There was once a man who worked all his life to make a dwelling out of his meager saving. He had a good wife, a good son (or perhaps two, or even more), and a good life. Then one day his wife decided to take leave of her self and his son(s) decided to jump out of the well into the ocean. Then one day the real-estate agents came by like Death Eaters, took the old man by his cot and put him in a rented apartment ("temporarily, off course", they said). They brought down the dwelling faster than the twin towers and erected in its place, a multi-storied cluster of flats. The old man spent the rest of his life in one of these hole-in-the-wall "flats", looking tremulously down from the 10th storey at the ground which he once so wished would belong to him.
Every time I fly over the skyline of Kolkata, this stereotypical story flashes by my eyes as i see the Lego-like multi-storied buildings viciously sprouting among old individual houses, those almost counting their days like hapless chickens in a butcher's shop. Having lived in a similar "multi-storied complex" for fifteen years in a place which supposedly belonged to a once-profitable-now-defunct cotton factory, I cannot wash my hands off this collective crime of our generation.
It is perhaps practical to be nonchalant about the whole saga and sanctimoniously proclaim that "old order giveth way to the new"; But, in the indifference we evince, are we not murdering the very dreams of which we were once a part? How many parents/grandparents do we know who build these individual "dwellings" not keeping their progenies in mind? Were we not part of their dreams? Then why do we so ruthlessly murder the dreams we were part of? The answer to that may be profitable to the way our generation is planning to lead their lives.
Look around, and you will see a generation that is smothering the dreams of its previous one while it harbours its dreams on the next. The same generation that is bulldozing the "dwellings" to make "flats" is expecting the next one to live happily with them in those flats. The irony is so stark that if you let the bygone generation speak they will come running out of their photo frames and say, "Don't do it son, don't repeat the mistake we made!"
That the past has to perish to make way for the present is the eternal truth. But does demolishing the past so ruthlessly and callously make us any better than any of the barbaric invaders of yore, who repeatedly ravaged India and stripped it off its myriad wealth and defaced its architectural beauties? Is the demolition of ones ancestral home any less than the defacing of the Sun temple at Konark, or the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddha?
As a riposte to the above thought, one can argue that the greatest conquerers (from the Romans to the Mughals) who qualify as creators of many global architectural masterpieces were those who were also destroyers of the history of the places they conquered. So, it may not be necessary for one to have respect for history or heritage to make their own. So why is it important to preserve an old man's "dwelling" after he is gone?
I believe that the reason the conquerers treaded so heavily over the places they travelled was that the history that they destroyed was not created by their forbears in the first place. It was someone else's legacy. Someone not related by blood to them. On the other hand the many dwellings that are bursting like popcorns to give way to a mushroom of multi-storied flats are initiated by a generation that is directly related by flesh and blood to the generation of the stereotypical old man. The terminator of the old man's pagoda is none other than the son who jumped out of the well into the ocean. A classic case of, Et tu Brute.. Then fall Caeser.
In a fragmenting world where a relation is more a stroke of fate and less a genetic strain one must take care to preserve ones roots. Else we run the risk of becoming beautiful orchids in a horticulture garden with no primary tree trunk to lean on. I remember my ancestral house that lies in ruins today. The most intriguing part of the house (that catered to a child's fantasy i.e.) was the garden behind it. As a young boy, I remember fighting a squadron of mosquitoes to visit it. The two coconut trees that marked the end of the property; The jackfruit tree whose base my grandmother protected with innumerous twigs and nettle bushes, the Gandharaj tree that precariously and ironically stood next to the sewerage tank; the papaya tree; the lemon trees; all stand testimony to my childhood. That I have fought many Ram-Ravana, Bhim-Duryodhan battles with bows and arrows made of coconut leaves and a "Goda" made of cheap non-recyclable plastic in this place is no less significant to my existence than my "educational degree" or my "work experience".
Sometimes a noble thought is as important as a noble action. I try to convince my argumentative self that I am different from the good son who leapt out of the well. The hypothesis though, remains to be proved.
Every time I fly over the skyline of Kolkata, this stereotypical story flashes by my eyes as i see the Lego-like multi-storied buildings viciously sprouting among old individual houses, those almost counting their days like hapless chickens in a butcher's shop. Having lived in a similar "multi-storied complex" for fifteen years in a place which supposedly belonged to a once-profitable-now-defunct cotton factory, I cannot wash my hands off this collective crime of our generation.
It is perhaps practical to be nonchalant about the whole saga and sanctimoniously proclaim that "old order giveth way to the new"; But, in the indifference we evince, are we not murdering the very dreams of which we were once a part? How many parents/grandparents do we know who build these individual "dwellings" not keeping their progenies in mind? Were we not part of their dreams? Then why do we so ruthlessly murder the dreams we were part of? The answer to that may be profitable to the way our generation is planning to lead their lives.
Look around, and you will see a generation that is smothering the dreams of its previous one while it harbours its dreams on the next. The same generation that is bulldozing the "dwellings" to make "flats" is expecting the next one to live happily with them in those flats. The irony is so stark that if you let the bygone generation speak they will come running out of their photo frames and say, "Don't do it son, don't repeat the mistake we made!"
That the past has to perish to make way for the present is the eternal truth. But does demolishing the past so ruthlessly and callously make us any better than any of the barbaric invaders of yore, who repeatedly ravaged India and stripped it off its myriad wealth and defaced its architectural beauties? Is the demolition of ones ancestral home any less than the defacing of the Sun temple at Konark, or the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddha?
As a riposte to the above thought, one can argue that the greatest conquerers (from the Romans to the Mughals) who qualify as creators of many global architectural masterpieces were those who were also destroyers of the history of the places they conquered. So, it may not be necessary for one to have respect for history or heritage to make their own. So why is it important to preserve an old man's "dwelling" after he is gone?
I believe that the reason the conquerers treaded so heavily over the places they travelled was that the history that they destroyed was not created by their forbears in the first place. It was someone else's legacy. Someone not related by blood to them. On the other hand the many dwellings that are bursting like popcorns to give way to a mushroom of multi-storied flats are initiated by a generation that is directly related by flesh and blood to the generation of the stereotypical old man. The terminator of the old man's pagoda is none other than the son who jumped out of the well into the ocean. A classic case of, Et tu Brute.. Then fall Caeser.
In a fragmenting world where a relation is more a stroke of fate and less a genetic strain one must take care to preserve ones roots. Else we run the risk of becoming beautiful orchids in a horticulture garden with no primary tree trunk to lean on. I remember my ancestral house that lies in ruins today. The most intriguing part of the house (that catered to a child's fantasy i.e.) was the garden behind it. As a young boy, I remember fighting a squadron of mosquitoes to visit it. The two coconut trees that marked the end of the property; The jackfruit tree whose base my grandmother protected with innumerous twigs and nettle bushes, the Gandharaj tree that precariously and ironically stood next to the sewerage tank; the papaya tree; the lemon trees; all stand testimony to my childhood. That I have fought many Ram-Ravana, Bhim-Duryodhan battles with bows and arrows made of coconut leaves and a "Goda" made of cheap non-recyclable plastic in this place is no less significant to my existence than my "educational degree" or my "work experience".
Sometimes a noble thought is as important as a noble action. I try to convince my argumentative self that I am different from the good son who leapt out of the well. The hypothesis though, remains to be proved.
2 comments:
That's the human being you have. Contradiction in own thoughts and justifying decisions for survival. We call it growth in heavily competitive social/abc structure. I believe there is no reason this earth should exist. We go through the pain to get joy that will end in another 'cycle'. At the moment, it's what you choose and how that imbalance makes you feel like. Conquerors must be happy as they might have been able to out-cast the imbalance. Recent sons of fathers dwell in balancing the origin and part of life they would be competing with. This transition period is indeed ruthless. Perhaps, it would have been same for them too. Screw the life or drag it, it will ask for the same amount of courage. But at the end all has to end.
As a pseudo creation of Ralf Ellison,I prefer to put forward my views on this sad and serious subject.
Old Buildings are being mercilessly
demolished on some plea or other. This is happening irrespective of the people at the helm of Administration.It seems that the Humanity at large are bent upon to give an early accreditation to the
Malthusian theory...the grim sight of population explosion is looming
large at the horizon.The old spacious buildings are making rooms for high-rise pigeon hole.This is a world wide phenomenon.Time to have a look at our own country and our own people.
Almost 65yrs.ago,in one fateful midnight,The 'Hamlet'of India kept his tryst with destiny. Simultaneously millions of families were uprooted from their several generation old roots and pushed to the darkness of uncertainty.These hapless people,wallowing through the unbelievable mirth and misery crossed the border.These 'unwanted' people in there new mother land struggled for a morsel and survival Ultimately they eked out a niche for them.Gradually they over came the trauma and started life afresh. The first single 'pucca' room a family built had one unique cementing material,apart from normal sand and cement...it was the blood,sweat and love of every one of that family.Now that generation passed away.The new generation did not have to see those 'Dark'days of struggle for existence.They had their education and other needs of sustenance easily and without any sweat.Scarcity of land pushing the price of their house to a sky high level.Now it is time for them to jump out of the 'pen' and move to a greener pasture by selling something which,supposedly,should have been a Temple to them. It is told that the stability of nucleus of an atom depends on something called 'packing'fraction.This binding force is generated by the conversion of a minute mass into energy.Metaphorically a little bit of sacrifice by each individual of a family would have created that binding force to keep the family united,to take care of the maintenance of these houses.The Temples would have still been there,standing tall in its own glory.Alas,we did not listen to nature as we are exact every pound of flesh.
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