I am sure all of you have seen me in some way or the other, in
paintings or in person. But I understand if you have not realised my existence
amongst my fellow-beings. I stand at the corner of the pathway where the humans
walk early mornings or late evenings, just outside Victoria Memorial in
Kolkata. I am here at the same spot since the last thirty odd years (if you go
by human calculations). For me, it feels just yesterday the good Samaritan in
blue overalls placed me here.
I keep hearing lots of stories and chatter over the din of
the moving metals boxes of various sizes (called cars) that keep honking
without reason. It makes me wonder, what pleasure do they get by shouting at
each other. I think they are just driven mad by the growing number of humans,
hence I see them passing out more of the black air day by day, to vent their
feelings.
At least I can comprehend what the humans say, unlike the cars.
Most of them who sit on the bench at my foot to chat are the ones with grey
hair and have difficulty in walking. Sometimes there is a man in tattered
clothes who sleeps here when the sun is scorching, and then there are the young
at heart who peck at each other like my friends, the Birds. I hear them chat
about studies, work, money, children, houses, politics, travels, and relationships,
but never about me. Yet I can't help but eavesdrop.
Nowadays, I feel sad when the ones with grey hair chat
between themselves. They sound so lonely and confused at the same time. It
seems none of their young ones stay with them anymore. They are either in
cities they call Bangalore, Pune, Delhi, or in different countries they call
US, Europe. This is happening over the last ten years. Before then, they used
to talk about getting them married, and how they are faring in different life
stages. Now mostly I hear them saying - my son / daughter 'called'. "They
must be cooking now, they must be in office now, I heard my grandchild is
growing up fast and started talking". Everything has become an assumption
and craving. The human children seems to have started leaving their parents and
are living independently like the Birds.
What I do not understand is, why are they never happy, why
is there a mask all the time, why do they have to lie to their own, why don't
they have the courage anymore to do what their heart pleases? There are two
such people who come every evening. I heard them talking over the small box
pressed to their ears they call 'phones', saying, "Please do not worry
about us, we are fine and happy here. Visit us when you have time". And the
next moment after they removed the 'phone' from their ears, they started
crying, saying "wish our son can visit us this festival, we haven't seen
him in two years since he went off to US". I feel so helpless, wish I
could have consoled them in some way.
There is one common topic that is always in vogue in the
city - Politics. The young, the old, the poor, and even the roadside vendors
seem to be bound by this common term. My friend, the Dog, brings me stories
from all around. That is how I know that the long strings of people who walk
the roads every now and then are either supporting or protesting an idea. They
convey their thoughts with 'slogans', placards, and different colour themes
(which is very interesting for me, I wonder what the red or green pictures
signify).
As I already said, I have seen and heard a lot over the last
three decades. I have seen numerous people with varied looks and clothes visit
the memorial, mostly with those clicking objects they call 'camera'. I share my
experiences and thoughts with Dog, who also seems to be very perturbed
nowadays. He says food is scarce and humans have become more rude. They always
seem to be in a hurry and on the verge of fighting all the time. He has lived
lesser than me, but he has the gift of mobility, hence has seen and heard more.
We have also faced the vagaries of weather together. There
have been scorching summers, pleasant winters, and severe monsoons. I love
rains, since that keeps me alive. The man in the blue overalls stopped feeding me
water after a year, and I had to fend for myself. But the rains have been
torrential lately. Sometimes, it goes on and on for days together, clogging the
roads and making it very difficult for the men who carry behind them two big
circles attached to rods (sometimes with more humans sitting on top). The cars
also come to a standstill and there is even more honking, now from the humans
as well, as if the boxes were not making enough noise.
What scared me was what the humans called "earthquake".
One sudden afternoon, I felt excruciating pain in my veins as it got pulled and
stretched for some two-three minutes. Next day the humans were ga-ga about the
event, as they discussed how small an earthquake it was and comparing it to
other countries, where something on the Richter scale was much higher.
Till date, I have never been scared of death. I wanted to
die naturally like my fellow beings, when they grow old and dry up. The humans
then saw them up and take them off to some obscure place. But this earthquake
really shook me up. The humans were saying it is the result of the ravaging
they are doing on Mother Nature, the increasing pollution and ever-rising
population. But if such a small earthquake can cause me so much pain, I wonder
how much pain my fellow beings will be in. I do not want to die an unnatural
death caused by humans.
I think I can go on and on about my surroundings, the
humans, the Victoria, the changes I have seen amongst all in my life. But
everything looks so complicated these days, I am thoroughly confused. I long
for the chatter and laughter of the small humans who used to run around me, the
happy faces I see no more and the love stories that were woven around me. And I
wonder, will I live to see such a day again? If not, I hope I dry up soon and
die since I do not want to be the keeper of just humans sorrows.
