Sunday dusk, at the Marina beach. Near the police booth next to
the Gandhi statue. A lady was dissolving into hysterics. An occasional gasping
howl.
Most of us didn't know what was going on. Maybe somebody had
stolen her purse. Or worse, molested her.
The young policemen next to her looked about helplessly. Someone
gave her a bottle of water, which she gulped; but spilt most of it on the
grass.
There was a man holding a child next to her. He was quietly
talking to another policeman. The lady started howling and ran here and there
among the grass, screaming at the sky and the sea.
I looked at her in confusion, as did some of the public. My
cousin's wife, standing next to me, muttered, "I think she lost a
kid".
Oh God. The man with the small child must be the father. He has
to look for his other child, without losing his grip on this one. Or his grip
on sanity, as his wife was slowly going to pieces.
A sea of humanity, full of life, our beloved Marina, suddenly
seemed a terrifying dark abyss. What do you do in this scenario? Could the
police lock down the beach? Not a chance. Could they search for and find the
child? What are the odds? Could we help? Or would we make it worse, if we
tried?
The policemen must see something like this every time there is a
large public gathering. What would be the psychological effect on them, if they
had to see or experience something like this once or twice a month?
Our media, social consciousness, society often portray the
police as heartless or brutal. Or incompetent. Or corrupt.
The woman at the beach had come a complete circle, still shaking
and in tears. The man with the child was just standing there and slowly looking
about. There were two policemen, one inside, one outside the booth doing
nothing. Is our media and film industry correct? Are these guys in khaki
uniforms just thugs working for white veshti crooks?
I remembered a school day incident when I came home at 8pm
instead of 4.30 because I was angry with my father for scolding me severely
that morning. I only returned home because I didn't know where else to go. My
anger hadn't cooled, I wasn't hungry, I wasn't tired. I came back home because
I didn't know what else to do. I spent the time between 4 and 8 in Nageshvara
Rao Park. I rarely ever went inside the park, even though I walked past it back
from school every evening. My favorite place was the playground across my
house. If my parents had to search for me, where would they look?
Anyway, when I returned home, my father said nothing. I don't
remember his expression. My mother wondered why I was so late but immediately
laid out a plate and served dinner. I don't remember either parents'
expression. I was too self absorbed in my own righteousness and justified
anger. Only my grandmother was expressive, but I only vaguely remember her
happiness. It is one of the great fortunes of my life that I don't remember
much about the incident.
All this flashed through my mind as the drama played out on the
beach. I wanted to leave, I didn't want to know how this tragedy would unfold.
That kid would never be found... He would be exploited by a beggar gang or
worse a criminal gang. Or worse.....Irresponsible parents, useless police, I
thought. Even if they wanted to help what the hell could they do?
A policeman in a khaki uniform came running up the grass with a
child in his arm. The woman screamed at the child in Telugu. I don't know the
words, but we all understood......Where did your run away...after all, its the
child's fault, he was irresponsible.
Apparently some of our police can do the impossible. They can
find a needle in a haystack, a lost child in a sea of humanity, in the dusk, in
fading light, when we can barely see each other.
There was no applause. Nobody yelled at the woman. The father
didn't collapse in emotion. The rescued child didn't cry. The policemen did not
get any public appreciation. No cameras flashed though everyone had a mobile
phone. No journalist showed up. The policemen didn't break out into smiles of
relief and pat each other on the back. The watching people went back to their
previous activities.
And we left.
We simply left.
Brilliantly written, and even more, keenly observed. The true face of life...
ReplyDeleteThe interlude about Nageswara Rao Park incident was very good, and striking, reinforcing the message.
swami
Thanks. Now I feel like Perunthalai Chaathanar, one of the poets patronized by Kumanan 😇
DeleteBy the way, I didn't pick up the "Kumanan" reference.
ReplyDeleteswami
Kumanan was a Sangam era king who rewarded poets, but also realized that a poet needed public appreciation as much as the financial award.
DeleteOur police and other public servants get paid, but rarely appreciated. Too few of us are Kumanans
This is the worst fear one can have. Thank God it was a happy ending for the woman.
ReplyDeleteThe police certainly deserve more appreciation for their positive contributions. The anxious moments at the Marina beach have been brought very much alive in your article. Life's more significant moments do happen with very few dramatic effects.
ReplyDelete