My reflection By the second of April, some of the main doors, such as the work permit, the right to take a rented accommodation, and overseas journeys, were apparently closed. Alone in a country with hardly any people around who were neither experienced nor experts in the matter of immigration. In contrast, I was among the people who took desperate measures to stay in the country through illegal payments and made their stay legal. Even though I was a paying guest, my vulnerability allowed Maya and her family to overstep into my space, and my immigration status became a topic of salivating gossip for everyone. They took it as a mission to bombard me with questions and remarks, which affected me deeply, and I had to take the brunt of it silently. Apart from being treated as an unpaid housemaid at Maya’s, chasing the lawyer for the draft of the petition, which was suggested by the solicitor himself and took a hefty amount in advance, was taking a toll on me. In that hapless situation...
Posts
A microphone, a mobile phone, and determination. Dekode App: a new era of accessible, transparent journalism.' Casual scrolling through a social media page has never felt so meaningful. Even before I read the post, I saw the picture of an elderly man holding a microphone in one hand and a mobile phone in the other. It was not rocket science for me to recognise the gentleman, Dr Pronoy Roy, a pioneer in Indian television journalism, with his in-depth and impartial news reporting. Dr Roy is widely credited as a transformative figure in the history of Indian broadcast media, having revolutionised the way elections and current affairs were covered on television. I grew up listening to his news reports, election analysis, and, above all, his impartial and unbiased views. It was a decades-long ritual to watch prime-time news on NDTV. Just the sight of the photograph brought back so many memories lost in the labyrinth of memory lanes. The assassination of Mrs Indira Gandhi, the riots in D...
Paper Protection
PAPER PROTECTION With a television remote in hand, I stumble upon an Argentinian dramedy called 27 Nights based on a real-life story. The protagonist is a fierce octogenarian, vivacious dancer, art dealer, and socialite in an unconventional way. Unlike her friends, her daughters see her as eccentric and a spendthrift. They fear their family fortune will drain away before they can lay their hands on it. So they hatched a vicious plan by teaming up with medical specialists and declared that their mother was suffering from dementia and institutionalised her overnight. The iron rules of the institution and the strict vigilance of the carers failed to overwhelm the lonely octogenarian’s spirit. She never missed an opportunity to speak to visitors or to the other inmates to contact her friends. After several failed attempts, she succeeded. Her friends and an official from the state social justice team busted her daughters' deceptive plot, and the lady was finally released ...
Less Ordinary Didi Kadombini Devi, my great-grandmother, I know her well but never met her. Almost seven decades after her passing, especially when one of her favourite grandsons passed away, I am attempting to bring out certain contrasting characters in that ordinary rural woman, which made her exclusive and worth documenting. There are many instances in the history of the Indian subcontinent during the turn of the twentieth century when women overcame every possible challenge and made their presence felt in paintings to paediatrics, theatre to thermodynamics, Astronomy to Astrology. On the other hand, millions of women in the villages, mofussil towns, and cities lived within the walls of their households and traditions. Their lives were cocooned , restricted to doing household chores; when they reached puberty, they propagated to build their husband's lineage, and in the later stages, these women would live in one corner of the household, often neglected if they depende...
Final good bye
Dementia-Ben and Boon. An octogenarian with Dementia, abandoned by her daughter and son-in-law, took her last breath on a bed in a home for seniors, clinging to a soft toy to her heart. The other companion was the classical music playing on her television. Before handing over to the undertaker, the dead body was cleaned and washed by two senior carers and finally handed over to an undertaker. The lady who lived in that home for a decade left the place without a whisper or a whimper. Although it was an unfortunate event, carers and their superiors are always prepared for such an event. The concept of accommodation for seniors originated in the Middle Ages in northern Europe and is now a thriving global industry. It is a home where the elderly get medical care, food, and shelter. Finances are often taken care of by the state and their lifelong savings. The system seems perfect for upholding the independence and freedom of these vulnerable people. The residents living in Dementia ...
French Onion Soup
East or West. Where lies the acquired taste? Soups are always exotic, and their fumes emit a nostalgic colonial English aura for people living in small towns in India. Even though, in recent years, ready-to-slurp soup sachets have flooded the markets, middle-class homemakers have placed them along with their spice boxes without any hesitation. Yet, a hot cup of soup still transports Indians to the cloudy, hilly terrains of the far-off European countryside. In traditional English cuisine, carrots, peas, mushrooms, leeks, chicken, or beef broths seasoned with condiments are cooked in low flames for hours under the strict supervision of the chef. The broth gets cooked till it thickens to get the perfect consistency of soup and served with dollops of heavy cream. It is an ideal appetizer and cosy delicacy to make the chilly evenings comfortable. Soups have always been part and parcel of English supper, and people instinctively like the dish. When elderly...
Said and unsaid ways of tackling immigration.
On a summer afternoon, the immigration counter at Gatwick Airport, London, was thinly crowded, and border police officers sitting on the other side of the counter were visibly relaxed. A young officer was surprisingly friendly and invited me to come to his counter with a subdued smile. It was a welcomingly rare experience for immigrants from third-world countries. After checking my documents, he started a conversation by asking about my master's subject. Promptly, after my reply, the next question was whether I have a job in my chosen academic field. After my quasi-negative reply smeared with an aura of hope, he took no time to blow my morale by narrating his tale that he passed with an English major, yet he failed to find a job in his chosen subject and landed up in his current post. I left the counter without a whimper, just a courteous thank you. We are all aware that the UK Government has taken strict measures to tighten the influx of immigrants, whether legal or i...