食べる（Taberu)（＝to eat）{based on the joke shared by Fr Jerry Cusumano SJ}

THE END

 

Gambatte (がんばって) = hang in there

The Delhi airport

Japan as seen from the Air-India flight

Waiting for the Covid-19 test result

            On the 16th of November 2020, I was at the Bangalore airport waiting in the queue to enter the boarding area. When my turn came, I presented all the documents I had. The person who was checking my documents seemed a bit worried. He informed me that the laboratory, where I did the Covid test, was not on the approved list. As a result, I was confused and puzzled. I realized that I may not board the flight. But then it was resolved instantly when he realized that he was not referring the right document. 

            My little shock and confusion was nothing compared to that of my friend, who was traveling from Ranchi. He had lost one of the important documents at the Ranchi airport. So, he was worried and confused. Luckily, he had a softcopy and I had a friend of a friend working in the airport, who helped us to get it printed. Alas, after going through all the minor shocks and the kindness of others, we were on the flight to Japan.

           As soon as we landed at the Narita airport, our saliva samples were collected and were made to wait for about 2 hrs until our covid results were ready. Luckily, all were negative. Finally, we could move to the immigration counter. By the time, we got out of the airport it was well-passed lunchtime. Fortunately, we had a guardian angel, Fr Arun waiting for us with some sandwiches. Thanks to him we reached safely our quarantine house. Here we spent about 2 weeks in isolation and experimented with our cooking skills. 

            During the quarantine, I had plenty of time to learn some Japanese and get in touch with what was happening in the world. I was surprised to learn about the farmer's protest taking the turn that it had taken. I was not surprised that the farmers were protesting. But I was rather surprised to know that the Government would go to the extent of using its resources to stop a democratic protest. 

         It is good to note that the farmers are standing firm on their ground and many more are joining them. The way the farmers are not giving up reminds me of my first impression of the Japanese. Because they keep telling me 'gambatte' which means 'hang in there' or 'do not give up'.

          After the quarantine, I got into an intensive Japanese language study at Nichibe school. I take the train to get to school. As expected, everyone wears a mask almost all the time. I have never seen anyone without a mask in the public. Even though most of the time the train is fully packed, I have never felt the touch of the other. People seem to be kind and gentle while dealing with the co-passengers. I wonder if it is the corona effect.

         Learning a new language is difficult and frustrating, but very interesting and engaging at times. Fortunately, I have the experience of learning a new language. So, I am patient and kind to myself when I fail the attempt to pronounce or write a word in Japanese, but I continue to make the new attempt. Of course, it is consoling to hear some familiar words like 'naka', which in Konkani means 'don't want it', but in Japanese, it means 'inside'. There are quite a few words that are of this nature. At first, it may seem to be confusing and annoying, but I have found that it helps to remember the pronunciation without much effort.

            I find that the Japanese that I am learning and what people speak are completely different. I am learning mostly the official polite Japanese, but the people around me speak mostly informal Japanese. Obviously, it will take more time and energy to learn this double Japanese. So, I keep telling myself 'gambatte'. I believe that is the attitude we should have in this covid-19 situation. And especially as we celebrate Christmas and the New year 2021 in this situation, may we continue to have the strength and the grace to 'gambatte'.

The quarantine house

The Community garden

The public park on the way to Nichibe.

The Grand Celebration called Funeral.

        

My Paternal Grandmother (Ms Carmine Coelho)

My Paternal Grandfather (Mr Raimand Coelho)

                                          

My Family at the Funeral of my Paternal Grandfather

        My First death experience or rather witness of death was when I was about 3 years old. We had a dog with whom I would play all day long. One day I found him lying on the ground. I went to him and touched him as usual, but surprisingly he was too cold. Instinctively even I at that age realized that there was something wrong. I began to cry not because I thought that he was dead, but because he was cold, which was not a pleasant feeling.

        As a kid, I loved to eat. But I was yet to discover what to and what not to eat. One day I learnt this lesson a hard way. To be precise a centipede that was passing by taught this lesson. I might have accidentally touched it as a result it might have instinctively crawled into a biscuit at least that was what I thought it was when I tried to eat it. When my teeth crushed it to extract its juice, I felt that the acid was burning my tongue and the entire mouth. It was painful enough for me to stop experimenting with the food. Ever since then I would eat only what is put on my plate. Even though I understood that some things are dangerous, the concept or the reality of death was not yet evident for me.

        When I was 4 years old, I remember that one day my grandmother fell very sick and was taken to the hospital by boat. I was eagerly waiting for her return as I had got used to her presence. But, when she returned, there seemed to be a grand celebration. She was brought in a colorful box. She was well dressed and decorated with flowers. I was surprised and confused to see all the neighbors and the relatives gathered around her. I was happy that she returned in a short time. I was eagerly waiting to play with her. 

        I was a bit surprised to see some of my relatives crying inconsolably. It was for the first time I saw an adult crying. I was amused by it and was curious to know why they were crying. I was sincerely happy for my grandmother and was enjoying every moment of that celebration which now I realize was the funeral. I remember that during the procession to the church I was carried on the shoulders of one of my uncles. All this gave me the impression that it was a feast similar to our parish feast or the Christmas celebration. 

      Finally, when we reached the church the mass began as usual. But there was one difference that caught my attention. The priest had a different tone in his homily. There was no story as there used to be during all the other mass that I had attended. The only part of the mass that captivated my attention was the stories that were either in the readings or in the homilies. This homily was different and unsettling. He spoke about death and resurrection. He said that dead people go to be with the Lord and to intercede for the living. It made no sense to me. I could not yet grasp the idea of death and here he was speaking about going to be with the Lord. 

        After the mass, the horrifying incident took place. My dear grandmother who was the center of attention until now was sealed in the box and lowered into the pit, at least that's what It seemed to me back then. People started to throw the mud on to the box in which she was. I was horror-struck. But I don't remember if I was crying. 

        The next day I was looking for her all over the House. I could not yet understand what had happened. I was expecting her to be back with us, at least that is what used to be after every celebration. I would ask my mother and she would say that my grandmother had gone far away. So it seemed that it would take a while for her to return. I might have accepted it without much hassle. I don't remember how many times I have asked for her, but I did cry every time I remembered her. 

       One day I stopped asking for her. Maybe I got used to living without her. Or maybe I accepted that She was not coming back like that dog which never came back after it felt cold. Or maybe I started to see death as the doorway to heaven which will open for all even for me in its own time. Either way, there was no point in crying over the dead, but instead, rejoice that doorway to heaven was open and there was one more soul which interceded for my family.

        Now when I look back at that event of the death of my grandmother, do I regret that I did not cry at her funeral? Not really, I rather feel satisfied that I honored that grand celebration called funeral. To add to that I did not cry when my grandfather died a few years later. I even went to the extreme of playing with my cousins, when his body was exposed in the house for mourning. I remember vividly that one of my uncles expressed displeasure towards our insensitive behavior. That was for the first time I realized that all cannot accept death in the same manner and everyone takes their own time to overcome that feeling of loss.

        Recently one of my degree classmates had expired of a heart attack. When I got the news, I felt sad for the family which lost a young son, who was just beginning to live his youthful days. But, I could not cry, as I was conscious that death is part of life. When that time comes nothing can be done and it does not matter how old you are. By crying I cannot get him back. But I do realize that by crying out your heart you can be healed of the pain of loosing a loved one. But again what if you don't feel the loss at all. Aren't they always going to be with us even after death? This is what our religions teach us. They will continue to watch over us. Isn't this knowledge enough to console us? It may not be so for all. There will always be some who will take time to get back to their life after loosing a loved one.

        It is not that I forget people after their death and move on. I remember them very often at least once a year. I strangely feel happy after remembering and praying for them, I don't know if it's my satisfaction of knowing that I have done something more for them other than attending their grand celebration called funeral or if it's a grace of their prayers for me.

My Maternal Grandfather (Mr. Abraham Monteiro)

My Friend and Classmate ( Mr. Majid Hussain)

Family Dog (Shiro)

The Infection of the Voice of Dissent

        

#STANDWITHSTAN 

For more details visit :

https://standwithstan.jcsaweb.org/

         When the coronavirus struck the world we became aware of an age-old method of curbing the spread of disease. This method is now well known as quarantine. Here we isolate all the infected from the rest to avoid the further spread of the virus among the people. Even if we have the slightest doubt of the infection we will have to isolate that person. It seems to have been very effective right from the beginning. But never forget that its effectiveness depends on the strictness of its implementation.

        The Indian government has been very prompt in implementing this method of isolation. It had imposed the nationwide lockdown to curb the spread of the virus. To a certain extent, it has been successful in curbing the spread. But we can always debate if we could have avoided the loss of livelihood and lives of migrants caused by this lockdown.

When I think of it, India has been using the method of isolation to curb the spread for a very long time. So, it's no surprise that the government had no doubts about its effectiveness. You may be wondering when did we use it! Did we have such a pandemic? But remember that the quarantine helps to curb the spread and that is why we didn't feel the pandemic.

Let me give an example from our recent past. Are you aware of Vernon Gonsalves, Arun Ferreira, Sudha Bharadwaj, Varavara Rao, Gautam Navlakha, and the latest addition, Fr Stan Swamy, who are all quarantined in the quarantine center called prison? You may be wondering what is it that they can spread which is more dangerous than coronavirus. They can spread the dissent, the worst pandemic, and the nightmare to any government. It may not spread as easily as coronavirus, but when it is well spread it will stay for a long time. It is so dangerous that even in the midst of the corona pandemic the government-led agency chose to quarantine the latest victim Fr Stan Swamy, an 83 old Jesuit priest who worked tirelessly towards the welfare of the Adivasis of Jharkhand.

There are many symptoms to identify the infected person:

1. The person becomes aware of constitutional rights and makes others aware of them.

2. The person speaks for the poor and the marginalized section of society.

3. The person encourages the people to come out without any mask of religion, caste or creed and stand for their rights.

4. The person has tremendous guts to voice out his or her disagreement with the functioning of the government and its policies.

As soon as the above symptoms are noticed get ready to quarantine that person. Normally these people don't realize that they are infected. So, they are tricked to believe that they have come in contact with other more dangerous infections like terrorism. As a result, no one would want to be in contact with them. This further helps our government to safely quarantine them in prison.

As the corona lockdown is over, so also the lockdown of dissenting voices should be over immediately. Because the corona is here to stay, so also the dissent is here to stay. Moreover, more and more people are infected with both the infections. Now our only hope against coronavirus is a vaccine. But will it work 100% ? It is still doubtful because the other vaccine called the constitutional right to dissent does not seem to be 100% effective? 

The quarantine of the coronavirus has to continue as and when it appears. Maybe one day it will all be over. But it does not seem to be so with the other infection. The quarantining of the voices of the dissent will continue, but the end does not seem so near. For as long as there are free women and men there is always a chance of new infection of the voice of dissent.

 

The Knock of Hope

            

(This Photo was taken by me when I was in quarantine in Blomet community, Paris.)

            If I recall it right, my first quarantine was in February of 2018. It was early in the morning when my body started to itch. I was not sure what was the cause of this itching. I went on to have my breakfast, but the itching continued. My Superior back then noticed my struggle and the dance caused by the itching and inquired about it. I explained what was happening to me. He, along with other community members came to the conclusion that I have the symptoms of the well-known disease among the French known as ‘La Varicelle.’ For a moment I thought I had caught a rare disease and I would have to suffer a lot. But my community members were kind enough to console me and explain that ‘La Varicelle’ is nothing but the Chickenpox, which is mostly seen in children and is not a very dangerous disease. As I started to feel relaxed, I heard ‘mais’ which means ‘but’ from one of the Fathers, who added that I should be careful as this disease can cause lasting damage in the adults. So, immediately an appointment was fixed with the doctor to confirm it. 

            As expected by all, it was confirmed and the emergency was declared. Doctor indicated that I may spread it to others if they had never contracted it. He further added that there is no medicine and that I may develop some complications like lung infection. Does this ring a bell? Yes, it was exactly the same situation as with the Covid-19 patients. Just like them, I had to be quarantined. I had to follow the simple rule of social distancing when the people were around. I was provided with the food in my room. The first day was fun because even though I was occupied with scratching my body, I watched movies that I wanted to watch for a long time. But after a few days I was tired of scratching and watching movies. I felt like going for a walk in the garden, but I didn't dare to. 

Surprisingly, when I look back at those quarantine days, I feel like they were not that bad after all, especially when I think of those knocks, on my door by my community members, who would pass by to greet me and encourage me. Thanks to those knocks of hope, my quarantine days were truly the days of healing and rejuvenating. 

Now, during these days of Covid-19 quarantine, I only hope and pray that there is a knocking of hope for each of us and we in turn cause the knock of hope for others. Sometimes there may not be a door to knock, then knock on the window. If there is no window, then if possible, send the emoji or the sticker of a door and knock on it. In other words, knock in your own creative way and keep the hope alive. Because that’s the most important medicine to survive this quarantine.

My Drop in the Ocean

Under the dark sky filled with stars,

I walked the shore of life.

Only to find, the washed-out stars,

That belongs to the ocean of life.

 

So, back to their home, I threw them,

To see them live again.                                                                                                                                      

My joy was found in it,

Hence, I did it again and again.

 

A broken glass, I came across.

It would pierce my leg I thought.

Thus, to the ocean, I threw it,

To keep our legs, clean of blood.

 

How would I know?

That I was not the only one,

To dump our problems, to the world of theirs,

Which could pierce their loved one!

 

I gave life to one of them,

While I took away from others.

Without knowing what my drop did,

I dropped in both life and death.

 

Let’s add the drop of life,

To the world of theirs.                                                 

Let not the drop of death,

Make an ocean of death.

A Gift of Mine {This poem was inspired from the 2011 Fukushima accident}

The loud announcement was heard all around,

For a volunteer to enter the womb of terror.

No sound was heard in the surround,

For the fear of radiation from the reactor.

 

Should I be the one, an old man?

To sacrifice my comfort for others!

Should I do it for the love of all men?

Or at least for my child and of others!

 

Here I write it for you, my child,

To let you know that I have lived my days.

And I lived it for you, my child.

Now I am ready to die for your days.

 

I know not what awaits in there!

Yet, I go in to shut it down.

To save all hearts from death’s terror,

Which for long has held us down.

 

Soldiers lay down their lives,

For the country of theirs.

Today, I do the same,

For the humanity of ours.

 

Don’t spend your time, my child, in shedding tears,

For you got it, with the ransom of mine.

Don’t let it waste in vain with tears.

Rather make it, the best gift of mine.