In one of the assignments here, i was asked to write on organ transplants with the viewpoint of the donor, specifically the difficulaties that they face while trying to donate organs. But for me, a more haunting spectre has been the kidney racket. It is so inhuman, and becoming so pervasive that the lack of coverage in the media has been conspicuous in itself. The fact that most of the affected people are voiceless and poor, obviously keeps the racket under wraps. The situation is dangerous for an organised mafia is running the show with barely imaginable ruthlessness. Its contacts with the right people in the administration and the corruption in the administrative machinery has made it possible for the mafia to gain first, a toehold and then spread like a contagion.

Now the situation is that any patient who is does not well off financially and socially can find himself deprived of a kidney. The decision to donate has to come from donor and no one else. Any form of coercion and deception is unlawful. In fact, the Act governing transplants has gone a bit further in trying to stop this - it has forbidden the use of anyone else's kidneys other than a dorect relative from being used for donation. While this is a debatable point as it might prevent scores of people from doing a welfare for mankind and save a preventable death, the debate here is concerned with the lack of scrupulousness among public officials which results in the Act being redundant functionally. Aided by the muscle of the mafia, doctors compromise their intergrity for money and treat the patients as disposable commodities.

The most horrific incident was when both the kidneys of a poor slum dweller were removed in Uttar Pradesh. Till date, justice has not been done and the doctors must have gained in confidence while committing similar crimes. They did a lot of positive publicity and even hired professional agencies. Now they have almost got back the face they had lost. The only ray of hope is the Supreme Court where many cases now lie awaiting trial.

Many people have lost their lives in their attempt to bring out this anomaly in civilised society. But sadly most people want to wish that away, thinking and believing they won't be affected in any way. There is chance, rising each day, that they well might be. Which means that it is time for the public to act and to make sure that the politicians are forced to hear them. There are of course, no prizes for guessing that some of them share the booty of the kidney racket. So they would consent only when their political future is at stake. There is no other way to get them to act affirmatively and strongly.

A general awakening is what is called for here rather than sporadic sounds that can be easily silenced. Also journalists must look at such stories with a motivation to expose the underlying evil in society rather than just another opportunity of a scoop alone. The latter is necessary but it should not overwhelm the former objective.

Once in the past weekend, i was bankrupt. Totally. I joked to my cousins and friends that i was living below the poverty line.

Although this out-of-the-blue bout of penury was unnatural to me and a far cry from when i worked and squandered money, I actually wondered about how people could live in this situation for life. I was temporarily in the limbo because of an error by the bank in which i have my account, and was back to normal levels of living. But indeed this has been an unforgettable experience.

Many would think that i am unduly disturbed. That would have been the case, except that i was more disturbed about the surroundings than about me. It was a period of unexpected introspection and that hit hard.

Living below the poverty line was a learning experience. i could somewhat understand the plight of people who don't have enough money to eat two square meals a day.....the hunger that they experience and the hopelessness of their condition. i atleast could borrow from some people and have returned their money but the poor are forever stuck in a vicious circle. and they are the same people who are treated like dirt by the police, who are victimised and who, because they see no other way, take to crime as a last resort. i certainly did not think about this when i was working as did not have to face scarcity. dis time u know i purposely avoided having lunch on two days just to experience the hunger, the feeling of it being unsatiated just because u dont have money. i actually had enuf to eat but i didnt. it was a terrible feeling.

There are slums near my place. these are areas that are like oddities, a sore thumb sticking out amidst prosperity. i went there to see for myself what the hell did dese people eat? and how did they survive? it was squalor and a rotting smell all over the place. so i got out of dere fast but not before i saw their food, if at all that term can be used. it was something like rice and water u know. nothing else.

now i am not suddenly a transformed figure or something, but dis made me think, knowing the poverty figures, that there is something wrong somewhere with the economic policy. i dont subscribe to the leftist economic model but do agree that a large section has been left out in the cold. if dere are so many people below the poverty line, leading lives of utter misery and perhaps worse off than animals, the crime rate can only go up. For if a person feels the pangs of hunger, he feels irresponsible and a loser when he sees his family go hungry, when he knows he has no way to make their condition better. and who does he curse? the system, which has made many people rich but has not guaranteed a life of dignity for him and his children, who have a dark future ahead of them since he cant educate them and the govt schools are pathetic. so the reservation policy should perhaps be targeted at the poor rather than being caste based. or maybe both should be incorporated. I cant expect merit from people who do not have enough to eat, forget about nutrition. they need to be given a chance to come out of the abyss, to realise that hardwork pays dividends and that crime is not a solution. as lyndon Johnson said about the negroes in the US, u cant place a malnourished, untrained and deprived person in the front row of a race and still expect him to win.

i think hunger is a powerful leveller. I might still go to the pub sometimes and have some decent food at some place but i would be grateful for what i get. This does not mean i wud be satisfied with bad quality at a good place. it just means that i can do with less. Lesser than what i used to think was possible before this week. i might still not get into overly crowded buses stuffed with people, like a pillow with cotton, but know how to survive with less. More importantly I can understand to some extent what these people feel.

While coming and returning from ACJ to my home, I look and hear and perhaps internalise some of the huge variety of stimuli that bombard us. When i walk on the road, i see beggars going up to people at the bus stop. As I come to the stop, I can see the beggar. She is an old haggard woman, bald and stooping down, bearing the burden of her misfortune. It is the same beggar everyday and different beggars are present at various bus stops. Maybe they have got their territories strictly demarcated, like the Mafia. It makes sense as each is then assured of a fixed income each day which will then be shared by the beggar and her family, if she has any. Most people here actually give her something, which is unlike what I saw in Delhi or Mumbai or Kolkata. in Delhi people are downright rude, sometimes slapping the hapless beggar or abusing them or make fun of them. In Chennai, you can feel the politeness even before you speak, in the way the people talk and behave. I see the same in Kolkata.

I get into the bus. It is overcrowded with people jamming the door as there is no space inside to even stand. I manage to get on the second stairs and stand there for sometime. It is not that bad as it might appear, as at this place, I can atleast feel the cool breeze that is like a constant and loving companion to the evening. But i have to get further inside as people wanting to get down and enter will be shoving and pushing along. I feel like a cutlet inside two slices of bread which is then pressed inside a sandwitch maker.

well i stand this way, sweating profusely as I drift momentarily to the population and its problems. The crowd here is a direct manifestation of that. I cant think for too long as someone says something in Tamil, which i do not understand. I correctly guess that he wants me to go further inside. I don't want to and indicate, half extending my hand, that he is free to venture in. He stares and then is gone, vanished in the teeming sea of commuters. Is travelling this way and ordeal? Not really but unpleasant, yes. The people sitting in the two rows of thin cushioned seats stare outside, blankly ahead or back at you. I want to know what they are thinking. Perhaps they are reflecting on the day gone by, or planning for dinner, or thinking of their spouse or children or just reflecting on the vagaries of life, analysing their failures and cursing their situation. Or maybe some are contended, happy with where they are having done their best and looking forward to meeting their families.

I am thinking about dinner and where should I have that. The bus lurches forward after as the traffic light turns green and i am almost thrown on a woman standing right next to me. She looks back, disapprovingly as if i had flung myself on her deliberately. Sandwitched as I am, i am holding on to a iron bar on the top and the seat handle of a passenger who is really lucky as he has got a seat. The seated people hardly ever get up. I guess they go from one end to the other. And this route is so busy that people must have occupied all seats as on the first stop itself. The bus remains crowded as I reach my destination. This is unnerving dude! and it is terrible when the bus stops to pick passengers or at traffic lights. Within that sea of humidity, the breeze is like the only saving grace. Without it, I get drowned in a sweaty sea. My T shirt clings to my back, wet as if it hs been washed. As I try to get down, i encounter blockades as people. I say let me get down and they move slowly but definitely to one side.I get down, and an let out a deep sigh of relief.

I cross the road as a bike honks past like a machine possessed, and walk down the pavement leading to my apartment. On the sides are small shops crowded together, an assortment of general stores, cheap eateries and a solitary saloon. There are slums around this area and people residing there are the primary customers of these shops. I cross one pavement and the row of shops disappears, leaving an open expanse of space as a ten storey apartment block looms large. I live on the ninth floor.