Disposable Gods and Ancestors

While on my morning walk near Ulsoor Lake, Bengaluru, I came across a strange sight. Someone had discarded framed photos of Gods along with those of his/her ancestors. They had been lined along the wall as if the owner wanted to show the passersby his disdain and rejection of all that his/her family had venerated up till now.

The sight was disturbing to say the least. 

Change certainly is the only certainty and old must give way to the new. Yet I felt sad at the way those Gods and elders in the abandoned picture frames were staring at me with forlorn eyes. They seemed to be saying "Please please grant us a dignified end". 

When life departs, we all know the body left behind is nothing but a deteriorating carcass, yet we have elaborate rituals to dispose it. Even proper विसर्जन rituals are performed for the disposal of statues of Gods once the festivals are over.

We should make it a practice to be minimalist. Whenever we have an urge to add something to our house decor, or buy something for 'keeps', we should think of how and when it can and should be disposed.

Let us make it a point to handle change with care and dignity.

Crypto Currencies -A Boon or a Bane? Caveat Emptor!

These  are fluid times and hence, I would say, these thoughts are for the present situation and are certainly amenable to change as we go forward.

Anyone can start a new crypto currency, the only criteria are 

1)Mining (issuing of incremental units) should become more and more difficult as time goes by, so that finally there would be only a finite number (or something approaching a finite number) of units in circulation. 

2) Large number of people should accept it as a currency for their transactions.

3) There should exist a robust system of book-keeping, in this case we have  blockchain which  indeed sufficies.

As all the above are not under the control of any regulatory authority, obviously everything works on faith. Today there are 4 to 5 thousand crypto currencies vying with each other to become the preferred one. Bitcoin supposedly the first seems well placed to lead the pack. There are others too, which may become popular in the future.

The larger question is, why do we need a crypto at all? The answer is simple. 

All governments, to pander to their citizens, or out of economic necessity, indulge in deficit financing. To take care of the deficit, they routinely employ policies which are akin to printing a huge number of bill notes. This results in inflation, reducing the value of the currencies. For 'savers' this is a great dis-insentive, as the value of their savings diminishes over time.

The second reason is that all fiat currencies are subject to 'geo-political' risks like disasters, wars, pandemics or for that matter a despotic leader occupying an important post.

This certainly brings out a case for a universally accepted crypto currency. 

The million dollar (or Bitcoin) question is, how in the world do we ensure the robustness of the crypto system, which can be assured to be absolutely beyond manipulation, and in the event of such a manipulation, what is the resource available? 

Votaries of the crypto tell us manipulation is not possible because of block-chain. Unfortunately looking at the instances of systems being hacked, including those which are supposed to be behind impenetrable firewalls, I have no doubt that someone, with malafide intentions will surely be able to create havoc at some time or the other in the future. Then prayer would be the only recourse, as there is no legal remedy available, at least for the present.

Should we invest in cryptos?

Answer is simple, if you love a roller-coaster for it's sheer thrill, go for it, but please fasten yourself securely. In case you want to participate in a rodeo, be ready for a possible breaking of some bones.

The Currency Of Death

Just the word 'Death' is enough to send a chill down the spine, even for the bravest amongst us. Though cannibalism has never been widely prevalent, even in the earliest phases of human existence, it is strange why humans have resorted to killing as a means of settling disputes. Whether the dispute is over property or ideas.

The earliest tribes fought with each other over grazing and hunting grounds, It could mean starvation and death, if they could not secure these. The concept of a Nation is but an extension of this need. As commerce increased and a better distribution network was established, the need for war and the desire to kill off rivals should have diminished. Unfortunately we do not see it happening.

As humans with our ability to think and conjecture, we have opened up a new theatre for our wars, and that is the human mind itself. It is agonising that we should be fighting even this war which is essentially of the mind, by resorting to killings and maimings just as if we were fighting for pasture land like our ancestors.

There is a great clamour for the abolition of the 'Death Sentence'. The abolitionists claim that it is a 'murder committed by a state, under judicial supervision'.  Some countries have gone ahead and done so. India is still 'debating' the issue. One wonders with armies placed eyeball to eyeball, in umpteen war theaters around the world, ready with their sophisticated weaponry to kill and maim at the slightest provocation (real or perceived), what sense is there in talking of doing away with the death sentence, which any way affects only a minuscule of those condemned.

We have evolved and moved much ahead from our animal brethren, but I feel we could take a lesson from them in choosing when to go for the 'Kill'. They rarely fight, but for food and territory. Never heard of an animal fight, because it thought, its idea of divinity, was superior to that of its rival!

Mhaisal Holidays

Summer holidays at Mhaisal - simply unforgettable

Six of us siblings and cousins born between 1956 and 1960, every year at Mhaisal during summers

Days spent outdoors, swimming in wells (infested with snakes, crabs turtles and fish), playing a tree climbing game called 'Sur-Parambhya' (सूर -पारम्भ्या ) , darting- with tree trunks as targets, hunting with sling-shots- garden lizards being the unfortunate victims, building play castles,

Some times even indulging in dangerous stuff like using dynamite powder to dig-up a pond!.

The evenings with card games-

Particularly a game called Ladice ( A trump game similar to Contract-Bridge, but without elaborate bidding). Ajji, our grandmother partnering with us. The game very boisterous, with shouting and hooting, and stretching for hours.

The stories told by Ajji of kings and queens (the king always had two queens, one he liked and the other he disliked), Aesop's and Panchatantra tales, of Chatrapati Shivaji, and off course stories from the Ramayan and Mahabharat. And the stories told by Gidya-Babu (Gidya, a sobriquet, he being a dwarf) of ghosts and magic and talking parrots.

Once in three or four days a movie, on a makeshift screen, in a 'Open to Sky', 'Touring Talkies'. The 'folding chairs' for us carried by our staff to the theater, as it did not boast of any chairs at all,

Then the nights, sleeping on the terrace, watching the stars that seemed to rotate in unison around us from east to west, with sometimes a shooting star, making us fervently wish for something our little hearts desired. The sun would be up, with us still in bed, and Daniel (our uncle Dr.Jaysingrao's assistant), with his clinic tray of bandages and gauze and iodine and nebasulf powder, coming to dress our wounds, results of the previous day's rowdiness.

Of delicacies galore - Layered mutton pulloas,

Bhanga-Rassa (A thin mutton curry- decidedly not for the weaker palates), Wada-Kombda (A Konkani dish of chiken and fried 'wadas'), Puran-Poli, Gul-Poli (Chapatis with a layer of Jaggery) and Rus-Poli (chappatis soaked in sweetened coconut milk), and many many more. Pampered by Granny - of sugarcane, mango, pomegranate even an apple or orange  being served neatly pealed and cut in pieces just ready to be put in the mouth.

The final exam results arriving by post in envelopes submitted by us to the school, bearing addresses neatly written by my mother. Heart beats missed till they were opened and the soothing line read, "Promoted to Std. ***"

Then the last day - our Akka silently crying the whole day - and Mothe-Kaka (our Uncle) giving her his used handkerchief as solace. The return journey car being kept waiting at the last moment for the new uniforms to be delivered by the village tailor- Makbool.

And at last an end to the lovely holidays - to begin a new academic year - of hopes and frustrations till once more the holidays.
           

Day In The Sun

Last evening, I thought I would watch a Guru Datta movie. As I flipped through my collection, I first picked 'Pyasa', but felt it would put me into a sad brooding mood, for which I wasn't ready. Next I looked at 'Sahib Bibi Aur Gulam', but felt the pathos created by Meenakumari, would be contagious. Finally I settled for 'Mr. & Mrs. 55', with Madhubala at her vivacious best.

As the movie progressed, and Johny Walker in his inimitable style, started wooing 'Julie' the typist. His dialogue comparing her dimples with those of an apple, suddenly struck me. This 'Julie' was indeed exceptionally beautiful, I scratched my brains as to who the actress was, but I just couldn't remember her name. This in spite of the hugely popular song "Jane Kahan Mera Jigar Gaya Ji, Abhi Abhi Yahin Tha ...", being picturised on her.

I did a search, and found that the information available on her was extremely sketchy. The film credits gave her name as Yasmin, searching for Yasmin led to some other actresses by the same name. At last I got her real name as  Vinita Butt, the last any one had heard of her, was that she was supposed to have married James Vining, a British make-up man, who had come to India, for an Indo-European film venture "The Three Headed Cobra". That's all.

For eons philosophers, have mulled over the purpose of our being, sadly, no convincing answers have ever been found. For the theist, this poses no problem, as he believes he is but a part, of some Divine Scheme. But if you happen to be an atheist, there are certainly no answers. There simply does not exist a purpose. In fact why should we - in all our puniness - even suppose, there could be some purpose for our existence?

Yet we all yearn for fame and recognition, we want others to like us and praise us, and feel enchanted while basking in some or other form of glory - be it short lived. Our greatest fear is to depart unsung.

Even John Keats initially could not come to terms with this reality when he says in this sonnet,
"When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charactry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance" 
Yet finally he realises
"Then on the shore of the wide world,
I stand alone and think, 
Till Love and Fame do nothingness do sink"

We can also think of the millions, who have come and gone - maybe more talented, more beautiful, yet withered unknown and unsung.
And for solace, shouldn't we be grateful, for we certainly had our Day in the Sun?

This Promise - I Shall Never Break

In the Eighties, I used to travel to Mumbai quite frequently, the trips were usually very short. (Longer ones would  burn larger holes in my pocket, which I could ill afford then.) In spite of the tightness of the schedule, I invariably found time to do a round of a couple of places, I loved. One was the Jehangir Art gallery, where  I would gaze at the paintings, and try to fathom the emotions that the artists were trying to convey through their works of art.

I would then spend what ever time I could spare, at Fountain with the pavement bookwallahs. Just thumbing through the pages of the books that caught my fancy, was therapeutic. Those were not the days when such pavement sellers would simply sell pirated books of the popular kinds. The books displayed, then. were usually collections sold by people who had no use for them, may be a relative of a demised bibliophile, who had inherited them but did not care a dime for books, or a new tenant of a house, who had found the lot in the attic and did not know what to do with it, or simply someone gone old and unable to re-read them any more.

On one such occasion, I was flipping through an old hardbound copy of 'The Wuthering Heights' by Emily Bronte, when suddenly a folded paper fell from the pages. I, picked it up, it was a handwritten letter. I put the letter back in the book. I already owned a paperback edition of the book, and did not really need another copy, but curiosity prevailed and I bought the book with the letter inside - without even haggling for the price demanded.

That evening in the train, I got the book out, and there was the letter again. This time, I couldn't help reading it, albeit not without some guilt. I thought I was being voyeuristic. The single factor which helped me  overcome my guilt, was that the letter was very old, it was dated Sunday July 20th. 1952.

The letter was from a mother to her teenaged daughter. She seems to have been recently separated or divorced from her husband when she wrote it.

A few days back, while looking for a book, I came across this book with the letter, I had forgotten all about it, As I took out the book, the letter fell down, and old memories came gushing through. I am now in a dilemma whether I should bring it in the public domain through this post or not. But the letter is so good that despite the breach of privacy, I felt it can be published without naming either the author or the recipient, whom we cannot identify anyway.

The fragility of human relationships, is what is most striking in this letter. Here, I am presenting an abridged version of the letter.

 Bombay,

Sunday, 20th., July 1952

 My Dear Annie,
By the time this letter reaches you, I will, in all probability be far removed from this presidency. Though physically, the distances that separate us may be vast, yet you shall never cease to be an inseparable part of me. At the time of your birth when the doctors cut the umbilical chord and made you an individual, you showed your resentment by bawling, you were consoled only when I held you to my bosom. This time, I know for sure, you will not make a scene, but my heart tells me, that you would be shedding silent tears, and trying to grapple with the fact that when you return from school I will not be there to hug you.

You are far too young, to understand, why these things are happening to the people in your life. As you grow older, you will see the compulsions that made these events inevitable. For now, I want you to remember that, you in no way are responsible for these developments, and should never feel the burden of guilt for the same.

Many years ago, I had made a promise that for better or for worse I shall always be with your Dad, but I hadn't realised then, that keeping promises is not an effort in isolation, but needs active cooperation of the parties concerned. I, certainly do not want to create the impression that I am a victim, or the one wronged. At this stage, let me just say, Your Dad and I,  were not compatible, and realised this a bit late. It is quite some time since the drift between us began, and I can understand the trauma you have gone through, specially during the summer holidays, when you were with us. Though we meticulously avoided making scenes in your presence, the coldness of our relationship, could not be kept away from you. I could see the myriad questions in your eyes, but I simply did not have the nerve to even look back into them, leave alone answering your unasked queries.

I know, home to you will not have the same connotation as it did before, yet I hope that you will soon accept the new realities. One thing will certainly not change, you shall continue to be the pivot around which our lives will revolve, albeit separately. 

I do not want to end this letter under a pall of gloom, The future is much more important than the past, and you have in store much more 'future' than any of us. Hope life  brings to you all the joys that it can offer. As for me, I shall always have you in my heart- and this is a promise I shall never break.
Love,
Mamma.

Credit: above picture from stockpicturesforeveryone.com

2012- Mantralaya Fire -1933 Reichstag Fire, Does History Repeat?

               Hitler had just come to power, and was the Chancellor of a coalition government (does that sound a resonance?). He was desperate to increase the number of seats of the Nazi party in the Reich, to pass an 'Enabling Act', which he needed  to consolidate his dictatorship. It is strongly believed by many that to tarnish the image of the Communist Party, and subsequently ban it, the Reich-stag fire came in handy, and was probably the handiwork of the Nazis themselves. Though a communist, Van der Lube, was condemned for the crime, and executed. It was later proved though, that he was insane.

                  It is certain that the Reich-stag Fire was used very effectively by the Nazis not only to consolidate their power, but also to wipe out all opposition. I do not have to delve in any greater detail, of what history had to witness, as a consequence of this consolidation.

               
                 This was then, there was no live media coverage, or 24/7 panel discussions. Today when people watch the flames raging, and the smoke trails touching the skies, and a pensive Chief Minister with his other colleagues a mere spectator, they cannot but feel ashamed at the sheer incompetence of our administrative set-up.
                As for sabotage, how ever vehemently the powers that be, care to deny it, the street verdict is - as in the case of the Reich-stag Fire- this fire too is the handiwork of someone who stands to gain by it. Trust deficit at play? Maybe, but why so? Let the pensive CM and his team ruminate on it!





(P.S. The picture of the Reich-stag Fire has been taken from Wikipedia and is available in the holdings of the National Archives and Records Administration, cataloged under the ARC Identifier (National Archives Identifier) 535790.
The Mantralaya fire picture is from Deccan Chronicle e-edition.) 
   

Mhaisal Birds - Through Mayur's Lens

A few months back, I received a call from Dr. Mayur Davda, from Mumbai. He is a Dentist by profession, and an avid nature lover. He had visited my blog and was keen on coming to Mhaisal to see and photograph birds. We decided on a date, I had requested him to come early in the morning at day-break. To my surprise, he was at our door at 6:00 AM! He and his cousin had come all the way from Sangli by motorbike in the chilling November weather.

We went to the Krishna river bank, and began our 'nature walk' from the Kankeshwar (Shiva) temple. We first walked along the bank, and spotted quite a few water birds, like Herons, Egrets, Coromonts, Kingfishers, etc. A large number of swallows, (could be easily around one to two thousand,) were sitting on the H.T. power lines. The interesting thing we observed, was the almost equal spacing (about 20 to 30 cm) between the swallows, as they sat on the power lines, each swallow had allowed a rightful space to it's neighbor.

We then walked along the Mhaisal Irrigation project road and came to our grape vineyard, which is on a lake front. We spotted Munias, Black Drongos, Shrikes, Kites, Hoopoes, Mynas, Peafowls and Sunbirds. Besides the birds, we also spotted a Rat-snake!

At Kedar-Laxmi Niwas, our house, we saw, the spotted Owlet, perched on the canopy support, and Brhamaney Kites, who have decided to make our garden their nesting place, sitting majestically on the tall Drooping Ashoka trees.

Dr. Mayur, went on clicking with his camera. His enthusiasm was so great that some times, when he got engrossed with a particular bird, he would simply not stop clicking and we had to plod him to come with us. 
I must say we enjoyed Dr. Mayur's vist to Mhaisal.

He has just uploaded a compilation of some of the pictures he took at Mhaisal. It is really good. Do watch it.

 

Mhaisal Birds - Rendezvous with the Bottle Brush

Yellow Bellied Sunbird - "What a sweet kiss? Gives me nectar too!"

Yellow Bellied Sunbird, - "I dont mind going upside down, when nectar is at stake"

Oriental White Eye - "Looks like a brush, but mamma said there is manna in it"

Oriental White Eye - "It sure tastes heavenly"

Purple Sunbird - "Would you like to join the party?"

Purple Sunbird - "I, cant wait any more."

Red vented Bulbul - "I just dined on a worm, but I have a sweet beak too"

Of Aves and Humans

"Let's go to Kolhapur", Varsha, called me up and said. It was nearly five in the evening, and I would have to drive.The state of the road left much to be desired, and I, wanted to say "no", yet. I agreed. We left by six, and had just crossed Hathkanangle, when suddenly I saw something fluttering on the roadside, I pulled over, and Varsha went to see what it could be. It was an injured bird, with streaks of blood on its feathery coat. It had obviously been hit by a speeding vehicle. She tried catching it, but she couldn't hold on to it. I got a napkin from the car, and was able to hold it perilously. It was an immensely beautiful 'Black shouldered Kite'. Being a bird of prey, it had fierce talons and a hooked beak, and was in every mood to make maximum use of it's defense assets. I was driving, and Varsha had to hold it for over half an hour, till we reached Kolhapur, which ordeal, I must say, she bore bravely.

At Kolhapur, my friend Vinod Digrajkar and I, after a brief council, thought it best to consult some one who knew what the best course of action would be. We contacted Dr. Karnad, (who is a bird lover, and had rescued quite a few injured birds). He showed us how by covering its face, the bird becomes docile, he also examined it and declared that the injury to it's wings wasn't too serious, and the bird could recover in a couple of days, provided it could be fed.

We, went to the 'बुरूड गल्ली' (a lane, where bamboo products are available), and bought a biggish cage, and then bought some offal from the local mutton market. We returned to Mhaisal - and now the difficult task of feeding the bird began. We kept the offal in a small plate in the cage, and hoped that the bird smelling the food would eat it.

Early next morning, to our dismay we found that it had not, so much as, touched the food. We tried feeding it with forceps, but were successful only to a meager extent. It stubbornly held its beak shut, but would make every effort to grab my hand with it's tallons. Varsha was the butt of it's fury, and had to contend with a painful gash on her finger. I, was a little lucky with just a skirmish. After many failed attempts at feeding it, we contacted Dr. Vijay Tulajapurkar (who, though an oncologist by profession, is also a renowned ornithologist and nature photographer). He in turn contacted Pabrez Khan, at Sangli, who with his associates, have, the expertise to look after injured birds and animals. The next day we met them and handed over the bird to them. Pabrez was kind to keep me updated about the birds recovery. They not only managed to feed it but also took good care of it. 

Pabrez called me up just today, to inform me that the bird, was released and flew away with all it's glory. It, did not pause, to look back at it's recent abode, nor it's rescuers. When the blue skies beckoned it, it just flew away. Though, our guest for a couple of days, we, already looked upon it as family, and will miss it.

Strangely, a fortnight or so ago, I had a similar encounter, this time it was an injured man. It was nearly Eight PM, and I was returning to Mhaisal. The headlights of our car fell on a couple of vehicles, which had obviously crashed. One of the vehicles was perilously hanging over the balustrade of an under-construction bridge. As we stopped, we saw, a mangled bicycle near the crash. The crash had just happened and though the people in the vehicles were not injured, they were searching for the bicycle rider, who seemed to have disappeared. We too backed our car and searched the area with the car headlights, luckily we found the person, in a pool of blood, thrown almost ten to fifteen meters away from the crash. He was motionless and seemed dead. I, asked my driver, to turn the car,as he would have to be taken to Miraj. We then put him on the back seat. I, requested some of the by standers to get into my car, but they all looked at each other and backed out. Only Bandu Bubnale, who also hails from Mhaisal, assured me that he would follow me to the hospital on his motor-bike, and he really did so. On the way I called up the Civil hospital at Miraj and the Police, and informed them of the emergency. While on the way to the hospital, the patient on the back seat did not even stir, and we were almost sure that he had passed away. 

We reached the hospital and called for a stretcher, we were relieved to see some movement by the patient, who was alive after all. As the hospital staff took him in, we managed to fish out a small note-book from his shirt pocket. On examining the same, we saw a name and a phone number scribbled on it. By then the patient had regained partial consciousness, and had told the medics examining him, that his name was Pandurang Mali, and he hailed from Narwad, which is a few kilometers from Mhaisal. He again lapsed into delirium and then unconsciousness. The lady, whose number was scribbled in the note-book, happened to be his daughter. We informed her of the incident, she assured us that she and her brother would come to the hospital as soon as possible. 

The police arrived in a quarter of an hour, and conducted the preliminary inquiry. Bandu Bubnale, was present with the patient, we requested him to be there at the hospital, till his family turned up. A couple of hours later, I left for home, as there was no need for me to stay. 

I visited the hospital a couple of times, in the next few days, and was informed that the patient was in the critical care unit, but improving. Last I, heard a few days back, that he had been shifted to the recovery ward. He may have been discharged by now. 

The strangest thing though, is that neither the injured, nor his relatives cared to call me and tell me about his well being.

But isn't it true, what George Moon, a character in Somerset Maugham's inspiring short story, "The Back of Beyond", has to say on the subject? 

"Oh, my dear boy, one mustn't expect gratitude. It's a thing that no one has a right to. After all, you do good because it gives you pleasure. It's the purest form of happiness there is. To expect thanks for it is really asking too much. If you get it, well, it's like a bonus on shares on which you've already received a dividend; it's grand, but you mustn't look upon it as your due."

P.S. : Picture of flying "Black Shouldered Kite" is taken from

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Black-shouldered_Kite_%28Elanus_caeruleus%29_in_Hyderabad_W_IMG_4418.jpg

 

Two Weddings and a Funeral

Just as I was sipping my morning tea, my cell phone, gave me a vibrating nudge. There was a text message. To my dismay, it coldly informed me, that a close associate had expired early that morning, and the funeral would be at 9=00 AM. I checked my other appointments for the day. I, was also scheduled to attend a wedding at 11=45 AM and a wedding reception along with my wife, Varsha, in the evening.

I, reached the घाट (cremation ground, on the river bank), a bit early. Quite a few of our set were already there.

"When is the cortege coming?, a newly arrived friend asked.
"They are waiting for his daughter to arrive from Pune." said another.
" Does that mean, we will have to wait here for the rest of the morning? another interposed with a degree of resignation.
" Why don't they inform all the relatives in advance? specially those who are far off".  This later remark brought out suppressed smiles all around.
"Don't be stupid", came a sharp rebuke, "He didn't know he was dying".
"He must have had some indication, if not he at least the family...", put in someone, helpfully.

The discussion went thus, later it shifted to the late monsoon, the political scams, the increasing power in the hands of  women (obviously as no women usually come to the ghat, which other place offers such a wonderful opportunity to deride those of the other sex.), the fall in the stock market, the rise in the price of Bullion, and land and commodities, and off course the latest achievements or otherwise of our 'men in blue'.

Once in a while, they remembered that they were at the "Ghat", for a specific purpose, and they would fall silent, and murmur under their breaths, that the departed was indeed a jolly good fellow. Never the less some one from the group would add, that though this was true, he had gone overboard with drink, and had brought this on himself.

After an hour or so, the cortege arrived. With the usual commotion that follows such an event, the rituals were performed and the body consigned to the flames. Every one was eager to leave, and soon the place was almost empty. Only the forlorn young sons of the dead, remained rooted near the burning pyre. I expressed my condolences to them, and too took my leave.

I, barely had half an hour to reach the wedding hall. The मंगलाष्टका (wedding invocations) had already begun, and along with other late-comers, I stood near the door of the hall showering blessings in the form of अक्षता ( rice grain) on the couple (off course not one grain of the rice thrown by me reached the couple, hope fully the blessings did!).This was done every time "सावधान", was uttered, by the officiating गुरुजी (priest). After the अंतरपाट (separating screen) was withdrawn, symbolising removal of all barriers between the couple, and  garlands were exchanged, we all went to the dining section for the wedding feast. An interesting fact to note, is that the guests will invariably dine before the couple, who would be occupied with the होम (offerings to the God of fire), and सप्तपदी (wedding vows) and sundry other poojas.

While dining I found myself in the very same company which was at the funeral. Obviously the morning discussions continued, the only difference was that, as the markets had opened, one could hear the latest performance of the SENSEX, and NIFTY, and off course the new twist in the 2G spectrum Scam!

The evening reception, was indeed another great opportunity for social intercourse. To the dismay of the early arrivals, the wedded couple hadn't yet arrived on stage. In a corner a lady was crooning old and new film songs, with a band in tow. The entire area was brightly lit, and buffet tables arranged all around.

Loitering here and there, I found myself again, with, who else but the same group. Now they were all in formals, and to complete the aesthetics, demanded by the occasion, were with their better halves, who were all aglitter with their gold and diamonds, exuding the loveliest of fragrances.

The ladies had their own topics, of how well their children had fared in the various entrance tests, and where they were seeking admissions, at the same time estimating the price of the sarees and the genuineness or otherwise of the jewelry their friends were wearing, and discussing which 'gym' offered the most effective 'weight reducing' programme, and where they could get the latest fashion accessories at a bargain. 

The men were again at the game of  'who knows more'. Finally the couple arrived on stage and we all stood in a queue to greet them. We helped ourselves to the exquisite fare that was on offer, and after some more discussions with colleagues and friends, we bid each other adieu, with a promise, to keep in touch. A promise we never keep, but we do manage to meet, off course at the next funeral or wedding. 

The Great Escape

India has always been a country of myriad mendicants, dervishes and wandering fakirs, I have always been fascinated by their gay abandon, the ochre singlet they usually wear, and their total disdain for anything and every thing with moorings.

Once I struck a conversation with an elaborately decked up young Sadhu, he had obviously spent a lot of time in "make-up", not only was his forehead covered with "vibhutis", but he had the vermilion and sandal paste "tilaks" on his arms, cheeks, chest and ears too. He obviously had come for alms, and though he knew the basic tenets of Hinduism, he began with the usual mumbo-jumbo, implying, he could "see" more, than was possible for us, mere mortals.

After making some fantastic predictions, in which I pretended to believe, I asked him a simple question, "What were the circumstances which induced you to take up a wanderer's life?" He was silent for some time, and when I repeated my query, he began to talk. I don't know, what it is in my personality, that makes people open out to me. Many a times I have found myself privy to some of the most intimate secrets, people have unabashedly shared with me.

He told me he originally hailed from the Beed-Latur area of Maharashtra. This is an area of perpetual draught. His family owned a few acres of farm land. He was the youngest of four siblings, by the time he went to school, his parents were already dead. His eldest brother and his wife, were burdened with his responsibility, and they were obviously not too enthusiastic, about this. When he could not stand the torture meted out to him any more, he ran away from home. After much wandering, he reached Pandharpur, a religious centre. He was not in the least religiously inclined, but he visited the various 'maths (मट)' where he could get free food. One night he over heard a fantastic conversation, between two sadhu's, one of them was an escaped murder convict, and the other was on the run, after embezzling money from a business establishment. They were telling each other their life history, as both were on a marijuana 'high'.

The conversation had a deep impact on him, he decided to adorn the ochre singlet, as it would be his armour against all future adversities. Not only would this be his entry ticket to the most 'out of bound' premises, but  also, in case he was involved in some mischievous intrigue, he was sure to be above suspicion. Besides, asking for alms, in India, is never considered as degrading as begging.

I gave him some money, not out of any religious bidding, but for the insight he had given me. Long after he had disappeared (disappeared is the only word, which truly captures his act of going away), I went on ruminating over the story he had told me. 

We, are evolved from beasts, and either "fight" or "flight", are our basic responses, to any adverse situation. The later option being the easiest. If we look keenly, we can observe, this is the preferred choice, and if it is cloaked in the virtue of 'giving up' something, then one can enjoy not only the stature of a saint, but also benefit by saving one's skin form an ignominious fight.

A classic example of this is, our great lady leader, who 'sacrificed', her right to the highest executive post in our country, enjoys all the perks, and our poor Sardarji takes the backlash. 

Isn't this 'The Great Escape'?

Note: The Sadhu image in this post is from the site http://www.exoticindiaart.com/ , painter not known.

Till The Mind is Free and without Fear

I hardly remember anything from my pre-'five year old' childhood. Why? The answer strikes me like a bolt from the blue - because then, my thoughts were only of the immediate 'present'.The deeper future and past were simply non-conceivable! With language, come thoughts, and abstractions.

 I tried this simple experiment recently. I focussed on what I was 'thinking'. I then tried thinking about the 'thinking I was doing'. I further tried thinking about the 'thinking about the thinking I was doing'. That's it, I could proceed no further. Though theoretically 'infinite regression', should be possible, our mind cannot handle more than a few layers at a time.

I sometimes wonder, had humans not been gifted with the ability to form words- and thus language- would our thoughts, be as sophisticated as they seem today. I don't think so. Strictly from the evolutionary angle, too much of thinking may not be conducive to our well being as a species. Off course, longevity of a species, defining it's success, may in itself be disputable.

Most of our conscious actions emanate from thoughts. Generations have gone by in trying to shape thoughts, that would lead to actions which were in our best interest. Unfortunately, reining in destructive thoughts, is well nigh impossible. And if it is so, 'thought policing' and 'thought surveillance', which will certainly be possible in the not too distant a future, be the solution? As compared to the Orwelian '1984' thought policing, what technology can do today is indeed very frighting , I tremble to even think of such a possibility. During these, troubled uncertain times, no one seems even to discuss, our right to privacy. Even giants like 'RIM', the owners of the ubiquitous 'Blackberry' brand may have to cave in.

Come what may, I, for one, would like to live, only and only, as long as, as Tagore says, the "Mind is without fear, and the Head is held high".
  
  

Rhyming Problem!

Our cousin gifted us a Cocker Spaniel female. Like all pups, she so endeared herself to all of us that for some time she was the only topic of discussion in the family. Manisng, my son promptly named her, Lizza. (For some strange reason, it is customary, to give English names to cats and dogs in our family, we have a German Shepard named 'Tyson', and a couple of mixed breeds named 'Jockey' and 'Lion' ).

Though we have always owned many different breeds of dogs, this is the first time we have got a Cocker Spaniel. Our parents, as part of proper grooming, had taught us to rinse our mouths after every meal, but now we realised for Cocker Spaniels, this was not enough!, their ears too need washing after every meal, as the poor animals just cannot help dipping them into the food while eating.

A few days later, we brought home Lizza's sibling, as both of them were lonely without each other. I named her "Daisy"- and there began a rhyming problem!. The two are always together, and they need to be addressed simultaneously. They were either called "Lazy-Daisy", or "Lizzy-Dizzy". Now with her tremendous verve and energy, Lizzy was certainly not lazy, and neither did Daisy show any signs of  dizziness.

Our staff, who, did not like the English names anyway, promptly changed them, to  "Champi-Dampi", to be immediately admonished by my  better half, Varsha. She felt it sacrilege to change a name so lovingly given by her son and hubby.
Any suggestions here?

Leaving The Comfort Zone

With ancient civilizations such as our's, the common refrain is that things hardly change. We are so comfortable with the old order that ushering in the new, is fraught with a sense, of not just fear of the unknown, but guilt of having destroyed the old.
Old ideas, which we tenaciously hold, are the root cause of much of the strife and pain around us. These may be about God and Creation,or about Caste, or for that matter the Mores and Traditions, about which we are extremely possessive and proud. I feel that the problem lies in the fact that we are in a transitory phase. On the one hand technology has progressed by leaps and bounds, and on the other, humans still are found to be adhering to age old thinking. I, feel that this is a glaring failure of our education system, that in-spite of centuries of enlightened thinking, majority of the people still cannot grasp, the simple truths, that science has made available and proved beyond doubt. The difficult part is convincing the majority, who have been brainwashed, since childhood, to believe in certain ideas, and no amount of proofs, to the contrary, can dent their beliefs.
I feel the time has come when we need to overhaul our entire "belief systems", be they about our attitudes towards fellow humans, fellow living beings, or for that matter towards the entire animate and inanimate universe.
Change is indeed difficult to accept, but as the protagonist says in Dr. Johnson's famous book 'Who moved my cheese', "When you change what you believe, you change what you do!"
In a lighter vein, I made a small beginning in accepting change today! I always believed that only a certain barber knew how to cut my hair, and I had diligently stuck with him for all of Thirty Five years. I had to go for a new one as my old trusted one had become old and infirm, and to my surprise, the new one certainly did a great job.
After all, Change is not always for the worse!
    

Mhaisal Birds III

Some More Birds from Mhaisal

Opportunities Galore

I was once called to deliver a lecture on 'Entrepreneurship'. I had been thinking, on my way, as to how to open the topic, to a largely undergraduate audience, who had no inkling, as to where that 'brilliant' and 'viable' seed of an idea for a successful enterprise could come from. I, was suddenly struck by a scene, elucidation of which would indeed fit the bill, for a good opening.

This scene I had seen a thousand times, but the brilliance of the idea had never occurred to me.

A lone woman with a heap of grass near her, had tied a cow to a nearby tree. Care was taken that the cow could not reach the grass heap on her own. Passers-by would buy grass from the woman and feed the cow.
Wow, what an idea! one, the cow belonged to the woman, with all the benefits, like milk or progeny, the cow delivered, accruing to her, and, she was actually getting paid for allowing people to feed her. Two, she had bought the grass cheap on wholesale, and was selling it dear on retail, obviously making a handsome profit. Isn't this what entrepreneurship is all about?
I, then narrated the wonderful story, written by Somerset Maugham, about a  Church Verger dismissed from work, for being illiterate, finding a new calling in life which takes him to dizzy heights.
There are everywhere, opportunities galore, one just has to keep one's senses wide open, when one would realise that every challenge is indeed a hidden opportunity.

Have You Stopped?

Many years ago, an advertisement used to run on TV, a very successful man in the back seat of his new chauffeur driven car (I think it was a HM "Contessa") is stalled on a country road, as a shepherd boy with his herd just cannot get the sheep to clear the way. The chauffeur is forced to stop the majestic car, the man just rolls down the window glass and smiles at the boy benignly. How many times have we done this? Our usual reaction is to rant and fume. We all hate being stalled.

Time we all know is one of the most valuable resources, unfortunately, our understanding of it's flow is rather patchy. Hence, when a value is to be attached to it, it is purely a subjective exercise.

One wonders, why time flies, under some circumstances, and at others, seems not to move at all? Einstein, while explaining the theory of relativity, has given some very interesting examples of the subjectivity of time. He has been quoted to have said, "Put Your Hand on a Hot Stove for a Minute, and It Seems like an Hour. Sit with a Pretty Girl for an Hour, and It Seems like a Minute. THAT'S Relativity".

Most of us have seen patients wired to an oscilloscope. The running cardiogram on the oscilloscope screen, with its interesting patterns, repeating over and over again assure us a beating heart, but in the unfortunate circumstance of the demise of the patient, there is nothing but a straight line seen on the phosphor screen. The question is, has Time stopped for the deceased? The wave form, we all know is generated by the superimposition of the pulses from the probes, on a time line generated by the machine. Then isn't it true that what really gives meaning to the time line, is not just it's elapse, but the pulse that is being imposed on it?
Let us make the most of this non renewable resource, by stretching it, in such a way that gives us the most happiness.
Most of us work hard, so that, we have the means to bring happiness to ourselves and our dear ones. We need to know the "Stops" in this journey, so that we enjoy the fruits of our toils.

Ask yourself,

Have you ever stopped, to watch the Sunset on your way back home?

Have you ever stopped, to pat that stray dog, who came to you with a wagging tail?
Have you ever stopped, to gaze at the night sky and wonder at our insignificance?
Have you ever stopped boarding a train, just to watch, the busy people on the platform?
Lastly,
Have you ever stopped, to recite "The Daffodils", to your little one?
If you haven't! Do Do Stop Awhile.

Sounds of Silence

A few days back, at Pune, I was trying to park my car in a slot that was empty, suddenly a man started yelling at me telling me that he was standing there to ensure that the spot remains vaccant for his boss' car. His behaviour was so crass it left me dumbfounded. I have started wondering, where has all the old world charm gone, when to be courteous was considered an hallmark of good breeding. We have always been taught to never raise our voice. When ever I go to a public place, the loudness, be it of music, or of the non stop chatter of the youngsters simply makes me sick. 

Our festivals just cannot be celebrated without a dose of high decibel, ear splitting, music and fireworks. Our leaders, simply cannot make a point, without shouting or throwing histrionic tantrums. 

We have to just look at nature, to see how it achieves the most wonderful miracles, with not so much as a whimper. Emily Diciknson, in her poem "Nature, The Gentlest Mother"  describes this trait touchingly.

Is all this aggression really good for all of us as a society? Is gentleness no more a virtue? Will the "Sound of Silence" never whisper to us the wisdom of the profound? I can only wonder!

Saint Venant's Principle And Our Insignificance

We are all so absorbed by the happenings around us, that we feel, the events happening "Now" and "Here" are the ones which matter at all. Have we ever paused to think, what significance, these events will have, if we view them from a vantage point far removed in space and time?

We are tickled by the "Accountant-Businessman" in St. Exupery's "The Little Prince", who does not have a moments respite from his occupation of counting and enumerating stars, which he believes will belong to him, once he has recorded them in his ledger. This seems humorous to us, because we think of stars as too far away to be owned by any one. Pondering on this a little deeper, we can understand how utterly insignificant we and are affairs are, when viewed on the cosmological scale, and our insatiable desire to "own" is ludicrous indeed.

Study of "Cause" and "Effect" has occupied human thought through the ages. When ever the causal link could be established with a degree of certainty, we have cried "Eureka". At other times we have been stupefied at "disproportionate" effects of small causes. The title from the seminal paper by Edward Lorenz, "Predictability: Does the Flap of a Butterfly's Wings in Brazil Set Off a Tornado in Texas?" succinctly called the "Butterfly Effect", describes the import of small triggers in causal relationships in chaotic systems .

In Structural Mechanics, which is a study of "Loads" and their effect on "Structures", predictions would have been extremely difficult, but for the "Saint Venant's Principle", which essentially states in layman's language that, at distances sufficiently far from the actual area of application of load, the "type" of load is immaterial, only its "value" matters.

In our lives too, we can see the principle at work. When ever we are faced with a situation, where we feel cornered, we can get solace, by just remembering, that as time passes, all that is happening will have no significance at all. If we get the perspective right, every thing seems insignificant, and we realise, how puny, we and our actions are.