A hole in my soul

That day I got up early. I had some washing to do. The soaked clothes had been there for three days now. I set up my kitchen and got into the bathroom. The water was cold. The pungent smell pierced my nose as I stirred the clothes in the bucket. I picked the socks first and looked at the gaping hole in the big toe. I always forgot to buy a new pair. I resolved I would never wear that in front of my grandma.

Once when I wore that and went to her while she was knitting under the warm sun, she playfully pricked a needle in my popped-out toe.

“What do you earn for? To wear socks with a mouth?”

We laughed. She looked younger when she laughed. She pressed both lips for a while and hid the smile and finally opened up with a muffled sound.

“Why don’t you laugh loud, grandma? You look pretty,” I teased.
“Your grandpa never liked it.”

Grandpa controlled everything around him. Everything.

“What would grandpa say if you spoke louder?”
“Women of grace never talked loud or laughed. All men say that to their wives. You will do that yourself.”

I just shouldered off.

***

I was cleaning everything - the floor, the wall, the sink, even the bottom of the cistern and the pot. Perhaps, I was compensating some kind of guilt by cleaning the mold, or perhaps when my sister visits me next day she wouldn't broach the topic of my marriage and how I need a wife to be neat.

The cooker on the oven whistled third time now. I was planning to eat early today. My slides for the class needed some revision.

The university intercom rang. The double-ring tone hinted it was not a local call.

“Daju!” It was my sister in the line.
“What happened Sapane?”
I wanted to tell her how neat the bathroom looks now. I glanced at the steaming cooker and the pots of leftover daal, achar and sliced lemons.

“Daju, come home immediately.” Her voice trembled. It suggested a tone of drop-everything-and-rush-home.

I had never found her so firm and determined. It was just morning now.

“Daju, grandma is sick. Come home directly. I will call you later.” Then, she hung up. No goodbye, no usual banter.

The food was ready now. No time to eat, I thought. The cooked beans and rice looked tempting. It was 8:30 a.m. I calculated it would take at least two hours to get to New Baneshwor. Moreover, I had to walk for 20 minutes to get the Dhulikhel-Kathmandu bus.

***

My cell phone rang as I was reaching the 28-kilo bus stand. It was Sapane.
“Daju, come to KMC hospital directly.” She was firm. It was almost like an order.
“Is she breathing? Is it asthma again?” I asked.

She was silent for a while.

“Everybody is called,” she said with a matter-of-fact tone.

Everybody? But why should everybody be called if she is in hospital? I thought. I knew she didn't want to say it. She was putting away the truth so that I could guess what has happened already. I felt a sudden gush of chill inside me.

The bus had barely approached Suryavinayak. The cell phone rang again.

“Daju! Come to Arya Ghat now,” She sounded very casual now.
I just sat “OK” and sat there looking at the moving trees. Today, the trees just looked gray.

***

It was 11:15 a.m. when I reached Arya Ghat. I could see the hay and the wood for the pyre. Near her head was thick bundle of incense sticks billowing smoke. On the ground here she lay covered in white cloth where everybody who had arrived had sprinkled vermillion.

Oh, how death brings the last colors in her life!

She had only worn the customary plain clothes ever since grandpa's death.

Deepak, Khila, Madan, Rajesh, and Purushhotam silently joined the crowd.

“Thaila kaka is on his way. Dad's flight is only in the evening.” Sapane said.

Someone brought in more hay, bamboo and ghee.

“If nobody comes, Sijan will light the pyre,” Arjun dai was yelling.

“The custom allows even the grandson to do that. In today’s custom, he has equal rights,” he argued. Nobody reacted for a while.

“His dad will reach in the evening, his Thaila kaka is on his way. How can a grandson light when her sons are around? We will wait and not hurry,” replied Govinda bhinaju. It seemed like a decision. Nobody reacted.

“Let’s prepare other things until they come,” I cut in trying to pacify the two.

I could see the ladies at the far corner. Cheli didi, Kunta didi, Meena didi. Their faces were half covered with sarees and were silently wiping away the tears.

The smell of the burning flesh from the other pyres pierced the nose. I thought, grandma would smell just like that a few hours after.

***

A gentle wind blew off the cloth at her feet barely exposing the toe. Instinctively, I moved the toe inside my right shoe. I know she knows I have a hole in the sock. But today, there's a hole in my soul.

Start small, make it big later, professionals say

Jonathan Costen and Joe McGee, of Channel 5, share common vibes when they are reporting in the field. Both know instinctively what they need to do at the spur of the moment.

“It comes with time,” said Costen, who has teamed with McGee for more than six years in the Akron bureau.

“Somehow I know what he is looking for,” McGee said. “I know when it’s enough.”

Reporter Costen and photographer McGee were speaking to students at Kent State’s journalism school Tuesday where they candidly shared their moments in the profession full of challenges and hard-pressed deadlines.

With changing technology, broadcasting is becoming more competitive. The speakers told students to get training of all kinds in production if they were thinking of entering in the emerging new media market.

“Big markets are looking for people who shoot their own video, edit and report,” Costen said.

This idea of mobile journalist, or mojo, is gaining popularity as media converge to reach out to people in innovative ways. Besides specializing in one core area, journalism students who have knowledge of latest skills in new digital editing software will be at an advantage.

“Years ago, you had to massage a story, now you have to crank it out quickly,” Costen said.

But he had a different advise for beginners in the broadcast beat that may seem too humble for people thinking to start in a big way. He told students to begin in smaller market for a practical reason.

“Make mistakes in a small market,” he said. “If you are going to broadcast news, don’t limit to one area. Work your way up.”

Costen talked about how he was treated “meanly” at places where he began. But he also said
small places teaches you teamwork.

The speakers showed several real clips that were fine examples of group effort by true professionals.

Costen had a similar tip.

“I don’t like staged stuff,” he said. “I want nuggets. Get the natural thing.”

The changing priorities of news business from newsgathering to getting the news first are keeping even the veterans on their heels. Both agree the deadline pressure is now part of their life.

“If they (producers) want the story in by 5:02 and if you make it in 5:04, you fail,” said McGee.
Costen immediately adds, “You have to make your slot.”