The Banshee's Wail

It was around 11 when Amrut first came in with the kitten. Ravi, TS and I were studying in Ravi's room when all of a sudden he burst in with the kitten and put it on my lap. "There's something wrong with it", he said, "It's been mewing continuously for the last hour or two, and refusing to leave my lap". I looked down at it, but couldn't spot anything wrong. The plaster on its leg was a tad dirtier, and the expression in its eyes perhaps more mournful than usual, but apart from that, it seemed alright. Perhaps it was the strain of studying for next day's test. Anyway, that is not where this post starts. For that we have to go back many years, to ancient Ireland, when a long haired maiden dressed in white first made her appearance in the deep forests, and when her cry was first heard, and entered into the mind of man forever.

The kitten had broken its legs a few days back, and thanks to the efforts of our hostel mess secretary, had been treated by a vet, and its leg had been put in plaster. It had also been put on some medication. On his return from the vet, our mess sec scouted around for people to take care of the kitten. He very wisely settled on Amrut for this duty.

The kitten then took up lodging outside Amrut's room, in a box which Amrut had specially made for it, complete with pillow and bedsheet. Over the next few days, Amrut made sure it got its medicines on time. The rest of us tried to ensure it got a regular supply of food and water. Slowly it started to regain some strength in its leg, and began to walk about a little. Many a pleasant hour was spent playing with the kitten in the box. That is how matters stood when Amrut came into Ravi's room with the kitten.

In the last two semesters, our hostel has played host to no fewer than nine different kittens. Of the first four, only one survived, but disappeared during the holidays. Of the next five, two disappeared within a month, the third sometime later. One is still around, prowling around in the mess for leftovers. Then what exactly, you may ask, is so special about the last one, that I write an entire post about it? To find the answer, I'll have to go back to Ireland, and the woman in white.

I don't really know too much about the myth of the Banshee. I don't know when it originated. I don't know if there is any written account of it. I came across it in some Discovery Channel program many years ago, and more recently, I came across it in Harry Potter (Chamber of Secrets, I think...). Thus, whatever I say about them in this post should not be taken as true facts. The banshee of this post is my banshee, my personal ideas about them.

What I do know is that the Irish believe that it is bad luck to hear the wail of the banshee, and to see one. But we aren't talking about any ordinary, do-badly-in-tests bad luck here. No, it is much darker. The banshee is no black cat. Its appearance, and its wail, are linked to something way more specific than just plain old bad luck.

The banshee is a portent of death. He who sees the banshee, will die himself. He who hears its wail will soon be deprived of a dear one. That is the myth of the banshee.

I remember we finished studying around 3 at night. I was walking back to my room, when I suddenly saw the kitten, sitting in a niche in the wall. As I went near, it turned to face me, and gave a single plaintive mew. And immediately knew that it wouldn't live through the night.

Have you ever had thoughts about death? Have you ever seen the death of dear ones in your dreams, and woken up in a cold sweat? Has the thought ever crossed your mind that someone you know is about to pass away? Now, have you ever wondered what would happen if all these feelings were to suddenly come true? Like the old Chinese curse which wishes that all your dreams be fulfilled. Have you ever wondered what it would be like if that happened?

I've been pretty lucky so far in my life to have never come close to death. Even the dead kitten was removed early in the morning, and I only came to know about it from the mess sec around tea time. Perhaps it is this fact, one for which I am very thankful, which caused me to react such to this incident. The only thing that keeps those fears at bay is the fact that they never come true. Now what if one fine day, they do?

You can argue that I knew about the kittens death because its health must have been pretty bad, and it was in a pathetic state. You can argue that it was merely a matter of chance that it happened, that a simple play of probability has assumed gigantic proportions when viewed through the lens of hindsight. You can argue that it is silly to have vague superstitions about wailing maidens and portents of death. You can argue that I am putting way too much emphasis on the death of one single small kitten. Perhaps you are right. In fact, almost certainly you are right. That however is not the point.

Strip me of all my reasoning and logic, and what you have is a human being, with the same emotions, the same feelings, and the same fears as any other human being. And to say the truth, I didn't really have any major reaction on hearing about the kittens death. I guess the news worked more slowly, and more deep in my brain, and so I find myself writing this post.

Those who are afraid of injections know that the greatest fear hits when you see the syringe, and in the moments when it is filled, for you know what is about to happen next. Or a person who is afraid of flying has the most violent reactions just before take-off, when the plane is taxing down the runway. These aren't very good examples, but what I would like to portray through them is the fact that the portent of an impending event is often way more terrifying than the event itself. That is why I have such feelings about the kittens death. Not just because it died, but because I knew it would. It is that which terrifies me.

I have known about the impeding death of a fellow living being, and seen it die. I have heard the wail of the banshee. I have not really changed dramatically due to it. There are no perceptible effects of this on my present mood. But I guess such things never really fade away completely. Somewhere, deep down, a scar has been etched, a fear has been branded into my very psyche. It is a fear greater than any I have known before.

Interview

This one took a long time coming.....

This post was conceived last October, soon after the occurrence of the events mentioned below. However, a small technicality delayed its posting till now. The title itself is a tribute to Mrinal Sen, who would quite easily have been the greatest director of his generation had he not been born in the era of one Mr. Satyajit Ray. Interview is not one of my favourite Mrinal Sen movies, but it is the first one I saw, and it reminds me a lot of Pratidwandi, which is my favourite Ray film.

That's enough about Bengali films for the moment.

Many years ago, when I studied in St. James, Kolkata, I was very fond of formal clothes, particularly of ties. My school tie was one of the most beautiful pieces of clothing I had ever seen, with it's brilliant colour scheme, and exquisitely monogrammed school logo, and I loved wearing it. Every morning I spent around five minutes trying to get the perfect knot. Triangular, not too small, yet not bulbous, with a small dimple at the bottom vertex, the quintessential double knot. Also the length, a few centimeters below the belt, had to be perfect. When all this was successfully accomplished, I would put on the top button of my shirt and tighten my tie, ensuring it was centered and perfectly balanced. And in my mind I would fantasize about bystanders on the road turning around and looking at me and my tie, and knowing I was a Jacobean, and proud of it.

And then came the transfer to Delhi. And me and my school tie were separated. My new school handed me a green rag and asked me to pretend it was a tie, that too, only in winter. But I knew better. And the memory of my old school tie was still fresh in my mind. So, within a month, I had abandoned my new tie, and had instead tried to cultivate that nonchalance and informality in my uniform, which is the predominant ethos of DPS RK Puram. And with time, old habits were forgotten, top buttons were loosened, shirts half tucked out, ties relegated to the cupboard. I had become the quintessential Dipsite.

Well.....as quintessential as I could.

Anyway, by the time I turned up in IIT M, I had a deep dislike for formal and semi-formal clothing. And that is where this tale begins, with me tugging at my collar and trying to convince myself that I didn't look like an absolute idiot in a shirt and trousers, and shuddering at the very thought of having to wear shoes.

I had no idea what the Inlaks Foundation was. I still don't. A few moments before my interview, Lokesh told me a few basic facts about it, so that I wouldn't go in looking like a complete fool. As soon as I came out, I forgot. And it has stayed forgotten. All I knew was that they were offering a scholarship, and everybody around, including my parents and most of the other people chosen for the interview, seemed to think it was a big deal. I had no idea about it. Seriously!

They had sent me a letter, on account of my having a good CG, and had asked me to come along for an interview. And quite a few people I knew had been asked too. The interview was on a Sunday, in the Dean of Academics'' office. That was all I knew.

That and the fact that I would have to go in formals. And so I stood in front of the mirror, wondering whether I would have to wear shoes. Eventually I didn't, but I did comb my hair and wear a shirt and all that sort of thing. Semi didn't have a shirt though, so we went along to Venkat's room in order to clothe Semi. And I think he hated it as much. And he wore slippers too. Thank God for Semi!

Clothed in our formals, we trooped off to the Acad Block. In our hands were files which contained the total achievements of our short lives reduced to a mass of Xeroxed sheets. Semi's informed that he was a Gold medallist in many an Olympiad, and also the foremost table tennis player in his old school. Mine stated that I quizzed a bit, but didn't do too much besides. In the Acad Block, we met up with other batchmates of ours, who were all similarly attired, and were carrying their life's achievements in their hands, and wondering what the hell they were doing there. Lokesh decided to educate us all a bit about the Inlaks Foundation. And then the first candidate was called in.

By the time my turn came, some four students had finished their interviews, and had come out and described the ordeal. And with each narration, I got more and more panicky. In my mind, I formed a mental image of a group of six or eight professors sitting in a semicircle, pouring over my past life, looking for flaws, and waiting to bombard me with questions on Superstring Theory and Topology and what have you. So it was with some apprehension that I entered the Dean's office.

I don't really remember too much about the interview. It was a long time ago, and much water has flowed under the bridge ever since. For about two months after the interview, I could remember it completely, like a movie playing back in my mind. Then it faded, and blurred at the edges. All that is left now is a hazy recollection, and even that threatens to crumble away with time. I write what I remember, for I will soon forget it. Life's like that. You experience, you recall your experiences, and then you experience something else, and the old memories fade. What is written is more permanent. And so I write.

I started of with a 'good morning', but was greeted with a 'speak up, we can't hear you'. Thinks improved subsequently as we started to talk about quizzing, and Douglas Adams, and such topics. To my surprise, most of the professors seemed to be enjoying this. Then one of them asked what wanted to do in life. After some thought I replied that I wanted to work in Bose( of the speakers fame). Then followed some questions on acoustics and speakers, which I somehow managed to come through unscathed. After this we resumed our discussion on quizzing, in particular, its origin. One of the professors mentioned about its origins in Scotland, and I started talking about pub quizzing, and then about the Guinness Book of World Records. At this point the professor who was doing most of the talking suddenly interrupted me to ask if I drank. I said I didn't, but he and another professor started discussing about Guinness Bitters. Then all of a sudden he turned to me and said,"Son, one day take a glass of chilled Guinness Bitters and sit and listen to your favourite music on Bose Speakers, and you will reach a new plane of existence". With that piece of advice, the interview ended, and I left the room.

Like a lost driver on a highway, we drift through life looking for signboards. Signboards which point to petrol stations. Signboards which point to restrooms and roadside motels. Signboards which point to our destination. Signboards which beckon to us, which call us. Signboards around which we map our journey. Signboards which tell us we are needed, and it's no accident we are here. That we are here with a purpose. That we are more than a physical entity with conscious thought, drifting our way through life. That we are.

I know I have something to say. I'm not very sure how to say it though. Nevertheless, I'll give it a shot.

We wake up and eat and walk and run and study and play and do a countless other mundane everyday things. And we read and we watch and we hear and we think and we learn about the world around us, past and present and future. And we have friends and we talk and we feel and we...live. And from time to time we question. And if lucky, we answer. Or let the signboards answer. Or else, we run after the answers. We scan the horizon for the next signboard. And then we find one, and we are happy again. And we live some more. And it goes on and on and on. Till death. We search for a purpose, then we achieve it, then we search some more. That's what we are. That's how we live.

"He got me invested in some kind of fruit company. And so then I got a call from him saying we don't have to worry about money no more. And I said, "That's good. One less thing." - Forrest Gump

I don't think I was really the best candidate for the scholarship. I think Semi deserved it way more than I did. But I guess that's how it is. You take all the good fortune that comes your way, ever aware of the bad times around the corner. You live, and you work, and you pray.

'Asato ma sat gamaya, Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya, Mrityor mamritam gamaya.'
- Brihad-Aranyaka Upanishad

From the non-existent lead me to existence,
From darkness lead me to light,
From death lead me to immortality.