The smell of my mogra

'How much for a bunch?', I asked, the bitter taste of my last cigarette still fresh in my mouth and on my fingertips. I liked how the faint smell of tobacco remained on my fingers, sometimes even hours after my last session with the cigarette; a far cry from the past when it disgusted me, of course my past was way past my present and no longer a part of me.

I paid the tiny sum of Rupees five to the old lady and took the sweet smelling flowers wrapped in fresh, wet green leaf. I had never quite bought flowers like this before, but this was an impulsive purchase and anomalies were allowed here. I walked further in the dimming twilight of the first cold evening of January , reading the names of shops passing by, in a language I barely understood.

I smelt them much later, through the open edges of the green leaf. The fragrance took me by surprise, I never expected it to be so extraordinarily beautiful. People stared at me as I stood right there, in the middle of the ocean of people flowing all around. Shoulders brushed against mine, and clothes rustled as everyone rushed past, some going home while others away from it. Everyone was busy. I stood alone.

I met Sonia an hour later in our usual cafe, the fragrance still with me, the flowers tucked away safely in the side pocket of my backpack. This was our last coffee date, but I heard nothing, even when she screamed and stormed out. This was her moment, yet I robbed it off her, though unintentionally. She could have stayed back and screamed some more, I wouldn't have minded. I was happy with the beauty I now possessed, with the unexpected joy of connecting with myself through the faint smell, with the mystery these little white flowers were going to reveal to me in the night.

I had the flowers crushed on my face as I worked upon myself, building up a climax I barely even knew existed. I was in a trance while the smell filled all the space around me. The bed sheet was damp with my sweat later, even as the fan whirred slowly overhead and I lay satisfied with the faintest ever smile on my face.

I got a fright the next morning when the flowers wilted and their beauty waned. The grief was as unexpected as the joy of finding their beauty the previous evening. I slept through the morning and the afternoon, dreaming intermittently about Sonia and the white flowers, my throat going dry and an expectation building up at the thought of the old woman and buying the flowers again. Even before the sunlight started fading, I was ready to go out and explore. I wasn't the same animal anymore.

Breads vs Royals

Jess, the little princess

In a three floored palace lived a princess. Her name was Jess. Her face was round, her lips were rosy pink and her eyeballs were green. Also her hairs were light blue. Jess had a mother named Sristi. Sristi had a thin face and her eyeballs were light red and her hairs were purple. Jess’ father’s name was Swayam.  Swayam’s face was long and he had golden eyeballs and green hair. The family had a servant named Sleeptastic.  Sleeptastics eyeballs had no colour because he was always sleeping. Sleeptastic’s hairs were also not seen because he always wore a sleeping cap.

One day Jess was toasting breads and suddenly the breads started attacking Jess .They broke the palace. Jess was very scared and she did not know what to do as she was alone in the palace. Everybody else had gone for a carriage ride and Sleeptastic was sleeping.

Suddenly the door opened and Jess was very scared that who had come to the door. The royals entered very confidently.  They knew what had happened in the palace. Sristi went to her room. She sat on her soft bed. She thought what to do and she had an idea. She went to the kitchen and brought two cups of butter. Then time for Swayam’s turn. Now Swayam was very scared, but he tried not to be scared. So Swayam went to his hard bed. And he had an idea. He went to his closet and took out a magic bulb. Now time for Jess’ turn. Jess went to her secret hideout and got a knife.

Sristi’s turn was the first one to try. So Sristi put the two cups of butter in the bread’s nose and the breads could not breathe. Now is Swayam’s turn. Swayam rubbed the magic bulb on the breads and the breads fainted. At last came Jess’ turn.  Jess took the knife and cut the breads into pieces and ate them. Then after a while Jess asked Sristi that how did you know that the breads were attacking me. Sristi said that she knew about this because every year on 1^st January 3:30 pm if anybody toasts the breads, the breads start attacking.

After knowing this everybody slept and lived happily ever after.

Mihika is my seven year old niece and this is her first short story, along with an illustration. She shared this with me a while back and then graciously agreed to it being published on my blog. There is more on Mihika on this blog here. 

The Road Trip

I wasn't out on the road for the speed, or the thrill or even to travel. Or to meet new people, take part in their lives or simply to enjoy the moment, alone on my own. I didn't yet know why I was out for the almost three days now. Maybe to belong, maybe to un-belong. I didn't know.

The past two days were just the same, long winding roads, green all around, occasional people crossing my path, occasional cars overtaking me, occasional rains that I always missed. Nothing new, nothing unusual. Yes I was on a road trip, but I was alone. I was out to meet someone, someone who lived far, someone who used to be mine, someone who had moved on.

It drizzled as I started my third and the last day. I had originally planned to drive through the night and reach the end early in the morning, but then I saw the sand dunes and decided to camp. It was nothing like I had ever experienced before. I drove into the dunes and went as far away from the road as possible, trying to disappear, half hoping to lose my sense of bearings and get lost in these ever changing waves of sand. A sudden stillness around made me stop and look up, and look at the stars. The sky was clear now, despite the clouds and mild rains in the afternoon. I came out of the car and without even realising, screamed at the glittering sonsofbitches. They didn't flinch, and I screamed even more, never realising how tears flowed ever time I screamed.

Tired and drenched in my sweat and tears, I slept in the car itself, never bothering to camp, or look at the bright dark blue sky and the stars. All I felt was the hollowness around me, a complete lack of feelings, an absence of emotions. There was smoke, smoke of my own making. It overwhelmed me.

Morning came easily and without even thinking I went back to the road and continued driving. When rains came once again I stopped, and decided to get drenched finally. I didn't know if I would do it again today, or ever. But I couldn't feel the rain, I didn't feel anything, at all. How can things be so empty, how can I be so lost? I knew there was little meaning in going forward, and even lesser in taking the road back. The road didn't take me anywhere, anymore. Suddenly I was free of any questions, and my mind sought no answers.

I knew nothing, yet my mind and heart told me that I knew it all. There was immense knowledge in not knowing, and accepting that this was how things were always meant to be. Why seek answers, when there were none? At least none for me.

I didn't survive. I didn't exist anymore. I was dead. Finally.


Epilogue: The body of a dead man was found a days later and a few miles from the highway, rotting inside the car, stranded in the desert. The cause of death was confirmed to be Carbon Monoxide poisoning inside the locked car.




Thanks to Tej for the illustration, read and know more about him here and here.

A night to remember

As the sun set and the cool breeze started blowing, we decided to walk back home crossing the bridge over Sabarmati. I looked sideways to see Sudha smiling and talking animatedly, yet never looking at me.

'So have you ever tried the filter coffee at Sridarshini?'
Karan laughed out loud and said, 'That's not exactly fair, am just a day old here and all I have see so far is you, though still not enough of you!'
Sudha pondered for a while and said, 'You men, all are just the same!'
She complained, though her cheeks flushed and she fumbled with words.

We all went silent after this, I tried to pretend that I was busy looking down at feet, while they got busy looking at their hands and nowhere in particular. I knew this moment would pass and we would get back to our composed self soon. Somehow it was always left to me to make a humorous remark and break the sudden conversation barrier, but this time I decided to let it linger on for a while more. I wanted her to feel my pain, or whatever unusual emotions I was going through for the past two days.

We walked in silence for the rest of the journey. Maybe Karan already felt guilty about what was going on, and was happy to be away from conversations, or perhaps he was just happy and content with the breeze, but he remained silent. I knew we were finally reaching a point where we needed to talk, and have a conversation where I was also involved. Karan was leaving in the morning and I could feel an odd tension building up between the three of us.

I broke the silence and asked them if they wanted coffee, they both nodded. We were already in the new part of the town and so decided to go to the nearest posh new coffee place, sit in the open and enjoy the weather. The rains in the evening had ensured that the air was cool and extremely pleasant. Karan lit a cigarette and after a couple of drags, offered it to me. As I took my first puff, he started talking. I could see he was waiting for the moment, but somehow I panicked. I was not yet prepared for what I knew was coming, and when the words did start flowing, my world vanished.

I walked back home alone that night with the promise that my world would be returned back to me tomorrow. I wasn't sure anymore; Karan was my best friend and Sudha my wife, yet these promises somehow meant so little now.

Thanks to Vikram Tej for the superb illustration, read and know more about him here and here.

Researching Healthcare in India - Rural India, Primary Healthcare Centers

I wrote this last year for another blog which never took off. Its a series of articles based on my personal experience on Researching Hospitals in India as a designer.

Hospitals are not an easy place to be, especially when you visit them with the intent of clinically observing what all goes on there, very objectively drawing conclusions, making connections and finally deciphering workable solutions for the very many opportunity areas which require attention in this very dynamic scene.

This is a series of articles based on my experiences in researching in hospitals for various products/ services.

The first in the series starts right at the bottom of the pyramid i.e in the villages. Most of the inferences drawn here are from my visit to a series of villages in Kutch as a part of one of my classroom projects while in NID.

At the village level, most often its only the government which reaches. There are very few private clinics or doctors, if at all any. It is at these levels that PHCs exist. Primary Health Centres (PHC) are the cornerstone of rural healthcare in India. Primary health centres and their sub-centres are supposed to meet the health care needs of rural population. Each primary health centre covers a population of 1,00,000 and is spread over about 100 villages. A Medical Officer, Block Extension Educator, one female Health Assistant, a compounder, a driver and laboratory technician look after the PHC. It is equipped with a jeep and necessary facilities to carry out small surgeries. However, not all PHCs, are equipped with all these, some manage with much less.

To be able to visit and do good amount of research at these centers isn't easy and requires a lot of perseverance. Also visiting a few would not exactly be very useful, one needs to visit many such centers to make any definite conclusions. Its a challenge not just for the researchers but also for the staff at the PHC, we visited one of the PHC where the doctor was a Bihari and couldn't understand the local language.

Some of the following tips may be useful:

• Its very important to understand the local language, even if you cannot converse in it. If not you, then at least someone else in the group should be able to have conversations in the local language/ dialect. In any case, make sure you record all conversations for future references.
• Often its not easy to get people to talk, especially when they anyway see you as outsiders. A good research would happen only if you are able to break the ice effectively, and do it as early as possible. Always have a strategy about this, and this shall be improvised to the place that you are visiting.
• Once the ice is broken, people would talk and would be willing to listen to you as well as give feedback on what you ask. Its alright to have a questionnaire for this, but more effective would be some games that you can ask the stakeholders to get involved in. One of these could be role-playing, where everyone enacts out their roles and its an amazing time to observe and learn.
• Be gender sensitive, males may not always be welcome at all places. An effective group is the one which has both male and female members. One of the most common visitors at a PHC are women, and one person who can give you a lot of information in an ANM (Auxiliary Nurse Midwife). The purpose of the visit could possibly be completely lost if no woman is there in the research team.
• Just like any research, do have small gifts for everyone. Its would make sense that these are things that are not commonly available there. You might always need to go back to the same place again for validation of your concepts, and a rapport once built would go a long way in any further research as well.
• Carrying a consent form is a good idea, and get it signed by the doctor  or the ANM. It always makes the process more official, apart from ensuring that the design ethics are also taken care of. Always explain what the document states before getting its signed, treat the people there as equals and make them participate in the whole process.

The next in the series (Rural India Primary Healthcare Centers Part II), will also include some quick case studies and some examples of how and what can go wrong while researching the Rural India.

p.s. Thanks to Muzayun for helping me with editing this.