The price of life... wait... what?

Rohit Kumar a 3rd Year Student of IIT KGP dies due to negligent acts of doctors at the Intsitute hospital BC Roy Technology Hospital. Please follow this link to read a comprehensive article about the Sunday the 22nd of March 2009.














I ask myself at the end of all this. What was the result?

Was the cost of Rohit's life; a resignation from a post?

Was the cost of Rohit's life; an afternoon of drama and violence?

Was the cost of Rohit's life; an Open house which still ended in a smug look on the face of our honourable Dean (Student Affairs)?

Was this the cost of Rohit's Life?




I don't give any answers, not because I don't have them but perhaps because I, like the IIT system, have perhaps grown self assured and apathetic. People don't need answers, do they dear Professors? People need hearing about action not action itself. People need media not news. People need semblance not solutions. Certainly. These are not Answers.

And that is where People are wrong, have been wrong for so much time, and for a negative person like me, People will remain so. Because that's what the authorities have known forever. We never seek answers... because we are born knowing that we will not get them. We have never question authority the way we should have. We have never bothered to ask ourselves why we never expect answers and even if we do ask ourselves... we never expect an answer to our own question.

Questions?????

DO YOU THINK by giving his resignation the Director has answered our queries?
DO YOU THINK promising for the better tomorrow with better health facilities is a legitimate answer?
DO YOU THINK protesting and candle light vigils will have even affected THEM even a lil' bit?


Do you want to know why I ask this question?

This is not because I have stopped trusting this system... I stopped trusting the system when on November 25th 2007 my friend Anshu Gupta was made a victim of the same system. The system that required two hours (coincidencentally) to find a means of transportation when he collapsed in the football field of the NSS camp, the system that tried to stop me from informing his father, the system that had the same smug look that I saw some days back, the system for whom that matter is still "not a big deal".

Should we resort to violence??? Traditionally we are not violent people and I have never been a supporter of violence. But yeah If it comes to self preservation perhaps even I'd resort to violent means. Because its a matter of fact. What they fear is not the media or even public outrage. What they fear is Violence. Stand outside his residence ...he does not come out. Start to overturn his car... two statements are issued in the next 15 minutes. The sad fact here being we are reduced to animalistic approach, it's like living in the jungle. But I doubt that the thick hides of the administration may be pierced by our nonviolent pleas of help.

I can draw parallels here. Not because I want to. But because I can't help but wonder If like today had the doctors of BC Roy fled in panic the day they declared Anshu dead, perhaps Rohit would've been with us today. I can't help but feel sorry for Rohit, his parents, his friends and all of us for having to live in this beutifully and carefuly structured system that is so rotten to the core that you need two hours to find humanity here. The whole system is so corrupt that you cannot even begin to do something about it.

So much bureaucracy, SO MUCH paper shuffling, So much red tape that the price of human life.... well I said it they have a price for the human life.


Don't ask me what we can do .... we are doing what we can...... we are protesting .... we are.....

Do anything you want. You will not change the system. You cannot change the system. The system is dead. And the dead never come back. Ask that to anyone that knew Rohit Kumar.

I just want to say take care of yourself. Nobody is going to help you tomorrow, even though you may shout at the top of your voice today. Don't get sick. Stay healthy. You never know when this red tape may kill us all. You never know when we will suffocate under this burden of bureaucratic papers.Save this Link. It may help you survive.

And always.... Remember Rohit. May God bless his soul. May God protect us all. Remember the guy who had to lose his life because the administration did not think it was worth anything. Remember how cheap your life is according to the officials of our college. Remember to help anyone in distress and not delay medical attention.

Remember Rohit Kumar.

Remember Rohit Kumar.

What's in a name?

My name is Samar Rehman Patel.

...

...

...

well... that's my problem.

To be honest I LIKE my name. Its such a simple and well structured name. And with a good meaning too ( Samar means Fruit, Rehman is a name of God and Patel literally means village Leader. So basically I am the God leader of the fruity business...) also if you shorten it it becomes Sam or better yet SRP ( I hate you...) but then again my name is confusing.

Take for example the police station

Policewallah: What's your name?
Me: Samar Rehman Patel... sir.
Policewallah: WHATTTT????
Me: Samar Rehman Patel.
Policewallah: What sort of a name is this?

basically any sane person wudve given up by this time....but this is my name so I persisted.

Me: Sir Mata-Pitaji ne yehi rakha...
Policewallah: But yaar... ye kaisa naam hai?
Me: Sorry sir...
Policewallah: Are you Hindu or Muslim?
Me: Sir does that matter?
Policewallah: (bit aback) Yeah it does.
Me: (gives a grimace)
Policewallah: Gujju hai?
Me: No Sir.
Policewallah: Maharashtrian ho?
Me: No Sir.... not really...
Policewallah: Kya matlab?
(then I recount into the speech that basically says that my fathers family is basically from Maharashtra and Mom's family from UP....but I am a pure 100% Bhopali)

Policewallah: To Bhopali hai??? Madhya Pradeshi hai???
Me: (feeling a bit relieved) Yes.....
Policewallah: To aisa naam kaahe rakha????
Me: (faints)

So basically I have a confusing name....and the disturbing thing is people love to make an issue out of it. I had a guy in my 10th class Hindi board exam that asked me fifteen times whether my name was written right?

And to add insult on this injury the religious tangle added to it gives it a fine aftertaste....sort of like the suds inside an overused espresso machine.
For example my Coaching Physics teacher...

Teacher: Whats your name?
Me: blah blah blah.
Teacher: oh....(smiling).....India Pakistan border situation?
Me: (confused like hell) What sir?
Teacher: Your mom dad ran away and married... right???? ...(grinning)
Me: (fed up with life already) No Sir.
Teacher: Oh C'mon I love a good love story...tell me what happened...their parents were against this marriage right? right? right?
Me: (faints)


Latest in this line of insult coming my way was the passport office...

Official: Samar Rehman Patel......(then stares again at my passport)
Me: (raising my hand) here ...sir.
Official: Samar Rehman Patel...(still staring at my passport)
Me: (waving my hand) here sir.
Official: Samar..... Rehman .... Patel.... (still looking in amazement at my passport)
Me: (practically dancing) here sir....look at me....
Official: (finally looks up) Oh...there you are...come inside and collect your passport.
Me: (relieved) Thank you
Official: (smiling) Have you come to change your name on the passport?
Me: (revolted) NO!!!
Official: (still smiling at my name) So is there some spelling mistake?
Me: NO Sir .... I...
Official: So this is your REAL name????
Me: (faints ..yet again)

I grow tired of people clarifying my religion or my state of origin or any other thing they think validates them to ask as soon as they read my name.
Even during my OP as soon as I would say ... I am from Bhopal.... "TU GUJJU NAHIN HAI????"

no.... I am just an Indian... Isn't that enough... I even have a passport now.

The Boatman

Slither slither the water slaps the boat,

the edges blurring,

moving towards the other end,
the Boatman rows.
Nobody knows why he rows,
ever in this looming melancholy,
rowing silently with vigour,
with a silent symphany.
The darkness of the water ,
is attractive,seductive,
why doesn't he plunge beneath,
into the cool retreat.
But he rows on relentlessly,
untired limbs working away,
sweat breaking on his brow,
his passengers restless,
Because the River is threatening,
calm and cold,
it flows with a vigour,
powerful yet dominating.
Remarkable though it is,
daunting it seems,
darkness overflows and meets the light,
half elation and sorrow.

I often ask the Boatman,
why does he do it,
so on and so forth,
isn't it better to leave?
He smiles inimitably,
and moves his hand over his face saying,
when you have crossed the river,
as many times as I
Nothing seems to matter,
after a while,
everything's just,
coming and going.

I realize
that is what life is,
some come in,
some go out,
we are the boatman of our life,
And the comers mere passengers,
the goers mere passers,
The Boatman doesn't befriend them,
and he tells me to do the same,
"one day they all leave..."
I try to follow,
I ask him about the lure of the river
he says only the fear of the unknown
keeps him from abandoning his boat,
it's tempting to give up the boat of life,
and plunge into the unknown,
But then,
who knows what it has in store?
the Boatman doesn't know
and so I don't.

The unanswered question...

I heard a very moving story a few days back....
Unfortunately It's all true and as much I would have been pushed towards spamming-mail it I think this thing is not meant to be sent to the many anonymous people in my address book to be read and either pushed into the trash can or forwarded to all. Because I want this story to be read, and not merely read I want people to give me an honest opinion about what in reality makes a person? Is it good education or is it just the adversities he faces? Can really born in a privileged position be any help?

My story starts at a construction site in suburban Mumbai; A flyover was being constructed and a laborer's wife went the family way and our dear Kallu was born. Nothing unremarkable there. These sort of births take in India all the time. And most of them in much more appaling conditions then our dear Kallu here. He got his DDT shots in a nearby government clinic and maybe some kind of food from the local laborers. At the age of 3 and a half months his father died in an accident. Nothing remarkable here too; laborers die all the time all the place.

At the age of 4 Years his mother died of some unknown illness . Who knows what illness who has the money to go to a doctor in this country . His mother had been a God Fearing person and she hoped God would treat her . It seems that this family was one of the forsaken ones....

So we have this family again elder brother and sisters (2 of them) and one younger sister. After the death of the mother everything falls apart. As if disbanded from the army they all break up. Our Kallu is one of these left alone to forage on whatever he could find to eat, beg to have and fight to get.

At the age of 7 Kallu is a maverick of the streets . He is a shoeshine boy + a sweeper of the local train + a tea stall worker + a smalltime coolie.

If you go and have your shoe shined by him he charges 3 Rupees 50 paise for it. And if you decide to go easy on the 50 paise he says "Aye saa'b mere ko mera 50 paisa dedo". His arithmetic is flawless. He has his own place for sleeping inside a very large construction pipe; not very comfortable he accepts...but atleast it is his. Bought for that is... from a "seth". Ask him how much money he has and he tells you he has Three thousand eight hundred and fifty six rupees and twenty five paise. A total you can count and verify. He hides his money somewhere and he challenges "akhha mumbai mere paise nahin dhoondh sakti".

This guy does not have a bank account. This guy does not have a police record. This gut does not have a Birth certificate. This guy does not exist on paper. Never participated in a population census he tells me. What is this guy doing you may ask....

He survives.

Now tell me one thing ... what were we capable of at the age of 7?
We knew A-B-C thats for sure. and we knew a range of things like brushing our teeth and stuff. We knew if we cried really hard our parents would get anything for us.
We could not have demanded the 50 paise with so much conviction.
We would not survive 2 minutes in the same situation that Kallu presently lives.

Yes Yes... We are an educated lot. We studied in schools : there we learnt about science and history and geography, for God's sake!!! We were doing the "Good" stuff.

Think: Kallu did not have a formal education ; he did not have parents to guide him protect him. He was just a toddler thrown forcibly into this world to find his own path among the bushes. Who taught him? Nobody.

Adversities teach us better than schools then? Or do they?

You may argue that both the systems give rise to a very different individual. Catering to different needs of the society... but in the end... It's all about surviving out there. And Kallu's doing it from the age of 7. Just because we were lucky enough to be born in a well to do hospital than under a semi constructed flyover ; are we here where we are.

Think about it.

...

The morning pitches bright;
I stand over
watching over the rebirth of the day and time
watching silently ; I pause and try
to decipher meaning in this moment of simplicity
when all the world is at its primal eventuality
I stare and I hope I'll forget the past
but invariably;as always;it comes rushing back
throwing me into the void obfuscating
gapeless and obliviating

I step onto those broken shards of time
these hurt me ever more now;
and as always I wonder how;
when if I am free of all that stood against.
and when my time on this earth is over.
will I ever be whole??
unscathed unharmed untouched undisturbed
innocent calm untiring unperturbed

will my suffering ever end or will I just
keep up my smiles to the world

hollow these are;laughter and smile;
these are not me;
and I am not them;
these are just for the sake of the world
gain acceptance; appease friends
and so I do try to make amends

but then again I falter and show
my real self
to someone I know
and they have a fleeting glimpse
into the deepest recessses of my heart
every now and then
they come and say
"why don't you let all this out?"
I smile; the fake smile; and I try to show
It's not always what you are that holds
It's what you achieve in this short period of life that counts
It's not even your character that amounts
Itself; on everyone else
It's finally how you affected the world you lived

did you try your best to get someone to smile...
did you give your best to keep the life alive...


"you did all this and yet you suffered"
my friend; understand;now it hardly matters

"the shards still hurt you; I mean"
shards are built for hurting ;you see

"it's no use living in the past"
I know I know I knew it last;

"it's a blaze and it will consume you whole
...this pain will take its toll"

before they can speak I tell them this
it is the pain I felt that makes me as it is
I remeber how it hurt and I try and I try
never again should anyone cry
for the same reason for the same thing
this is not suffering 'tis a lesson
of life that I learnt
you are asking me to forget what I learnt
you are asking me to cover where it burnt

no my friend no no no
my life is an open book you know
my experiences are for everyone to share
my successes and failures and risks and dares

what use is life if it it's of use to noone
what is the use if we sit moping and sigh

my friend has no answer...
and when i think of it

neither do i...


the morning is now over
the time of rebirth has gone away.
I am me again
and I will stay this way.


-Samar