a real life anecdote is presented here
In the beginning there was the creation of a state by quarrelsome human beings.they wished to have some agreed upon rules to live in a civilized manner.( This assumption,my friends have been betrayed repeatedly).
Our machine baby needed some nanosized more dumb and efficient machines.these tiny, indoctrinated,s standardized pieces had to run in the name of the Lord, the idol. So, we had loads of such states , with several indistinguishable creatures.
One of that mini- machine happens to be an uncle.i can imagine him for ages as a librarian managing books roughly and indifferently.somewhat philosophical , he was succumbing to the trance of detachment, but with the condition of playing safe. This affinity for certainty had actually ruined his marriage. The nine to five job had made him like the main character in ikiru: the file bug
Surprisingly , I didn’t expect such a tale from dead annals. But it happened. The cancer moment had come. Mr librarian had finally brushed aside the dust from his life encyclopedia.he got promoted. suddenly, blood, tissue , laughter, humor began trickling down the mystical river saraswati.
On a Sunday morning, this gentleman happened to have a desire to visit his old school. This school wasn’t exceptional in any sense. the same old brick square building with enough crayon, crackers,paan spittings to make it look like a departed fading frowning spirit. the teachers had grown immune to any criticism.it was there forcibly annexed territory. The kids like slaves had accepted their fate,with occasional mischief here and there. That’s a standard Indian government school.
His arrival was very sleathly done.with no special adornments, beating of drums, Garland’s,incessant faked laughter and claps. The principal , a broody, suspicious lady stood their adamant asking him- why have you come here.no sensible being once passed out revisits such graveyards.but he still persisted as sincere kids do. From nowhere , without any invitation , a journalist came.he again started as a detective novelist: sir, have you come to inspect the premises.what is your secret agenda.all sorts of paparazzi material buzzing in his head.uncle was baffled , but still this chap won’t give up.on the other hand, the principal was giving him distrustful glances, anxious about the arrival of a famous minister. The sweets brought by an ex student had to suffer in neglect.
The bomb exploded when there came rumors that this chap is a recently promoted bureaucrat. Suspicions vanished , giving way to salutes and subjugation.
Then he met students.the grand speech didn’t contain the usual appeal to the greatness of the educators and glorious histories. He narrated his experience in the school.the suggestion was every kid can make it big, if he works hard and also the teachers work with him.
The shocking part was to me , that no minimachine till date, had tried to communicate with the students without any chief guest glory to a public school.to them , the kids are another to be manufactured product.
This visit did open the eyes of the sleeping giant.without any need of spending oodles of money, makeup and policy we can do something.small actions are the big actions.when, the common man is regarded with respect, dignity ,intelligence and humanity.undoubtedly there was a small minority of fellows who had their eyes on the laurels. But atleast there has been a baby step to make the state sensitive to its citizens. A movement to recovering the moral man as Tagore wished.