Crowd ....incomplete.

Every time the picture of a crowd comes up anywhere; I go on an auto scan mode. Eyes search for the women in the multitude. Strangely, many a times “the crowd” means men, and men alone [in this part of the world]. So where are the women? Are they not part of the crowd?

Recently my eyes spot a pic in the morning paper. A group of people had gathered to witness an elephant in must being sedated and captured. Scanner on; sadly fails to spot a woman in the snapshot.

Few days ago, a bus terminal was inaugurated in Trivandrum. As I read the news report about the terminal and the crowd that had come to view it, again my eyes fail me. Did I see a woman somewhere in the photograph? I re-check - again and again and...

A film awards ceremony on TV: The reporter says “ and we see the crowd shaking their legs to the latest tunes..”. The camera spans to show boys and men thoroughly benefiting from the roaring jazzy music, no qualms attached. No lass en masse though. I felt incomplete.

Clearly there is a pattern. This is no coincidence. When we try to break a norm, we pay. Shwetha Menon appeared on the President’s trophy boat race as a special guest and she was groped. Period. Many years back when I wished to see the boat race, I was told “that crowd is not fit for girls.”

Bored, I flick through the channels on TV. I land on “His highness Adbulla” – a grosser movie of the 90s.  Mohanlal asks his heroine “ആരും കാണാതെ എങ്ങന്യാ ഇങ്ങനെ മറഞ്ഞു നിക്കണേ?”!!  I nearly threw up, smeared wicks on my forehead and consoled myself saying that the movie in about 20 years old. 

മലയാളത്തില്‍ ഒരു വാക്കുണ്ട്. പുരുഷാരം meaning multitude of people. ‘Have always thought the word was incorrect. So I recently rechecked a dictionary and found one more word that’s quite debatable. പുത്രവാത്സല്യം = motherly love!! I check for a similar പുത്രിവാത്സല്യം and it does not exist!! Ha!

Skewed, aren’t we? I mean check any  horde,  mob,  rabble,  mass,  multitude,  host, army,  herd,  flock,  drove, swarm, sea, stream, troupe, pack, press, crush, flood, collection, company, gathering, assembly, assemblage,  array,  congregation,  convention of people in the developed world to find men and women in almost equal numbers. So what’s missing here? Why is the crowd incomplete?

A few good men (and women)

As I stand watching kids play, I also see the bored, indifferent watchman. His day dawns and dies with the monotony of opening and closing gates. What is interesting as an audience is the marked difference in his enthusiasm depending on the size of the wagon for which he operates the gate. The more expensive the wagon, the more fast his strides are. If it happens to be a luxury brand, he zooms to the gate, salutes the driver and lets it pass, sometimes even in the middle of his lunch break. If you happen to arrive in an economy car, he would walk to you miserably, peek inside the car as if to make sure that you are human indeed.  The fellow’s performance reaches its peak when he spots the apartment association’s president’s red BMW. Once this vitaliser of a car is out of his sight, he returns to his normal self. One would wonder how it is possible to have such quick mood swings.

This man to me is a cross section of our society. A cross section that makes me shudder; makes me want to run away and seriously shakes my belief in humanity. Sort of how discovering a rotten portion inside a cut tomato makes you want to chuck the whole of it.

Somehow we have managed to tune the display of emotions to be strictly based on benefits.

Lately the poor heart has become too very vulnerable. Even a little shuffle sets off a cascade of tremors and aftershocks lasting days. The self centered nature of society feels nauseating. Freestanding souls are rare. One comes across people who maintain an aura of refinement while hosting a complicated, high –maintenance, insecure self, corroded with layers of complexes underneath. I have had to reaffirm and convince myself repeatedly that the rest of the tomato is still palatable.  I attribute this hope to a few good men (and women) in daily life.

Annotations as below:

The milk man - The fellow also supplies mineral water on call. A gentle knock on the door generally announces his arrival. Once I asked him why he doesn’t ring the bell like everyone else does. The answer I got was “I thought the boy might be sleeping. I did not want to disturb you”. Thoughtfulness in a situation totally uncalled for. Without being asked to, he always walks into the kitchen and hosts the big tub of water onto its dispenser, every single time. And walks out with a “Ha !” (which translates to “Hey you!”) to Achu. Achu responds with a “Ha !” in return and/or goes berserk kicking around empty water tubs.

The Raddi** woman –She comes with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eye once in every two months or so to recycle old news papers. A smile pleasant enough to light up any dull day. A smile that actually means “I am happy to see you”. The commendable part of it is her silence through it all. Her self is not what you see, but an aura of positivity. I suppose it always works that way. The day the self is discarded, its replaced by something more divine. I always think of her as a fully lit up Christmas tree with 2 bright stars for her eyes. A case of superficial being absent and supreme being present.

The nanny – So you would have thought that God impersonated was visible in the 4th batting order of Indian cricket team. To see God in action, one simply watched cricket?? I disagree. God was the one who walked into my world as Achu’s nanny when he was 4 months of age. She deserves no description for the simple fact that there are no words to describe her. Just a miracle cocktail of workmanship, sophistication, sanity, humor and love. Nothing more, nothing less. Simply divine.

And the world goes around…..

Raddi** - Scrap picker.