Aadi Frenzy

Crowds mill the corner at Pannagal Park in Chennai, India. The traffic crawls, stopping intermittently for the pedestrians, who choose to cross the street at random, weaving their way through traffic. Enormous banners hang on storefronts with pictures of models in attractive clothing. Window displays are a study in color and design. TV ads have already promised potentially unimaginable discounts on clothing and goods. The psychology of the individual is whipped up to a near frenzy. If the discounts are not availed off, a near catastrophe would well prevail.

It is the Tamil month of Aadi in Chennai. The focus is on prepping the fields and sowing. Festivals and weddings at this time would be a unwanted distraction. It is considered an inauspicious month for festivities and therefore, traditionally, a slow month for businesses.

A brilliant marketing strategy - a mad dash for discounted goods is the frenzied result. Loads of shoppers, throng the streets, with full shopping bags in their arms. To avoid the rush, shoppers arrive earlier and earlier to a level that, it matters not if its morning or night on the Street.

Insane traffic jams are the result. A lone policeman waves his baton in attempts to control the traffic. He is easily able to walk in and out of the crawling traffic. He aims a blow at an auto-driver who tries to a take a short cut. The auto, falls back in line, at least for the time being.

Progress; Thy name is Commercialization!

Contradictions and Contraindications.

Contradictions and Contra-indications. 

How many does it take?

The face of the old woman was pressed beseechingly against the window. The lines of age were etched deep into her face and her skin was a dark chocolate leather, from years spent in the hot sun.

Her face was just two inches from mine. Here was I, in the cool comfort of an air-conditioned car, while she was out in 100 F heat. The traffic signal had turned red and the assortment of traffic that plied the roads had come to a halt.

She was wearing a floral blue saree, but it looked worn and was torn in a few places. She had made her way through the traffic and was piteously gesturing with her hand.

How does one respond? And, was I in a position to respond and help her? A feeling of helplessness washed over me. The signal changed and the car moved on.

Another was a cripple. The brown shirt was torn and the khaki shorts revealed that one leg was a mere stump. He was seated on a board with wheels, which he used to drag himself around. He made his way across the signal. The light changed before he got across. Horns blared from impatient drivers, while the bicycles and assorted 2-wheeled vehicles just went around him. The beggar made his way across the street to a fruit stand. The vendor rudely shooed him off. His presence would surely discourage potential buyers.

A frail woman wandered up, carrying a tiny bundle in her arms. That bundle was a tiny nursing infant. The woman looked ragged and worn as she held out her free hand to ask for money. In despair she wandered from car to car.

What about the countless other beggars in the city? Were they reduced to begging due to circumstances or was begging a carefully planned occupation.

As a child, Buddha (then Prince Siddhartha), had been carefully protected from old age and sickness by his father. A chance sight of a beggar put him on the path to achieving harmony and realization.

How many beggars will it take, before society wakes up to the path of realization?

(written during a visit to India)