Photo: Reuters

Many many years ago, when I was very young but had already started writing, I used a pencil and wrote in laborious longhand on lined paper. Soon, I had graduated to bashing away on a typewriter, first an old model we had inherited and then a more modern electronic one that beeped if I went too fast and erased my mistakes with a ka-chunk sound as if I was being severely whopped. And then I learned – and pretty fast it went too – to use a computer.

It did not take long and I did go through the usual problems of deleting something instead of saving it, battling worms and virus attacks, grappling with new programmes or old ones being updated so fast I could barely keep up and suddenly finding that something I knew I had saved had mysteriously vanished and then, just when I had written it all over again, had reappeared without any word about where it had taken its secret holiday.

Along the way, I learned not to check for spelling errors since it was all done on a programme with auto-correct mode firmly on, and I rarely missed a deadline since writing was for me not only easy because of the way my head worked, but much easier because of the way my machines worked.

As technology advanced, so did my own skills as a kind-of-journalist. My list of contacts grew longer; my own talents of getting a story done and filed became honed. I could out-write almost anyone, with no need for an editor at the end of it. Most of it came courtesy me, but some of it was thanks to my trusty, handy-dandy computer. I could bash almost anything into it, but it almost always got it right when it translated it into English as the local media wanted it and better.

It was all great fun and, along the way, it left me free to do more with the story itself, whatever it may have been, without needing to be tied down to any rules of grammar or linguistic etiquette that made me stop and think about how I should be saying that I wanted to say. I could create pictures, which is what all really good writing does, and not be tied down by the size of the canvas or the paints on my palette.

And it was great fun; I learned along the way that writing for a career can be more satisfying than writing for myself, because you not only reach a lot more people who tend to marvel at your work, but you even get paid for it, which in turn would pay for books or shoes or diamonds or whatever else you want to get with it. And it also fed my never-happy ego, pushing me to do more, be read more, be known as a name more. What more did I want?

Actually, there is a lot more than I want. Or so I found as I wrote that little bit extra that made me better known than so many others who had started out with me. I wanted more technology. More science that could be applied to making my life as a writer easier, better, faster, simpler, more interesting, more everything. And I wanted more of it to be done for me.

To help, there has always been a machine, I argued, so why is there not more than a machine that I can use without too much trouble can do without me having to do it? Once upon a time I used a pen, frantically wielded, to take notes during an interview. Then I graduated to a tape recorder, a large and irritatingly awkward object that needed a whole big bag of its own and never switched on and off the way I wanted it to. Relief came in the shape of my Walkman, chosen deliberately for its recording functions. And then I moved on to a digital recorder, a slim, neat, light gizmo that worked as I demanded it should, at least most of the time. I did figure out how to use my mobile phone for recording interviews, but needed far more talk time than it gave me, so gave up on it very quickly.

But, as always, there was the next step that had to be taken. I now am looking for a programme that will transcribe what is on my digital recorder directly into a text file that I can edit on my computer. I have found one, but the errors that it comes up with drive me to tears…of frustration, of laughter, of bemoaning my own fate at having to listen to and comprehend hours of someone speaking and make it into words that suit the newspaper, magazine or website I may have done the interview for.

I once wrote travel stories on a palmtop; I am now looking for a rather more advanced kind of device I can carry around without strain. Now that Steve Jobs is no longer on this earth to make one that will fit all my requirements, where do I find what I really want?

Anyone have any realistic inspirations here? Do tell….

———————————–
Ramya Sarma is a Mumbai-based writer-editor.

The state of zoos in many parts of the world leaves a great deal to be desired. There are newspapers galore talking of the woeful conditions of animals in zoos in cities that have been in the middle of some conflict or the other, caused by man or nature. You see reports almost every other day about a lion dying in Tripoli zoo or monkeys eating dead simians in a cage in Russia somewhere or birds struggling to stay above the water level in New Orleans. There are animals in distress everywhere in the world, some with no hope other than a merciful death. A lot of the time, it comes slowly, painfully, eventually. And then, once in a wonderful while, a miracle happens. Caregivers from all over the world are able to go into the zone of such greatly nightmarish proportions and save a few of these suffering creatures, giving them relief, care, food, medical treatment, hope, life. Not all of them survive, sometimes not enough can be done. But enough is done to make the rest of the world aware of what is happening, to awaken consciousness and consciences about this kind of cruelty, to start changing the world’s perspective on animals in zoos.

In this battle, there are those who have done plenty of good work and I, we, all of us salute them and cheer them on. While the media has spoken about a lot of them, some unsung heroes are never known, never seen, never heard of. Like the little girl in the park the other day who was feeding a small group of stray dogs with biscuits from her tiffin box. Like the young man who fosters injured pigeons from his chawl room near the railway tracks in central Mumbai. Like the rather foolhardy gentleman who pushes his luck every day when he walks through the national park tracking leopards to study their habits, so that they do not get caught and killed by less caring humans who have poached on the cats’ territory. Like the group of schoolchildren who have been saving up to make the elephants at the zoo more comfortable, even though their efforts may never be enough to make any kind of difference.

For some reason, animals are given unfair and very short shrift from most of humanity. Organisations like PETA, Save the Tiger, World Worldlife Fund et al do their bit, but it is not in any way enough to cope with the downside of the situation. There is just too much bad stuff happening for the good stuff to be able to balance it. Along the way, new species are being discovered – they recently found 12 new kinds of frogs in India – and old ones are being wiped out – the Tasmanian Tiger, for instance, has not been spotted in years in its natural habitat and the last specimen died in captivity a while ago.

In India, a group of enterprising, enthusiastic people has done much to increase awareness of what is happening to the tiger, that great striped cat that once roamed this continent. Save the Tiger is now a movement of worthwhile proportions, being supported by television campaigns, phonathons, fund collecting drives, government diktats and public noise made by a wide cross-section of people, from schoolchildren to celebrities from the sports and film world. Is it all helping? Actually, there have been contradicting reports, but on the whole the response has been favourable and positive.

There are so many animals waiting in line for attention, from the tiger to elephants in Mumbai’s overcrowded and neglected zoo, from small insects in the forests of the northeast to rhinos that cannot find mates. But the tiger has grabbed most of the pie where focus is concerned. It makes for good photographs, suits soft toys and has so many poems and stories written about it that almost anyone can identify it without too much trouble. The best part is that saving the tiger is a cross-border effort, which could help our two countries, in fact, India and Bangladesh, work together, thereby becoming better friends and perhaps increasing the scope for partnerships.

The Sunderbans tiger, a magnificent beast, often stalking through fields and waterways of both nations, once in a rare while caught and transported to safer regions – safer for both animal and man – and celebrated as a symbol of strength, vigour and beauty, could be the glue that keeps the bond close and firm for centuries.

Maybe that is something all of us should think about!

————————-
Ramya Sarma is a Mumbai-based writer-editor.