blame on the fact that Ratna is a maid, it moved on to admit that ultimately, it is the society that is a problem, as it will not be able to accept her into its ranks. And I think that’s really the crux of the film: a critique of our society as it currently exists.

Our country comes from a long history of casteism, and in some ways, I’d like to believe that we have taken some steps to challenge that. Of course, casteism still stands very strongly, but at least we’ve reached a place where people are able to talk about it as a problem. Few families (admittedly, very few) are trying to move away from caste based relations in matrimonial sites. People are becoming more vocal and critical about honour killings, and atrocities committed against Dalits.

But while these are great steps (albeit small ones) towards becoming a more humane society, I think we use this as a way to pat ourselves on our backs and congratulate ourselves for our progressive outlook, all the while ignoring the daily discrimination we met out in the form of class dynamics.

Maybe it’s invisible to us, but that discrimination exists. It exists in the way we talk to our domestic help, ordering them around without something as basic as a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. It exists in the way we talk about our domestic help, clubbing them into a category of “them” and generalizing them as “these people” so that we can then criticize them as a group. It exists when we keep separate utensils for them to eat and drink from. It exists when we don’t allow them to sit on chairs or beds, or else provide them a separate stool on which to sit. It exists when we don’t allow them to use the bathrooms in our house, forcing them to hold in their bodily urges for hours on end. It exists when we cut their salaries for taking a day off, while we expect our employers to give us casual leaves and sick leaves and every other possible kind of leave - in addition to the weekends.

All of this ultimately stems from the belief of seeing them as “them”; someone who is an “other”, different from us. And not just any “other”, but an “other” who is lesser than us in a way, someone we can look down at rather than see as an equal. Sure, you can say that they’re employees, not family, but we don’t even deign to treat them as employees - we expect our bosses to treat us as human beings, but do we do the same for the people who work for us?

Throughout the film, Ashwin asks Ratna to stop calling him ‘Sir’ - a direct reference to the class divide that separates the two of them. The very last scene of the movie ends with her calling him ‘Ashwin’ - a brief moment in which she lets down her guard and lets herself feel the emotions that years of social conditioning have compelled her to drown. Unrealistic? Inspiring? Hopeful? Bizarre? I guess that’s for each of us to decide on our own.

On a final note, I think one other aspect of the movie I want to call out is the way it portrays its characters - major and minor. People aren’t fitted into categories of good or bad. The woman who cheats on her fiance is also shown to be kind to the domestic help. The mother who would not accept her son being with a maid is also dealing with her own trauma of having lost another son. The maid (Ratna) who refuses to break the social barriers of class and be in a relationship with her employer is still challenging the status quo by chasing her dreams and often refusing to care about what people will think.

What the movie does really well is hold up a mirror to our society. It shows us our biases. It shows us the complexities within people. It shows us that anyone trying to break free from the biases is mostly pulled back down by the crowd. But it also does is show us a window: a window into the world as it could be - simpler, more equal, more understanding, more humane. It’s up to the viewers to introspect and decide which kind of world they want to live in.

In the Land of Men

It was a girls' trip
A much awaited one
To shed the weight of daily life
And enter the paradise
Where the sea meets the sand
And when we finally got there
Excited
Relaxed
Feeling the holiday calm take over
We scanned the beach
Looking for a spot
Away from the crowd
Unfettered by humans
(Only inhabited by dogs)
After a quick search
We found the perfect spot
Refreshed ourselves with drinks
And made our way into the water
Empty
But for a family nearby
And as that water touched our toes
It washed away all the stress
The waves fighting the heat on our backs
As we splashed
And jumped
And swam
And soaked in that feeling
Of the perfect holiday
But what felt like hours
Was only a few minutes
Because that’s all it took
For the inhabitants to grow
For people passing by
To stop and stare
And what had minutes ago
Been our empty paradise
Suddenly became
A congregation of bodies
Or, to be more specific
A congregation of men
Staring
Leering
Inching closer
And I’m ashamed to say
That part of me even wondered
If we were the problem
If the wet T-shirt
Sticking to my body
Was the problem
Or if the shorts
Chosen instead of a swimsuit
Were the problem
If we should have dressed differently
If we should have picked a different spot
If we should have skipped the drinks
If we should have travelled with male friends
If we shouldn’t have jumped around as much
Because as their gazes
Travelled over every inch of our wet clothes
That familiar fear
And feeling of disgust
That we had become so accustomed to
That we had wanted to escape from
Came back in full force
And just like that
Our bubble was burst
Reality came crashing down
At the end of it all
This wasn’t paradise
This wasn’t our getaway
This was the nightmare
That we lived every single day
A reminder
That no matter where we went
We would always be
In the land of men.

*********

[This was a post that I had begun to write a few years ago, after a Goa trip with a friend. After this incident, her words to me were, "Ruch, I hope you're going to write about this!" It took a while, but finally managed to go back and complete it].