Murders and Free Speech

This week, on Tuesday, 5 September, Gauri Lankesh, 55, editor of a weekly newspaper, was shot dead outside her house by unknown assailants.

Before that Narendra Dabholkar, 67 (murdered on 20 Aug 2013), Govind Pansare, 81 (20 Feb 2015) and M.M.Kalburgi, 76 (30 Aug 2015) were all killed in a similar fashion, by unknown helmeted bikers, using 7.65 mm pistols, firing several shots  at point blank range to make certain the victim was dead.

“Is free speech under attack in the world’s largest democracy? Who is next?” Asked Washington post the following day.

“In India, another government critic is silenced by bullets”, said the New York Times headline.

“The murder of journalist Gauri Lankesh shows India descending into violence”, asserted UK’s Guardian.

An interesting case

As a peace-loving person, I denounce all killings, pre-meditated, impulsive, war related, state sponsored; irrespective of who the victim or the killer is. The following analysis is neither sentimental nor political. I will try to be as objective as is humanly possible and fact-based where facts are available. As a writer based in India, I am certainly an interested party when questions are raised about the freedom of speech in India.  The case of the cold-blooded murder this week and the reactions to it present several interesting points.

Narendra Dabholkar’s murder

The evening before his murder, Narendra Dabholkar visited his sister Amarja at Mahim, less than 500 meters from my house. Amarja has been my mother’s friend for several decades. I have read many of Dabholkar’s books. Dabholkar was an intellectual, progressive person, committed to his mission of dispelling superstition in Maharashtra. His books expose perversity in certain backward sections of Indian society, where infants are sacrificed by throwing them from the top of a building (supposedly to please certain Gods). Dabholkar relentlessly tried to fight black magic. As a qualified medical doctor, he scientifically demonstrated to gullible masses how “miracles” can be performed. Despite stiff resistance, he tried to get the State to outlaw those practising superstition and black magic.

Dabholkar was called a rationalist. His agenda was neither political nor religious. It was against self proclaimed Godmen, dubious tantriks and pseudo-gurus who exploited the illiterates. Dabholkar, Pansare and Kalburgi were all scholars, authors of several books and social activists.

Gauri Lankesh was different. Her constant criticism of Hinduism, her attempts to pronounce Lingayat as a religion separate from Hinduism show she was not a rationalist. A rationalist criticises the ills in all religions, not focusing on a specific religion. The difference between Dabholkar’s and Lankesh’s activism is not a matter of semantics. It is to show how wrong it is to put them in one bracket. There was a clear motive to kill Dabholkar, none to kill Lankesh.

Motive

Journalists, particularly the activists among them, have been killed at regular intervals in India. There is nothing new about it. In the last twenty five years, some 71 journalists have been murdered. Most of them wrote in local languages. (I presume people in the English media are either more cautious, reach fewer people, or are savvy enough to use police protection). In most cases, the murdered journalists were trying to unearth some corruption scandal or investigate a serious crime. A corrupt politician or a professional criminal can easily silence a journalist before the damaging story comes out. That’s a clear motive. Similarly, in Dabholkar’s case, had his efforts succeeded, many charlatan gurus would have lost their luxurious lifestyles. (Some of them do land in Indian jails, but only after manipulating their devotees for years). What they practised without restraint would have become illegal and criminal. It was better to get rid of Dabholkar before he succeeded. That was not the case with Gauri Lankesh. Based on current data, she didn’t pose a threat to anybody’s livelihood.

The Naxal angle

Naxalites are the Indian group of Maoists-communists, who since 1967 aim to overthrow the government through violent uprisings. They resent the Indian State taking over the tribal forest lands that belonged to them. The Naxalite-government conflict has been among India’s most blood-spattered conflicts. The Naxalite movement was mainly active in West Bengal. But several other states, including Karnataka were affected. Gauri Lankesh was a Naxal sympathiser. The Karnataka government had used her as a mediator. Lankesh actively sought to rehabilitate Naxalites by bringing them into the “mainstream”. This expression denotes a Naxalite surrendering, and the government helping his family with monthly allowance for a number of years. Some reporters have speculated that Lankesh’s connection with Naxalites could have caused her murder.

The problem with this theory is that the movement was already weak in Karnataka. In 2010, Karnataka was removed from the list of Naxal-affected states. More importantly, the central government and Gauri Lankesh were on the same page. Both wished to bring the Naxalites into the mainstream. And if Naxalite revolutionaries were upset about it, they should have gotten rid of Lankesh before 2010, not now.

The Hindutva brigade, RSS, BJP, Far right

Social media these days serves as a platform for civil wars. Facebook and Twitter have two camps. Depending on how debauched a person is, hate is spewed out towards the opposite camp. This is a worldwide phenomenon. I call the verbal exchange an ‘uncivil war’ and call that part of social media ‘anti-social media’. One can opt to take part in this hate war, or ignore it like we ignore pornographic websites. This verbal exchange by the curators of hate is usually devoid of literary talent, rational arguments or factual basis.

One such Indian civil war takes place between Modi fans and Modi haters. Modi haters think of him as a genocidal autocrat, his party fascist, his associates terrorists. They call him the Supreme Leader, they deride his fans as Modi Bhakts (devotees), and they paint Hinduism with saffron, a colour so terrible that India’s bleak future lies in its possible saffronisation. India currently doesn’t have a worthwhile opposition leader. The opposite camp has no choice but to attack the Modi haters. Two of the Indian portmanteau terms used are presstitutes and sickular. On Twitter, you don’t need to create anything new. You can simply take the venom of your liking and retweet it. When millions retweet, a giant hate cloud is formed in the air.

Gauri Lankesh belonged to the camp of Modi/Hindutva/BJP/RSS haters. Her Twitter page is filled with an artillery of hate re-tweets. She herself acknowledges some of her posts are not verified and may be fake. 

One proposed theory is that her murder was the result of her relentless attacks on BJP/RSS/Hindutva brigade. 

To test this theory, let us assume it was a state-sponsored killing. In order to silence a Hindutva/Modi critic, the ruling party decided to silence her for ever.

There are two reasons why a contract killing is ordered: threat or revenge.

Gauri Lankesh was not a threat of any kind. Her local weekly tabloid was small, its circulation was between 10,000 and 15,000. As a Naxal activist, her interests matched with the government. Her social media posts were nothing out of the ordinary.

And if revenge was a motive, and Lankesh was punished for her persistent criticism of the Hindutva brigade, then a few more million Indians would need to be murdered. Millions of Indians post, tweet or re-tweet stuff similar to what Gauri Lankesh posted. Why target her?

That is the reason I reject the theory of a state sponsored murder. No doubt there may be private Hindu groups willing and capable of terrorising and killing. They still need to have a motive to target Gauri Lankesh from among the millions saying the same things day in and day out. Why her?

A woman

Also noteworthy is that a woman activist was targeted. Of course, several women are routinely killed in India, by husbands, lovers, boyfriends, in-laws. But as far as assassinations of politicians or journalists are concerned, I can’t remember anyone apart from Indira Gandhi. The Indian Prime Minister was killed by her Sikh bodyguard as revenge for her sending troops to assault the holiest Sikh temple. A very clear motive.

Please look at this list of Indian journalists murdered as a result of their work between 1992 and 2016.

They are all men.

One reason, of course, could be that there are fewer women in politics and journalism. The other reason could be that many religions and moral laws prohibit the killing of women and children. Quite often, hijackers and terrorists let the women go, and keep the men hostage or kill them. Even terrorists can have a lower boundary below which they can’t fall.

That’s what surprises me in this case. Targeting a woman for media impact or terrorising is bizarre. In India, a woman getting killed in a private feud is far more probable than a planned killing by a terror group.

Getting away with murder

Dabholkar, Pansare, Kalburgi were murdered, but their killers are not found. This has been projected as evidence that the killers of journalists, intellectuals, rationalists are backed by the police and the state. This is another myth.

The above three murders and Gauri Lankesh’s murder happened in two adjoining states: Maharashtra and Karnataka. The Indian rate of disposal of cases by the police is 71.6%. Maharashtra (59.9%) and Karnataka (63.8%) have rates much lower than the national average. This indicates that in Maharashtra, in 4 out of 10 cases, investigation is not completed. The police force is underpaid and overburdened. India is not as well covered by CCTV as richer, Western countries. Contract killings by bikers using smuggled or homemade pistols are the most difficult to resolve.

The Indian intolerance  

A picture has been projected to suggest the intolerance and violence in India is growing, particularly in the last three years (meaning since the time Modi became India’s PM).

A country half of whose citizens have little or no access to reliable electricity, drinking water or toilet; 50% of whose children are underweight, and 30 million citizens alarmingly hungry; where 1.3 billion people are squashed in 2% of world’s land; where diversity is such that a banknote needs to be printed in 17 languages; should have had gory social revolutions long ago. The fact that for seventy years India has remained one despite immense poverty and abysmal quality of life, suggests its extreme tolerance.

The perception that India has become increasingly intolerant after Modi/BJP government is rarely fact based. In the context of this article, it should be noted that Narendra Dabholkar was murdered when both in his state (Maharashtra) and at the centre (Delhi) the Congress government ruled. Unless Modi/BJP began intolerance with retrospective effect, the Dabholkar case can’t be offered as proof of BJP’s intolerance.  

Murders and freedom of speech

Journalists’ murder statistic is not necessarily co-related to freedom of speech. For example, in the past twenty five years, only two journalists have been killed in China and none in Saudi Arabia and North Korea.

That India regularly loses journalists/activists to attacks implies they continue to exercise their freedom irrespective of the risks. Many journalists/writers are naive in thinking nobody would actually bother to kill them. M.M.Kalburgi, one of the three scholars killed, had police protection. He asked the state government to withdraw it. Within 15 days after the withdrawal, he was killed. Both Kalburgi and Gauri Lankesh might have been alive today, if they had police protection.

Politicians the world over enjoy a high level of security. That is one reason they remain safe. Every writer, journalist, intellectual receiving death threats must ask for police protection.

Conclusion

My views in summary:

(1)               The murder of Gauri Lankesh can’t be put in the same bracket with that of Narendra Dabholkar, simply because the killing modus operandi was the same. Dabholkar’s killing had a motive, Lankesh’s didn’t. (Or at least we don’t know yet).

(2)              If Lankesh was killed because of her strong views against Hinduism and the ruling party, a few more millions would need to be murdered. Why pick her, why pick a woman?

(3)              The probability is that Lankesh was killed for a specific reason (of a private or local nature) by the person/group who ordered the killing. India has enough madmen, enough mercenaries, and enough smuggled or homemade pistols.

(4)              Given the context of poverty, overcrowding and diversity, India remains one of the most tolerant countries. The default for a poor country is dictatorship. India is a notable exception.

(5)              The rate of killing of Indian journalists has not changed over the past twenty five years. There is more noise than substance, more propaganda than facts to say the freedom of speech or tolerance levels have deteriorated since Modi’s arrival. They have become worse, in line with the global deterioration. Part of social media encourages hate campaigns and intolerance. If one were to study Indian social media, we now have the highest level of freedom of speech.

            Readers disagreeing with my conclusion are welcome to send me facts (real facts, not alternative facts) to substantiate how tolerance, violence and speech freedom have gone down in India.

Ravi

Poliana

Of all the essential things we need for survival, air is free.  Because its supply is abundant. You pay for air only when dissatisfied with its temperature. Conditioning of air, cooling and heating both, is generally paid for. Other than that, free air is taken for granted. We notice air only when we are short of it.

The fastest moving consumer good

Food is equally critical for survival. Unlike air, it is not free. In fact, that is one commodity we pay for every day. Food is the fastest moving consumer good. Out of habit, we consume three meals a day: breakfast, lunch and dinner. The word breakfast is interesting. It talks about breaking a fast. What fast? The fast that we, unfortunately, have to suffer during our night sleep. Breakfast, lunch and dinner are the three key milestones of our day. We perform different activities during the breaks between meals. No wonder that none of the readers of this article, nor its writer, really knows what hunger means. Just as air is appreciated only when we are deprived of it, hunger is understood only when food is unavailable.

In this age of globalisation, the availability of food is not global. According to UNICEF data, every 3.6 seconds a child dies of starvation somewhere in the world. Tonight, at the restaurant table we may face the dilemma of stuffing our overfull stomachs with those last two slices of the giant pizza or letting them go. At the same time, five million people in South Sudan are experiencing life-threatening food shortages. South Sudanese able to get a single meal a day are considered blessed. In my own country, thirty million people are considered alarmingly hungry and malnourished, and 50% of the children are underweight. If the Sudanese hunger is partly war related, the Indian hunger is a result of not having enough food supply or the ability to access it. India’s second largest state Madhya Pradesh (72 million) is the epicentre of hunger. It ranks worse than Ethiopia and Sudan in the hunger index.

In our lifetime, the world has been adding 1 billion people every 12 years, taking the global population from 5 billion in 1987 to 7.5 billion this year. It is projected to reach 9 billion by 2042. All 9 billion would want two or three meals a day. Scientists may one day invent instant food pills made in labs. Even if invented, they are unlikely to be tasty, more like the e-cigarettes that failed to satisfy smokers. The world will have to rely on agriculture to feed the 9 billion.

Non-vegetarians may feel they have found a solution to the agricultural food crisis. In fact, meat-eating makes the problem worse. Chickens, cows, sheep and pigs need vast amounts of food and water. If the entire world were to become vegetarian, it will have at least two times more food and a lot more water than today. It takes 27 litres of water to produce one pound of potatoes, but 9000 litres to produce a pound of beef. (Interesting for vegans: It takes 1000 litres of water to produce one litre of milk). Meat-eating also eats up vast amounts of land. An Indian family living on rice, beans, vegetables and fruit can produce their food and live comfortably on an acre of land or less. An average American, who consumes nearly 300 pounds of meat a year, needs 20 times more.

Competition for land and water

Arable land is land capable of being ploughed and used to grow crops. (Land on which cattle graze may be agricultural, but not arable). Only 10.6% of the world’s land is arable. Arable land per person is declining rapidly, in the last fifty years from 0.4 hectares to 0.2 hectares.

Water is in shortage, and agricultural lands have to compete with cities for water. Bio fuels are now produced on the same agricultural land. Fuel vs food is a burning debate. The fields that can feed people are diverted to feed diesel-hungry vehicles.

When food crisis exists and is certain to become acute, when demand for food far exceeds its supply, why do people keep migrating from rural to urban areas? Why are there shortages of farm workers everywhere?

City and village

Instead of working in nature, breathing fresh and clean air, eating healthy organic food, living in spacious houses; most of my family and friends prefer to work in air-conditioned offices with no open windows, stare at a computer screen for ten hours a day, eat a high calorie diet, commute daily for two to three hours either in overcrowded transport or in slow-moving traffic, breathe polluted air, and live on top of one another. Why?

Being a city-lover myself, this is a question I have often thought of. I mainly lived in two big cities, Bombay and Moscow. (I like to be surrounded by 10 million people.) Following is the list I had prepared to justify living in a city rather than a village. (1) 24-hour electricity (2) 24-hour water (3) Internet (4) gym (5) library (6) cinema halls (7) education (8) medical facilities (9) jobs and (10) people, lots of them.

After visiting Martin’s Bulgarian farm Poliana, I began to question this list for the first time.

Poliana, the Bulgarian farm

Martin, our WWOOF host in Bulgaria was very different from Jurek in Poland. Martin qualified as a Chartered Accountant, with an additional degree in international relations and worked for Price Waterhouse for many years. Later he was a successful corporate executive working as a finance director for a major oil company. He speaks in many languages, is a well-read intellectual, appreciates art and has a well developed aesthetic sense. Not really the profile of an organic farmer.

Nine years ago, taking advantage of the recession, he decided to buy 1000 hectares of agricultural land at throwaway prices. It was situated in South-eastern Bulgaria. The population of the village Poliana is 216. Martin gave up his blooming corporate career and became an organic farmer. The hundreds of hectares he bought now produce wheat, rye, sunflowers, lentils, organic almonds, organic walnuts, lavender, salvia, chamomile, dill and many herbs. He exports his herbs and other products to Germany and other European markets.

Parallel to that, the farm breeds sheep, cows, goats, bees, ducks, chicken, pigs, ostriches and other animals.

It is worth noting that Martin could have made lots of easy money by re-selling the land. Instead, he decided to cultivate it, and make money the hard way.

The most incredible thing on the farm was the guest house he has built overlooking the hundreds of hectares. The owners, the guests, and the WWOOFers stay here. This farmhouse is a modern palace - built tastefully, with all modern amenities, and a speedy internet. Mena was commissioned to paint murals on two walls in the outer coffee lounge.

Meeting Martin and the stay at his farmhouse shattered a few myths for me.

Agriculture can attract a city person. Martin admitted he had no connection with farms before. /Agriculture can be a profitable business. /The farmhouse had 24-hour electricity, 24-hour water, internet, lots of books, five-star interior and satellite television.

There was no gym, but I could run every day in the fresh air, sometimes not meeting a single soul or vehicle for hours. (True, a single horsefly once ran 21 km along with me, buzzing all the way without stinging me. I felt an immediate sympathy for horses). 

Yes, you can’t have millions of people around you in a village. But in the cities, how many amongst those millions have the time or desire to meet you? The megacity crowd is an illusion. Crowded metros have many lonely people. People are becoming self-centred (or Selfie-centred), and relations increasingly digital. I suppose a lack of people as an objection to rural life is no longer as strong. Sitting in Poliana, the Bulgarian village, I talked regularly with my parents and friends around the world on Skype and Facetime.

That brings down the list of the advantages of a city over village life to three. (a) Jobs (b) education and (c) medical.

Martin, with his example, showed that agriculture can be a good business. The career of a farm owner can be as lucrative as that of a corporate executive.

Education of children remains a problem in villages anywhere in the world. Adults can’t really move to rural areas until their children’s school education is over. However with the internet, self-education is no longer a problem.

Medical facilities are usually available in the nearest town. However, if you breathe clean air, work in nature, and eat organic food; medical access won’t be at the top of your mind. The longest living people on earth are found in the villages of Okinawa, Japan; Sardinia, Italy and Loma Linda, California. Not in the cities of London, Paris, Moscow or Bombay.

Takeaway

My biggest takeaway from meeting Martin and staying at his farmhouse in Bulgaria was that it is possible for city people to live and work in rural areas. In the modern world, most of the city amenities can be made available in a village. Food insecurity is one of the global problems, and will continue to be so during our lifetime. Shrewd decisions can make agriculture a successful business.

The problem of company can be solved by a bunch of like-minded people forming a commune and living on a farm.

Martin’s Poliana showed, against my expectations, that reverse migration can enhance the quality of one’s life.

Ravi  

A City Man on an Organic Farm

Growing up in Bombay with its concrete roads, teeming trains, ever-declining tree population; the closest I came to agricultural farms was when my long-distance train journeys passed by paddy fields and fruit orchards. With few humans in sight, the fields looked devoid of any interest. My mother tried to educate me on the names of the fruit trees. To me, they all looked green and undistinguishable.

At the same time, I always took great interest in eating. Indian dishes and potato remain my all time favourite. However, the only food supply chain I knew started from our local street market and ended on our dining table. If I were to come across tall trees with potatoes hanging from them, I wouldn’t have been surprised at all.

Organic farming

Things began to change, as they generally do, with my marriage. Mena was the opposite of me. She grew up in a village; her father had spent his entire life farming. Mena can drive in a jungle without maps and smartphones; yet know the directions and her whereabouts based on the landscape. With her arrival in my life, plastic bags in the house were replaced by cloth bags, water and milk are stored exclusively in glass bottles, burnt crumbs in the pans (which I thought were tasty) became avoidable as they were carcinogenic,  garbage was meticulously separated between dry and wet, my sugar and salt intake went down. I also learnt I was buying the wrong sort of fruit. The big and bright oranges and pomegranates I chose owed their lustre to the chemicals injected into them. Smaller, lustreless organic fruit was far healthier.

Organic farming tries to sustain and enhance the soil fertility without using any synthetic pesticides or fertilizers, antibiotics, hormones or genetic modifications. What grows on organic farms is natural. For thousands of years, farming was only organic. It was only in the twentieth century that modern farming methods started interfering with nature.

The organic farming movement tries to make sure we go back to old, healthier times. The organic products - fruit, vegetables, even meat - certified by the appropriate authorities fetch a substantial premium. I don’t know how unsafe chemically injected or genetically modified food is. It could be like the Kodak vs Fuji case study. By marketing the Kodak moment, Kodak encouraged consumers to pay 20-25% more for a Kodak over a Fuji film. Professional photographers knew the two films were identical. Perception is as important as reality. If you consume organic food and feel healthier, that’s what counts.

Having said that, I remember my business trip in 1989 to Poltava, a Ukrainian town not very far from Chernobyl. Walking in the market, the delegation I was with remarked on the size of the local tomatoes. They were huge and bright red (radiant, I might say). We said no to the tomato salad that evening.

WWOOF

Why do we waste our precious vacations visiting capital cities of the world, one after another, Mena had asked me. They all looked like one another. (Trees look the same to a city man, and cities look the same to a woman who loves villages). With me rapidly running out of relatives and friends willing to offer us a free home stay, I needed to look for alternatives anyway. My internet research came up with WWOOF.

WWOOF originally was a short form for ‘Working Weekends On Organic Farms’. This initiative was conceived in 1971 in the UK, to give city-dwellers an opportunity to spend the weekends working on farms in nearby villages. Later, as the idea spread, volunteers wished to spend more time on farms. The movement was then renamed as ‘Willing Workers On Organic farms’. However, with its global spread, the word “workers” confused the bureaucrats and visa-issuers who detested people working without work permits. Finally, WWOOF settled on “WorldWide Opportunities on Organic Farms” as its title. Though the name changed twice, the principles remain the same. A host, generally a farm owner, seeks people to help on the farm. A volunteer, called a WWOOFer, reaches the farm at his own expense. The WWOOFer is compensated in the form of free accommodation and meals for his labour on the farm. He can stay for as long as he likes – weeks, months or sometimes, even years. Over a 100 countries have WWOOF hosts. Australia, New Zealand and USA lead the list, with more than 2000 hosts in each.

Becoming a WWOOFer is a fairly easy process. Generally, by paying a nominal fee, you can access the directory of a particular country. You may, then, short list the farms and kind of work you would like to do and contact the hosts. Once the host confirms, you are booked for the agreed period. Most of it works on trust, there is no formal agreement. In 2013, Devyani - our nine-year old daughter, Mena and I decided to work on a Polish farm.

Nowina, WWOOF Poland

Jurek (pronounced as Yurek), our chosen host, confirmed he would like our family to collect pumpkins in the summer on his remote farm in the heart of Poland. Many years ago, in Austria, I had spent two weeks picking cherries, strawberries and apricots. That’s the sort of farming job I love. Pumpkins sounded good enough. Because of my advance planning, we were ready with our WWOOF confirmation in January. Jurek’s farm was shut for the winter. He himself was on a three month holiday, travelling through the Amazon rainforest in Brazil.

In June 2013, after changing trains twice from Wroclaw, we reached a deserted station. A lone sunburnt man in khaki shorts waited on the platform. Not surprisingly, he was our WWOOF host. In a car that was evidently bought in the previous millennium, he took us to his village. Nowina, he said, had a population of sixty. (I didn’t tell him that the number of my cousins is higher than that).

We were given a cottage to ourselves. There was no one else on the farm. We spent the first evening in the company of ten horses, three goats, two dogs and three cats. Took the horses to drink water. Drank fresh, hot milk straight from the goats’ udders. Our job description changed on arrival. Jurek told us the intense heat wave had wilted and killed the pumpkin creepers, so there were no pumpkins to harvest. Instead, he was running day-camps for school children from the nearby town. They would come in the morning to learn how to make paper by recycling newspapers. Jurek said he would appreciate if we could help him in running the camps.

By the third day, Devyani was helping the fifth graders at the workshop. Jurek’s house walls were made of clay. He wanted to decorate them with Sanskrit verses and Indian paintings, something he had learnt were auspicious during his trip to India. Mena was only too happy to paint his farm walls.

A city person learns something new every day. The following day, other than my attempt to milk the goat, I learnt that tea can be made from poison ivy leaves. I plucked the poison ivy leaves, and how well I remember the stinging sensation and angry red welts on my hands.

One of the evenings, an elderly Belgian couple arrived for an overnight halt in their camping van. It transpired one could also stay at Jurek’s farm without working; I presume the Belgians paid daily charges instead.

Jurek’s trip to Iran

Jurek was a single, a divorcee, in his fifties, living alone on the farm. He was the owner of several hectares in remote Poland, hectares that had little property value. Other than farming, he looked after horses kept on his farm by horse owners. Jurek’s income was meagre, and he tried to supplement it with activities like running kids’ workshops. He was in no position to hire labourers, he relied on volunteers.

Every winter, Jurek shuts the farm and the house. He sends the horses back to their owners. Each year, he visits a warm country for the three winter months. In my life, I have seen some light travellers, and Jurek was one of them. At my Polish volunteer camp, a Swiss boy had arrived with only a toothbrush. Jurek carries a maximum of five kilos of hand luggage in his backpack, nothing to check in, and is willing to spend nights anywhere - on a railway platform, at a camping site, in a jungle. That’s an advantage of being a farmer. He carries his annual savings, which is not much. Out of the several travel stories he told me, I found his Iran stay the most fascinating.

Jurek was pleasantly surprised at the reverse racism in Iran. Because he was a white man, nobody took money from him. He would eat on the street or in a small cafe, offer to pay the bill, the Iranians would smile, utter a few words that he didn’t understand, and refuse to take money. He also managed to knock on a few doors, and find a free place to stay for the night.

All this changed when an Iranian policeman arrested him. Jurek was busy taking photos, when the police came and arrested him. He was taken to the police station and put inside a cell. Jurek knows only Polish and basic English. Nobody in the Iranian police station knew any English. Jurek had no idea what he was accused of or what would happen to him.

In a few hours, though, an interpreter arrived. The policeman and the interpreter sat with Jurek.

“You are a journalist” translated the interpreter. To the policeman, it was obvious that a white man taking photos worked for some foreign media, probably American.  

“No, no, please tell him I am a simple tourist.” Said Jurek.

“Not journalist, but a tourist.” Said the translator.

“Oh, just tourist?” said the police. They talked for a few minutes more and the police knew Jurek was genuinely a tourist. Also, importantly he was not an American. The police brought Jurek out of the cell.

“Where are you staying?” asked the policeman.

“Nowhere in particular.” Said Jurek. He was in fact wondering where to spend the next night.

“You must come and stay with me.” Said the interpreter. He also translated it to the policeman as a matter of protocol.

“No, no. Don’t go to his place, you please come and stay with our family.” Said the policeman. He then turned to the interpreter. “And listen, you will help us with translations if it becomes necessary.”

Jurek spent the remaining weeks in Iran at the house of the policeman who had mistakenly arrested him. Though they didn’t share a common language, he was treated and fed very well.

“Iran is possibly the best place I have visited.” Jurek summarised.

*****

At WWOOF, you usually meet interesting characters that you never come across if you were to book a hotel room.

(To be continued)

Ravi  

All That is Well, Ends

(Continued from the previous diary)

Thalia was never asked to be the chairman, I don’t think. Saner patients were usually chosen for that assignment. After the morning meeting; the doctor, the nurse, the chairman for the day, and myself (volunteer) moved to a smaller room. We adjudged each patient’s progress based on what they said at the meeting.

Roger was given the chairman’s job more often than the others. I don’t know his surname. In fact, surnames were never mentioned; even the doctors were called by their first name. Roger was young, in his late twenties. Tall and slim, his clothes were well pressed. (As a rule, patients were not required to wear a uniform, making it difficult to distinguish them from hospital staff). He had a handsome face, with high cheekbones and light stubble that suited him well.

A man like him can be found in an English theatre, rather than in a mental hospital. His smile was sincere and full of charm. Though he spoke slowly, sometimes haltingly, he looked perfectly normal.

“My father left us years ago.” Roger told us during a meeting. “My mother raised me single-handedly. She always made me a hot breakfast before leaving for school, university, right up to my first job. Hot breakfasts and hot dinners. Every evening, my mother was ready at the dinner table with a hot meal, hovering like a waiter in the restaurant. Sometimes I wouldn’t come out of my room, shout at her. She pleaded with me to join her, heated the food again. Later, she washed the plates. She never taught me to cook, and never asked me to wash. She washed and pressed all my clothes. When I started my first job, she polished my shoes while I was having breakfast. Mom, for god’s sake, don’t polish my shoes, I would tell her. She didn’t listen. I hated her. She was there from morning to night, setting an alarm for me, making my bed, packing my bag even if I was going away for a weekend, vacuum cleaning my room. You won’t believe it; she often knocked on the bathroom door to ask if I had a shampoo bottle inside when I was showering.

To be fair, I could see how much she loved me. And it was all very comfortable for me. If she had suddenly asked me to do the dishes, I’m not sure I would be happy washing them. During my Uni years, it never occurred to me to leave the house. I should have left her and lived on my own. But who would take such good care of me?

Then I fell in love. My girlfriend and I discussed renting a place together. Mom said we have such a big house. Why do you want to move somewhere else? Like a fool, I listened to her. My girlfriend started visiting me.”

We were in the bedroom. Had just undressed. We started making love, when there was a knock on the door.

Mom, I’m not alone, go away, I screamed. She knew I was not alone, I didn’t know what sort of emergency she had.

She entered my bedroom. She saw us on the bed. “Roger, the BBC news is on.” She said. “Do you want to watch it?”

*****

At this point, Roger began shaking violently. His lips moved rapidly, as if to say something more, but no words came out. The stories about his mother were the source of his convulsions, and whenever he retold them, he would get an attack. He hated his mother, and couldn’t get away from her. He understood the scale of her love for him, and he didn’t want any of it. Her obsession for her son had finally driven him to the mental hospital.

Getting it all out by narrating his life story was apparently part of his psychotherapy. At times, it worked. I heard the same story from Roger five or six times, and once or twice he managed to tell it without an attack. However, after each convulsion he was put on medication. He would then be seen in a hospital gown instead of his neatly pressed clothes. His blank smile told you he was not perfectly normal.

The mental hospital shuts down

Shakespeare said: all is well that ends well. I have slightly twisted the saying. “All that is well, ends”.

Margaret Thatcher was the Prime Minister of the UK when I volunteered at St Mary Abbot’s hospital. Thatcherism claimed that mental patients were better off staying with their families, in their community, not in a hospital. The patients were a burden on taxpaying public. The conservative party was opposed to it. Eventually, in 1992, under John Major, St Mary Abbot’s hospital shut down. On hearing the news, I imagined Roger going back to live with his mother, and Thalia throwing things at her family. No more morning meetings to attend, no social groups to share your woes with.

Volunteer camps

Volunteer camps offer experiences your normal job or education doesn’t. After thirty years, I still remember Roger’s face and his story as vividly as if it happened yesterday.

Jobs are configured in four different ways. (1) Great, enjoyable work in a great company. (2) Great, enjoyable work in an unpleasant or awful company. (3) Unpleasant work in a great company. (4) Unpleasant work in an awful company.

Those who are in the first category are the luckiest people, but very rare. Those in the last category, with awful work and unpleasant colleagues are the tragic people. Work is punishment for them.

International voluntary camps, by gathering young students from different countries, made sure you were part of an interesting group. For me personally, the work at a mental hospital was very interesting, if stressful at times. It enriched my life for ever.

*****

When I was six or seven years old, I heard the following story.

An unemployed man goes to the king and says, “Oh king! I have no money, no job. My parents haven’t left me any inheritance. I want you to take care of me.”

The king says, sure. I will give you money, what can you give me in return?

In return? The man asks, surprised. I have nothing, no home, no property, what can I give you?

The king says, I will give you one crore rupees. Give me your left eye.

The man is stunned. Oh King, one crore rupees is a lot of money, but how can I give you an eye, he asks.

I will increase my offer, the king says. I will give you two crore rupees. In return, give me one of your legs.

Please, says the man. My lord, I beg you not to make a mockery of my pitiable state in such a fashion.

My final offer, says the king, is an attractive one. I will give you four crore rupees. Give me your right hand.

The man wants to walk away from his weird ruler. The king stops him. Together, they calculate the cost of the eyes, hands, legs, ears.

See, you are worth crores of rupees, says the king, you just don’t know about it. Use your hands, your legs, your brain, donate your labour and you will get paid for it.

The modern scam

The world was a much nicer place thirty years ago. Unemployed people, poor students, pensioners could donate their labour, and get all expenses (accommodation and meals) paid in exchange. You could attend a voluntary camp for two weeks or six months, and it was worthwhile for hard-up volunteers. Students could enrich their lives without asking their parents to shell out money.

But, as mentioned above, all that is good eventually comes to an end. The earlier fair-minded, innocent voluntary camps don’t exist any longer. Mind you, those camps were held in the pre-internet era. Volunteers needed to research (how did we research before internet?), write letters, order paper catalogues, receive confirmation letters by post. Now the process is easy and the internet is flooded with voluntary camps.

But most modern voluntary camps are a SCAM. They invite volunteers to work, just as in the old days. However, they ask them to donate substantial, sometimes obscene amounts of money to get the privilege of working at a camp. You donate your money, and you donate your labour. It is an unreasonable, fraudulent barter directed at gullible or lonely pensioners who are looking to be part of an international group. Young students can attend such camps only if their parents are rich.

I am glad I could attend international voluntary camps before they turned into a scam.

WWOOF

What can young students or adults with limited means now do to travel the world cheaply? To exchange their labour for accommodation and meals? What is the way for visa-handcuffed nationals to work abroad without a work permit? With the near-demise of the voluntary camps, the WWOOF (World-Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms) movement offers a ray of hope. Next week, I will share with you my WWOOF experience in Poland and Bulgaria.

Ravi