Day 34: New experiences, petting projects, and dreams

Petting projects

A normal Saturday took a turn for the better when we kicked off the volunteer group at Pet a Project. Ranga Shankara, the location for our meet, was a wonderful venue and I enjoyed a productive hour, working on my assignments, while the gang rolled in. And it was such an amazing bunch to talk to. The power of volunteerism is that you do not have competition or that innate human need to one-up the other. The six of us were almost instantly chatting away like we’d known each other for years. There was already some playful banter and teasing, reminiscent of thick friends. For an outsider, we could have passed off for a group of friends reuniting after years of being apart. And that says wonders about the team that we have now.

The project itself has gotten me excited for a few weeks now. It follows in line with our conversations over the summer, at Bhor, where as educationists, we agree that there is something critically lacking in our daily school curriculum, that is leaving our children incapable in real-life situations. While the Schools of the Future Program targeted middle-income private schools, that could in turn seed fund the project with government schools, and focused largely on making learning visible in schools, Pet A Project aims at working specifically with low-income government schools, and enhancing the life-skills in these school students.

Questions remain about the true nature of the curriculum that has been designed already, the effectiveness tracking mechanism and the sustainability plan. But for now, it’s project-go, and that has always been a fun and exciting time.

New experiences

 

The day got better when Sid and I lost and found our way to Tortilla House, a quaint home studio in the residential streets of Koramangala, where the day’s edition of the Playback Theatre would be. The Actor’s Collective, founded by a ChristU Alum professor, and itself consisting of a number of ChristU alums, is one of the forerunners in the country on the alternate theatre concept, called Playback Theatre. From our first hello there, we felt extremely welcome and warm, with the ambience and the actors and their smiles.

Unlike a typical play, where the actors are up on stage, almost playing god, and the audience sits below, with eyes of endearment, here we were all right there in one single room. The audience sat at one end of the studio, while the actors took another. The facilitator did a wonderful job bringing the two together, and the crux of playback theatre – of acting scenes based on the stories shared by the audience – was extremely intriguing.

My personal experience, watching them enact my Trust Circle Conundrum, was insightful. The trust circle in itself has been something that I think about extensively, and the questions of my readiness to get into it will always plague me. But watching the actors enact that conflict, especially almost hinting that I should get in there, was a powerful feeling indeed.

Dreams

 

While a number of us shared our stories and watched in silence as the actors brought them to life on stage, the one story that moved me the most was Vinu’s struggle with the true origin of dreams. As beautiful as his struggle was, the way it was enacted was equally powerful.

Do we dream dreams that are our own, or are they dreams that we are made to dream?

His narrative to the question was his struggle with his identity as a homosexual and a passionate man and his dream of having a loving partner, a child and a dog to complete his family. As the relationship went down under, his dreams haunted him and he repeated the question often to justify his need to move on or his lethargy to stay put. I couldn’t have related to another’s struggle like I did with Vinu’s.

An engineering degree, a stable job in a multi-national company, a few trips offshore to work from exotic countries, a steady stream of vacations to exquisite lands, an extravagant marriage by 24, a baby by 26 and another by 28. Whose dreams are we expected to live? Does the society have such an effect on our pysche that even our dreams mirror the societal demands? Did we grow up dreaming of vacations in ultramarine blue seas? Weren’t our dreams more rustic and basic then?

And more importantly, how many of us are dreaming the dream of others and fooling ourselves into thinking they are our own?

“S, seems like you had a lot of fun this Saturday. Is it true that you went to a café where people cut a birthday cake and you dint even get a piece? Couldn’t you have tried to sneak one out, at least for me?” Scotch


Heaven and heavenly

The rumble progresses and the sky grows darker. Clouds gather in and darkness builds around our little hutment. We stare into each other’s eyes and no words are spoken. The unthinkable was happening; the times we had prepared for in our minds, and had silently prayed to forget, were becoming undeniable. We run into our excuse for a shelter, broken down ruins already conquered by time. We find our little nooks, camouflage into the walls and wish that they’d leave us alone this one.

We sit tightly huddled, mom and I, staring directly into the fear in each others’ eyes. There is little that we can share with each other, when the inevitable end lay ahead. Was this the time when we quietly reminisced about pearly bright days? Do we discuss about the father and the husband that we do not see around anymore? We choose silence and our hands grow moist with sweat.

We see other faces, bodies forced into spots uninhabitable and nothing but periodic rustle of dust under someone’s breath giving away the truth. We see a rodent run from one crevice in the wall to another. The thought of being eaten alive presented itself as a saner choice that being a victim to their attack. We pray the rodent won over the others and close our eyes. I feel the hollow in my soul build and grow larger. I have carried that hollow in me for a while now, the feeling confirms that fact. I do not recollect how we found ourselves in the hutment or what yesterday had been. I only feel the desperate need in me to protect myself from the others.

I must definitely have been warned about their terror, for I had not hesitated for a moment when I’d seen signs of their arrival light up.

The rumbling grows louder and the darkness progresses; we are engulfed in a form of black that we can barely conjure. Whatever it was that we had been warned against, was here and we could feel it’s unmistakable presence around us. The silly me wanted to be brave, open my eyes and make friends with them. The sane me shut her eyes tight and hoped for it all to fade away, just another nightmare that we all wake from with a start. The rest of us were fighting each’s own little battles because a battlefield lay ahead for sure.

I did not feel it coming; I do not have a recollection of being taken. I have a faint remembrance of being up in the air, lifted by a merciless force that had surprisingly left me alive. I see my feet lie ahead of me, with the dense woods far beyond. My dress rustles in the updraft but I do not feel the chill. My eyes shut and the thought fades away. The next time I wake up, a strong pain lashes through my feet and up to my head. My feet it is. I struggle against nothing and look at my right leg wrapped in fresh white gauze. I do not feel the metal rod inside of me any longer; I feel healed. I look around and see nothing; No one.

I wake up to a very familiar feeling that lingers around me; I set my eyes on the face of a man I’ve known for years. I have absolutely no recollection of who he is, but I listen to him non-hesitantly. I let him sit by me and care for my wound while I search for me in my head. He seems to have a mysterious quality of sucking away all thoughts from me. The peace that the lack of thought brings with it is amazing; frees me into a vapor. I pass between states of being asleep and awake with the constant knowledge of him being around. I sense his tender touch and my soul flutters, immensely acquainted with him from time in the past.

I do not know how much time has passed since the dark day but I seem to elude any thoughts of that life now. Wasn’t I supposed to be worried about what had happened to my people? My mother had definitely been one of them; Others had to be around. And yet I sat in peace. Why did I not seem threatened by my current state? Why did they take me, care for me and free me? Who was he?

Recollections returned of a high ground, the wind blowing on our faces. I do not know if this was a dream, a thought, an event in the past or a forecast of the future. He is sitting beside me, endearing and yet mundane. I feel his strong arms around my shoulders and I nuzzle into their comfort. I see him engaged in a conversation with others, yet not once do I feel distant from him. A soft pull towards him, a brief glance in my direction and I know nothing else except for me being there mattered to him. The recognizable feeling returns and I am home.

The peace jolts me out of sleep and I wake up. It is four in the morning and I can’t get his face out of my head. Wonted and yet novel. Earthly, yet angelic. Heaven!