Prema Jayakumar

A recently read article about a photographic exhibition where the subject was ‘Ruins’ made me think of the alleged quote from King Louis XIV. He really believed that the deluge would come after him. And yet he built palaces and gardens to live after him, he must have hoped they would last forever. Most rulers would have thought the same. They built monuments to their greatness, bigger forts, more beautiful places of worship, more decorated places of final rest for themselves and the people they loved. While some of the ruins have survived, some haven’t and even those that have survived hardly make us think of the people who built it. We see ceremonial avenues trailing off into the distance, ancient places of congregation standing empty. Temples are reduced to forests of broken columns. These were the squares, there had been people here, they had gathered together for ceremonies and meetings, these had been the communal and ritual focal points. We can even imagine that the broken down ruins are haunted by those who had once moved through them.
The name of the king or queen who ordered the monument is just mentioned in passing even when one looks at the beauty of the sculpture or the accuracy of the mathematics that permitted such huge structures. We continue to build like that. The highest tower, the longest bridge, the biggest garden, the tallest statue – it is the superlative that counts rather than the use. And yet once the people who use these places have died out, migrated, are no longer there, these become ghost constructions, eerily echoing, frighteningly empty. Think of the effort in human terms and the expenditure in money that have gone into them, and one can only feel the pity of the waste.
We leave ruins not only in the glorious forms of temples and monuments but ruins of lives are found in caves and skeletons of small dwellings all over. The sociologists say even our villages are now turning into ruins. The reasons are many. An ageing population is one of the reasons. Much as you may like the solitary life in a small dwelling near the edge of the forest, physical ailments and lack of strength might make such a thing impossible. Your need for access to a doctor might make it imperative that you stay where you take only the minimum time to get to medical help. The fact that the imperatives of their careers and aspirations take the younger generation out of the village and into cities too is a reason for the desertion of a village. While we don’t see much of that in India where villages and towns and cities intermingle in intimacy what is happening in other countries is an eye-opener. Japan has one of the largest instances of this phenomenon. One out of eight houses is supposed to be empty. These vacant buildings that no one cares to claim, perhaps have no claimant, are called akiya or ghost homes. And very often the old fields and neglected gardens are claimed by smaller forms of wild life. Sea side villages in western countries where fishing used to be the main livelihood also fall into this pattern.
With our large population and with the ties of the joint family not yet completely gone, India is not yet exhibiting this phenomenon much. And yet, one can see that it is coming. Smaller households crowding into the urban centres, and leaving much of the areas outside unpopulated. Our villages too might soon have akiya and wild animals prowling.
Maybe, the ‘work-from-home’ that became the norm with the pandemic will mitigate this situation. The need for work to take place from a particular place is becoming an idea that is passé. There are offices that practice economy of space in expensive areas, where twenty or even forty people might share eight tables and chairs. The workplace is booked in advance if it is necessary for you to be there. And the office of course is just a laptop for which there is a plug and a strong internet connection.
However, it would be good for all of us to be aware that the land we neglect is likely to be taken over by nature, and not necessarily benignly.