Lumps Under the Light Blanket: Malavika Kapur

Malavika Kapur

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fter the pandemic hit us all across the world, solitary walks along the Cubbon Road and MG Road were my sole event to look forward to each day, for two years.  Three instances along with many others, held me riveted. Under the MG Road Metro track, lies a tiny island of open platform for pedestrians to  cross, take a deep breath having rushed to entire road  successfully negotiated the unceasing traffic, look left again and dash across.

One morning, I saw a heap of clothes and two lumps under a light blanket with large faded flowery prints.  As I was reaching my island to cross, I saw a tiny curly head emerge out and stand up, rubbing his eyes.  He stood up and rushed towards the tea stall across the road.  I walked on while returning the occupier of the second lump was revealed as she too had awakened and was sitting up.  She was about 18 years old. She was slim, attractive and draped in a shabby saree.  As I watched, she rolled their bedding and walked towards the tea stall in search of her little one.  I thought nothing of the event.  On three consecutive days, I saw the two lumps under the blankets near the church under a tree, another day on the pavement on the opposite side.  I started worrying about her.  It was a matter of days before a predator would sense her presence.  She should be in a women’s shelter.  I thought of talking to her.  “Do you have a family?”  “Yes, they are in Warsipur” which was quite far.  “Look, it is not very safe to sleep on the streets in big cities.  You are young and your child too small.  You should go home”.  She said nothing but was not annoyed with me.  After a few more days, I saw three lumps under the light blanket.

I was indeed curious.  On the first day, the child was up early.  Then a man in his forties, with longish  black curly hair, looked around and ambled towards the tea stall where the  the boy was bound to be.  I was relieved that she was with her husband and safe.  He looked strong and ferocious enough to fight ten people to protect her.  I had no more worries.  Slowly day by day, as they slept in different spots around the area, out of sheer curiosity I kept looking for the three lumps under the blanket.  But one thing for sure, they slept on the island, under the Metro bridge, the nights it rained; that was only one dry spot.

This was the time the first Corona wave was peak, resulting lonely deaths  mass  funerals and cremations sans the rituals to honour the departed souls. Hitherto never seen macabre scenes floating dead bodies in the sacred Ganges  or half buried bodies in the sand banks.  One day, I saw her coughing hoarse, vomiting and looking very sick.  Then there were only two lumps still under the blanket.  Then for months, I saw nothing of her.  Only the two lumps under the blanket remained.  I was again worried if she were  ill.  Did she go home because she was sick or whether she had Corona? Corona, followed by death where one died alone in the entire world full of people?

Now my worry shifted to the big man and his little son.  He seemed to be doing his best for the little boy, giving money in the tea stall to get him biscuits, milk, tea and so on.  He apparently was employed in road works, a daily wager.  The child hung around while he worked.

One day I saw the boy, winding around himself with a loose hanging cable from a tree.  I was alarmed and said “Do not do it!”  in a stern voice.  He glowered at me and said “My father is there!” pointing to the tea shop.  I said “Then, I will tell him”.  Immediately he unwound the cable around him and threw it and ran to his father.  He did have a protector. I was satisfied.

One day while they were having tea, I asked the man where was the boy’s mother?  He said “ooru”, one’s village home.  I asked the boy’s name. The father said “Vignesh”.  This was before Diwali. I wondered how a woman could leave the child so small and go home by herself.  Anyway, the father seemed   to care for the child, though at times he appeared to be drunk.  One day I packed a little bag with some toys and story books and left them near the two lumps.  Next day, the curly head when it came up, gave me a shy smile.

Then suddenly one morning I saw three lumps under the light blanket.  My heart lifted with joy.  There was a family reunion.   They were all dressed in new clothes for Diwali and happy.  His is mother even told him to do namasthe to me.

The second wave came   the worse ever scenarios of human misery. I saw her crying, raving and ranting. The man stone faced, the child cringing, the reunion was short-lasting.  Then again two lumps remained.  Both the man and the son looked unhappy and lost.  Perhaps this was a permanent separation.

Then I saw one morning I saw an old better-dressed man turning  up  The child was happy fooling around him with obvious bond between them.  This time the boy clothed well with combed hair, smirked with a shade of pride at me.  Maybe it was good news.  Next day there was only one lump.  I saw him infrequently, and then not at all. May be

the grandfather took the little one under his wing, away from being a lump under a blanket.

I waited for a full week before sharing this event with any one on my daily walk on Cubbon Road. I was concerned why it had affected me so much. Then I told myself that the little one would grow up under the care of his name’s sake God!

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 Last week on my way back, at the Manipal Centre traffic lights, I saw a skinny young man on a bicycle. From across the road, I could see him abruptly stopping, wailing, beating his head and chest,  so violently  that he fell off the bike! I was trying to cross. Next to me was a domestic help too was trying to get across to help him. He was almost close to being hit by the traffic that was moving relentlessly. My first thought was “Poor man! Someone close to him in his family must have died!” When we crossed the road and asked him, he was still wailing. But   he blurted out,  “Just now someone stole my mobile. I have to report to work. Otherwise, I will be sacked!”. ” Someone suggested that he reports to the Police Station! He was terrified as he had no papers of any sort on him.  He wailed, “I will be jailed! ” He did not know what to do as he had no money, no papers, no identity or or anyone  to reach out for help, as everything was stored only in his mobile. A kindly gentleman offered to help him by calling the police and staying back to support him.

This is such a common experience that all of us would have gone through but we have means to ride it out, despite the distress felt. It’s not the end of the world. But for this young man coming out of nowhere and going nowhere , it was the most devastating blow unlike any other, in his identity-deprived world. To me, the horror of horrors, is that a man’s loss of identity is caused by a tiny impersonal gadget. If this can happen to the poorest of the poor, how is this world going to end?

**

The other side on the Dickenson Road, every morning I saw a black alpha-male long haired dog, in his past avatar, an original high breed with four  pariah followers.  They were permanent residents on the pavement next to the big church.  During Covid, I wondered what would happen to them. I saw several kind people, stopping, and people on two wheelers regularly  and giving them left over chapatis or biscuits and even dog food pellets.  But alpha- male had to approve, only then the rest would be allowed to eat.  This always reminded me of Swamijis and their disciples. He too had matted long hair..

Then one morning I found no dogs at all.  I was sad.  I knew of  the fate of dogs taken to dog pounds.  I knew how they are netted and chained to be taken to torture chambers.  My heart sank, I prayed for them.  Then a miracle happened five days later.  The whole troupe was back, looking better and cleaner.  It was a miracle induced by human compassion.  In Bangalore, there are divine workers, who geotag them, carry out immunisation or sterilization if need be and drop them back to the place where they were picked up.  Animals too like us want a place where they are secure called home. So, this year when they disappeared, I was not worried. Sure enough, they were all back once again.  Only recently the alpha male disappeared to a better place, as he was ailing, weak and old.  But the followers, grabbed their patch or pavement with equal zest as if his spirit continued to guide them.

This year the security guards of a Jewelry store brought two frisky puppies, one black and one tan, these are referred to as pedigreed pie dogs! The security guards put nice leather collars with shiny medallions, around their necks to show that they are owned by humans and are fed from dog bowls! The aristocrats! Now they are fully grown and occupy a higher social stratum and guard the drive to the jewelry shop. The two groups protect their territory fiercely as well as respectfully. The two groups do not even look at each other.  The new collared residents occupy the ground at a slightly higher level.

One day I stopped and talked the man who has been giving them food in the last two years.  What made him do it?  He said “If not us, who else will?”

‘Us’ are the people who care.  If poor and marginalised Indians survived pandemic, it is   not because of the politicians, civil servants or corporate houses, as  the young and the  ordinary people cared helped.

**

When the pandemic struck first, most of us saw it as the end of the world as we knew it. Instead, our lives came to a standstill and we are still trying to emerge out of it. In reality, lives of human, animals, plants went on like a river as if what was happening to us hardly mattered. The world continued to exist. The trees majestically bloomed with flowers of ethereal beauty. Cubbon Road puts up a grand show Ritu samhar of May flowers, pink tabebuia, yellow Tacoma,  showing off their beauty  as if  on a fashions show. Interspersed by dainty little lilac honge flowers soon to shed their diamond like pods as well a tall tree called Akasha Gange   and its long staked white fragrant flowers dropping on your head as you walked. One hears the reports and sees wild animals and birds too thrive and allow us to appreciate them. The world really did not stop.

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Malavika Kapur is Visiting Professor, National Institute of Advanced Studies, Indian Institute of Science Campus, Bangalore 560 012