Two Pairs of Hands

It’s past midnight and it’s so dark that it doesn’t matter if your eyes are open or closed. There is a power cut and the only sounds that can be heard are sounds of madly gushing wind, of things breaking, things being uprooted. It’s one of the circumstances where things contrive to force you into a corner where you cannot think because the activity of thinking is mostly directed toward the future – and you cannot think of a future. You feel as if there’s a cyclone barreling in from all directions and ravaging not only Kolkata but the entire world. You cannot imagine a place that is not affected by the cyclone at the present moment.

Lying on my back, with nothing to accompany me except unfamiliar sounds, with the total absence of human voices or sounds, I begin to think of my friends and family. I try to imagine their faces – the familiar expressions of joy, or anger or pain or mischief. But I cannot. There’s only one face that emerges out of the blazing darkness – the face of a man I used to meet quite some time back   on my long commute to workplace. I had once sketched his hands while commuting and had written a few words to accompany the drawing.

Yesterday, while travelling to work, I made a quick sketch of the hands of the man sitting opposite me on the local train. His name is Kanai. He is a farmer. I meet him often. We like to board the same compartment, it seems. We had a little chat. He is having tough time raising money for his youngest daughter's marriage. He has three daughters. 'Blessed', he sighed, 'with three daughters'. He said he was considering selling off some his livestock. 

Our conversation gradually veered toward farming. When I meet people, I tend to ask how things are going on the work front. When I asked him about his fields, he said this crop year is looking good so far. Kanai also shared with me little technical details about systems of rice intensification. He told me about a number of algaecides and chemical fertilisers and their harmful effect on the environment, the improvised use of technology that he finds very essential from time to time. His eyes became eager and his heavy farmer's hands gesticulated constantly as he spoke. 

It's likely that you're seeing this post between posts about Game of Thrones or Pokemon or Prisma or any other means that consumerist ideology designs to distract us strategically from confronting problems staring us in the face. If you had struck up a conversation with Kanai or any other farmer like him, you would be moved, like I was, by his narrative, his knowledge of and passion for organic farming, the fondness with which he describes his village, Bathna, his regret that he does not have a son, his pride at having been able to give each of his daughters school-education, his intuitive understanding of soils, and his faith in sustainable living. Sharing human experiences provides a kind of comfort that nothing else does. 

Kanai’s words made me think of one of the biggest problems that we are confronting in the 21st century. 

The rate of species destruction today is unprecedented owing to global warming, habitat destruction and mindless exploitation of natural resources by profiteers. It is estimated to be at about the level of 65 million years ago, when dinosaurs became extinct as a result of a major catastrophe (generally considered to be a huge asteroid).

Fortunately, there are people like Kanai, across the globe, who are devoting serious hard work to prevent an impending disaster. From first nations in Canada to the Voltaic Mossi community in West Africa; from aboriginals in Australia to tribal peoples in India and in countries that have strong indigenous population – there are people fighting in solidarity for the Rights of Nature. Legislative recognition of these Rights has been obtained in some 'developing' countries such as Bolivia and Ecuador. These people may be considered backward and primitive by many but it is from them that we have the most immediate and keen response to present ecological problems. 

The hands that I drew are different from mine, typing away at my keyboard, or yours, scrolling through news-feed. The hands that I drew are closer to the earth. They can feel its pulse. 

And say that it’s dying.

....

A moment later, after the storm has subsided a bit, I open the window and I remember a line. It embraces me in the darkness the way a warm, friendly pair of hands sometimes holds you in moments of doubt and despair: 

Those who are unhappy have no need for anything in this world but people capable of giving them their attention. - Simone Weil

Avirup