A Bridge to Nowhere

 

Colonel Kochu Koshy Panicker, my colleague in the army, hero of many an action, and rightfully a gallantry award winner, organised the day-long contributory cruise in the Ashtamudi Lake.  ‘KK’ is an excellent organiser. Once he takes on something, expect nothing less than the perfect. As his boss, I fearlessly delegated tasks to him and sat back without worries. I attribute my rise in ranks to teammates like him.  KK is special. He smiles even when under severe work pressure. Dr Santy, his wife, an academic, is his strength. With them around, possibilities are endless.  

On the 4th of May, I drove 95 KM one way from my home with my wife and two of my grandchildren and stayed the night with the Panickers. The next morning, my wife, grandchildren, and Dr Santy travelled with me another 21 KM to join the cruise, KK and his team had organised. KK had left early to tie up things. There are a lot of houseboats in Kumarakom, that offer similar daylong cruises. This cruise, I knew would be special. 

I wanted my grandchildren to see, feel and learn first-hand, the camaraderie and oneness amongst us, the veterans. KK, Colonel CRM Nair, Colonel Madhu, and Major Rajendran did a great job organising it. Some people who promised to be on the boat did not join. It put a bit of additional monetary pressure on those who landed up but nobody complained. The juniors enjoyed every bit of the day and have not stopped talking about it ever since. They learned to conduct themselves, offer a helping hand to the elders, and be good community members. I came back with more than a cruise. 

“Look at that bridge,” someone called out aloud. There was a bridge, jutting out a long way from the land into the water but it had no signs of landing anywhere. “Must be under construction,” I said. “No,” someone replied. “It is the “bridge to nowhere.” Some of my fellow veterans, chipped in. Most of them settled in and around knew better. “A bridge that led nobody nowhere,” I thought. I took a close look and even clicked some photographs. “Appacha[1], why doesn't that bridge go anywhere?” asked my grandson. I told him that there must have been some constraints. 

I was curious to find out. I scoured the web for other brave engineers and authorities who made similar bridges to nowhere. I came across an Arch Bridge built in 1936. It spans the East Fork of the Gabriel River and was meant to be part of the road connecting the San Gabriel Valley with Wrightwood, California. The project was abandoned due to a flood.  Trekkers enjoy using the bridge even now. There was also the mention of an old Bridge in Kentucky. When the bridge was made, it connected two pieces of land and people used it. It is now in disuse.  There was yet another Bridge. It was proposed to connect the town of Ketchikan in Alaska with Gravina Island which had an International Airport and housed 50 residents. The proposal was also called the ‘bridge to nowhere. Initially expected to cost the exchequer $398 million, it was finally cancelled in 2015 on allegations of ‘pork barrelling[2]. Not even one brick was laid for this bridge. I also came across a movie with the same name. The 1986 New Zealand horror thriller is about a group of teenagers who fight for survival after encountering a mysterious hermit.  

The ‘Bridge to Nowhere’, near Thevally, Kollam is class apart and without parallel. I am not competent to discuss how this engineering marvel came into existence, the political reasons behind its creation, and the allegations surrounding its existence. What saddens me to no end, is that despite my search, I could not come across any proposal to mitigate this problem or to bring it into use at least for tourism purposes. Three things are clear. Firstly, it is a colossal, thoughtless, and criminal waste of public money. Secondly, it showcases the impotence and inability of the public to hold their representatives to account. Thirdly, it shows the rot and deterioration that has infected contemporary society with the “Why should I? Let someone else do it” attitude[3].  Till they demolish it or find ways to use it, ‘The Thevally Bridge to Nowhere’ shall remain a monument to the unquestioned lack of accountability authorities enjoy due to the public’s attitude to gross irresponsibility. 

It is just one of the very few visible ‘bridges to nowhere’, while we live amidst countless invisible bridges to nowhere. ‘Bridges to Nowhere’ amongst us? 

We would have come across people, who despite our best efforts and intentions neither connect nor reciprocate. Intentionally or unintentionally, even we might have refused to connect. Denial would be our first response. Just try and recall instances when someone waved at you or greeted you and you knowingly did not respond! You did not allow their bridge to land on your shores! It could have been driven by some compulsions or ego. That cannot be called afflictions. Such acts seldom go unrewarded. 

The afflicted are those who closet themselves and do not allow any bridge to reach them however hard others may try. Incidentally, it could be an early sign of depression. On the other hand, there are many bridging experts around us. They thrive on retractable bridges.  They put out a bridge when they need something from others or allow other bridges to land only when they see some use of the other bank in the near future. They are crafty, manipulative, selfish, and mean. They will somehow find ways to land their bridge whenever they want. We would be familiar with at least a few in our neighbourhood. 

Bridges connect two distant banks of a gap that otherwise would have remained separated and isolated. Multi-span bridges stand testimony to the difficulty and complexity of connecting distant banks; the further the banks, the more challenging the efforts. Even in life, it is the same; the more emotionally distant someone is, the more difficult to connect with them. One may need a few steps forward, to connect, the first few could elicit no response. 

The importance of the banks on both sides of the gap that will take the landings cannot be left unsaid. If the banks are not strong enough to take the landing, the entry and exit load, especially that of heavy vehicles, will soon render the bridge unusable. In life also, it is like that.  Individuals, the banks, need to be strong enough to take on the demands of the other end of interpersonal relationships. Expectations can ruin the bridge. Keeping account of give and take is akin to injecting toxins. Many a marriage flounder because the landings on either side are not strong enough to take the expectation loads. 

The day before I had an incidental discussion on the subject with a quick-witted former colleague of mine, now commanding a unit. “Sir, technically isn't, nowhere also somewhere?” she asked. It made me think. Yes. Nowhere is also somewhere. When ‘nowhere’ becomes the ‘somewhere to be’ for someone everywhere and always, that person might already be a recluse or one fast in the making. It is a deliberate choice of cutting oneself off from others. Do not mistake it for ‘personal space’. Yes, ‘nowhere’ can be a chosen destination for solitude. Most people mistake loneliness for solitude. When nowhere becomes the destination, people deliberately retract all the bridges and destroy the home-bank landing. On the other hand, there are people, who long for bridges to land on their shores but do not know how to initiate the works. Their hand wave may not look enthusiastic, their smile may be incomplete, or their body language may not be welcoming enough. It is there we must put our spans forward manifold and reach out. Who knows, there may be a gold mine, a heart of gold, waiting to be won. 

Modern means of communication have shrunk the world, into, what people call, a global village. But sadly, while geographical distances are being bridged either physically or remotely, more and more people are retracting their bridges and withdrawing deep into their own shores in the guise of finding personal spaces. Our efforts to span relational gaps can prevent bridgeable gaps from turning into chasms. 

Beyond the memories of chilled beer, good food and great company the “Thevally Bridge to Nowhere” gave me a few lessons for life.  I shall wave and smile as always but my eyes will be quicker to spot the bridge looking to land.

Even you can…

 

PS. 

1.       Over the last two days, I have been going to the local swimming pool with my grandchildren for their swimming classes. I know smiles are the first step to launching the bridge of friendship. I have already made  new friends. Among them, a doctor, an IT engineer and a business man, all there to teach their children swimming.

2. If you like the article, do subscribe to it. It costs you nothing but means a lot to me. You could reciprocate my attempts to bridge with you through my written works. 

3. Consider expressing your views in the comments section. I assure you of a response. if you have personal queries please address it to my mailbox jacobtharakanchacko@gmail.com

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[1] Appacha’ - That is how my grandchildren address me.

[2] ‘Pork barreling’. It refers to the act of a legislator taking away a lot of money to service just his constituency. It also denotes spending too much for too little in return.

[3] I will be flagging this to the local authorities and also asking people whom I know in the locality about my idea of finding alternative uses if it can’t proceed further.

The Regulation Holdall and a Lesson for Life

 

In the initial years of my army service, I travelled by train like all other army officers. When I travelled on duty, the regulation ‘holdall’ was my companion. It was a masterpiece of utility. It held my things together throughout the journey. It took on a small mattress, my military boots that could never find space elsewhere, and all the other unwieldy stuff required to be carried along. There was a way to pack it.

I first spread the mattress, put a blanket and two sheets folded to size, spread the mosquito net, flipped the covers over, and tied the laces through the three eyeholes provided. Unwieldy things were then shoved into the compartments at the two ends. The holdall was now ready for the makeover.  I rolled the holdall tight, into a cylindrical entity and tied it with the attached leather belt that went through a big leather handle. It was the strongest thing in leather I have ever seen other than the saddle. My orderly was a great help. Over time I learnt to reduce what I carried along and we became experts in compressing the holdall into a sleek cylindrical piece of luggage. It did not matter whether it was dragged, carried, or even dumped anywhere. Thieves did not want it because it was unwieldy to run away with and it was not worth being sold in a flea market.  It became my bed in railway waiting rooms and my sofa on the platform when I waited for the train that promised to arrive in ‘some time.’  Occasionally, I deposited my holdall in the railway cloakroom giving me time and freedom to explore places around the railway station.  Times have changed.  I retired from service. I do not know if the holdall is still a regulation supply item. I hardly see anyone with it.  

My holdall was neither classy nor good looking but it took on everything a bachelor possessed. Most modern suitcases would shudder to consider the stuff my holdall could accommodate. It handled the favourable and weathered the inclement equally well. It gathered a lot of scars but was still as useful as ever. It became more accommodative and flexible as it aged. Finally, it looked big or small depending on how well I rolled and bound it. The coolie, I hired at the station to carry my holdall, often complained that it weighed much more than it looked. Once I landed at a station at an unearthly hour and found no one to help me with my luggage.  I was not kind to my holdall, lifting, dropping, and dragging it.  I had a delicate suitcase to take care of. My holdall picked up a few tears but delivered my stuff safe and sound. My holdall carried a beautiful lesson. I recognise it only now. Wisdom comes with age! The wise say, “Better late than never.”  

The first bag I owned was an airbag. It carried my stuff, mostly snacks from home to the school hostel. The snacks did not last more than a day amidst growing boys. The bag found space in the dormitory cloakroom. It came out again only when I went home on vacation. I lugged a few textbooks that I did not read anyway. I wanted to show my father I was serious with my studies, though my report card said otherwise. Years later I became the proud owner of a classy wheeled moulded suitcase, the one I bought from the Army canteen with my first pay. I have vivid memories of both these pieces.  

They were both beautiful to look at but had limitations to what they could take in and carry. One day the zip of the airbag gave way. Those days we could repair bags. After repair, it looked good enough. Soon both the zip and the handle gave up. I think it gave up because it could not bear to carry meaningless loads anymore. I do not remember what happened to it.

The suitcase was a bit different. The wheels of my proud possession could not take the rough of the railway platform and gave up one day. It limped through the journey back to the unit. There I knocked the wheels off and continued to use it for a few more journeys. I could always find a Coolie at the station. Sleeker and better-looking suitcases were already in the market. One day the hinges gave way when I tried to push in things I thought, the suitcase could hold. I put it away in the attic of my quarters for some time. I do not recall where it vanished. 

Life is like that. We can choose to be a holdall, an airbag, or a suitcase! Our looks, connections, wealth, and social mobility do not matter. Some good-looking, stylish people you see around may not be as happy as they seem.  Many of those laughing in public necessarily may not be happy. They may be putting on that face, out of compulsions while breaking up within. Looks can be deceptive. They may be like bags with broken zippers or missing handles, or suitcases with broken wheels or cracking hinges or locks. We may not know. 

Life is a journey that throws up the unexpected and at the most inappropriate time the unwanted. It will always be so. What matters is our ability to take in what life gives, organise it and pack those such that we are not held back in our journey.  The trick lies in separating the ones that we need, the ones that we are forced to carry, and the ones we can discard. When held within limits, time heals even the most terrible things. What we cannot discard has to find compartments so that they do not divest us of the freedom of movement.  The job becomes far easier if we can detach ourselves from what we do not want and discard those at the first instance. Often it is not as easy as it sounds.   

Some memories, especially of losses, heartbreaks, unmatched expectations, unkept promises, and treachery are so hard to forget, that we compulsively carry them even though the stench of the putrefied experience is unbearable. We forget that the putrid attracts maggots. It consumes us from within. Redemption lies in finding the strength to throw out garbage. In many cases, the requirement may be just a stitch or two. At times, it may be difficult to detach and discard on one's own. We can always find someone who can give a patient ear and suggest ways without being judgemental. Together, we can spread our holdall, and prepare for the journey ahead.  

Yes. The scars could be deep, but it is still better than being consumed by one’s sorrows.  

This article was spurred by a friend's response to my reel titled “Creating Memories.”  This is my answer.

My gratitude to one of my brothers in arm who posted this photo on the social media group.

 

MAYDAY, MAYDAY - ENTITLEMENT AND OBLIGATION

“Workers of the world Unite! You have nothing to lose, but your chains!” The call remains the most reverberating takeaway from the communist manifesto of 1848. It inspired and continues to inspire millions across the world, in far more different ways than it was first intended to. “May Day” presents the best opportunity to evaluate where the slogan has taken us.  

I grew up hearing the musical version of the slogan, penned by the famous poet and lyricist Vaylar Rama Varma for the Malayalam hit film, Thulabharam. “Nashta peduvan vilangukal, kittanullathu puthiyoru lokam” (Nothing but the chains to lose, and to gain, a new world). The song played a significant role in irrevocably changing Kerala's socio-economic and political landscape. Almost all political meetings and processions, especially the left-leaning ones, played this song. There was a sense of romanticism attached to the movement. Many educated and influential people adopted communism and it took deep roots in Kerala. Overnight, tenants became owners without having moved even a little finger and many a landowner found their assets seized by the government and given to those who tilled the land till the day before. Social reengineering was quick at work! Those at the bottom rungs of the socio-economic ladder assumed a sense of entitlement. Anybody with land and property became the class enemy. It seemed they all had become rich at the cost of the poor. The society suddenly appeared to turn benign and undo wrongs committed over centuries. It benefitted many and for those who lost, nobody cared.  

My cousins and I grew up in a well-off household. Empathising with the underdog was romantic. Naive, insensitive, and ignorant of the significant loss of land suffered by the family, we walked around the house playing “jatha” (procession) holding banana leaves in place of flags, shouting slogans and singing Vaylar’s song. Looking back, I admire the generosity and tolerance of those who let us be, despite their painful losses.  

Things soon started to change. Collective bargaining, a tool that ensured just wages and prevented exploitation became a potent weapon for reverse coercion and exploitation. Employers found themselves at the mercy of employees. Employees organised themselves into trade unions and sought entitlements, often unbelievably impractical and sure to kill the establishment. Trade unions vied with each other to milk the last possible penny from the ‘class’ enemy. Investors and employers were no match to the might of the collective with mindless demands. Cashew and coir once the biggest employment avenues of the state withered. Industrial production dwindled. Fields that once reverberated with folk songs fell silent. Agriculture became unprofitable and unsustainable. It just withered. My father sold all his paddy fields and coconut farms. He continued cultivating tapioca but that too, he stopped because he got fed up with suffering losses. I grew up and happened to read George Orwell’s “Animal Farm” once again. This time I had a different understanding of the book and my society.  

Soon, jobs dwindled, domestic opportunities dried up and people started migrating for work. Luck favoured Keralites. Successive governments had focussed on education. Keralites had become literate. Nowadays, literacy is not even distantly related to rationality or education. When job opportunities were drying up at home, the Gulf boomed. It was a trickle in the beginning, then it became a torrent. The educated, the semi-educated, the literate and illiterate, skilled and unskilled, alike found jobs in the Gulf. People migrated for work in thousands. Remittance initially in drops, soon became a torrent.  

The lack of job opportunities did not initially worry people. There was money to make in the Gulf. Any job there was acceptable. Although remunerations started depleting people did not mind it because when it reached home, money multiplied as the rupee depreciated. The landscape soon changed. Construction boomed, and consumerism driven by inflows flourished.  The state now depends heavily on the neighbouring states for food and the East and Nort-East for labour. Unions still have their ways of making a killing. Gawking fees remain the norm despite denials. Kerala is now a confirmed consumer society. 

Now, jobs are hard to come by and youngsters are leaving the state for good. Every junction in the state has huge advertisements by various agencies promising different ways to get out of the state and country for good. Most of them, take loans mortgaging the only property to get out hoping to strike it rich. Many with good jobs and steady incomes also leave the country. Most end up at the bottom of society in an unfamiliar destination, all by choice. Sadly, ego does not allow them to return. Even if they want to, there is nothing worthwhile to return. 

In evolved societies, the public at large is aware of individual entitlements. It helps them demand their dues from the government and service providers. The public holds legislators to account. Back home, free ration, unemployment wages, and free medical care have made laziness lucrative. Everyone is vying to get what they feel they are entitled to.

Obligation is the other side of entitlement. When the sense of entitlement is not accompanied by a matching sense of obligation, problems will creep up. It applies to organised societies, organisations big or small, families and even interpersonal relationships. Look around. We can find fault lines within organisations, families and relationships. 

Most organisational problems can be pinned to imbalances between entitlements and obligations. Some people are seen to enjoy entitlements without matching obligations while some are more obligated than entitled. Trade unions and vested interests find space to exploit the afflicted and the organisational hierarchy. It is the same in relationships. In the initial phase, the partner who feels less entitled and more obligated may overlook the disparity and even suffer silently for some time. In the long run, it is bound to create strains that can seriously and adversely affect the quality of the relationship. The silence of the afflicted party worsens the fault line and leads first to dysfunctional and eventually broken relations.

Entitlement-obligation imbalances, over time, become exploitative. Respect for established societal norms vanishes, first behind the curtains and then openly. Might, individual or collective, reigns. Law and order problems increase, and so do corruption and coercion. In interpersonal relations, unmatched entitlement -obligations lead to diminishing respect, slowly leading to emotional and physical abuse. When entitlement without obligation is the norm, society will experience anarchy, organisations will be short-lived and interpersonal relationships doomed. 

Mayday, Mayday!