A Winter Dawn's Learning

From the moment I started breaking into a run to the sound of Enrique crooning into my ears to the time when I eased into my destination after a hearty run, the Sun had changed into so many colors. From the ravishing robe of red to the glowing garb of orange, he tried so many hues of both colors, before finally settling for a majestic golden garment.

As I was indulging in the sight of yet another glorious sunrise, something came as a realization within me. How similar the daily sojourn of this Sun is to our lives!

Just imagine - the Sun's birth (sunrise) and his demise (sunset) are both events attracting a lot of attention, as anyone in love with Nature would vouch for. All that glory and colors of a Sunrise, akin to all that happiness and joy that abounds in a family at the arrival of a baby. And, all the gloom and darkness that engulfs the world at the sunset, no matter how ethereal a sight it turns out to be. Just the same way, the pain and sadness that afflicts a family at the death of a dear one, no matter how great or glorious the life had been.

What happens in the intervening period, between birth and death, then? We take the Sun for granted, just as we take our dear ones for granted. We complain about the heat, we don't appreciate the fact of the Sun being the source of all life and energy on our planet, and we don't care to acknowledge or even notice the presence of the Sun. Isn't that what we do with our dear ones too - taking them for granted, fighting over petty stuff, forgetting that the love we share is all that matters in the end, no matter what we own, what we wear and which earthly positions we occupy?

The Sun is the ultimate source of energy and life on our planet. The much ridiculed and oppressed pagans knew it. Modern science has given us the facts that affirm the pagans' belief. Similarly, the people in our lives are the source of our energy and happiness. Let's treat them with the respect, love and care that they deserve, instead of waiting for the 'Sunset' to realize and acknowledge the importance.

Also, not everyone gets to see the glory of the sunrise, but most of us get to partake in the beauty of the sunset. In the same way, not all our births are known or celebrated well. Let's ensure that when we 'set', we set in glorious grandeur! <3

Appreciation and the Price of Tender-Coconuts

This being the last week of current year and the first week of the new year, I decided to spend it by conveying gratitude to all the people in my life and around it. One of the ways in which I wanted to do that is by expressing appreciation of a genuine kind. (After all, aren't we all capable of differentiating between an open-hearted appreciation and an insincere flattery?)

I started it this morning with the old woman selling tender-coconut near my residence. After the morning's intense workout I stopped to have some coconut water as usual. After the drink, I told her that the water tasted really good - it was indeed - and the quantity was also more than sufficient. She felt happy and told me about how they buy the coconuts from the farmers directly and don't involve any middlemen. Moreover, she took only Rs.35 instead of Rs.40 that  she normally charges.

If a simple and honest appreciation like this can make somebody happy to the extent of foregoing the profit, just imagine how many problems can it solve! How many people will give up their mindless pursuits of wealth, fame and senseless status symbols?! How nice a place our world will be, if we start telling people about what is really good about them - in a honest way?! 

May be, as I once wrote in my journal, we should become stingy with our criticisms and complaints, and become more generous with our compliments and encouragements!<3

Book Review – The Mistress of Spices, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

There is this very important thing about performing magic. Unless you have a deep grasp of your magic and pronounce the runes properly, the magic will not work. What is worse, it might backfire and the invoked spirit might even end up killing you. This very thing seems to have happened to Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni in writing this book. Her writing magic, if I could call it so, has backfired and, Goodness, it has done so very badly.

The first book of this author that I had read was ‘The Palace of Illusions’, a book on the famed Mahabharata character of Panchali, closely resembling the renowned work of Irawati Karve, ‘Yuganta’. She had done a pretty decent job there, having already got the blueprint for Panchali’s emotions laid out before her by Vyasa. But this work is something that she can claim to be entirely her own. So, I was expecting to see her real potential excel in here. And, I have been disappointed badly.

First, the plot. The very idea oozes with magic. The spices - yes, the ones that you see in your kitchen every day and which you use for adding taste and health to your food – are all having magical powers. Medical characters we have all known of, but magical? I felt a lot of promise there. Now, the spices have the power to heal and help the people attain their wishes. Tilo is a young girl with the gift of psychic powers. After an ordeal she ends up on an island guarded by an old woman known as the Old One. She takes Tilo into her wings and teaches her, and many other young girls like Tilo who are already there, the power of the spices, the chants and ways to control them, along with the rules to do so. Each girl, once she learns the tricks of the trade, is despatched in an old woman’s body, to various corners of the globe to help the people there with the power of spices. They are bound to some rules – to not touch the people, to not leave the place where they are first put, and to not get personally involved into the lives of those whom they help. If they fail any of these rules, they will be destroyed by fire and recalled (!) to the island.

Our protagonist, Tilo, ends up running a spice shop in Oakland area of USA. There she, the ‘ever-rebellious’ and headstrong person that she is, manages to break all the rules one by one. How long was she there at that spice shop of hers? No clear mention. Why break all the rules now suddenly and at a short notice? Nobody knows. Then she falls in love. With an American. Why? It is because that is what the plot demands. Fine. She risks her powers and even her life to help the people to get what they want. Now, don’t start to think anything superbly spiritual or different. A poor Indian housewife, brought to US by an NRI husband to whom she got married without much of choice or desire, and who is battered and abused by him now. A girl born to NRI couple, brought up with usual traces and talks of freedom, ending up wanting to marry another immigrant from South America, thus hurting her parents. A helpless, pre-teen Sikh boy, who is abused and tormented by his classmates for being different. A Kashmiri young man, who reached US with the hopes of making good in life, now working as a taxi-driver. How Tilo helps these people is on one side. The love of Tilo for her American is on the other side. She starts breaking one rule after another to help these people and in the meanwhile to satisfy her own desires as well. Did the spices punish her for her transgression is what this book is all about.

Now, to what I felt wrong about this book. First, words. The author seems to believe that the only way to convey an emotion is to put it in as many words as possible. As a result, you start feeling bored very soon. So many words to convey even the simplest of things. Brevity is not her forte.

Next, the characters and their emotions don’t somehow seem to tug at your heart as any intense tale is supposed to. Everything seems so artificial, run-of-the-mill and boringly regular. You could have seen such tales in your TV soap operas.

Then, her love for ‘her American’. Why did she fall in love with him? Not a single reason worthy of making us feel happy for them. Her depictions of the hero, her portrayal of his behavior and even his every little acts makes you suspect that it is not love, but ordinary infatuation a young girl caught in an old woman’s body feels for an ‘American’ man oozing with machismo. This guy can do no wrong, he smells great, his dresses are great, he has won a lot in life and, of course, inevitably, he has a bitter past. He falls in love with our girl-in-old-woman’s-body, because somebody told him that ‘she is not what she appears to be’. He even kisses her passionately once, you see!

Finally, a spoiler. If you are eager to know whether the spices punish her, sorry, they don’t. They ravage most of the Oakland area through earthquake and fire, kill innocent people and destroy their property, but let go of our protagonist with just a little injury to her forehead, because you know what? She accepted her punishment in her heart. Dafuq is the word that came to my mind here.

A lot of sentimental stupidity, run-of-the-mill characterization, stereotyped depiction of US-based Indians, a senseless ending all mar such an innovative storyline. Good enough only for starry-eyed teenagers that devour adult novels in a hurry,  or housewives that eat TV-serials for breakfast-lunch-and-supper, or for those movie-makers who are looking for such NRI tales with raunchy love-making scenes to create a film out of.

A dumb ‘sop’ opera, for those with a lot of time to waste and immense patience to go with it.

Glimmers of Human Spirit

The rain that lashed Chennai on Monday evening, a worthy successor for the torrential downpour that preceded it the week before, brought the city down on its knees. The roads, ‘renowned’ as all Indian roads are, became pockmarked within hours, baring the potholes that waited buried inside, crumbling under the weight of even footsteps. Signals stopped functioning. Traffic was at a standstill, with vehicles half-buried in water, moving at a pace that could have made a tortoise proud about his own ‘speed’. The politicians, being the unworthy 'leaders' they have always been, were licking their lips, busily preparing to 'go fishing in the muddied flood' with the phenomenal rainfall providing them ample opportunities to nitpick and mud-sling - if you could excuse the puns - as is their wont.

Having wisely shunned the bike and opted for bus to reach my residence, it took me a little more than two hours to reach my place, a trip which normally would not take more than 40 minutes. Stuck inside the bus, wet, cold and frustrated at the delay, I was noticing all the chaos around with a sense of interest and irritation. Amidst all the mayhem and gloom though, one thing stood out shining. It is that indomitable human spirit. And, there were ample displays of it. While the whole city seemed to be on the streets, frantically trying to get back to the cozy confines of their homes, there were some people who braved the rain and the flood to help others to get to safety. 

One, the never-much-appreciated traffic cops. With the traffic signals having failed, most lanes and streets buried inside knee-deep water, subways getting flooded fast, the whole city's traffic was concentrated on a few arterial roads. In that icy downpour and eerie darkness, the cops were working tirelessly to clear the traffic. Most of my friends recounted tales of their reaching home only by 1 AM and later. I wonder, by what time would the cops have reached theirs?!

Second, the ambulance drivers. There was a surfeit of ambulances on the road that night. I would have seen at least half a dozen ambulances on the road that day, wading through the water, crying to be allowed first. The ever-considerate Chennaite was helplessly turning back and looking concernedly at the ambulance, because there was nowhere for him to move and give way for the ambulance, what with the whole road inundated with water and vehicles. Somehow, as if by magic, the ambulances found the ways to move forward, carrying the anxious patients and their relatives to the safe confines of the hospital, thus saving so many lives. Now, how and by what time would the drivers have gone back home?

Third, in most of the roads near slums, those young guys, the brash ones whom you will hate on any normal days, were volunteering to clear the traffic, creating roadblocks to prevent vehicles from entering badly flooded areas, marking the dangerous potholes and gutters with branches and sticks. They were doing all this, while their very houses would have been flooded for sure.

The society may not even know their names, or their deeds, let alone appreciate their assistance. But it is because of such crucial cogs like these that the machinery of this world still functions. They may not be aware of their heroics, they may even have been doing all these things simply as if going through some involuntary motions. But that is what makes their deeds special and worthy. It is in moments like these that the human spirit reveals its true nobility, shining amidst all the gloom that surrounds it.

And, here I am, sending out a sense of happiness and gratitude to them for their deeds. And, to the Universe, for making me a witness to it!

Does Every Religion Speak The Same Thing?

‘Ekam Sat Viprah Bahudha Vadanti’ – this is a chant from Rig Veda, which I often remember during my contemplations about spirituality and god (if there ever is one). Roughly translated this means ‘Truth Is One, Sages Call It With Various Names’. The more I have started contemplating the same, the more I am turning clueless about the sense behind it, at least the sensibility of repeating it in the current global scenario.

One of the most specious platitudes that we have all learnt to parrot around is this – ‘Every religion teaches/mentions/speaks/emphasizes the same thing’. A little thought about this statement and we will all realize how untrue this really is. While the intention is to increase the amicability among people and to downplay the differences, I believe it is time we stopped taking such statements on face value and faced reality.

Not every religion speaks/teaches the ‘same thing’. Each and every Holy Scripture differs from one another. Right from the creation of this Universe, to the making of mankind, to the concept of life after death and to the final act of judgment, each and every religion has its own say and way. One religion is adamantly monotheist, while another believes in a triumvirate. Some believe in a big pantheon and some others worship anything and everything. In some religions, the soul is indestructible and comes into this world again and again, caught in the cycle of birth, while in other religions, when one dies one stays dead, till the good god feels it time to wake up everyone in one final grand show of settling ‘credits and punishments’.

Instead of repeating the cliché of all religions being the same, we should learn to appreciate the differences and accept the same. Variety is the way of life. A wide variety of species, plants, places and things is what makes this world an interesting place to live. I am sure that none of us would prefer to live in a world where everything has become monotonously similar.

When we go to a restaurant we order what we prefer to eat, taking for granted our right to do so. Similarly when we go out to buy clothes for ourselves, we buy only what we like, again exercising our rights to do so, without even being conscious of it. In neither of these places do we worry about our rights nor do we try to enforce our choice on others. I cannot enforce my choice on another person, because what the other person chooses for himself/herself depends on that person’s age, gender, size and, most importantly of all, freewill. When we can accept to respect the other person’s choice in such crucial matters like what to eat and what to wear, to mention just two, why not accept that there can be wide variety of views in every other aspect of life?

What does it matter to us if somebody decides to worship by kneeling and somebody else decides to worship by prostrating? Why should it matter if somebody grows a beard or a tuft on the head? As long as the other person does not intervene in our choice to sit at the table we want and decide the clothes we would wear, why make all such a hullabaloo about a fictional concept such as gods and religions?! As long as a person behaves in the ethical way, acts in a socially acceptable moral conduct, does not cause harm to another person by words, deeds or thoughts, should we give a hoot to which god s/he worships?!

May be it will be a difficult thing for us grown-ups to shed the boundaries and fences that we have made inside our hearts. But, we should at least teach our next generation, the young children, to spurn the poisonous curse of religion and to coexist amicably. We should not lie to them about there being no difference at all, but should teach them about the differences and also tell them that it is OK for such differences to exist. We should teach them about ‘unity in diversity’, without pulling wool over their eyes about there being no differences. Because the so-called ‘tolerance’ of modern minds seems to be a hypocritical ideal of accepting the others ‘as long as they don’t differ from us in how they speak/feel/write/live’, when it should really have been the understanding of ‘our having the right to live our lives the way we want, while respecting the rights of others to do so too’.

Let’s teach our children about the differences, so that they can all see how trivial such ‘differences’ are and laugh them off. Amen!

Gaia Was Here First

Few days back, while talking to a friend, I was discussing about the sense of megalomania that pervades the human minds and how we have started behaving with a condescending sense of supremacy against Nature – how we behave like the planet was made only for us, to cater to our petty needs and greed, how we are trying to ‘save’ the planet, how we are trying to ‘protect’ the environment and so on. I have never felt to be one of the most ‘evolved’ species. If anything, we humans have learnt to clothe ourselves – or denude ourselves, as is the modern wont – and have invented some snazzy gadgets. Deep within, we all remain as fierce, as vile and as lowly as an animal can ever be.

This morning, the rain gave some respite after lashing out for nearly a week here. I was going through our little garden, taking stock of the situation and checking for damages, if any, to the plants due to the rain. A look at the garden soil reinforced my belief in the supremacy of Nature and the superiority of this planet over us humans. In the garden, not only had the seedlings braved the rain, they had even twisted and turned in search of light and protection from the rain, as could be witnessed from their shapes. Not just that. Some of the plants which we had cut down to the ground had put forth some tender sprouts. The ground was covered with so many tiny seedlings, weeds and worms of varied kind.

I felt a sense of wonder and humility at this sight. If a small piece of garden can renew itself and manage to cover itself with life in a week’s rain, what is to happen to this planet if we humans stop intervening in her path?! Won’t this planet cover herself with life and bring forth even more evolved life forms as before? End of the day, it is we humans that meddle with her patient demeanour and then put up a show of caring for her. This planet neither needs saving nor any meddling. Remember, the Gaia has been here for billions of years and we puny worms have been here for only a few millions - or even less. All that we need to do is to take care of our tiny selves and stop acting as if we are the saviors around here. We are just visitors who have been making a grand drama about things, while exploiting and violating Gaia. We will all wither and vanish sooner than later, as has been proved by the history of this planet, but she can survive anything, as she has always done.

Time we all had a sense of humility and respect during our interactions with Nature. She was here first, she reigns supreme here and she will remain for ages long after our whole species are wiped out. Top-of-the-food-chain?! Time we reanalyzed our claim to that spot!

Book Review – The Essential Rumi, Coleman Barks

Caveat Emptor – any commerce student worth his (or, her) salt should be able to tell you the meaning of this: ‘Buyer Beware’. Roughly put, this means that in any commercial transaction, the onus is on the buyer to perform due diligence to ensure safety and success, without falling prey to any misleading enticements. It is the buyer’s responsibility to buy a product after ensuring that it really is what it promises to be. And, I have this advice to give all you who are planning to buy the book ‘The Essential Rumi’ – Caveat Emptor!

No. I am not warning you against the quality of the book or the paper, quality of the print or even the quality of the translator. I am not warning you against the online shipping website that sold me this book either. I am warning you against buying this book influenced merely by the popular perception about Rumi.

Yes. I grew up reading a few snippets and couplets from Rumi’s elaborate works every now and then. And, those lines that I had read, fed me with the opinion that Rumi was a young, enamored poet who was always craving for his ‘beloved’. I thought that to be merely an earthly love that he transcended to the state of divine ecstasy, a literary form of ‘Hieros-Gamos’ – from sex to super-consciousness, to borrow the words of Osho. When I picked the book, I was looking forward to delve deep into page after page of love-soaked poems. But, I was disappointed. Disappointed in an ecstatic manner!

The Rumi whose works fill this volume is not the ordinary human lover that I – or, for that matter, most of us – grew up admiring. Here you meet a Rumi that he really was, a mystic, ascetic to the core, Sufi ‘mevlana’ (master) who inspired scores of minds across centuries, and a man whose love was not for an earthly beloved, but for that one ‘Beloved’ whose love brought this whole Universe into existence. Read them in light of ‘dhikr/zikr’ traditions of Sufism and you will see an entire world unravel before your eyes through these pages.

There is nothing on these pages that you haven’t already thought about. Or, to put it in another, correct way, there is nothing you can think afresh which has not been conveyed by Rumi. Of course, he has also been inspired by the masters that went before him, but whatever little spiritual experiences that you have gone through, whatever little lessons that you have learnt, whatever spiritual ideas you have formed in the depth of your soul, whatever contemplations you have had about ‘God’, whatever poems that you could write, Rumi spells it out all. Page after page, you are sure to gasp, muttering under your breath ‘this was the same thing I thought/this was the same way I felt’. For anyone with a spiritual seeking, this book will be a worthy treasure.

True to the tradition of Sufism, an all-inclusive, non-rigid version of Islam, Rumi gleefully indulges in writing freely – he extols Jesus and the Prophet equally, he freely uses the images of camels from the Middle-East and elephants from Hindustan in same manner, he speaks about Buddha and Plato with same vigor, and he also speaks about sex and pooping in equal breath while drawing a parallel to spiritual quest with such banal acts. This is a Rumi that you could have not even imagined before picking up the book.

One cannot forget to appreciate Coleman Barks for the stupendous job he has done in translating the works of Rumi. It is said that Rumi is the ‘most read poet in America’ and the reason behind that is Coleman Barks and you will accept that to be true if you read this book. If, instead of Persian, Rumi had written his poems in English, this would have been the way in which he would have written. Such an amazing clarify in translating Rumi’s works!

All said and done, if you are a seeker, whose senses and seeking are not muddied by the curse of being in an organized religion, you are sure to find a whole lot of gems in this book. There is a Great Love flowing through his words that is certain to infect you as well. His yearning, his craving for the union with his ‘Beloved’, is something that you will also be afflicted with. And, true to being a flood, some of those lines are sure to go over your head too – as they did with mine. Overall, a book worth cherishing forever!

Ashok Krishna

Faces

Why is it that, of all the thousands of faces that we meet during the day, only some faces cause a flash inside our mind? Why is it that some faces end up reminding some special ones from our long-gone past? Why is it that some faces share the same eagerness, the same yearning and the same happiness to steal a glance or two at us, while we end up doing the same? Why is that only some faces exude a subtle sense of happiness every time our eyes cross? Why is it that some faces end up stoking an abundance of platonic affection and a deep sense of veneration within us? Why is it that we feel an intense pull towards some faces even when it is the first - and most probably the only - time that we happen to see them? 

And, finally, why is it that some faces, as they leave, cause a deep pain, at the uncertainty of getting to meet again in this lifetime?!

Let's Pull Down The Pedestals!

I am thinking. What will be the world like, if we all pull Jesus, Krishna and Gautama Buddha down from their divine pedestals and 'de-deify' them - a world where they will not be treated as gods or god-incarnates, but just as men of exemplary qualities and supreme wisdom who lived once upon a time and whose divinity is nothing more than the mist of Time that puts them at a distance from us? 

What will be the world like when we all stop worshiping them and start - or, at least try - emulating them? Just imagine - a sea of humanity that is filled with all god-like beings, everyone in love with everyone else, everyone respecting everybody else, everyone in peace with him/herself and the whole of Existence around, everyone awake and everyone aware! 

Imagine, billions of gods (and goddesses) walking upon this planet! What stops us from aspiring to be like those supreme beings instead of merely putting their highest wisdom into narrow compartments of religion, and quarreling in their name?!

The Buddha In Traffic

Often, while I get stuck in the traffic, amidst the loud-honking, rule-breaking, free-spitting, live-cigarette-throwing morons, I ask myself this question to lessen my annoyance - What would the Buddha do when he gets stuck like this?

I used to tell myself that even the Buddha would lose his composure and feel the rage. But reading through the Dhammapada has cleared that 'doubt' of mine. He wouldn't have bothered. That's because there is a world of difference between us. His world was of the inner realm, whereas I am still mired in the external appearances. He is all peace and bliss, whereas I am all mundane and materialistic. His peace emanates from his very being, just the same way the Sun is his own source of energy. My peace is derived from my external possessions. He is a Paradise himself, whereas I am, stuck in this cage of decaying flesh, trying to form my own versions of 'peace' and 'happiness'.

 To sum it all up and to answer myself, He would have walked. Uncaring for all the mundane aspirations and senseless haste that we have weaved our lives with, the Buddha would have walked. For, he is already Home, whereas I am not even on the path yet!

Whenever there is an opportunity to bash the cops - of course, only verbally - and their moral fabric, all of us pounce on it and make the most of it, because they are one of the favorite punching bags, alongside politicians, for an increasingly corrupt society to pin all its unjustified sense of indignation on and to feel a sense of sanctimony. While the politicians may have sailed past the stages of salvation, the cops once in a while prove that they are as human - and humane - as the next human being. Today I got the chance to see one such an instance.

I just took the late night's bus service to reach the railway station. With me some cops also boarded the bus. Almost all of them were female cops, with one or two male ones among them. And, it was obvious that all of them have only recently joined the service - young, tired but enthusiastic, as the demands of their jobs haven't taken a toll on them yet.

They all took their seats here and there and settled into the gossip of the day's evening. A couple of stops later, a group of women boarded the bus. Some of them old, two of them mothers carrying their toddlers in their arms. The lady cop who was just sitting next to them was a very young girl. She was visibly exhausted from all the day's work at the grueling heat of Chennai. With a  small, fresh wreath of jasmine flowers adorning her hair, she could have been mistaken for a school student, were she wearing civilian clothes instead of the uniform, but let me not digress.
The moment this young cop saw the women, she didn't wait, she didn't think, she didn't talk. She simply got up from the seat, gave her seat to the woman with the toddler. Seeing her, the male cop, who was sitting in the seat across, also got up from his seat and gave his seat to the other woman.

Our lady cop, got a free seat by the next stop and the first thing she did was to lean on the window pane and sleep, with all the fatigue of the day visibly telling on her.

Witnessing all this, while most of the able bodied men didn't even make a show of getting up and the young lady cop showing the very basic and yet the rarest of human courtesy, I felt this - cops are neither good nor bad. They are just as human - and humane - as we are. :-)

Eulogy – Dr.APJ Abdul Kalam (1931-2015)

I am looking all around me, searching for a sign of histrionics. There are no women from lower rung of the society wailing, beating their bosoms and rolling in the dirt. There are no signs of men, in an inebriated state, holding to the pictures of their beloved leader, crying and tearing their hairs. No shops were forced to shut down today. No buses were stopped. No public property damaged. No sign of the social activity being impacted in any way by his death. Yet, beneath this veneer of calmness, this nation is silently mourning one of her most special sons – Dr.APJ.Abdul Kalam. A mere mention of this name, and everybody is ready with a word of pride, an appreciation, and a sense of glum descending their face. Social networking sites are rife with his images and quotes – some of them not really uttered by him. A mere glance at your contact list in WhatsApp, and you see a lot of friends having changed their Display Picture to that of Mr.Kalam.
 

What makes him worthy of such adulation? When was the last time a nation, the whole of it, together mourned the death of one of its leaders? In my brief life, I have seen people mourning the death of the political leaders, leaders of their favorite political parties and religious sects. Others used to issue a formal statement of condolence and that was all there is. Of course, some hooligans use such occasions to let loose their vandalism and loot public properties too. But today, there was no such show of sorrow, and yet, all of us feel that pallor of death as if they had lost a relative of their own. Why so?
 

There may be many reasons, but to my limited wisdom, it feels that he became great because he remained humble. Starting his life from a nondescript coastal town in a distant Southern corner of the country, he silently worked his way up to become the First Citizen of the county. He didn’t let his humble economic background clip his wings. His religion was never a hurdle for him to face. In a nation that is increasingly facing the colors of religions painted upon her, he remained clear of all such vile. He was pious, but never wore his religion on his sleeves. In fact, people from all religious, social and economic background loved him. He never let his name be affiliated by any narrow party ideals either.
 

Our generation had only heard the deeds of the likes of Gandhi, Nehru, Patel, Azad, Prasad, but never had the chance of having a true leader, who could unite the minds with his sheer brilliant presence. Mr.Kalam was one who filled that void. He belongs to the era, where people owned responsibilities instead of merely whining about their rights, people lived by ethics and morals instead of preaching them and people held on to their core principles even in the face of difficulties. Mr.Kalam was a man of integrity, be it at a personal level or a social level.
 

It is said that even to die well one should have earned a good karma. How else could he have breathed his last?! He wasn’t confined to bed, he wasn’t taken away by illness, senility and atrophy were definitely not for him. He breathed his last, doing what he always loved the most – being a teacher, interacting with the young minds. He was a worthy teacher and will remain a worthy role-model for more and more of Indians to come.
 

Rest in peace, sir! You have done more than your fair share for your motherland. Rest in peace!
 

Ashok Kumar

So Near Yet So Far - The Curse (?!) of Smartphones?

A couple of days ago, happened to notice a sad sight at the restaurant, during lunch. On the table next to me were four people - a couple and two children. All through the course of the meal, the couple were discussing some family gossip, while the children were both stuck to their smartphones with the headphones on, paying no heed whatsoever to one another. If they weren't sitting in the same table, or if they were seen in a different setting like a bus or park, you would have thought of them as strangers and not as belonging to the same family. It was only when they were leaving did they all speak to one another.

Similar to this was another incident when I had a couple of youngsters share the table with me in a restaurant. Only when it came to paying the bill did they talk to one another, having been immersed in their mobile phones all through the supper.

Are we becoming addicted to technology to the extent of letting it dominate our lives? Are we moving farther from the people close to us while trying to stay in touch with those far away?!

To recall the words of an old person, who once spoke to me during a train journey and sadly said, "During our days, we used to talk to strangers in the journey. We used to form friendships, some of which went on to stay for a long time. But you young people these days plug your ears with headphones, glue your eyes to phones and stay aloof from others. You are all growing further apart than how it was during our days. No wonder the society is filled with troubles and hatred!'

A Pagan Dawn

The calm walk of this morning, accompanied by the voice of Jagjit Singh, while watching the rising

of a nascent Sun that was yet to garb the mantle of the oppressor, brought to mind an old thought - Am I not part of this Universe, a chanceful coming together of the various elements of Nature? 

You may be a religious person that believes in the 'atma' (soul), or a science buff who prefers the 'atoms', but you cannot deny the fact that we are all compositions of the elements of Nature. 

Re-realizing that I am one such a chanceful composition sent goosebumps through my spine. Being kept alive by the Air, cooled and comforted by it, held by the Earth, nourished by all the food that grows in it, bathed and quenched by the element of Water, nourished by all the sights and presence of the Space, warmed and lighted by Fire, to be finally fed to it when 'I' am gone, am I not a part of Nature herself - born of her, brought up by her, finally dissolving into her when the Fire will accept me back?!

No wonder the Pagans preferred to worship Nature. I am even starting to believe that they must have been early-risers!

Erotic Literature or Love Poetry?

A few days back, I had written a post denouncing a book by Khushwant Singh as cheap erotica. A friend of mine caught up with me offline and during the discussion over my writing and poetry, we wandered over to that post. My friend said that I cannot just like that wave away the works of a great author like him. Moreover, my friend was of the opinion that since I have never ever read any erotic literature I am not supposed to write it off as cheap. And, my friend suggested the book 'Electric Feather' to sample that genre.

Sorry, my friend. I still remain displeased with that genre. In fact, I can even use the word 'disappointed'. This book has nothing new that Paulo Coelho, in his own plagiaristic manner, didn't write in 'Eleven Minutes' or 'Adultery'. There is nothing different from what Taslima Nasrin, in her pseudo-feminist hypocrisy, did graphically depict in 'The French Lover'. This is in no way different from what most of the 'modern' Indian writers, in an urge to garner the attention of the adolescent readers, do puke with their pens and spell out in obscene terms. This book causes as much revulsion in me as I first felt when I stumbled upon the writings of one 'Chandilyan' during my formative years.

More than halfway through the book 'Electric Feather', which is a compilation of erotic tales, I feel no thrill, no emotional pulls, no bliss springing in my being, as I feel when I read the love poetry of a Gulzar. Stripping down the man-woman relationship - literally - down to the mere union of the physique is not amusing in any way. Mere copulation, for the sake of it, is as revolting as excreta.

Love is what is worthy. Lust, when it is not within the bounds and privacy of love, is ugly. There is more thrill, more pull, and more addiction in love than in lust. Erotica still remains a third-grade and avoidable genre for me. Sorry, my friend.

Love is, indeed, more inebriating than lust!

Hell or Heaven - Imaginary Idiocy?

Have you ever noticed how every religion ends up defining rights and wrongs as a list of To-Do's, to be rewarded by a place in the heaven or hell respectively?

Have you ever noticed how every religion defines heaven as a place filled with bodily pleasures of food, drink, physical company, and hell as a place where immense physical torment will be inflicted upon the erring humans?

Moreover, all these religions talk about pleasures only in terms of the masculine: booze, food and celestial maidens. Isn't that evidence enough that all these religions were perceived by sophisticated male-chauvinistic shamans to exploit their gullible 'followers'?

And, just in case, today I am to form an 'organized religion', what sort of a hell and heaven should I define - (hell) as a place where your body loses all charm, virility and vigor (facial fairness, in case of women) or (heaven) as a place with all the snazzy gadgets, abundance of booze, hashish and barely dressed svelte seductresses?!

Ashok Krishna

Do Women Expect To Be ‘Empowered’?

During the wee hours of this day, as I was tossing and turning in my bed, moving in and out of sleep, my mobile emitted a buzz notifying a message. Wondering who could be sending me a message at this odd hour, I picked up my phone and peered into it half asleep. It was from a friend of mine from across the globe, from across a different time zone.

She had sent a couple of lengthy messages admonishing one of my Facebook posts, where I had mocked an actress proclaiming 'her choices', in what I considered to be ‘a stupid and senseless manner’. My friend was of the opinion that the Indian women are only now coming of age – my friend herself is an NRI, having shunned this ‘Third World country’ for the comforts of modern skyscrapers of dreamland America – and are starting to come out of their cages(!). She said that men like me (I don’t know whatever the hell she meant by that) should stop questioning the choices of women and start being more generous by accepting and supporting her choices. It went on like this for a few lines.

Drowsy till then, my mind started playing faces like movie-reels, faces of all those women who had entered my life and made their presence felt in one way or the other, women that had either graced or grated my life. It is one long list, but I was able to think of many women whose mention is relevant to the context of this video of my choice.
 

There have been plenty of women in my life - woman who loved one person and married another, woman who fought to the hilt to marry the only guy she loved, women who opted divorce due the cruelty/infidelity/incompatibility of their husbands, woman who divorced her husband for her own promiscuity, women who booze and party as they wish, women who consider it a taboo to even mention such things, women who brilliantly shone in academics but decided to dwell into family ways, a woman who runs a successful business despite the lack of education, a woman who is a lesbian, a woman who has even shunned the very idea of sex, women who brutally believe in their religions, women who question the very need for religions, widowed women who have gone through their entire lives to bring up their children singly and in the best ways possible, women who fight with their companions tooth and nail over every petty topics of life, women who chose their companions simply on the basis of religious/caste/financial backgrounds, women who chose their men for reasons other than the mundane, women who have had as much physical intimacy as they wanted before marriage, women who avoided even talking to the men before tying the knot, women who behave like jack-in-the-box and lead sprightly lives, women who prefer the solitude and safety of their residential confines, women who address their husbands however they wish, women who won’t even utter the name of their husbands, women who chose wealthy grooms to take them abroad and settle there, woman who withstood physical abuse and rape but went on to make a good family life of her own with a man of her choice, women who chose a life of solitude or simplicity to stay back and work for the society around them, women who started working at very young ages to support their struggling families, women who have not even entered the kitchens of their houses  – the list kept going on and on.
 

As I lay there in the dark, I tried recalling as much as I could about whether any of them ever waited for the approval of their choices from the people around.  To whatever little knowledge I had about their lives, to whatever extent I was allowed a glimpse of their lives, I didn’t remember knowing any of them give up on their choices due to the disapproval from others. They all made their choices, and they all live with the consequences of the same still now and contentedly so. None of them sought the approval for their choices from the world around them, including that of their own family members and none of them had any need to advertise their choices as pertinent to all of womenfolk either.
 

With the recent video of that movie actress making headlines, and the social networking sites abuzz about it, I get see a flurry of messages, jokes, videos that go for and against that video. I am thinking – aren’t we all getting into a stereo-typing show here?
 

On one end, people who crave for age old chivalry, who need to see knights in shining armors arriving in their mighty stallions to protect the damsels in distress – protect women from dowry, protect women from abuse at the household, protect women from rapists, protect women from oppression, protect women from this, protect women from that, protect women from what-not. According to them, a woman is nothing but a dainty creature that needs protection from evil, careful and tender handling – a delicate flower that should not suffer violation at evil hands and wilt away.
 

On the other end, there are people who try to pull down her supremacy, by casting her as a clichéd ‘feminist’, a ‘free’ persona, whose freedom is defined only by her ability to booze, visit pubs, ability to copulate with anyone at will, ability to flaunt her skin and gain applause, everything that will make her physically free but nothing that will approach her as a soul, a bundle of thoughts, ideals, ideas and emotions. These so-called feminists are just the mirror images of those oppressive mules who cannot think about women as anything more than whatever is visible to the eyes.
 

If one lot thought of woman as just a possession that has to be protected with ‘chastity belts’, the other lot feels that a woman’s freedom is all about breaking it away for mere banal carnality.
I felt that both are absolutely irrelevant and ridiculous in the context of the women I have met in my life. None of these women waited for their knights in shining armors. None of them worried much about the size and shapes of their exterior. None of them cried from within the dungeons and castles awaiting a knight to come and save them. None of them took to blatant brazenness as freedom either. They took charge of their lives and live with their own ways, seeking peace and happiness in the process.
 

As I turned to fall asleep for a brief while before the Sun came up, I couldn’t help imagining the following thing – a strong while horse with a flowing mane, astride it a knight in shining armor, with a long, unsheathed sword in one hand. And, as the knight moved the hand up and removed the visor to reveal the face, it turned out that the knight wasn’t a male, but a female with glowing eyes and flowing tresses. Yes, a woman is her own ‘knight in shining armor’ that neither needs you to protect her nor oppose her. She neither needs you to approve her choices, nor cares if you assail them. A woman just expects to be left alone with her choices and her own ways of living, free from both the stereo-typing feminists and slickly shining knights!

Ashok Krishna

Is Cruelty A Part of Parenting?!

A couple of days ago, while at work, happened to notice something cruel. 

 

A father and son duo walked into one of my company outlets to get some clarifications regarding a phone they had bought recently. It seemed the son, a boy of around 10 years, had forgotten to bring one of the components of the phone that was required for the demo. Immediately the father started scolding the kid. The words that he were using against his own son were something that you can hear only in the brawl between hooligans. Such an abuse! 

 

The poor little boy was looking sullen and ashamed in front of us. Finishing his abuse after a whole minute, the father stormed out to fetch the component. The child's face was a picture of shame and gloom. I couldn't even stand the boy's face. 

 

Is this the way to parent a child?! Won't that boy's self-respect and confidence be dented after such a verbal barrage, that too in front of utter strangers like us? Or will such children grow up feeling any semblance of compassion to care for their parents when they grow senile and dependent on them?

Micro-Reviews – A Clutch of Indian Masterpieces (compiled by David Davidar) - Part 1

One of my friends used to proudly tell me that she does not like to read the works of Indian authors and prefers the foreign authors’ writings indeed. After picking up this book, I understood how dumb her arrogance has been and how foolish she has been. The loss definitely is not that of Indian literature but hers. Without going deep into the overall structure of the book, let me just tell you about the tales.

So far from ‘A Clutch of Indian Masterpieces’…

1. The Hunger of Stones, Rabindranath Tagore – Originally written in Bengali, this short story is translated into English by Amitav Ghosh. This story will put the modern day scary movie makers to shame. Without even bringing in any gore or perverse elements onto the scene, Tagore exacts fear and thrill in the minds of the readers and weaves the story with a great element of suspense and mystery. The end will make you feel so restless and you might even end up wanting to recall Tagore from his Final Abode to change the climax.

2. The Shroud, Munshi Premchand – Translated from Hindi by Arshia Sattar, this is a story about two loafers, father and son as they come, who have not even a semblance of responsibility in their being and how they end up denying even the final dignity to the woman of their household. While you will cringe at their behavior and wonder how low the human beings can stoop, you will also realize that this is not a mere work of fiction but the state of many households in these modern times too.

3. A Horse and Two Goats, R.K.Narayan – R.K.Narayan is one of those Indian writers who made fame for themselves by writing in English directly without resorting to the vernacular to vent their ideas. I have somehow always found RKN a tad too slow for my liking. It is like you have to wait forever, going through the mundane details, for that worthy punch-line in the end. This story is no different. It is a funny quirk of fate in the life of an old peasant. You will end up smiling at the deserving fortune of the old wretch.

4. A Life, Buddhadeva Bose – You won’t read anything more intense and emotional than this one – this is what exactly I thought when I first went through the story. People always used to tell me that there is a time for everything. I always respond with cynicism that anything that does not arrive in the time when we need it is of no use and value. This story comes to bolster that view of mine. Set in the pre-independence India and ending at the post-independence period, this story outlines the life of an ordinary school teacher who takes up a big task to add meaning to his life – literally – the compilation of a vernacular dictionary. Arunava Sinha has beautifully translated this Bengali story into English, without making the words lose their life.

5. Toba Tek Singh, Saadat Hasan Manto – Whom do you approach to translate the Urdu story into English, when that story revolves around the partition of India-Pakistan and the story is sort of tragi-comedy? If you said Khushwant Singh, then full marks to you. Khushwant Singh has brought in his unmistakable sense of humour to this story that proves that those whom we call as insane are saner than most of the sane beings.

6. The Flood, Thakazhi Sivasankara Pillai – TSP has become one of my favorite Indian authors ever since I first read Chemmeen and later a bunch of short stories of his, translated into English. The reality and sharp emotions depicted in his stories are truly remarkable. Dogs are always known to be loyal to men. But would a human being remain loyal to his loyal pet when disaster strikes? I am not sure and neither is Thakazhi. O.V.Usha has translated this Malayalam story into English.

7. The Blue Light, Vaikom Muhammad Basheer – Another Malayalam story in the collection, translated by O.V.Usha., this is also a ghost story which deserves all the appreciation that I had heaped on Tagore’s ghost story in the beginning. Unlike the modern ghost tales and movies where the evil spirits appear only at the most inopportune of moments, like when the female protagonist is ill-clad or bathing, or appear with nauseatingly ugly faces, this is a tender tale. When the story ends, you will even end up falling in love with the ‘ghost’.

8. The Somersault, Gopinath Mohanty – This is another intense tale in the collection, originally written in Oriya and translated into English by Sitakant Mahapatra. An occasional success does nothing much to change the fortunes of a poor labourer, who has been marked out by destiny for a life of oblivion and misery. How many such worthy people languish in darkness, poverty and oblivion for the lack of the right stroke of luck!

9. Portrait of a Lady, Khushwant Singh – I have always been told that Khushwant Singh is a lewd writer who can write about nothing other than women and whiskey. How wrong an opinion have I been fed! Fresh from reading his classic ‘Train To Pakistan’ and having got mesmerized at his ability to weave captivating tales, I found this to be yet another gem. It is not true that we humans speak a different language from other beings on this planet – animals, birds and plants. It is also not true that we are in anyway superior to any of the other creatures that coexist with us. This tale will tell you that.

(to be continued...)

An Imperfect Drawing

This morning, as I settled down with my drawing paraphernalia, I had a thought in my mind. Why not, for a day, shun the idea of attaining perfection but draw simply aimlessly, for the fun of it, like a child does?

I decided to not use tools like pencils or charcoal that I am confident with and tried dabbling with watercolors today. To begin with, I simply mixed a couple of colors and kept brushing randomly like a child playing with his first set of color pencils. As the day progressed I drew water and sun, two of my most favorite elements in nature.  With no necessity to make my lines and strokes perfect I felt absolute fun splashing the colors on paper.

When I ended the ‘drawing’ I decided to name it 'Wilderness of Vrindavan'. An hour or so after I had left the paper to dry, I got this idea of adding the serpent and the Dancer to the view. And, here it is. What began as a simple act of fun ended up as an act of producing the image of that one person who epitomized love and bliss, both of which are essential ingredients to any art form!

As I grow further in art, this picture may not even appear in the list of my perfect artworks. But this shabby and ordinary picture will remain my favorite till the end, because it taught me the purpose of art - to love what one does, take pleasure from it, without worrying about perfection and acceptance from others. After all, what else is art, if not the expression of bliss and love that dwells deep inside one's heart?! :-)

Book Review – Shikhandi And Other Tales They Don’t Tell You, Devdutt Pattanaik

I was a kid when I first read about Shikhandi. It was the vernacular edition of the great Indian epic Mahabharata, translated by none other than Chakravarti Rajagopalachari - famously known as Rajaji - himself. Remaining fascinated by the adventures of Arjun and Karna, adoring the all-meaning acts of Krishna and reading through the scenes of the battle-field with the childhood curiosity, I paid little or no attention to the role of Shikhandi in the fall of that invincible patriarch of the Kuru clan, Bhishma.
 

As I grew up, the one character that stood alone in my mind was Krishna. With all his boyish charms, romantic adventures, mysterious mysticism, he remained rooted in my mind, along with his one true love, Radha. Yudhishtra, Arjun, Bhishma, Karna and Panchali, they all fell by the wayside. But recently I started coming across books that took to viewing the Mahabharata through the eyes of some of the lead protagonists and, at times, the antagonists. Having read a book that depicted the epic through the eyes of the pivotal Panchali and also having gone through a couple of poetry works that focused on her relationship with her various husbands, I felt a fascination to learn more about the individual characters. Shikhandi was the not even in the nooks of my mind.
 

But, the other day I came across this book in the bookshelves of one of the big retail chains in the city. It was love at first sight for me. The design of the cover itself was so intriguing. Here, Krishna stands holding the reins, controlling four powerful stallions that fiercely strain at the leash. Behind him stands that effeminate Shikhandi, wielding a bow shaped by his (or, is it ‘her’?) vengeance, waiting to fulfill his (or, again, is it ‘her’?) destiny by killing Bhishma. And, behind them all stands Arjun, one of the greatest archers that this land is said to have ever produced. Then there is this unmistakable presence of Hanuman, in the banner of the Pandava chariot.
 

Having heard about Devdutt Pattanaik occasionally and having seen many of his books in the store shelves often, I decided to pick up this book and learn more about the author as well as that crucial little cog in Mahabharata, Shikhandi. Well, it is not a disappointing experience.
 

This book, as it says in the title, is not just about Shikhandi. It deals with those characters, which the modern society labels as LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bi-Sexual & Transgender), that have been existing in this world for eons. The author begins by listing down instances of ‘queer’ sexual behavior and attitudes as noticed in various cultures and epics across the world. He moves across the Time and cultures to pick out examples. From the physical consummation between Leda and Zeus who was in the form of a swan, to a mighty Chinese emperor who cut his robe in order to not disturb his sleeping lover (a man), from the ancient Amazonian female warriors who severed one of their breasts to freely wield the bow, to the Egyptian male gods who forcibly raped their fellow junior gods, he plucks out instances from across the firmament of Time. 
 

But the book mainly focuses on the characters from the Hindu mythology and Indian history of yore. Starting with Shikhandi, this book goes on to recount the tales about male gods who took the forms of women to protect or to destroy, the female gods that assumed fierce and masculine roles to destroy evil, male gods who took the form of midwives to attend to their devotees in times of need, and gods who mated with one another after one of them took the form of a female. As closely as our species are concerned, there are instances of female friends who didn’t want to get separated for the sake of marriage and who decided to live together forever, male friends who underwent a curse with one of them turning into a female and how they overcame the same by marrying between themselves, the great hero Arjun who was cursed to face loss of manliness for an year, and even a poet and a king who developed strong friendship and platonic love for one another without even getting to meet ever.
 

The book picks up such ‘queer’ and ‘unconventional’ behavior from across the width and breadth of our country and points them out to us, without taking sides. Yes. One appreciable aspect that I found about the book is that it doesn’t take sides. It neither takes a moral high ground by denouncing LGBT relationships as immoral, nor does it advocate for such relationships, by quoting them as a result of modernism and evolution. If anything, the book merely states the facts, raises a few vicarious questions from the viewpoint of the LGBT community and leaves the rest to us. We get to read about how such queer things have been happening in the past and how they are repeated now, but nowhere does the book pass any judgment whatsoever. That, I would say, is one of the strong points of this book.
 

Being a person who always felt squeamish to feel or talk about the LGBT trend, I opened this book with a bit of awkwardness clouding my mind, but when I closed it, I learnt that it is possible for anything and everything to exist in this vast Universe of ours. To quote, paraphrased, some sage whose words I came across a long time back, ‘Life is big. It is indeed very big. It is us humans that compartmentalize it and define as to what should be and should not be in it. But life is too big to be captured within definitions and to be found within bounds’.
 

Pick up the book. Worth reading once.

Ashok Krishna

Humanity Needs No Religion

The day had been a tough one. Officially I was burdened with travel, reports and the never ending stream of mails. Personally I was tired of having travelled half a thousand kilometers the previous night, and having to travel back the same distance in another hour’s time. Tired and drained, I entered the restaurant in front of the railway station, for a little bite before boarding the train.
 

As my food arrived and I started munching it with no interest whatsoever, a voice caught my attention. The voice came from behind, the voice of an old man enquiring the price of two idlis (rice cakes of South India) with the server. The server told him that they cost Rs.25. The old man came in front of me and sat at the vacant chair in my table. He pointed to my plate and asked me something. I could only make out the word ‘idlis’ from his question whereas the rest of it was drowned due to my not comprehending his language. I couldn’t place his question, partly because I couldn’t understand his language and partly because I was still ruminating through the day’s events.
 

As I was unable to make sense of his question, I signaled to the server and asked him to help me out with the old man’s question. The server came and spoke to the old man. It seemed that the old man wanted to have two idlis but had no money. Hence he was pointing to my plate and was asking me as to whether I could get two idlis for him. Before I could decide and respond to the server, the server asked me to wait and went to the manager at the cash counter. He pointed to our table and conveyed the old man’s request to the manager.
 

The manager gave a nod and the server brought two idlis in a moment. As the old man started emptying the contents of his plate, without leaving even a little sign of food in the plate, I sat there, watching him eat and thinking. What makes a man forego his dignity and raise his hands for alms in front of another? Think of it, it was no roadside eatery where anybody can straightaway walk in. And, our old gentleman was not looking any bit shabby either. Clad in a neatly washed dhoti, tied up as a ‘panchakascham’ and a white kurtha, with a towel to go by, you wouldn’t think of him as someone who would beg another person for food. I sat there contemplating the thin line that a person has to cross, before losing one’s personal dignity and deciding to beg another person for alms.
 

I decided to pay for the old man’s food nevertheless. Morally, I felt it to be my duty to pay for his food, since it was me that he approached for food. I told the server to bring my bill and add the old gentleman’s food bill on mine. But it seemed the manager had declined to do so. I paid for my food alone and went to the cash counter. I told the manager that I would pay for the other person’s food as well. But he politely declined my request and said that he gets to see so many people like that every day and they don’t have any qualms in offering food to such people. With my conscience pricking, I thanked him for that nice gesture of offering food to an unknown hungry human being, and put a twenty-rupee note in the charity box at the cash counter to appease my nibbling conscience.
 

And, as I entered the station and moved towards my platform to board the train, I happened to see another nice little gesture of humanity. It was a subway through which the people need to move and climb some steep stairs to reach their platforms. Climbing the stairway, some twenty steps ahead of me, I noticed a burly old woman, clad in a dark burkha, slowly moving up the stairs with a big bag in her hand. The bag must have been really heavy, since she kept placing the bag on the step above, stood for a brief while before climbing each step. Just as I wanted to move up quick and help her, I noticed another lady close to her grab that heavy bag, climb the remaining flight of stairs quickly, place the heavy baggage in the landing and wait for that woman to climb. The woman in burkha didn’t even realize what was happening, but she was assured to see the other woman leave the bag in the landing and stand there waiting for her to complete climbing the stairs. By now, I had also climbed the stairs and was able to see them both face to face.
 

The expression and the gentle smile on the face of that woman in burkha conveyed her sincere and genuine gratitude. And, the happy smile in the face of the other woman who helped the lady thus, did convey a genuine sense of acceptance and amiability.
 

Just as my train chugged in at the platform, I felt a sense of gratitude for having been a witness to these two gentle acts of humanity and philanthropy, no matter how small or big you, the reader, may perceive them to be. On one side, there was this person, who willingly fed a stranger, without looking into the caste, clan and religion the hungry soul belonged to. And, on the other, there was this woman, a Hindu if it would please you to know, showing an act of care towards another woman, a Muslim as it happened to be, and both of them going apart with a sense of genuine affection and gratitude for one another.
 

Where exactly do we humans need senseless classifications like caste and religion?! Did the hotel manager confirm the person’s ethnicity before feeding him? Or, did the ‘Hindu’ woman feel any sense of superiority to not touch the ‘Muslim’ woman’s luggage? Or did the ‘Muslim’ woman feel offended to have her bags touched by a ‘kafir’?! No, sire.
 

When a child riding a bicycle falls down on a busy road, everyone rushes to lift up the little kid and check whether s/he was hurt anywhere, without pausing to confirm the religion of the kid. When someone suffering from hunger raises his hands and asks for alms, any human with a sense of conscience will share whatever little morsel is left with him/her without worrying about the religion. 

And, no doctor ever treats his patients after confirming their religion/caste. You can identify many such instances in life where caste and religion play no role at all. If we observe with a keen sense of wisdom, we will realize that religion and caste play little or no role in our interactions with our fellow human beings on a day-to-day basis.
 

Classifications like religion and caste are said to have been founded for the purpose of controlling people’s lives and making them live ethically and morally. If the same religions and castes suck away the love, joy and peace from the lives of humans, if the same religions and castes don’t help us see our fellow human beings with the sense of amiability, if the same religions and castes are being manipulated by political persons and priests to sow dissension amongst us and be reaped as personal benefits in the form of power and money, then, do we humans need such religions and caste classifications?!
 

Does humanity really need religions and caste classifications?

A Journey of 201 Miles…

There are so many things in life for which the children are indebted to their parents. And, I feel additionally indebted to my parents for two things. One, they taught me the taste of gathering knowledge by sitting in one place, by reading books. And, two, they told me that one can gain wisdom by widely traveling too. Every time I learn something or the other during my journeys, I remember my father’s words about how traveling can teach a person so many things, which even the books may not teach. Traveling can give a person some amusing experiences, some unforgettable experiences and, at times, some not so pleasant ones. Luckily for me, my life has taken to living out of the suitcase (or, a duffel-trolley, to be precise) and of late, a considerable chunk of my life is being spent within the belly of metal beasts (read, trains and buses).

Talking about trains, who doesn’t love the train journey, especially the ones where one has access to the window seat? The sight of green farmlands, trees, telephone poles, platforms, faces that wait in the station, in the railway crossings, the strong wind that blows across the face and ruffles one’s hair (a pleasure, which I am afraid I might miss if I become bald). During childhood, I used to believe my father’s words that the trees and telephone poles all along the railway track keep running behind, because they were afraid of me. That was well before, well, I learnt Physics in school. But I am sure most of us thought the same too.

Well, to come to the point of this write-up, have you seen the characters that travel alongside you in the train? My experience of about a decade now has brought so many characters again and again into my life. And, here I am, trying to ‘immortalize’ them, by writing about them. I doubt whether I will be the only one that had the ‘pleasure’ of acquaintance with these characters. If you happened to have some similar experiences, well, let’s laugh together. If not, and if you happen to be one of those characters depicted here, well, let me tell you, for the safety of my nose, that this is purely a work of fiction and does in no way resemble any person dead or alive, traveling or otherwise.

Here they are:

1.    Lone Ranger - This person usually happens to sit like a hermit, resigned to the tragedy of having to travel alongside the lesser mortals in the compartment.  S/he usually does not mingle with the others and keeps to her/himself, by listening to music, reading books or simply staring out the window. These Grumpy Jacks neither talk to anyone nor see the others. They travel with a cocoon of their own. At times they eat, most times they don’t, depending on the duration of the journey. Even when they eat, they munch silently, neither share, nor accept. They behave like the air – you can feel their presence and you can’t feel their presence. If you can understand what I mean.

2.    Philanthropic Paul – This is that one altruistic soul that each and every compartment will DEFINITELY have. S/he travels for the sake of others. No, no, no! I neither mean the Ticket Examiner nor the security personnel. Our Philanthropic Paul is just another traveller like you and me, but he is the one who is always there when people need to bring down a shutter, struggle with the latch, fail to turn on the fan or prepare to adjust their seats. He always lends a hand even before you can think about asking for help. He always has a smiling face. I purposely used the masculine noun here, because women don’t always keep a smiling face during journey. With the way the things are in this country, you can’t blame them either.

(to be continued...)

G-A-P

I feel amused when I thank my friends and they respond in a pleasantly annoyed tone with ‘one doesn’t thank friends’. That sets the thinking gears of my mind in motion. If we cannot and should not thank our friends, whom else would we thank?! If I am not going to feel gratitude for the good things and good people in my life, what else have I got to be happy about?! I always believe that most of the troubles of today’s so-called modern world emanate from a lack of GAP – Gratitude, Apologies and Politeness. Or, in much simpler terms, the declining usage of words like, ‘Thank You’, ‘Sorry’ and ‘Please’. And, this behavior from my friends only makes my assumption strong. Let me elaborate.

Why is it being considered a mere formality when one thanks someone else – be it friends or anyone else? I have this habit of thanking the conductor when he gives me the ticket. I have this habit of greeting the server when he offers me a glass of water or fills my plate with whatever dish I had ordered for. I thank the doorman who opens the door for me when I visit the big restaurants. I, these days, literally thank anyone and everyone who does something or the other for me. I have even made it a point to thank my mother when she makes a steaming hot cup of tea for me amidst all her busy work. (Let me tell you a secret. I am yet to drink as special and as tasty a tea as the one that my mother makes. May be the ingredient of love makes it that way, but I digress.)

It all, I believe, happens due to the belief that we are the most special ones on this planet and all the other people/beings are here to serve and please us. If we look deep, nobody has any such obligation to do anything for us, except as an act of love - love for us or for something/someone else. And, we humans have this strange attitude of taking anything and everything for granted, till the moment of truth of losing that person/object strikes us hard like a sledgehammer.

Just because someone is our friend does not mean s/he has to do something for us. Whenever they do something for us, no matter how little an act it may be, let us all learn to appreciate the same and acknowledge it then and there. And, let us start proving our gratitude for the things and people that we are blessed with, by offering genuine, heartfelt thanks, instead of a mere mumbled utterance. Think of it – who doesn’t want to be thanked in a loud voice and a big smile?!

There is no need for me to offer any points about the importance of offering apologies and acting politely. All of us know the same, though very few of us act with that knowledge in our consciousness. Let us try using the G-A-P words for a day and I am sure we will all start seeing how our life and the surroundings change, when we offer genuine words of gratitude, apologies and politeness.

Remember, nobody is here to do anything for us, with any obligation to do so. Whatever others do for us is an act of love and nothing else. Thank people when they are with you, apologize when you are wrong – at times, even when you aren’t because people (the right ones) are more important than any argument, no matter how important the argument might seem to you at the moment – and ask with politeness, by using more of ‘please’.

While we may continue to keep taking things/people for granted, Life can take away them all in one quick swoop, leaving us wondering behind as to what happened. So, let me start by thanking you all for reading this and apologizing for whatever pain I had caused for you, if I had ever.

Please. Sorry. Thank you!

:-)

Hope, Love & Happiness

Feelings and emotions like hope, love and happiness don't need to depend on anything or anyone. They don't emanate from any external source.

You need to keep hoping even when every dream of yours is crumbling down to dust. Because hoping against hope is the only way to live. You need to keep love flowing from your heart, even when people repeatedly come and choke the very source within you, because a heart without love is worse than that of a zombie, which is without life. And, happiness is a weird thing. You don't need anything or anyone to be happy. But by simply being happy and at peace with yourself, you can make your presence a source of happiness for all those around you.

Even otherwise, a life that is not lived happily, without hope and without happiness, is an insult to this magnificent Universe and Mother Nature that felt it fit to bring your very being alive!

So here's wishing you all love, hope and happiness on this lovely dawn!


Ashok Krishna