'Tricklets of Memories'

"No water, no life. Save every drop of water. Join hands one and all. Take up water conservation as a national issue…” was an announcement in the radio at precisely fifteen past eight every day in the morning. As a kid, I had to travel twenty kilometers to school in a rickety school bus daily, that would break down more often than not. The fun time began the moment we started listening and reciting a few common lines of the radio with varying accents to pass time. These lines never made any sense to me at that time as I hail from a place where rivers like Cauvery, Kannika and Sujyothi originates, that later on flows towards the Bay of Bengal, catering to the needs of thousands of farmers on the way. We often made fun of the announcement while playing with water, that would finally incur the wrath of our bus driver. 

Recently, a trip to the arid regions of North Karnataka brought back memories of the announcement as well as several struggles with water management I had faced once I moved out of the cozy, protected womb of the Western Ghats. The importance of every drop of water rested upon a memory that flashed past my surprised eyes when I was asked to bathe with half a bucket of cold water to freshen up. With every single water droplet falling on my body breaking down into showers of a million driblets, the box of memories started unravelling itself in ways I had never imagined. The instant memory I was drawn towards was of my degree days when I used to reside in the capital city of Bengaluru.

The old short pointed needle of the grand wooden clock had travelled almost a forth of its regular circular trip in the wee hours of the morning that day. We peeped out of our royal suite number 61, cautiously opening the old broken green door, careful enough not to let the creaking sound wake anyone up from their early morning beauty sleep. The biting cold of winter was slowing making way for the pleasantness of spring. The January chills was soon to be forgotten. Sweaters and jackets were to find their safe havens in the bottom shelves of the cupboard to make way for the loose T-shirts and baggy shorts and the hot crispy spiced corn would soon make way for the cool orange flavored ice candies that would authoritatively paint its mark on everyone's tongue.

The corridor looked clear. No pesky onlookers around, no late night football fan stealthily sneaking away from the TV room after watching a late night Premier league match and definitely no sight of the tall, French bearded warden anywhere. The signal was green and with a few initial tentative steps similar to that of the first few steps of a seasoned burglar surreptitiously going about his skilled business, the three soi-disant royals ran towards the backdoor like our lives depended on passing through it first. All this effort was to secure a very important element of nature for that day. An element so basic in everyday life that its importance is nonetheless underrated in various circles. There was a golden rule in our hostel. The one who had control over this resource, ruled the hostel for the rest of the day. This ostensible autocrat was none other than the colorless, odorless, shapeless, formless, non-renewable elixir of life, WATER.

Those were the days when water crises in Bangalore started as early as the second week of February. Though our hostel was situated in a state which caters to the water scarcity of two other adjacent states, Bengaluru faced acute water shortage every summer and our stone built crescent moon shaped hostel, with its rich seventy odd years of history, wasn't immune to it. Every year the management devised new plans to plug the loopholes in the system only for us to hatch some more innovative ones to default them. With two tankers of water being deployed everyday to serve a total of one hundred and thirty-six hostellers, the ratio didn't fit the equation to say the least. Hence, early morning trips to our titular ‘secret waterhole’, in order to secure our fair share of water was an idea that I had come up with my lazy roommates who had readily seconded it.

Once out of the backdoor, we unhurriedly walked with a sense of accomplishment noticeable in our every step, towards the sump located at the rear end of our hostel building. The two buckets dangling from our sides made an occasional sound to remind us of our task at hand. The sump of our hostel could easily accommodate around 13000 to 15000 liters of water at a time. Our masterplan was to somehow smuggle buckets filled with water into our room and then show our monopoly over this invaluable resource at the right time of the day in exchange for favors from the needy. This could account to hoarding to a certain extent, but, we were smart enough to cover all bases. Being huge fans of TV shows like Narcos and Breaking Bad, along with books about organized crime written by proficient authors including Hussain Zaidi and Ravi Belegere, the hostel folks didn’t expect anything better from us, neither did we from them. It was all a case of, ‘Survival of the fittest.’ We were already in the game. Now it was, ‘SHOW TIME’.

Having grown up swimming in the vast rivers of the Western Ghats, I was not particularly good at such bargains. But as they say, 'Necessity is the mother of invention'. My roommates were the masters of this craft and hence our deal was very clear, I arrange for the water and they take care of the distribution. Equal profits at the end of the day. The profits would normally range between samosas, help in procuring phone numbers of girls from different classes, extra ice cream cups on Sundays to various other materialistic benefits. The deals we cut were promising and our efficiency increased by the day with opportunities for expansion knocking our doors with every step.

A few yards into our majestic walk, our steps were cut short by the sight of a group of seniors already trying to implement our brilliant plan. Its only then that we realized that some people had lived in the hostel longer than we had. With all other possible leaks recently bunged by the warden, this spot was a new venture, an area yet to be explored. Establishing a strong hold on this newly found source of water was paramount. But, evidently we were on the back foot right from the start. While we were yet to figure out a way to get water from the sump, they had already sorted it out.  With a gentle smile, they had simply pushed the shortest junior of our hostel into the sump and ordered him to fill the buckets they would lower from above. A first year student, who shivered in his boots at the sight of these seniors, would even agree to stay immersed in water the whole night if he was ordered to let alone filling those buckets. This was a small price to pay to be in their good books. With our plan already hijacked, we tried hard to salvage whatever we could get finally ending up only with one bucket of water for the three of us. Though it was a massive setback when considered in a business point of view, it was a result that gave us a sense of achievement because of the effort which involved several kicks and punches that made that one bucket of water so special. As the saying goes, 'Its not the destination but the journey that matters', all the planning, scheming, vigilance and tactics had boiled down to the one bucket of water we were staring at. Every time I looked into my bucket, it was not only the reflection of my face that greeted me, it was the anxiety of the water level in the bucket that threatened to reduce by an inch with every movement. To be honest, the line, 'Beg, borrow, steal, but get it done' didn't mean much to me before I was rudely faced by this situation. But now, I was ready for all the three, just to protect and add to my elixir of life. I could gradually sense morality making way for survival instincts as needs triumphed over ethicality.

Despite having a physique of wild tuskers with its gifted brute strength and raw energy, a precious bucket of water was all that we could muster with several condescending gazes and occasional muffled swearing that we bravely fended off, for being the smart asses we managed to be, in spite of being juniors. After this incident, our grit and determination doubled. We had a race to win and the competition was tough. No water meant loss of face and in our line of work, that meant railroaded out of business which further meant giving up all facilities and privileges that we so royally enjoyed. Not to happen. 

The chemical composition of water is H2O. Though both hydrogen and oxygen are abundantly available individually in nature, why hasn't any 'so called big brain' devised a method to combine them to start synthesizing water? became the question of our prime time debate. Was it naivety, foolishness or innocence, I'm not quite sure. But, it was a question that all of us deeply felt about at that point of time. 

Success demands sacrifice and hence on the days we couldn’t arrange for enough water, we decided to give up certain of our much enjoyed pleasures like leisurely having bath with one bucket of water curtailed to a sponge bath, filling up a bottle of drinking water everyday painfully cut short to half a bottle, no water jet games in the room after midnight and so on. We took risks that no hosteller dared to and with greater risks came better benefits. This is a memory I cherish, not only for the adrenaline rush it gave me that helped sustain myself for the days I stayed in the hostel, but for the life lessons it taught along the way.

It was those days of acute water shortage that thought me to value and respect what I had. The laid back person in me had to be kicked out of his rocking chair and forced to toil hard to earn a spot that would later on propel me to power in the hostel council. The core fact that one has to fight to be noticed and also earn a spot in the table was taught to me the hard way. To stand for myself and others in times of need is something I had learnt in my childhood, which was time and again reinforced through various instances throughout the journey. The small deals we cut in those tough times paved the way for long lasting friendships with fun and frolic at the core of its existence to this day. Friendships are a huge part of the memories we cherish as they form the links of the chain that balances life. A resource as easily available as water in my hometown, had to be acquired after great struggle in our hostel. This communicated to me the idea of ‘Perspective’. While confessing to several of our crimes of the good old days to our warden in a conversation recently, he emphatically said, “Don’t think, not even for a moment, I wasn’t aware of all your games. It was a cute game of power you guys played. Above all, I wanted you guys to understand that every experience has an undisclosed learning associated with it. It’s how we approach the context that decides the extent and manner in which it unwinds itself.”

As the water level reached the bottom of the bucket with only a few inches of water left to show its existence, I had travelled a complete circle in my memory maze. The grand old time master had knocked on my doorstep again. But, this time I was better equipped with awareness about the nuances of the situation and solutions to some of the complexities at its core as well. The anxiety of the receding water level was replaced by the sense of understanding, reactiveness and triumph at accomplishing a task at hand successfully with the limited resources available.

As I poured the last mug of water over my head, I couldn’t but notice how well those days in the hostel had trained me.