Knocked about- not senseless

Apart from obsessing about my life and other people's death what do I do?
Quite a lot , more than I want to, and am really capable of. And doing all that does gives me this jaundiced view that is beginning to show to people around me.

It makes me laugh at horror and in joy- equally hard.

The last month was hard on me.

I wish I knew how to weep just enough, at the appropriate time.

I expected a week's work in Punjab, assisting a TV crew for a documentary. It just grew bigger and bigger. So much so there were two of us working on the same project for a while.

My friends think this work is very exciting, which it is too. I do get to meet interesting people. But some friends are beginning to expressed a desire to do part of whatever I do. Which is possible, I guess. I am not a specialist at anything I do- and if I can, so can another.

But, but: the friends I meet during and just after whatever project I have completed, usually end up feeling sympathetic with the state I am in, and relieved they were not there.

Why was this trip so difficult?

Punjab has been on my “to envy” list for years- I think I visited Punjab first time in the late nineties. After Madhya Pradesh, the roads, the rivers, the three crop fields had the green monster doing it's bit for me.

But the last two times I have been to Punjab has been horrifying. This clearly is what progress quick and hard can do. What goes up must come down- and I can see Punjab has come down big.

Baisakhi is harvest time. The wheat fields are golden-kanak kgadi hai!! When the wind passes through the top of the standing crop, the sound is sheer music. The combines do their stuff powerfully, and the crop seems much thicker than in any wheat field in Madhya Pradesh that I have seen.

But in the grain mandis I can see the grain- and I think it must be the untimely rain in the last few days that has spoilt the harvest. But Sukhdev Singh ji, of village Bhupal is categorical- this is a good year- well, as good as any in the recent past.

I hesitantly offer that the wheat I see in Madhya Pradesh looks healthier. “It is” , he says. But he promises that that will change too. Because everyone is being encouraged to go the chemical route and this will be the consequence.

People are walking on the piles of grain as it is tested weighed and loaded in row upon row of synthetic bags- instead of the old style gunny bags. “This will not allow the moisture to escape and will cause more damage to the quality”, Sukhdev Singh has a more jaundiced view than I do.

I am feeling repulsed by all the walking on what's going to be my chapati on another day. We used to buy wheat and wash it, and then have it ground and now we just buy wheat flour- and I cannot fool myself into believing that all that cleaning is going to happen between the grain Mandi and the bags of flour. But my concerns are really rather little girlish. Sukhdev Singh has just pointed out that it is not dirt I should be worried about, but cancer- because the chemical there is very deeply unheigenic.

He is viciously happy his son is studying to be an engineer, and may never want to cultivate the family land. And Sukhdev ji has only one child, and he seems attached emotionally to his land so I am confused. But somewhere I a sense a kind of relief for the future of his son. At least he will not need to deal in this “ghate ka sauda” , a deal destined to make a loss. And he will be safe from the desperations of the loans that other people around them are having to cope with.

Shubhranshu has been trying to get people in Chhattisgarh to explore the farmer suicide by giving figures- and no one seems to understand what he is saying. I think maybe people in Chhattisgarh should meet up with the Punjabi farmer. The one who is part of the 80% who have less than 6 acres of land.

It is not surprising that Sukhdev ji feels this way. The downfall is too much in the face to ignore.

The men from Punjab were, ahem, the guys that women fell for. Dharmender ji and then Sunny ji? Gabru Jawans galore.

But Sukhdev ji is talking of early aging, premature hair whitening, all because of the chemicals in his food, and I don't want to say I see what he means. His beard is absolutely white. He is only 51.

We met many types of people- the successful benefit reaping farmer of the green revolution time, and activists working towards Organic Agriculture, for survival. What I glean from these exchanges is that at the root of these problems is water- or lack of it. In the land of five rivers. With canals that have more water than I have ever seen.

Punjab was a wheat growing, wheat eating area. The Punjabis cooked rice for special occasions- or for guests. Now they are proud cultivators of rice. It has become an essential part of their daily diet.

But there is also the fact that the government has had to intervene and ensure that no farmer is able to sow rice straight after the wheat harvest. Reason- rice uses up a lot of water- and water levels are falling alarmingly in Punjab. If it is sown after 15 th of June there is a better chance of it's being able to make use of the natural rain , and thus avoid over pumping. But that has happened only after the farmers groups raised the issue.

104 of 138 blocks have been identified as dark zones with respect to water problems. That is a lot- even to me.

On the face of it I see the wells throwing up a good six inch stream of water- the likes of which I have never seen in Madhya Pradesh. In Bhopal we are happy if we can get enough water to drink, from the bore well. Had I come on a tour of Punjab and just looked at the fields, instead of talking to the farmers, I would have felt as envious as ever.

But the thing is that this plentiful water is coming from wells which need to be deeper and deeper by the year. Sukhdev Singh ji has a 6 acre farm in which he has dug 10 wells in the last thirty years. The first one was 50 feet deep, and the latest is 550 feet in depth. The first one cost twenty thousand rupees or thereabouts, and the last one was three and a half lakhs. The worst bit was that the crop, despite this huge expense was not good enough to pay for the well itself. He will have to keep sowing rice- to pay for the well, and maybe save some money. But he is not confident of being able to do that. Because the returns, despite the increasing inputs, have reached a plateau. The earth is not able to yield any more. Whatever he does.

I can relate with this one on a personal level. I mean I am not able to deliver either- whatever medicines I take and whatever the nutritional supplementing.

I would have thought that with the kind of crops I see standing in fields, the farmers must be prosperous. But there is more than meets the eye. He says, the farmer of Punjab is paying for his very strength. His never say die attitude is what will kill him. He keeps investing – in chemicals, in deeper wells, mortgages his wife's jewellery, and then his land, and property- which he built in the early days of the green revolution. But the support price he gets is inadequate. And the land has given up.

And when Sukhdev Singh ji talks of the earth as his mother I feel tearful and exhausted. Over exploited too.

And this was only a part of my trip.

I should just do what the GP says- follow the kasai who chops because that is his work. He cannot afford to relate personally to the slaughtered animals.

Life goes on

The aches that I used to complain about, have turned to an electric shock kind of sensation- similar to the kind that one has when the funny bone is tapped right. Maybe this is an opportunity to replicate the funny bone in other body parts. Have more reason to laugh.

Only, the intensity of tingling is no longer ticklish, it is painful. Imagine being subjected to tiny electric shocks throughout your day. I am convinced this is a preparatory- for the serious torture in store for me in the future? Maybe in police custody- after all the Slumdog scene did not come out of nothing.

Thank God no one is blaming my overactive imagination, even though I have one.
I do hate it when people doubt my ability to differentiate between real and imaginary. Upsets me more than much else.

The tests confirm neuropathy. Says the GP.

He is good- I like him.

Actually, I choose to go to him because of his holistic approach. He is the kind who can appreciate that the 5 minute exercise and 15 minutes of meditation mean an hour of peace- difficult to find in the life styles we are moving towards. He has a lateral thinking, metaphorical expression which I find helpful instead of the “take this medicine and don't ask too many questions” approach.

I am inclined to see my problems arise from stresser situations.The physical ones too- after all the body is a reflection of the mind.

So I ask him how serious the problem is, because the tests are showing some pretty obviously alarming results.

That sets him off, “People who have seen a lot of this and that and have faced difficulties tend to worry. This can cause some changes to happen in the mind. But anxiety cannot help.”

That makes sense- generally speaking, I am thinking.

But specifically, in the real world where I have this painful sensation in the ring finger of my left hand, I need some real stuff to feel reassured.

But now the discomfort is beginning to show in his face. He does look more anxious than I think I feel.

He is darting private looks at my husband. As private as one can make it when all of us are sitting within a 3 feet radious and I am able to see his face and my husband's as well. I think he is seeking some guidance from one who knows her well, one of those "How much truth can the little woman take?" kind of query evident in his eyes.

No help there- husband's face is deadpan. He is listening very attentively- because I have reminded him, just before we set off for the clinic, of how well I take care of him when he is ill. And he wants to do well by me.

Now the poor GP has to decide about how much of the truth he is going to share.

I feel pity well up in my bosom. Usually I am the one who is listening about his advice for my husband, and that is easier than finding out stuff about myself. Something on my face worries him Maybe it is the worry showing up.

The GP gets blubbery-he tries again, opening with an “It is nothing.”

But he is a good guy, and this is not the whole truth. I want him to tell me that the TSH and homocysteine high is actually okay- nothing to worry about. Which I know for a fact is not possible. But I am no longer the reasonable care provider- I am not feeling well.

The GP is indignant now. If I don't address the problem, I might loose speech and sensation and such like. He says. Husband maintains the deadpan face- and I am deeply unhappy with this exchange now.

I can even acknowledge some despair in myself. It spills out as sarcasm- Is that all? Loss of speech and inability to use limbs is not something I should be worried about?

And then the GP loses it all, “See how the kasai cuts meat? Does he think of the animals who are being killed? He just goes ahead and chops- because that is his job!!”.

What the hell is he saying? I am now feeling like the animal under the chopping knife, and I am not detached from this situation.

Or maybe I am. because there seems little point in probing further. The GP is looking helpless. He has given up- on trying to explain, I mean.

The only decision I can take now is to take the medicine he has advised, and look elsewhere for emotional comfort, or better scientific understanding.

My blood pressure is very low- which helps. It is difficult to get really agitated at that level.

I think I need some strength to deal with this situation. I try to argue with the husband on the way home. That usually charges me up,sort of. But he gets more rattled than me. Poor guy- he has no escape- unlike the GP who can collect his fees and pack me off.

We are going home- to be together for ever. Or for as long as I live- and there is a vicious satisfaction in the picture of my husband taking care of helpless wife.

In the next 30 seconds my mood swings.

I am wallowing in self pity over the representatives of the medical profession in my life. How is it that I am drawn to these types - there is my psychaitrist whose other patients are clearly more needy than me. There was the doctor in Ayurvaidyasala, who pointed me to some people who are more unfortunate and whose plight is worse. A homeopath who I try to consult on phone as she lives in Bhopal. She is great when she is able to connect- but sometimes I cannot reach her on phone for months- and she says- yahi prarabdh hai hamara.(This is our destiny!!)

I think I should call Bahadur Uncle. He says his mind is wandering these days. I'm thinking, at his age I suppose I shall be happy to have a mind at all. And he has responded to the telpehone on the second ring. We talk about a friend who passed away recently. Thank God he died in his sleep. We shall pass too. But Bahadur Uncle's mind is not wandering aimlessly- he is thinking of Ghalib,

इक तेरी दीद  छिन  गयी मुझसे
वरना दुनिया में क्या नहीं बाकी

That makes more sense than the scientific stuff that medical reports are made of- I mean some significant things will not be there- like maybe I shall lose the ability to speak, and do things with some limbs but life shall go on.

Oh dear.........

That row of houses is special to me-
My golden oldies got together there- morning and evening, for years.
And they talked to me of Kamayani, and piles, and Ghalib, revealed unmentionable stuff about each other- and laughed- because there really is no point in doing anything else.

Well Chauhan Uncle was the only one of the gang, who could emote with tears too. Surprising, because he was not like the Bollywood Thakurs at all.

Oh I will miss him- definitely.

And if there is a life after the physical one- which I personally like to believe, maybe he is actually laughing at this post- because he is now rid of all his physical ailments, and has a better veranda than the one he had in Bhopal. And perhaps the noise of the traffic there is not as irritating. He does not have to deal with leaking roofs, and the rickety chairs which looked like they could be repaired, but were really through and done.

I shall still send the same forwards to Papa, and maybe Chauhan Uncle will be able to read them and laugh- without the printouts. Perhaps his hearing is better too.

I shall go down to Bhopal when I do- for the present I shall get on with doing what I have to do, in the here and now.

This is recession time, and I should be grateful that I have work.

Oh dear........I am not a very grateful person. That is how I feel right now.