The monkeys of Delhi

 

The rest of the species have meekly caved in under the human pressure. But the rhesus macaque monkey holds the baton of rebellion with its red face and pink bottom. It’s now classified as an urban animal by the Delhi Forest and Wildlife Department. It’s now the MCD’s duty to manage the simian problem just like they handle cats and dogs problems. As urban animals the rhesus monkeys can no longer hide under the protective umbrella of the Wildlife Protection Act.

However, they continue to enjoy respect under the mythological laws for being part of Lord Rama’s army in his fight against Ravan. The MCD (municipal corporation of Delhi) is sprucing up its monkey-catching drive by recruiting more monkey catchers. Despite paying an impressive INR 2500/monkey catch, the national capital has only ten monkey catchers.

The already smart monkey is even smarter now, shrewd and clever in fact. They know better than grabbing bananas from the trap cages. This much brain they possess. In any case there are millions of devout Hanuman followers who have enough bananas for them to avoid visiting the trap cages.

It was in 2007 when angry monkeys claimed a VIP casualty. The deputy mayor was attacked on his terrace. He fell from the roof and died of injuries.

Presently the MCD captures them and dumps them in Asola Bhatti region. But the Tughlakabad forest area hasn’t any boundaries. The rhesus loves its genetic look-alike and returns within a short span of time. The resident welfare associations demand sterilization to check their population. But who is to ordain human sterilization to checkmate our ever-increasing population?

The mother

 

She is a widow pensioner in her late sixties. Her husband who was in police expired long ago. She successfully raised two boys and a girl. It was challenging as usually it is. She lost her daughter to dowry sharks. It was a huge trauma. Both her boys are settled with their families now. She stays with the younger one. There was a time when he was struggling with his small business. During those times her pension was handy for the family budget. Economic dependence fetches its fair share of loyalty and obedience on part of the dependent to the benefactor. So he was a sweet boy, caring with his tongue when it came to dealing with his mother. Then his small business picked up and he turned moderately well off. Now he was no longer dependent upon the contribution of her small pension in running the household.

What can a mother expect from a self-sustaining boy? He wasn’t directly insulting but due to his newfound economic independence she felt him to be dismissive of her. It pained her. She shares this sadly with me. Now she has to be reminded that it hasn’t gone waste, her struggle and support.

‘Sweet, sugar-coted, flattering words of an economically dependent boy are far lower than the practical, matter-of-fact, official sounding, formal words of an independent self-sustaining boy. As a mother what would you choose? A boy who speaks sweetly just because he is dependent on your pension to run his affairs. Or a boy who sounds dismissive of you but is respectfully earning his bread.

‘The latter,’ she replies.

‘As a mother what was your duty? It was to help him grow up. His speaking over you is a sign of his growing up to be independent. Which mother would want a cringing dependent son? So sister, feel happy and proud that you have raised a man who is standing on his own now. Growing old is being transparent, mellow, adjusting and understanding. Most of the unwanted stuff ought to pass through you without getting stuck up and create pain inside. Listen and smile and keep blessing your children,’ I try to assure her of the wisdom of old age.

A smile comes on her face. She now feels the joy of raising independent sons. 

Smartphone solace in solitude

 

The sun at its baking best on this June noon. Who would come out in such fire unless forced by the circumstances ?But a writer needs to accede to his whims sometimes. My head draped in a towel, I’m walking on the canal embankment. The water seems vaporizing right there while on its course. The grass and bushes almost famished. The trees dispirited. The birds silent, probably taking a siesta. A little flock of sheep is grazing on the sunburnt tufts of grass. The sheep in their woolen coats look like an old man draped in a thick military blanket on a June noon. They look suffering under their coats. But during the winters it makes them look so comfortable and warm.

A sheep is startled to see someone out in such heat. The shepherd is lying under the not-so-dense shade of a small tree. Far away from the world. He is a poor boy in shabby clothes. But he has a smartphone. The panacea for all your vacuums. The world is at your fingertips. You don’t need anyone. You easefully pass time from the airport lounges to the faraway places such as this one. Virtual socializing consoles us in this lonelier than ever world. Beyond all the cacophony, we are lonelier than ever. The smartphone is a faithful companion to the billions of lonely humans.

A visit to Delhi

 

I visit Delhi only when it’s unavoidable. Despite innumerable new bridges and flyovers, traffic congestion and pollution is almost the same from as long as I can remember. The reason is thousands of new migrants and scores of new vehicles on the road every week. The national capital is a sufferer of over-expectations. Urban planning will be better with diversification of focus on smaller cities and towns.

On a recent trip to the national capital, something interesting caught my attention. There was something written at the back of a car of some senior government official. On the road it moves like a stern disciplinarian message. The people mind their driving business well and follow the rules in the vicinity of such a vehicle. I think a cool proportion of drivers on the road are illiterate. But even they understand the pictographic meaning of these red words.

One such vehicle moved in front of my car. I’m already cautious while driving but I turn extra-disciplined now. Then on second reflection I read it again. ‘Great of India’. Well, it looks the same to even those who can read. We are used to read it as ‘Government of India’ and get extra disciplined when driving near it. While, the illiterate ones would give it the same guard of honor as to any official vehicle. The white ‘Great of India’ Swift Dezire moved with honor among the motley crowd. Many drivers gave it space to overtake to allow the high government functionary to reach his destination on time.

World cycling day

 

I never knew there was a world cycling day falling on June 3. I came to know of its existence through a pleasant coincidence. We had once bought a very nice bicycle for my niece. But she turns out to be unsporty type. The bicycle rusted on the roof. Then my nephew came of age, the time when six or seven years olds fall in love with cycling. Thinking he would love it we sent it to a mechanic, getting it totally refurbished. It looked well-oiled and properly greased to pedal a childhood to joyful glory. But even seven-year-old Nevaan, coming during his school vacations, hardly showed any interest in it.

Stationed in the verandah, I again saw the signs of rust gathering on the lovely cycle. That sounded so derogatory to a cycle, especially when there are so many children who would lose their sleep out of sheer excitement if they get a cycle like that.

There are two little boys from a needy family in the locality. I gifted the cycle to them. In the evening of the same day, the sultry silence was broken by a sweet trilling by the familiar bell. The elder one rode, the younger one riding pillion, there they went sashaying across the streets, their dreams on swift pedals. A few moments later, through the ever nosy social media, I came to know that it was the world cycling day! What a beautiful coincidence?