This song kept running through my head all through my flight to the US and back. It probably, unconsciously echoes my feelings.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
The Birhday Cake
"Its my birthday next week," said Ammu drawing up a stool next to Grandfather's chair.
"And how old will you be?" asked Grandfather looking at his favorite over the top of his glasses.
"Eleven," Ammu screwed up her nose "that is almost twelve,isn't it grandfather?"
"Eleven cannot be twelve, child" Grandfather smiled. "Don't be in a hurry to grow up. That will happen anyway." He added wistfully .
"I had a party last year when I was at Bangalore" Ammu reminisced, doodling on the arm of the reclining chair."I invited the entire class home. We had cake, ice cream, chips,lots of it."
Grandfather looked up sharply at the note of longing in Ammu's voice.
"What kind of cake?"he asked.
Ammu looked up her face all animated."Chocolate cake! And from Nilgiris. It had Happy Birthday Ammu on it in icing. Oh Grandfather! It was the best cake ever!!"
Grandfather looked at Ammus eyes shining with the memory of that wonderful party. His made up his mind.
"That's it Ammukutty," he said "You'll have your birthday cake this year as well."
"I will?" asked an ecstatic Ammu throwing herself on her grandfather hugging and kissing him."Oh,Grandfather, thank you, thank you!!" She ran singing to her cousin's room down the passage "Sudechi!I'm getting a birthday cake!!"
"And how do you propose to do it?" asked Grandmother when she brought in grandfather's tea.
"I will ask Gopalan to get it for me. He knows where to get them, bakeries I mean. Ammu is missing the life she had in Bangalore."
"You cannot replicate it" said Grandmother."I like to celebrate it our way with payasam, and neiyyappam and a small archana at the temple. I will be doing that anyway cake or no cake."
"I want to do this for her." Grandfather had an obstinate note in his voice and Grandmother knew that wild horses could not drag him now from this project.
"You talk to Gopalan." she said collecting the tea things.
Gopalan came over that evening and Grandfather told him all about the cake.
"The birthday is only next week," said Gopalan standing respectfully near Grandfather's chair. "There's plenty of time. I'll get it from SLN Bakery the day before or even that very afternoon."
"Can't take a chance. " said grandfather "I want you to get the cake tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" asked Gopalan surprised. "Sir, do you think it will keep till next week?"
"Of course!" said Grandfather impatiently " Here's the money. Get a nice big chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday Ammu from Grandfather and Grandmother with love' on it in icing."
Gopalan obediently wrote everything down and showed it to Grandfather who scanned the details and nodded his approval.
The cake arrived the next day. It was all that Ammu wanted and more, said Gopalan.
"We won't be opening it now" said Grandfather.
They all stood around the wonderful looking box from SLN Bakery.
"Sudechi! that's my birthday cake!" thrilled Ammu to her cousin who was a sophisticated eighteen studying in college.
Sudha was child enough to be excited at this unusual turn of affairs. "Grandma, where will we keep it? In the pantry?"
"I have a plan," said Grandfather "we will keep in the macrame pot holder in that passage adjacent to Sudha's room."
"Why there?" asked Ammu.
"It's well protected from drafts, that passage. cake won't spoil."
Grandmother's face was inscrutable." I'll get Ponni to do that." she said and quickly left the room.
'Oh! Grandfather!" cried Ammu "I'm so excited! I can't wait for my birthday to arrive! Can't wait for the cake!"
"If the rats don't get it before us." said Sudha laconically sashaying out to her favorite perch on the window seat with a book.
"Rats, Grandfather?" Ammu looked at him anxiously.
"Never mind Sudha, child. She is just teasing you." Grandfather smiled fondly at Ammu. "I'll look after your cake."
Ammu was relieved. Grandfather knows best she thought. "I'm going to call my friends from next door on my birthday. We'll have a party!" she talked to herself running to the wicket gate that separated her house from the neighbours.
Ammu and Sudha watched jealously over the cake, well ensconced in the macrame pot holder. It hung there in the middle of the passage and Sudha 's room was just across it. Grandfather came regularly every morning and night to check the box for signs of vandalism. No signs. So far so good.
On the eve of her birhday, Ammu got a huge parcel from her mother. All kinds of goodies came out of it. Books, clothes, trinkets, not just for Ammu. For Sudha as well. Sudha loved the silk skirt and rainbow colored bangles.
"You mother is very nice." she told Ammu. "She always gets me things."
Ammu smiled happily. Not a jealous bone in her body. There were hand knitted sweaters for Grandfather and Grandmother as well.
"Sudechi, tomorrow we'll eat the cake!" Ammu's eyes sparkled as she pranced around wearing a dress her mother sent.
The next day Ammu had to go to school as it was a working day. She could not concentrate. She saw "Chocolate Cake" everywhere.
She burst in to the house in the evening, and throwing her bag on her bed, she ran to her grandfather. There in the center of the octogonal table sat the cake box .The plates were all neatly arranged. The knife resting near the box.
Grandfather was the expert in cutting anything. He made an art of it. He would do the same with the cake.
Sudha was back from the college and they all stood around the table.
"Grandmother, shall I call Radha and others from next door?"asked Ammu excitedly.
"Wait till the cake is cut,child" said Grandmother "Don't be in a hurry."
Nobody ever went against what Grandmother said.
The cake box was tied up with a string, and Grandfather untied it slowly and ceremoniously. They all waited with bated breath. Now comes the cake they thought.
The box opened and they were aghast at the mouldy mass that sat inside.
"My cake!" sobbed Ammu "Where's my cake?"
Sudha was in splits. "That's your cake Ammu, with all the mould growing out of it. It's spoilt! "
Ammu turned to Grandfather her eyes brimming with tears "You told me that it would not get spoilt! You told me you would look after it!"
Grandfather looked shamefaced.
"What a lot nonsense!" said Grandmother crisply. "Ammu stop crying like a baby. These things happen. It could have been the cake; could have been the bakery. And then, we've had unusually humid weather this past ten days. That can definitely spoil anything."
Ammu stretched out her finger and traced the icing on the mouldy cake."Happy Birthday Ammu from Grandfather and Grandmother with love." it said.
She turned to Grandfather."Thanks Grandfather! "she said hugging him "You remembered the icing!"
"I am sorry it turned out this way" said Grandfather "I thought you missed your Bangalore birthday parties."
"Here children," said Grandmother "Come eat the neiyyappam and drink the payasam I made for the birthday." She set the plates and the little cups on the table.
"Ooh! my favorite!"said Ammu "I love neiyyappam. Don't you Sudechi?"
They sat round the table tucking into the food and the cake sat forlornly in the center.
"And how old will you be?" asked Grandfather looking at his favorite over the top of his glasses.
"Eleven," Ammu screwed up her nose "that is almost twelve,isn't it grandfather?"
"Eleven cannot be twelve, child" Grandfather smiled. "Don't be in a hurry to grow up. That will happen anyway." He added wistfully .
"I had a party last year when I was at Bangalore" Ammu reminisced, doodling on the arm of the reclining chair."I invited the entire class home. We had cake, ice cream, chips,lots of it."
Grandfather looked up sharply at the note of longing in Ammu's voice.
"What kind of cake?"he asked.
Ammu looked up her face all animated."Chocolate cake! And from Nilgiris. It had Happy Birthday Ammu on it in icing. Oh Grandfather! It was the best cake ever!!"
Grandfather looked at Ammus eyes shining with the memory of that wonderful party. His made up his mind.
"That's it Ammukutty," he said "You'll have your birthday cake this year as well."
"I will?" asked an ecstatic Ammu throwing herself on her grandfather hugging and kissing him."Oh,Grandfather, thank you, thank you!!" She ran singing to her cousin's room down the passage "Sudechi!I'm getting a birthday cake!!"
"And how do you propose to do it?" asked Grandmother when she brought in grandfather's tea.
"I will ask Gopalan to get it for me. He knows where to get them, bakeries I mean. Ammu is missing the life she had in Bangalore."
"You cannot replicate it" said Grandmother."I like to celebrate it our way with payasam, and neiyyappam and a small archana at the temple. I will be doing that anyway cake or no cake."
"I want to do this for her." Grandfather had an obstinate note in his voice and Grandmother knew that wild horses could not drag him now from this project.
"You talk to Gopalan." she said collecting the tea things.
Gopalan came over that evening and Grandfather told him all about the cake.
"The birthday is only next week," said Gopalan standing respectfully near Grandfather's chair. "There's plenty of time. I'll get it from SLN Bakery the day before or even that very afternoon."
"Can't take a chance. " said grandfather "I want you to get the cake tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" asked Gopalan surprised. "Sir, do you think it will keep till next week?"
"Of course!" said Grandfather impatiently " Here's the money. Get a nice big chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday Ammu from Grandfather and Grandmother with love' on it in icing."
Gopalan obediently wrote everything down and showed it to Grandfather who scanned the details and nodded his approval.
The cake arrived the next day. It was all that Ammu wanted and more, said Gopalan.
"We won't be opening it now" said Grandfather.
They all stood around the wonderful looking box from SLN Bakery.
"Sudechi! that's my birthday cake!" thrilled Ammu to her cousin who was a sophisticated eighteen studying in college.
Sudha was child enough to be excited at this unusual turn of affairs. "Grandma, where will we keep it? In the pantry?"
"I have a plan," said Grandfather "we will keep in the macrame pot holder in that passage adjacent to Sudha's room."
"Why there?" asked Ammu.
"It's well protected from drafts, that passage. cake won't spoil."
Grandmother's face was inscrutable." I'll get Ponni to do that." she said and quickly left the room.
'Oh! Grandfather!" cried Ammu "I'm so excited! I can't wait for my birthday to arrive! Can't wait for the cake!"
"If the rats don't get it before us." said Sudha laconically sashaying out to her favorite perch on the window seat with a book.
"Rats, Grandfather?" Ammu looked at him anxiously.
"Never mind Sudha, child. She is just teasing you." Grandfather smiled fondly at Ammu. "I'll look after your cake."
Ammu was relieved. Grandfather knows best she thought. "I'm going to call my friends from next door on my birthday. We'll have a party!" she talked to herself running to the wicket gate that separated her house from the neighbours.
Ammu and Sudha watched jealously over the cake, well ensconced in the macrame pot holder. It hung there in the middle of the passage and Sudha 's room was just across it. Grandfather came regularly every morning and night to check the box for signs of vandalism. No signs. So far so good.
On the eve of her birhday, Ammu got a huge parcel from her mother. All kinds of goodies came out of it. Books, clothes, trinkets, not just for Ammu. For Sudha as well. Sudha loved the silk skirt and rainbow colored bangles.
"You mother is very nice." she told Ammu. "She always gets me things."
Ammu smiled happily. Not a jealous bone in her body. There were hand knitted sweaters for Grandfather and Grandmother as well.
"Sudechi, tomorrow we'll eat the cake!" Ammu's eyes sparkled as she pranced around wearing a dress her mother sent.
The next day Ammu had to go to school as it was a working day. She could not concentrate. She saw "Chocolate Cake" everywhere.
She burst in to the house in the evening, and throwing her bag on her bed, she ran to her grandfather. There in the center of the octogonal table sat the cake box .The plates were all neatly arranged. The knife resting near the box.
Grandfather was the expert in cutting anything. He made an art of it. He would do the same with the cake.
Sudha was back from the college and they all stood around the table.
"Grandmother, shall I call Radha and others from next door?"asked Ammu excitedly.
"Wait till the cake is cut,child" said Grandmother "Don't be in a hurry."
Nobody ever went against what Grandmother said.
The cake box was tied up with a string, and Grandfather untied it slowly and ceremoniously. They all waited with bated breath. Now comes the cake they thought.
The box opened and they were aghast at the mouldy mass that sat inside.
"My cake!" sobbed Ammu "Where's my cake?"
Sudha was in splits. "That's your cake Ammu, with all the mould growing out of it. It's spoilt! "
Ammu turned to Grandfather her eyes brimming with tears "You told me that it would not get spoilt! You told me you would look after it!"
Grandfather looked shamefaced.
"What a lot nonsense!" said Grandmother crisply. "Ammu stop crying like a baby. These things happen. It could have been the cake; could have been the bakery. And then, we've had unusually humid weather this past ten days. That can definitely spoil anything."
Ammu stretched out her finger and traced the icing on the mouldy cake."Happy Birthday Ammu from Grandfather and Grandmother with love." it said.
She turned to Grandfather."Thanks Grandfather! "she said hugging him "You remembered the icing!"
"I am sorry it turned out this way" said Grandfather "I thought you missed your Bangalore birthday parties."
"Here children," said Grandmother "Come eat the neiyyappam and drink the payasam I made for the birthday." She set the plates and the little cups on the table.
"Ooh! my favorite!"said Ammu "I love neiyyappam. Don't you Sudechi?"
They sat round the table tucking into the food and the cake sat forlornly in the center.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Symbiosis
View from India: The Snake In The Backyard
by ParvathiYou never felt the blistering heat of North Indian summer when you were young. Playing in the shade of the huge, branching Mahua tree, the four children and dog were oblivious to everything except their mysterious game. Nina, the Alsatian, lay near them, tongue hanging out, a loving watchful eye on the group. Mahua flowers, heavy with scent, fell softly carpeting the grass. The villagers would be by later, to pick them. Their potent local brew was made from the Mahua flowers.
The four children were playing in the back yard, and behind them lay the big kitchen garden neatly divided into plots and carefully tended by Bahadur. He sat near the kitchen door, smiling inscrutably, watching the children play, enjoying his little break while Mrs. K. partook of her elevenses inside.
Suddenly Nina stood up growling, and stood protectively in front of the children. Bahadur stopped fanning himself, and stood up, a frown on his brow.
"Children, children, please go inside; Nina, inside, inside!!" Bahadur cried out loudly.
M. looked up. "We are staying here!" she said setting her mouth in an obstinate line. "Why are you disturbing us?"
"Why?" repeated little B. He always repeated what his sister said.
The other two did not raise their heads, still engrossed in their play. Nina growled louder and more threateningly, and gave a short, sharp bark looking at the four children.
"Uf,ohhh! Nina!" said M. "What is the matter with you?"
Nina barked again, and it seemed as if she was trying to draw their attention to something in the yard.
Bahadur was there picking up the toys. “Better you go inside now,” he said. “Play when the sun is down."
B. suddenly gave a cry and pointed at something near the garden wall. The children turned and looked. It was a snake. Long and gleaming stretched out against the wall.
"Snake!" screamed C., already half way to the house, "Mama, Mama!!" The rest hurtled after her. B. stood sucking his thumb, watching this sudden visitor, till Bahadur scooped him up. "Come Chota Babu, let's go inside."
B. had never seen a snake before in all his brief three years.
Nina stood her ground and growled making sure her brood was safely home.
"Mama, Mama! There's a snake in the kitchen garden!" C. shouted, hurtling into the living room where her mother looked up from her tea.
"Snake?" said Mrs. K. startled, spilling some of the hot liquid. "Where? Bahadur, where's this snake? What are you doing about it? The children play outside all the time. God, what do we do now?"
Mrs. K. was nervous and upset. "Where are the children?" she asked, placing her cup on the table.
"They ok Memsaab," said Bahadur. "They watch snake," he said smiling.
"What do you mean?" said Mrs. K. and rushed inside to find the children standing on the deep sill in the bedroom, looking at the snake through the window. Mrs. K. took up a position behind them. Yes, there it was, long, very long, and gleaming.
"I like its skin," said M. "Auntie, is it nice to touch?"
A look of horror crossed Mrs. K.'s face. "Touch?" she said. "You don't touch a snake! And don't you go about doing such things!"
"Nithe!" lisped B., still sucking on his thumb.
They heard footsteps at the door. "Daddy!" sang C. "My Daddy's home! My Daddy's home!" she danced around her father who picked her up and swung her around.
"Hello kids!” he said. "So what's happening?"
"Snake, uncle! There's a snake in the backyard !" said M. swinging her pigtails.
"If I'd known there were snakes around I would not have allowed the children to play outside," said Mrs. K.
Nina gave a volley of barks, putting in her little piece. She simply adored Mr. K. and he likewise.
"Hey Nina! Glad you were out there with them," said K. fondling Nina's neck. "Bahadur..."
Bahadur came to the door. "It’s alright, Sahib. It’s only that cobra that lives in the back yard."
Mrs. K. could not believe her ears! "Cobra that lives in the back yard!?” she said incredulously. “Well, I never! …and with children running around?"
"It’s like this," K. said, sitting down with the children and Nina all around him. "It’s been there for a long time. I forget how long. It dug itself, or found itself, a long tunnel that starts in our back yard and comes out after little B.'s house. Sometimes it comes out and just lies there enjoying itself. It’s very peaceful.
"I sit there and read in winters. I think he knows I will never harm him. They know, animals do, you know. They know who means to harm them and who does not. They only attack in self-defense. They do not plot to kill; nor do they kill for pleasure. That sort of behavior is only from us". He winked at them.
"We don't harm animals, uncle," they chorused.
"Good," he said. "This snake likes to live in peace, and he likes my backyard, so we live in symbiotic harmony." This was addressed to Mrs. K. who stood listening with a puzzled frown on her face. "Bahadur knows about the snake. That's why he watches out for you in the back yard."
The four turned to Bahadur. "You know all about the snake! You are not afraid?" They crowded closer to K. "Tell us about the snake, Bahadur; tell us about the snake!" and they got up and trailed behind him on his way to the kitchen.
"All right," K. and Mrs. K. heard him telling the foursome and dog. "Now all of you sit quiet and I will tell you the story of the snake in the kitchen garden."
K. smiled at his wife gently, "Don't worry. The snake has been here ever since I moved into the house. Some say he's been here ever since they can remember."
He parted the curtains and looked out into the backyard. The snake was still there, long and gleaming.
In fond memory of Kipling's "Rikki Tikki Tavi."
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Wake Up Call
That was unexpected, the killing of Osama. In the sense, we were not aware of how hot the pursuit was. And it all supposedly took place without anyone knowing. That fact though is hard to believe. Either way, Pakistan is absolutely miserable about its public image. America's favorite, not being told bout the operation taking place just miles from its capital? Or worse, did Pakistan trade Osama in for a deal with America for Afghanistan?
Strangely enough, Osama bin Laden did not anymore have what it takes to evoke any great emotion. In the ten years after September 11, Al Qaeda has morphed and metastasized into a movement where Osama is no longer central. It is an ideologue, a social movement say some, and that cannot be easily wiped out. Who knows maybe Osama hiding in Pakistan hated his miserable life. Whatever, the most suspicious thing about the whole operation was the repeated statement to the press about Osama's burial sea with Islamic rites. Burial at sea when he was killed inland? Islamic rites? Someone seems to have slipped up on their homework. Was it Osama that was killed at all? Or was it all staged to boost President Obama's sagging public image? He goes down in history as the man who avenged the carnage of 9/11. What about Osama's image as a martyr to the cause? What about the backlash for not giving him a proper inland Islamic burial? Who knows? Time will tell. My committment to politics is only from the armchair; I see only generalities.
But the Islamic faith is an unique one. For one it speaks of an abstract God. God, who is beauty, who is truth---no image to focus and pray. Islam also recognizes that all men and women are equal. The beginnings of Socialism here? I had this wonderful experience of staying with a Hyderabadi Muslim family, years back when I was in college. The men and women ate separately, sitting round a low table. What fascinated me was this:their house helps also ate with them. Something I had never seen anywhere else. These people were very rich upper class traders, but at the table all were one. I saw this again while watching a Bergman movie about 19th century Swedish middle/upper-middle class. Of course here the men and women were not segregated as in the Muslim household I visited. The segregation did not seem unnatural either, to me then. It has always stayed with me, this wonderful feeling of community that they gave forth.
This morning while walking on the beach I saw an ongoing beach party. A big group of young people were celebrating someone's birthday with cake and candles.They were busy cutting pieces of cake, feeding each other, drinking fizzy soda pops and all the rest of it. Standing on the fringe of it all and watching avidly were two beach urchins. The smaller one was asking his big brother questions: what are they eating, why the candle, how does a cake taste? A man stood watching the two kids. He had a prayer cap, and sported the traditional Muslim beard. He walked up to the group and indicated the two boys and said something to them. The young people cut up a couple of pieces and the man went up to the boys with the pieces of cake. The older one said he did not like cakes, but the younger one just grabbed and ate it, and looked ecstatic. The older one, then shamefacedly took the other piece. They thanked the man with the prayer cap. He said, "Allah is just, beautiful and true." and walked away. The beach urchins turned and went their way.
I never thought of telling the group to share their cake with the two kids.
Strangely enough, Osama bin Laden did not anymore have what it takes to evoke any great emotion. In the ten years after September 11, Al Qaeda has morphed and metastasized into a movement where Osama is no longer central. It is an ideologue, a social movement say some, and that cannot be easily wiped out. Who knows maybe Osama hiding in Pakistan hated his miserable life. Whatever, the most suspicious thing about the whole operation was the repeated statement to the press about Osama's burial sea with Islamic rites. Burial at sea when he was killed inland? Islamic rites? Someone seems to have slipped up on their homework. Was it Osama that was killed at all? Or was it all staged to boost President Obama's sagging public image? He goes down in history as the man who avenged the carnage of 9/11. What about Osama's image as a martyr to the cause? What about the backlash for not giving him a proper inland Islamic burial? Who knows? Time will tell. My committment to politics is only from the armchair; I see only generalities.
But the Islamic faith is an unique one. For one it speaks of an abstract God. God, who is beauty, who is truth---no image to focus and pray. Islam also recognizes that all men and women are equal. The beginnings of Socialism here? I had this wonderful experience of staying with a Hyderabadi Muslim family, years back when I was in college. The men and women ate separately, sitting round a low table. What fascinated me was this:their house helps also ate with them. Something I had never seen anywhere else. These people were very rich upper class traders, but at the table all were one. I saw this again while watching a Bergman movie about 19th century Swedish middle/upper-middle class. Of course here the men and women were not segregated as in the Muslim household I visited. The segregation did not seem unnatural either, to me then. It has always stayed with me, this wonderful feeling of community that they gave forth.
This morning while walking on the beach I saw an ongoing beach party. A big group of young people were celebrating someone's birthday with cake and candles.They were busy cutting pieces of cake, feeding each other, drinking fizzy soda pops and all the rest of it. Standing on the fringe of it all and watching avidly were two beach urchins. The smaller one was asking his big brother questions: what are they eating, why the candle, how does a cake taste? A man stood watching the two kids. He had a prayer cap, and sported the traditional Muslim beard. He walked up to the group and indicated the two boys and said something to them. The young people cut up a couple of pieces and the man went up to the boys with the pieces of cake. The older one said he did not like cakes, but the younger one just grabbed and ate it, and looked ecstatic. The older one, then shamefacedly took the other piece. They thanked the man with the prayer cap. He said, "Allah is just, beautiful and true." and walked away. The beach urchins turned and went their way.
I never thought of telling the group to share their cake with the two kids.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
A Beginning And An End
Last week saw a beginning and an end. The beginning was the wedding of Kate and William, the current sweethearts of Britain, and the end was the death of Sathya Sai Baba, spiritual guru to millions around the world.
Both sparked endless chatter on the tube and on the virtual networks. My son told me in disgust "They are still showing the wedding on most of the channels !" and it is now two days after the event. Well, there are enough and more people who want to watch it! "Colonial hangover" you might call it, but no it is something much deeper than that. Sai Baba's funeral was watched live over the television, again, by millions who mourn his passing like they would their own kith and kin.It is time now to ask why, and let us then like the Red King says "Begin at the beginning."
Kate and William stand for romance and love both very elusive values in this increasingly rushed present life styles where only money really calls the shots. Anything that simply exists for the pure beauty of itself is quickly swept aside for gains, so there go love and romance unless they come with the grinning sidekicks of power and pelf. The royal sweethearts are dream symbols that "love will find a way," in the tradition of Diana who turned away from a cold, loveless marriage. Princess Katherine, Kate as the Brits are wont to call her in their very Anglo Saxon way, is a commoner and therefore the romantic angle gets another boost. Then of course there is the done to death pageantry of the House of Windsor. Rationalization seems to have slowly killed the joy of celebrations in the developed world. Not so in this part of the planet, we still have much to hope for and more to celebrate in hopes of better things to come, and therefore we are a celebratory people. Good for us. Every festival is a huge celebration of colors, smells, sound and taste. Religion is a living breathing tradition and God ceases to be an abstract entity but part of the medley of life: a young impish boy, a dutiful son and husband, a faithful and beautiful wife, a lovable glutton ...the list is endless. They all fit into the normal register of life, and therefore the transaction with God on a personal basis.
This is where Sathya Sai comes in. The tirade against him has been there for decades and it is mostly from the rationalists who seem to hate his guts for performing miracles. What's wrong with miracles? Does it only have a rhetorical value? Don't we all want miracles one way or the other? And also, if Sathya Sai had not performed miracles could he have manged to catch the attention of the masses? The miracles are NOT important inasmuch as the loaves of bread and the water to wine at Cana are not the pivot on which Christianity turns. People get curious, they come to scoff, see, and as we saw, remained en masse to pray.When there is darkness at noon, you need faith that the sun will surely come out again, and that is the surety that Sai Baba gave millions around the world and they are the better for it. Better because there he was a living breathing, smiling, talking entity you could tell your troubles, and he had an answer. What is faith if it is not a psychological crutch? Why berate it? Look at the practical efficacy of confession among the RomanCatholics. It does good to go every week and confess everything to the good father in the confessional. The wonderful thing about it is that you don't see each other.Anonymity helps clear the air. So, you confess, and are pardoned , told to say a dozen Hail Marys and you come out having got it off your chest. Never has anything more practical been ever thought of. They knew, those crafty cardinals and popes the psychological angle of faith. Today the confessional has been replaced by the psychiatrist, but are there enough takers? Does it really help?
Do the rationalists bother to mention Sathya Sai's charity? What matters the most is that Sai Baba gave enormously back to society.
His epitaph would read: "You receive but what you give."
Both sparked endless chatter on the tube and on the virtual networks. My son told me in disgust "They are still showing the wedding on most of the channels !" and it is now two days after the event. Well, there are enough and more people who want to watch it! "Colonial hangover" you might call it, but no it is something much deeper than that. Sai Baba's funeral was watched live over the television, again, by millions who mourn his passing like they would their own kith and kin.It is time now to ask why, and let us then like the Red King says "Begin at the beginning."
Kate and William stand for romance and love both very elusive values in this increasingly rushed present life styles where only money really calls the shots. Anything that simply exists for the pure beauty of itself is quickly swept aside for gains, so there go love and romance unless they come with the grinning sidekicks of power and pelf. The royal sweethearts are dream symbols that "love will find a way," in the tradition of Diana who turned away from a cold, loveless marriage. Princess Katherine, Kate as the Brits are wont to call her in their very Anglo Saxon way, is a commoner and therefore the romantic angle gets another boost. Then of course there is the done to death pageantry of the House of Windsor. Rationalization seems to have slowly killed the joy of celebrations in the developed world. Not so in this part of the planet, we still have much to hope for and more to celebrate in hopes of better things to come, and therefore we are a celebratory people. Good for us. Every festival is a huge celebration of colors, smells, sound and taste. Religion is a living breathing tradition and God ceases to be an abstract entity but part of the medley of life: a young impish boy, a dutiful son and husband, a faithful and beautiful wife, a lovable glutton ...the list is endless. They all fit into the normal register of life, and therefore the transaction with God on a personal basis.
This is where Sathya Sai comes in. The tirade against him has been there for decades and it is mostly from the rationalists who seem to hate his guts for performing miracles. What's wrong with miracles? Does it only have a rhetorical value? Don't we all want miracles one way or the other? And also, if Sathya Sai had not performed miracles could he have manged to catch the attention of the masses? The miracles are NOT important inasmuch as the loaves of bread and the water to wine at Cana are not the pivot on which Christianity turns. People get curious, they come to scoff, see, and as we saw, remained en masse to pray.When there is darkness at noon, you need faith that the sun will surely come out again, and that is the surety that Sai Baba gave millions around the world and they are the better for it. Better because there he was a living breathing, smiling, talking entity you could tell your troubles, and he had an answer. What is faith if it is not a psychological crutch? Why berate it? Look at the practical efficacy of confession among the RomanCatholics. It does good to go every week and confess everything to the good father in the confessional. The wonderful thing about it is that you don't see each other.Anonymity helps clear the air. So, you confess, and are pardoned , told to say a dozen Hail Marys and you come out having got it off your chest. Never has anything more practical been ever thought of. They knew, those crafty cardinals and popes the psychological angle of faith. Today the confessional has been replaced by the psychiatrist, but are there enough takers? Does it really help?
Do the rationalists bother to mention Sathya Sai's charity? What matters the most is that Sai Baba gave enormously back to society.
His epitaph would read: "You receive but what you give."
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Seven Hundred Shades of Brown
M looked at herself in the mirror. All she saw was her dark skin. She did not see the enormous eyes and winged eyebrows. She wanted to be fair like the others in the family---"Why am I so dark?" she agonized looking at her darkness thrown up in relief by the light blue cotton dress. She tore at the sleeve in a rage and then froze thinking of the explanations she would have to offer. Anger welled up in the small chest and she planted a few punches on the window grill, her mouth open in a silent scream.
Everyone remarked on the color of her skin--- just everyone! Even the house helps: "What a pity this one is dark," they clucked in sympathy, chucking her under her chin. "How are we going to find you a husband , little one?" they would ask as she tagged along behind them for want of company.
She was the youngest, and she was dreadfully lonely.
Her nieces and nephews were almost her age. They were all very light skinned---M saw only that. Oh the unfairness of it all! Once her niece tripped up to her in a black dress with butterflies printed on it. M loved that dress! "What a lovely dress,P!" she said feeling the silky texture with her fingers, "Where did you buy it?"
"My father's present when he came back from his tour!" sang P skipping around M. "Do you want to borrow it?"
M was in heaven. "Can I ? " she asked thrilled. "Of course!" said P and promptly peeled off the dress standing there in her slip. M ran behind the mango tree and tried on the butterfly dress.
"How does it look on me P?" she asked excitedly. P burst into peals of laughter and ran around her pointing her finger at M.
"Look at M! Look at M!" she said loudly in her high pitched voice. People came out of the house and were aghast at what they saw: M standing there wearing P's dress, all askew, and P hysterically dancing around her.
"She wanted to wear my dress! Look how it looks against her dark skin! She looks like the maid's daughter!!" P's cheeks were flushed pink and she ran up to M and stood with her rosy cheeks against M's nut brown one. "Don't I look better than her?"she asked with the cruel vanity of a child.
M's eyes filled with tears,"I hate you!" she hurled at P and pushing her down, ran sobbing inside tugging and tearing at the dress.
What a fuss they made over P!! "Why did you allow M to take your nice new dress?"
"Against her dark skin, why she looked clownish!"
"Come, let me wash you and get you another dress to wear."
M sat huddled under the cot in her room and sobbed miserably. Her mother came looking for her. "M! where are you, child?" she heard the tiny sob come from under the cot. she bent down and saw the little form all bunched up, sobbing her heart out,wearing that dress with the butterfly print.."Come my little one," her mother said gathering her in her arms, "It will all pass. Everything will be alright."
"Never! " said M choking on her words "No one will ever love me because I am so dark!"
"Hush" said mother "that is nonsense. You will know that in time"
But M , looking past her mother 's shoulder with teary eyes, saw nothing but shame and sadness.
"No one will ever love me!" she repeated to herself.
In India, I read somewhere, they recognize seven hundred shades of brown ----in skin color.
Everyone remarked on the color of her skin--- just everyone! Even the house helps: "What a pity this one is dark," they clucked in sympathy, chucking her under her chin. "How are we going to find you a husband , little one?" they would ask as she tagged along behind them for want of company.
She was the youngest, and she was dreadfully lonely.
Her nieces and nephews were almost her age. They were all very light skinned---M saw only that. Oh the unfairness of it all! Once her niece tripped up to her in a black dress with butterflies printed on it. M loved that dress! "What a lovely dress,P!" she said feeling the silky texture with her fingers, "Where did you buy it?"
"My father's present when he came back from his tour!" sang P skipping around M. "Do you want to borrow it?"
M was in heaven. "Can I ? " she asked thrilled. "Of course!" said P and promptly peeled off the dress standing there in her slip. M ran behind the mango tree and tried on the butterfly dress.
"How does it look on me P?" she asked excitedly. P burst into peals of laughter and ran around her pointing her finger at M.
"Look at M! Look at M!" she said loudly in her high pitched voice. People came out of the house and were aghast at what they saw: M standing there wearing P's dress, all askew, and P hysterically dancing around her.
"She wanted to wear my dress! Look how it looks against her dark skin! She looks like the maid's daughter!!" P's cheeks were flushed pink and she ran up to M and stood with her rosy cheeks against M's nut brown one. "Don't I look better than her?"she asked with the cruel vanity of a child.
M's eyes filled with tears,"I hate you!" she hurled at P and pushing her down, ran sobbing inside tugging and tearing at the dress.
What a fuss they made over P!! "Why did you allow M to take your nice new dress?"
"Against her dark skin, why she looked clownish!"
"Come, let me wash you and get you another dress to wear."
M sat huddled under the cot in her room and sobbed miserably. Her mother came looking for her. "M! where are you, child?" she heard the tiny sob come from under the cot. she bent down and saw the little form all bunched up, sobbing her heart out,wearing that dress with the butterfly print.."Come my little one," her mother said gathering her in her arms, "It will all pass. Everything will be alright."
"Never! " said M choking on her words "No one will ever love me because I am so dark!"
"Hush" said mother "that is nonsense. You will know that in time"
But M , looking past her mother 's shoulder with teary eyes, saw nothing but shame and sadness.
"No one will ever love me!" she repeated to herself.
In India, I read somewhere, they recognize seven hundred shades of brown ----in skin color.
Monday, April 25, 2011
The Dark Side of the Moon
Pink Floyd first burst upon my senses in the summer of '76, and then there was epiphany.
I got "the Dark Side of the Moon" as gift, and was told by the person who gave it to me, that the music was "cosmic". I thought then, very innocently, that the person was high. I settled down to listen to it only after Dylan and Santana. I settled myself on a pile of throw cushions on the floor of my room---I listened to music, then ,lying down. Believe me, it gives you a different perspective, don't ask me why!
An hour later,I unplugged my earphones and lay gazing at the ceiling "almost catatonic"----as my sister was wont to say. That was how the Pink Floyd affected me: I had never heard anything like it before: Gilmour's glides on the guitar seemed to pluck at strange atavistic emotions, I never thought existed. The power of music. Yes, for me it was palpable and physical. All music affects me this way. I flinch when someone goes off key, sheer physical discomfort.
.
I treasured my albums and one day when my son lay convalescing in the hospital after an asthma attack, he asked for some music to listen to, and I decided to slip in Dark Side of the Moon. What happened is now history. He is a fan for life. Strange how things happen.
And now it seems music recall can , to certain extent , contain the dreadful onslaught of Alzheimer's--- so say the ever increasing information on medical research.
I was jump-started into thinking about all this when I heard the Dark Side of the Moon again last week.
I have always wondered why they named the album so. I had read in Colin Wilson's Outsider that it was a necromantic ritual in China...... but the mystery still remains, and that reverberates through the music. The multi-layered, paradox of life is exquisitely woven into it and the haunting strains keep playing inside your head forever and a day! The Great Gig in the Sky is a wonderful example of pure sound, just as primal and moving as a wolf howling at the moon.The mysterious dark side of that moon, which lights up our night sky and is a standing prop for anything "romantic".
And we hear Roger Waters keening :
"Time is the same in a relative way,but we're older
Shorter of breath, one day closer to death!"
Thank you for creating the music that defined a large part of my emotional landscape!
I got "the Dark Side of the Moon" as gift, and was told by the person who gave it to me, that the music was "cosmic". I thought then, very innocently, that the person was high. I settled down to listen to it only after Dylan and Santana. I settled myself on a pile of throw cushions on the floor of my room---I listened to music, then ,lying down. Believe me, it gives you a different perspective, don't ask me why!
An hour later,I unplugged my earphones and lay gazing at the ceiling "almost catatonic"----as my sister was wont to say. That was how the Pink Floyd affected me: I had never heard anything like it before: Gilmour's glides on the guitar seemed to pluck at strange atavistic emotions, I never thought existed. The power of music. Yes, for me it was palpable and physical. All music affects me this way. I flinch when someone goes off key, sheer physical discomfort.
.
I treasured my albums and one day when my son lay convalescing in the hospital after an asthma attack, he asked for some music to listen to, and I decided to slip in Dark Side of the Moon. What happened is now history. He is a fan for life. Strange how things happen.
And now it seems music recall can , to certain extent , contain the dreadful onslaught of Alzheimer's--- so say the ever increasing information on medical research.
I was jump-started into thinking about all this when I heard the Dark Side of the Moon again last week.
I have always wondered why they named the album so. I had read in Colin Wilson's Outsider that it was a necromantic ritual in China...... but the mystery still remains, and that reverberates through the music. The multi-layered, paradox of life is exquisitely woven into it and the haunting strains keep playing inside your head forever and a day! The Great Gig in the Sky is a wonderful example of pure sound, just as primal and moving as a wolf howling at the moon.The mysterious dark side of that moon, which lights up our night sky and is a standing prop for anything "romantic".
And we hear Roger Waters keening :
"Time is the same in a relative way,but we're older
Shorter of breath, one day closer to death!"
Thank you for creating the music that defined a large part of my emotional landscape!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Voting in Chennai
Last week was election time in Chennai. State elections. I was beside myself because I had just received my ID card from the Election Commission. Of course, it was due a good two years ago.
2009 saw me running to and from the Corporation Office in my part of the city trying to get myself in the electoral rolls.My name till date was in the Mumbai-West electoral rolls and I was strenuously trying to get myself moved to Chennai. My son, who was just back from Leeds, had set himself up all nice and cosy for voting in Mumbai and he did it through Jagore! I tried the same, but was not very successful.
General elections arrived in the summer of 2009 and I had no voter ID no slip from the electoral rolls, nada.I do not concede defeat very easily, an irritating aspect of my personality---almost a bulldog-like doggedness once something plants itself in my brain.So the 2009 elections saw me out there checking the rolls for my name, with my driving licence and passport as IDs. No luck. I came back furious at not being able to exercise my franchise. Another trip to the Corporation office---I must add that the people in that office are extremely helpful and spent a whole lot of time checking out the lists for my name. They told me that the new voters' list ran literally into ten of thousands of new names, and they found it physically impossible to deal with it. They assured me I would have it when the next elections rolled around.
I made polite noises to them but grumbled aside.
Well, they were right and I was wrong. This time around I got it all, but hey! human error still showed its pesky face. My mother who was on the rolls these past two decades, did not receive her ID card, and her name was not there either. Well, anyway I took off from work that day, and decided to get there bright and early just in case I had to stand forever in the queue. I felt almost obnoxiously civic that morning of 13th April, as I went around asking my neighbors if anyone needed a lift to the polling booth. I was there around quarter to eight and the queue was not threatening. Everything went about quietly, smoothly like a well oiled machine. Oh yes, the police were there , holding very lethal looking guns. No, the Election Commission was not going to take any chances. There were separate lines for men and women; there were volunteers who checked our slips and directed us to our booths; chairs were set out for senior citizens who braved the heat and came to vote.
There was such a wonderful cross section of the Indian populace right there in the compound of that small Corporation school, in Thiruvanmiyur, Chennai.Right behind me was this woman from the fishing village who could not read or write, and who wanted to know if she was in the right place; next to her was a young woman talking on a cell phone; with me of course was this very old lady, a neighbor, who refused to sit down saying there wee others who needed that seat more than she did. In the line parallel to mine, where the men stood, there was sudden commotion, and the cause for it was the actor Ajith who again, is my neighbor in 4th Seaward Road. He stood smiling in the blistering heat not heeding the milling press, and his three piece suit ! A pregnant woman was allowed in first; the volunteers were polite. My finger was marked with the notorious indelible ink; I cast my vote pressing the button on an electronic voting machine. and I came out proud to be part of a system that ensured such order, at least where I voted.
This is exactly what we need and want in this country :a fuss free, efficient , corruption free system. Never mind the fact that the school badly needed a paint job; never mind that some of the benches were broken, window panes needed replacement; all's forgiven. We know the difficulty of volumes in this country. Generally everything gets blamed on the teeming millions, but this one time I saw our teeming millions as our strength. They came out in droves to exercise their right, and they did it with dignity and a keen sense of belonging. This is their country, they have had enough of people selling it down the river. They are not fools to be tempted by paper money and such trivia. It is an awakening that I see, a true democratic awakening that is exciting and bodes good for this sovereign democratic republic.
2009 saw me running to and from the Corporation Office in my part of the city trying to get myself in the electoral rolls.My name till date was in the Mumbai-West electoral rolls and I was strenuously trying to get myself moved to Chennai. My son, who was just back from Leeds, had set himself up all nice and cosy for voting in Mumbai and he did it through Jagore! I tried the same, but was not very successful.
General elections arrived in the summer of 2009 and I had no voter ID no slip from the electoral rolls, nada.I do not concede defeat very easily, an irritating aspect of my personality---almost a bulldog-like doggedness once something plants itself in my brain.So the 2009 elections saw me out there checking the rolls for my name, with my driving licence and passport as IDs. No luck. I came back furious at not being able to exercise my franchise. Another trip to the Corporation office---I must add that the people in that office are extremely helpful and spent a whole lot of time checking out the lists for my name. They told me that the new voters' list ran literally into ten of thousands of new names, and they found it physically impossible to deal with it. They assured me I would have it when the next elections rolled around.
I made polite noises to them but grumbled aside.
Well, they were right and I was wrong. This time around I got it all, but hey! human error still showed its pesky face. My mother who was on the rolls these past two decades, did not receive her ID card, and her name was not there either. Well, anyway I took off from work that day, and decided to get there bright and early just in case I had to stand forever in the queue. I felt almost obnoxiously civic that morning of 13th April, as I went around asking my neighbors if anyone needed a lift to the polling booth. I was there around quarter to eight and the queue was not threatening. Everything went about quietly, smoothly like a well oiled machine. Oh yes, the police were there , holding very lethal looking guns. No, the Election Commission was not going to take any chances. There were separate lines for men and women; there were volunteers who checked our slips and directed us to our booths; chairs were set out for senior citizens who braved the heat and came to vote.
There was such a wonderful cross section of the Indian populace right there in the compound of that small Corporation school, in Thiruvanmiyur, Chennai.Right behind me was this woman from the fishing village who could not read or write, and who wanted to know if she was in the right place; next to her was a young woman talking on a cell phone; with me of course was this very old lady, a neighbor, who refused to sit down saying there wee others who needed that seat more than she did. In the line parallel to mine, where the men stood, there was sudden commotion, and the cause for it was the actor Ajith who again, is my neighbor in 4th Seaward Road. He stood smiling in the blistering heat not heeding the milling press, and his three piece suit ! A pregnant woman was allowed in first; the volunteers were polite. My finger was marked with the notorious indelible ink; I cast my vote pressing the button on an electronic voting machine. and I came out proud to be part of a system that ensured such order, at least where I voted.
This is exactly what we need and want in this country :a fuss free, efficient , corruption free system. Never mind the fact that the school badly needed a paint job; never mind that some of the benches were broken, window panes needed replacement; all's forgiven. We know the difficulty of volumes in this country. Generally everything gets blamed on the teeming millions, but this one time I saw our teeming millions as our strength. They came out in droves to exercise their right, and they did it with dignity and a keen sense of belonging. This is their country, they have had enough of people selling it down the river. They are not fools to be tempted by paper money and such trivia. It is an awakening that I see, a true democratic awakening that is exciting and bodes good for this sovereign democratic republic.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Anna and the power of One.
In a sense, independent India came of age last week. I am talking of Anna Hazare's fast unto death spearheading the campaign against corruption. After 90 hours Anna broke his fast,as the government issued a gazette notification to draft an effective Lokpal Bill. The government did not know what it was that hit them. Right there on the eve of the general elections, the vox populi seemed definitely threatening. No way in hell could the present government avoid issuing the notification. They were damned anyway, and wasn't there something good old Dante said about the way to hell being paved with good intentions? I am not trying to be clever by half, just that it looks as though our very venerable Prime Minister and his men personally scripted and acted out their endgame.The writing is on the wall.
Anna's fast precipitated the simmering discontent and anger against corruption rampant in every aspect of everyday life in India. So much had it become part of local color, that the not so informed and educated, spoke resignedly of it being the the matrix itself. This after sixty years of hard won independence? A crying shame to say the least.
When I needed a death certificate for my father, the cryptic answer I got from the tehsildar's office was, that as my father passed away in America I would get the certificate if I coughed up INR 7,000! Oh yes, we then bargained and brought it down to a more user friendly INR5,000, but less than that they would not budge. The reason for such behaviour? Well, it sits on vertical thinking : if my parents had the money to holiday in the United States of America, my mother can definitely cough up the five thousand. Had my father died in India, we might have had to pay just a paltry whatever it is you pay for a death certificate. And this,dear readers is the benign face of the malignancy that has grown so huge, we literally cannot not see it!
Anna targeted this. And better, the youth rose as one with him and therein lies the moral of the tale. The very young alone--- with their unclouded vision and their untarnished idealism---can take a nation forward. At this point in India's history, what we desperately need is idealism in the face of a decadent and decrepit political system. Sixty years ago, one man galvanized the nation and took us forward into freedom and independence.Like the wonderful allegorical Animal Farm we now find ourselves submitting to the tyranny of the very people ( or parties) that rode us to freedom. "All animals are equal but some are more equal than others." This is not what Gandhi dreamed about or gave his life for. We stand among the rubble of moral authority, but there's hope yet, as I see it.
There's hope in the young of India, who have chosen to remain here and fight the bitter battles, not trade it in for creature comforts elsewhere. Anna's call was to the conscience of the nation, and the conscience answered with a roaring cry that echoed in the corridors of power and frightened the power mongers. We are still alive and kicking, people, we care about this country never mind how bedeviled it may be. We still have dreams, we need the young to inherit our dreams, and "We shall overcome......."
We shall overcome, we shall overcome
We shall overcome some day
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
We shall overcome some day.......
The truth shall make us free, the truth shall make us free
The truth shall make us free some day
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
The truth shall make us free some day......
Reverend Charles Tindley of Philadelphia
Anna's fast precipitated the simmering discontent and anger against corruption rampant in every aspect of everyday life in India. So much had it become part of local color, that the not so informed and educated, spoke resignedly of it being the the matrix itself. This after sixty years of hard won independence? A crying shame to say the least.
When I needed a death certificate for my father, the cryptic answer I got from the tehsildar's office was, that as my father passed away in America I would get the certificate if I coughed up INR 7,000! Oh yes, we then bargained and brought it down to a more user friendly INR5,000, but less than that they would not budge. The reason for such behaviour? Well, it sits on vertical thinking : if my parents had the money to holiday in the United States of America, my mother can definitely cough up the five thousand. Had my father died in India, we might have had to pay just a paltry whatever it is you pay for a death certificate. And this,dear readers is the benign face of the malignancy that has grown so huge, we literally cannot not see it!
Anna targeted this. And better, the youth rose as one with him and therein lies the moral of the tale. The very young alone--- with their unclouded vision and their untarnished idealism---can take a nation forward. At this point in India's history, what we desperately need is idealism in the face of a decadent and decrepit political system. Sixty years ago, one man galvanized the nation and took us forward into freedom and independence.Like the wonderful allegorical Animal Farm we now find ourselves submitting to the tyranny of the very people ( or parties) that rode us to freedom. "All animals are equal but some are more equal than others." This is not what Gandhi dreamed about or gave his life for. We stand among the rubble of moral authority, but there's hope yet, as I see it.
There's hope in the young of India, who have chosen to remain here and fight the bitter battles, not trade it in for creature comforts elsewhere. Anna's call was to the conscience of the nation, and the conscience answered with a roaring cry that echoed in the corridors of power and frightened the power mongers. We are still alive and kicking, people, we care about this country never mind how bedeviled it may be. We still have dreams, we need the young to inherit our dreams, and "We shall overcome......."
We shall overcome, we shall overcome
We shall overcome some day
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
We shall overcome some day.......
The truth shall make us free, the truth shall make us free
The truth shall make us free some day
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
The truth shall make us free some day......
Reverend Charles Tindley of Philadelphia
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Bandini
My son sent me this exquisite music link. I had forgotten about the ethereal beauty of Bimal Roy's cinema. Thanks Manu. How could I forget?
Bandini especially: with the delicate beauty of Nutan; the haunting score of S.D.Burman; Dharmendra and Ashok Kumar; and then of course the movie being black and white it adds a focused intensity.Set in a prison,it is the story of Kalyani who must make a choice between two different men :a loving prison doctor (Dharmendra) and a man from her past (Ashok Kumar).
Whither such movies now? Where is the ambivalence, maturity and delicacy in handling very complex emotions?
I need to seriously get down to watching and enjoying them all over again. At this point in my life, maybe I have arrived at a better understanding.
A huge thanks to my son again. How did he know this song was always a bitter- sweet one for me?He did and that's the tenuous connection emotions have.
Bandini especially: with the delicate beauty of Nutan; the haunting score of S.D.Burman; Dharmendra and Ashok Kumar; and then of course the movie being black and white it adds a focused intensity.Set in a prison,it is the story of Kalyani who must make a choice between two different men :a loving prison doctor (Dharmendra) and a man from her past (Ashok Kumar).
Whither such movies now? Where is the ambivalence, maturity and delicacy in handling very complex emotions?
I need to seriously get down to watching and enjoying them all over again. At this point in my life, maybe I have arrived at a better understanding.
A huge thanks to my son again. How did he know this song was always a bitter- sweet one for me?He did and that's the tenuous connection emotions have.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Lilacs
This day belongs to our men in blue---I mean the Indian cricket team. I cannot do anything without saying what a wonderful match it was to watch. They were magnificently contained and mature. Dhoni makes an excellent captain, Gary Kirsten as coach has done a magnificent job. It has been a long time coming this World Cup.
We have been quite impervious to the goings on in the world outside. I do keep half an eye on it though, as I glance through NY Times that lands every morning in my inbox.
"It is the best of times, and the worst of times...." all over the world. Here in India we are already into blistering summer, while half way across the globe in Summit, NJ, it is snowing, and bitterly cold. Difficult to envisage that when we are half way into melting in the heat. Being cocooned in air conditioning does the body more harm than good ---I have realized this grudgingly.
I love the change of seasons and the anticipation it brings. The lovely tender shades of green ,that initially make an appearance on trees very soon turn into lush, dark, greens. I loved that in Summit. To see the world waking up as if from deep sleep, the juices running, the sap rising, the crocuses raising their heads, the breathtaking sudden vision of daffodils, the dogwood, the robin on the lawn...I just love the joyousness of Spring in NJ!!
In the Southern hemisphere where I live there is not much of seasonal change in the landscape. North India has more variety where seasons are concerned.
But the North East of America is something else. Reading Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" in grad school I came upon, "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed" realizing thirty years later on what it really meant. The fragrance of lilac is something that remains within you mixing "memory and desire",and longing, in a way impossible to know if you have never experienced it. I did at Summit. There is one lonely lilac near the garage, and it bloomed filling the air with a sad, albeit heavy fragrance that ran like a leitmotif through the season. Dredging up memories ......
And the molly cotton tails that bob around on the grass at Easter time. They are absolutely adorable!
The quality of light is different too. A clear, almost illuminating light! I could understand then the poetry that Spring inspired after the drab, greyness of winter.
I think of all that sitting here in Chennai. This earth is such a wonderfully joyous place and time after time, periodically, we are called upon to give thanks for the privilege of being on this planet.
I give thanks to Nature, her bounty, her beauty, her harmony and the manner in which we are nurtured---unawares.
"For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."
William Wordsworth, The Daffodils
We have been quite impervious to the goings on in the world outside. I do keep half an eye on it though, as I glance through NY Times that lands every morning in my inbox.
"It is the best of times, and the worst of times...." all over the world. Here in India we are already into blistering summer, while half way across the globe in Summit, NJ, it is snowing, and bitterly cold. Difficult to envisage that when we are half way into melting in the heat. Being cocooned in air conditioning does the body more harm than good ---I have realized this grudgingly.
I love the change of seasons and the anticipation it brings. The lovely tender shades of green ,that initially make an appearance on trees very soon turn into lush, dark, greens. I loved that in Summit. To see the world waking up as if from deep sleep, the juices running, the sap rising, the crocuses raising their heads, the breathtaking sudden vision of daffodils, the dogwood, the robin on the lawn...I just love the joyousness of Spring in NJ!!
In the Southern hemisphere where I live there is not much of seasonal change in the landscape. North India has more variety where seasons are concerned.
But the North East of America is something else. Reading Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" in grad school I came upon, "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed" realizing thirty years later on what it really meant. The fragrance of lilac is something that remains within you mixing "memory and desire",and longing, in a way impossible to know if you have never experienced it. I did at Summit. There is one lonely lilac near the garage, and it bloomed filling the air with a sad, albeit heavy fragrance that ran like a leitmotif through the season. Dredging up memories ......
And the molly cotton tails that bob around on the grass at Easter time. They are absolutely adorable!
The quality of light is different too. A clear, almost illuminating light! I could understand then the poetry that Spring inspired after the drab, greyness of winter.
I think of all that sitting here in Chennai. This earth is such a wonderfully joyous place and time after time, periodically, we are called upon to give thanks for the privilege of being on this planet.
I give thanks to Nature, her bounty, her beauty, her harmony and the manner in which we are nurtured---unawares.
"For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."
William Wordsworth, The Daffodils
Sunday, March 27, 2011
"Blowin' in the wind"
The humidity in Chennai saps all your energy reserves. At least that is so in my case. After all the pending chores are done, you are left with just enough energy to let your limbic responses take over: eat, sleep, or mindlessly watch television. I have yet to get used to the weather in Chennai and it has been a good eight years now.
I was galvanized into the thinking mode when I hit on the carnage in Libya ,via the BBC.
America has really overstepped the boundaries with this one. What justification for the air strikes? What makes one country think it has the right to interfere in another's internal affairs? Let us not forget the West has vested interest in oil in the Middle East region, so has the rest of the world in lesser or greater, did I say greater? I am sorry. How can any country have a need greater than the United States of America? We all need the Middle East to be stable so we can have cheap, or reasonably priced oil. Oil makes the world go round. We are all well aware of where we will be without oil. Therefore the neurosis about Egypt, Libya, Syria, Yemen et al. I don't buy the talk on Democracy. That is just a front. India is guilty of selfish interests too. We support Libya for the very same reason and more. We here are afraid of the Islamic backlash. So we bend backwards to accommodate anything that will otherwise bring about a bloodbath. The unrest in Bahrain alerts the Emirates who stand in danger of losing their fiefdoms. Does the West have any plan about Libya after Gadaffi? Do they really think they can do a Saddam on him?
What if the Al Qaeda moves in quietly in the ensuing chaos? Al Qaeda, I read somewhere, can never be eradicated, as it it is in the minds of people.It is not just a physical presence. In effect, therefore, America is making it easy for Al Qaeda in Libya.
BBC had a program about warlike nations and this was in the context of America's attack on Iraq. The analysis said that young nations were always flexing their muscles for a fight, and aggression came naturally to them. Maybe. America as a nation is almost ridiculously young and therefore we can forgive its trespasses as normal rites of passage.But what of France and Germany? They who pride themselves on a millenia of history and culture should know better.
Now with Wikileaks washing global laundry in public, we know how interfering "interfering" can be and worse, immoral.
It leaves one with a strong feeling of disgust at human greed. The elections are just around the corner and I personally feel that casting my vote is like whistling in the wind.
"The Answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind..."
"...How many ears must one man have,
Before he can hear people cry?
How many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind"
Freewheeling Bob Dylan
I was galvanized into the thinking mode when I hit on the carnage in Libya ,via the BBC.
America has really overstepped the boundaries with this one. What justification for the air strikes? What makes one country think it has the right to interfere in another's internal affairs? Let us not forget the West has vested interest in oil in the Middle East region, so has the rest of the world in lesser or greater, did I say greater? I am sorry. How can any country have a need greater than the United States of America? We all need the Middle East to be stable so we can have cheap, or reasonably priced oil. Oil makes the world go round. We are all well aware of where we will be without oil. Therefore the neurosis about Egypt, Libya, Syria, Yemen et al. I don't buy the talk on Democracy. That is just a front. India is guilty of selfish interests too. We support Libya for the very same reason and more. We here are afraid of the Islamic backlash. So we bend backwards to accommodate anything that will otherwise bring about a bloodbath. The unrest in Bahrain alerts the Emirates who stand in danger of losing their fiefdoms. Does the West have any plan about Libya after Gadaffi? Do they really think they can do a Saddam on him?
What if the Al Qaeda moves in quietly in the ensuing chaos? Al Qaeda, I read somewhere, can never be eradicated, as it it is in the minds of people.It is not just a physical presence. In effect, therefore, America is making it easy for Al Qaeda in Libya.
BBC had a program about warlike nations and this was in the context of America's attack on Iraq. The analysis said that young nations were always flexing their muscles for a fight, and aggression came naturally to them. Maybe. America as a nation is almost ridiculously young and therefore we can forgive its trespasses as normal rites of passage.But what of France and Germany? They who pride themselves on a millenia of history and culture should know better.
Now with Wikileaks washing global laundry in public, we know how interfering "interfering" can be and worse, immoral.
It leaves one with a strong feeling of disgust at human greed. The elections are just around the corner and I personally feel that casting my vote is like whistling in the wind.
"The Answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind..."
"...How many ears must one man have,
Before he can hear people cry?
How many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind"
Freewheeling Bob Dylan
Sunday, March 20, 2011
"What The Thunder Said"
Japan still figures very strongly in the peripheries of my thought. The arbitrariness of life--- it could have been us in India, more specifically Chennai, as it lies on the shore. In minutes, this city would be just a memory and the people, "six feet under." The utter annihilation of the Sendai tsunami underlines how precarious our existence on this planet is. We are all living literally and metaphorically, on the "Ring of Fire." Personally, I think it is good to be reminded ,of the transitory nature of our life, every now and then. It helps to clear the fog, and get our priorities clear.The fact we will all one day be "...rolled around earth's diurnal course/With rocks and stones and trees.",(Wordsworth) is hugely sobering. What better way to go, than be taken into what brought us forth?
This is a fragile planet, and a very young one. We are probably witnessing the rites of passage towards Earth's maturity. Please remember, the continents once were drifting, and this mass we are on, this huge subcontinent, the Indian plate, is supposed to have pushed up the Himalayas when it did a head on collision with the Eurasian plate. What a stupefying fact by any definition!
It came upon me one summer when we were holidaying in Kausani,a remote little hamlet at the very foothills of the Himalayas, home to the great Hindi litterateur Jayashankar Prasad. Standing on the patio of our rented cottage we had a breathtaking view of Trishool and Nanda Devi, and the glistening Pindar glacier . The air had just cleared after a thunderstorm and it seemed as if I could reach out and touch the towering peaks. To think this was the result of an arbitrary happening! If the collision had not happened we would not have had the majesty of the Himalayas. A very unsettling thought. Even in the brutal heat of North Indian summer Kausani remained cool and balmy. The towering snow covered peaks and the frozen Pindar that fed Ganga, Yamuna ,Sindhu and the Brahmaputra gleamed commandingly from afar, making one very much aware of our infinitely tiny presence in the scheme of things.
Yet we dare to dream big. That is good, because only then we can achieve. But it does not stop there. Being what we are,being so full of pride and arrogance in self, we dare to assume that we can control Nature. The "Hubris" the Greeks so tellingly illustrated in their tragedies, is all about overstepping of boundaries. We have not only overstepped, I am afraid, we have forgotten that there were any boundaries at all. What boundaries? This planet, this solar system, this universe itself is seen as part of the happy hunting grounds of humans. Sans respect, sans reverence.
They were right, Sophocles, Euripedes, in trying to get our attention to the enormity of this irreverence. They illustrated it with the horror of Medea feeding Jason with the flesh of his children, the arrogance of Oedipus leading him unknowingly to take his mother as his wife.... instances that relate going against the natural order because of extreme ego.
We are doing just that to this planet of ours. Our "hubris" encompasses every aspect of life. Nuclear power for one is a standing example. Never mind the terrifying facts of radiation in case of accidents... but then we make provisions for accidents and say "we are prepared" but are we really? In our wonderfully resourceful way we have plan A, plan B, plan C... and so on in case of catastrophes and such irritating happenings that slow us in our "progress". Except when it happens, it is the innocent who suffer , the innocent who die.
Many in Japan ask "Is this the big one?" Who knows? Does anybody know? Can anyone predict?
Let us then accept that we need help, we need faith not just in ourselves, but in something more, maybe in Nature all around us. Respect for the powerful statement that Nature can make, vanquishing in seconds millenia of informed human efforts.
I do not know much about Gods, but I think that the river
Is a strong brown God --- sullen, untamed and intractable
Patient to some degree…...
The problem once solved, the brown God is almost forgotten
By the dwellers in the cities --- ever…...
"Dry Salvages" (Four Quartets) T.S.Eliot
This is a fragile planet, and a very young one. We are probably witnessing the rites of passage towards Earth's maturity. Please remember, the continents once were drifting, and this mass we are on, this huge subcontinent, the Indian plate, is supposed to have pushed up the Himalayas when it did a head on collision with the Eurasian plate. What a stupefying fact by any definition!
It came upon me one summer when we were holidaying in Kausani,a remote little hamlet at the very foothills of the Himalayas, home to the great Hindi litterateur Jayashankar Prasad. Standing on the patio of our rented cottage we had a breathtaking view of Trishool and Nanda Devi, and the glistening Pindar glacier . The air had just cleared after a thunderstorm and it seemed as if I could reach out and touch the towering peaks. To think this was the result of an arbitrary happening! If the collision had not happened we would not have had the majesty of the Himalayas. A very unsettling thought. Even in the brutal heat of North Indian summer Kausani remained cool and balmy. The towering snow covered peaks and the frozen Pindar that fed Ganga, Yamuna ,Sindhu and the Brahmaputra gleamed commandingly from afar, making one very much aware of our infinitely tiny presence in the scheme of things.
Yet we dare to dream big. That is good, because only then we can achieve. But it does not stop there. Being what we are,being so full of pride and arrogance in self, we dare to assume that we can control Nature. The "Hubris" the Greeks so tellingly illustrated in their tragedies, is all about overstepping of boundaries. We have not only overstepped, I am afraid, we have forgotten that there were any boundaries at all. What boundaries? This planet, this solar system, this universe itself is seen as part of the happy hunting grounds of humans. Sans respect, sans reverence.
They were right, Sophocles, Euripedes, in trying to get our attention to the enormity of this irreverence. They illustrated it with the horror of Medea feeding Jason with the flesh of his children, the arrogance of Oedipus leading him unknowingly to take his mother as his wife.... instances that relate going against the natural order because of extreme ego.
We are doing just that to this planet of ours. Our "hubris" encompasses every aspect of life. Nuclear power for one is a standing example. Never mind the terrifying facts of radiation in case of accidents... but then we make provisions for accidents and say "we are prepared" but are we really? In our wonderfully resourceful way we have plan A, plan B, plan C... and so on in case of catastrophes and such irritating happenings that slow us in our "progress". Except when it happens, it is the innocent who suffer , the innocent who die.
Many in Japan ask "Is this the big one?" Who knows? Does anybody know? Can anyone predict?
Let us then accept that we need help, we need faith not just in ourselves, but in something more, maybe in Nature all around us. Respect for the powerful statement that Nature can make, vanquishing in seconds millenia of informed human efforts.
I do not know much about Gods, but I think that the river
Is a strong brown God --- sullen, untamed and intractable
Patient to some degree…...
The problem once solved, the brown God is almost forgotten
By the dwellers in the cities --- ever…...
"Dry Salvages" (Four Quartets) T.S.Eliot
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Ozymandias
It just burst upon me in the course of my work. I was working on editing an update of wills. Yes, as in bequeathing to one's children or surviving spouse. Never had much respect for it anyway, as I have seen it bring out the worst in humans---the way money always does.
But this is ridiculous I thought, looking at what I was reading. It seemed like an obsessive compulsive disorder, this wanting to ensure from beyond the grave that the money made during lifetimes, went to the "right" person. OCD sanctioned and blessed by "law abiding" civic societies, ensuring the dead person, or the man/woman who will soon be dead, that their hard earned money will only go where they want it to go.
Fair enough, in that we all salt our savings away so we can give something of it to our children or our surviving better halves. A natural sentiment. Beyond this anything else seems just plain laughable. Such is human vanity. The "roof and crown of creation"-- that we think we are-- even death cannot part us from our money.Therefore the detailed , yes, dismally detailed wills.
To what purpose? Let the Great Wave be our teacher. No, not the one that Hokusai painted. I am talking about the Sendai tsunami that swept and ravaged Japan on Friday the 11th of March 2011. "In one fell swoo
p'' everyone was just swept away, and for those who remain --of what use is their little stash in such a situation? In minutes a very advanced society was left torn and ravaged. Lost families and loved ones, houses swept away, the threat of nuclear radiation, when existence is threatened of what use is money? It does well to remember that Japan is a nation that has risen proudly --samurai like-- from the ashes of Nagasaki and Hiroshima -- a horror that was deliberately manufactured, never mind the justification of it. But this was Nature in all her raging fury and is impossible to predict or be prepared for.
Decades ago when I was doing my Bachelors in Eng. Lit. We did a Shelley poem called Ozymandias.The pertinent lines run thus
"...And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: 10
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away".
Percy Bysshe Shelley :Ozymandias
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
The veil
Yesterday I saw a very disturbing news item on the Internet. It was about France imposing the ban on burquas. I was shocked and disturbed to say the very least. This from France? The French consider themselves as the most civilized people in the world, and surely being civilized means ,at the very least, respecting others and their beliefs
.
So whither with all this sudden hard-line attitude? Where, oh, where are the ideals of 'Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite" on which the Republic was formed? Has France forgotten that she is home to the largest concentration of Muslims in Europe? Why then did she open her arms wide and invite diversity, if only to deny immigrants the freedom of attire in accordance to their faith? Was the invite spurred on by the need to fill the void left by World War II? The disturbing question, looms waiting in the wings : Will the rest of Europe follow suit? Then, it is surely the beginning of the "Gotterdamerung."
What is the case against the veil ? That it clashes with the existing cultural mores? Then it is purely cosmetic. In which case, ergo, the Sikhs in the UK and Canada have to divest themselves of their turban, or pagdi. What will follow then does not need any explanation.
France is a secular republic.Does not secularism warrant the freedom not just to practice one's faith but also the freedom to dress in accordance with one's culture and faith? Banning the veil then is the final betrayal of a so called "secular " system.
The argument that I have heard put forth here in India against the veil is based on the assumption that it deprives women "freedom." On the contrary. I used to work with a woman who wore the burqa to work. She told me about feeling "liberated" while wearing the dress. She could go about in public places anonymously she said, not fearing comments, and other harassment that young women in public sometimes encounter."Nobody notices me", she said "and I am thankful for that." wearing the naqab gives her the freedom to go to a college albeit a segregated one, commute to work in public transport, and a host of other things without being subject to preying male eyes. "Yes, Iam very happy. I have a wonderful husband, very supportive in-laws, my sisters-in-law work in public offices, they wear the burqa as well. why do you assume that we are unhappy and unprivileged because we are not like you?" What a wonderfully relevant question I thought then, and I realize now, more than ever.
Why do we assume at all? My husband once quipped at this with: "It only makes an ass of 'u' and me!" My sentiments exactly.
Maybe , just maybe, the French President will not sign this Act, which will then remain an Act in principle only. Maybe France will attempt to think not just of itself but about the fate of Europe that is hanging in balance with this act. I love French literature, art, and yes, I love Paris ---the grande dame of all cities. I care, therefore this post.
"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." Janis Joplin Me and Bobby McG.
.
So whither with all this sudden hard-line attitude? Where, oh, where are the ideals of 'Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite" on which the Republic was formed? Has France forgotten that she is home to the largest concentration of Muslims in Europe? Why then did she open her arms wide and invite diversity, if only to deny immigrants the freedom of attire in accordance to their faith? Was the invite spurred on by the need to fill the void left by World War II? The disturbing question, looms waiting in the wings : Will the rest of Europe follow suit? Then, it is surely the beginning of the "Gotterdamerung."
What is the case against the veil ? That it clashes with the existing cultural mores? Then it is purely cosmetic. In which case, ergo, the Sikhs in the UK and Canada have to divest themselves of their turban, or pagdi. What will follow then does not need any explanation.
France is a secular republic.Does not secularism warrant the freedom not just to practice one's faith but also the freedom to dress in accordance with one's culture and faith? Banning the veil then is the final betrayal of a so called "secular " system.
The argument that I have heard put forth here in India against the veil is based on the assumption that it deprives women "freedom." On the contrary. I used to work with a woman who wore the burqa to work. She told me about feeling "liberated" while wearing the dress. She could go about in public places anonymously she said, not fearing comments, and other harassment that young women in public sometimes encounter."Nobody notices me", she said "and I am thankful for that." wearing the naqab gives her the freedom to go to a college albeit a segregated one, commute to work in public transport, and a host of other things without being subject to preying male eyes. "Yes, Iam very happy. I have a wonderful husband, very supportive in-laws, my sisters-in-law work in public offices, they wear the burqa as well. why do you assume that we are unhappy and unprivileged because we are not like you?" What a wonderfully relevant question I thought then, and I realize now, more than ever.
Why do we assume at all? My husband once quipped at this with: "It only makes an ass of 'u' and me!" My sentiments exactly.
Maybe , just maybe, the French President will not sign this Act, which will then remain an Act in principle only. Maybe France will attempt to think not just of itself but about the fate of Europe that is hanging in balance with this act. I love French literature, art, and yes, I love Paris ---the grande dame of all cities. I care, therefore this post.
"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." Janis Joplin Me and Bobby McG.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Katharsis
It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It is always so when one attends a performance in Kalakshetra. It just lifts you off the ground and sets you on another plane, in which you are in touch with another reality.
Iam talking of Dr. C.V.Chandrashekhar's dance on the birth anniversary of Rukmini Arundale at he Kalakshetra Rukmini Arangam.
This was dance in its purest form, and it helped that the dancer was in very good shape, and was also very striking to look at. What was incredible is his age. All of seventy five years, and he moved with the grace, agility and energy of a man twenty years younger.
The epiphany was to me a real life experience of Coomaraswamy's "Transformation of Art in Nature." The dance was not a "performance"; it seemed to be just an organic extension of the music.
This is not a report on the dance, but a note on how the dance affected me, and the connections that it lead me to form. I understood,sitting there in the darkened auditorium, that all theories of aesthetics were only attempts to capture and set in some sort of order the emotions that raced through one when confronted with beauty that cannot be quantified. So we struggle to weave a pattern with words to try and convey this blinding revelation of another reality. Aristotle put the feeling down as "katharsis", which very crudely put, is a purging of emotions leaving one "calm of mind, all passion spent". He almost sounds like a physician.
I do believe it is that and much, much more, a "kathahrsis " yes, but leading up to an epiphanic revelation where one is able let go of one's self.
Chandrashekhar's dance at Kalakshetra was every bit a kathartic epiphany.
We are humbled by it, and the great force that moves us.
"Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!
D.H. Lawrence: Song Of A Man Who Has Come Through.
Iam talking of Dr. C.V.Chandrashekhar's dance on the birth anniversary of Rukmini Arundale at he Kalakshetra Rukmini Arangam.
This was dance in its purest form, and it helped that the dancer was in very good shape, and was also very striking to look at. What was incredible is his age. All of seventy five years, and he moved with the grace, agility and energy of a man twenty years younger.
The epiphany was to me a real life experience of Coomaraswamy's "Transformation of Art in Nature." The dance was not a "performance"; it seemed to be just an organic extension of the music.
This is not a report on the dance, but a note on how the dance affected me, and the connections that it lead me to form. I understood,sitting there in the darkened auditorium, that all theories of aesthetics were only attempts to capture and set in some sort of order the emotions that raced through one when confronted with beauty that cannot be quantified. So we struggle to weave a pattern with words to try and convey this blinding revelation of another reality. Aristotle put the feeling down as "katharsis", which very crudely put, is a purging of emotions leaving one "calm of mind, all passion spent". He almost sounds like a physician.
I do believe it is that and much, much more, a "kathahrsis " yes, but leading up to an epiphanic revelation where one is able let go of one's self.
Chandrashekhar's dance at Kalakshetra was every bit a kathartic epiphany.
We are humbled by it, and the great force that moves us.
"Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!
| If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry me! | ||
| If only I am sensitive, subtle, oh, delicate, a winged gift!" |
D.H. Lawrence: Song Of A Man Who Has Come Through.
Monday, February 21, 2011
R.K.
That's how he was known in the Mysore University Post Graduate Department of English.
Long before I came in for my post-graduate studies, I met him at the Regional Institute of Education, where I was doing my B.A.Ed.in English Literature.We were sitting around a huge oval table one afternoon--Varma, Vishwanath Mirle, Bezboruah, Suchitha Medappa-- staff members,and two students. One of them was myself and the other was...I think it was Amal. I am not so sure at this distant date.There walks into the room then, a small, very pleasant looking old gentleman wearing a tweed jacket with elbow patches. He had kindly eyes that twinkled behind thick lenses, and a very shy smile. He pulled up a chair next to Vishawanath, and they got talking in Kannada.
I was sitting next to Varma. "Who is that that nice old man?" I asked him.Varma gave an impish smile and turned around. "R.K.!" he shouted " here's someone who wants to know 'who that nice old man' is!"
I was mortified at being so betrayed and must have looked embarassed.
"That's exactly how I would like to be known.Thank you, young lady." The man said leaning towards me with a smile. I still did not know who he was. But I swore I wasn't going to ask.
Vishwa smiled at my discomfort and said laconically "R.K.Narayan." hugely enjoying himself at the expression on my face.
That was my encounter with the creator of Malgudi. And those, by the way were my teachers: a magnificently brilliant lot who looked more like truck drivers than the amazingly creative people they really were.
They were incomparable. I thank them for shaping my sensibility.
R.K.Narayan, I saw many times afterward, always in and out of the Dept. of English ,Mysore. Prof. C.D.Narasimhaiah, or C.D.N. as he was known in the literary world, was a very good friend of his.
R.K. lived in Yadavagiri, and drove and old Fiat. He loved Mysore, and so do I.
Nothing can come near , lifting up your eyes and seeing Chamundi hill, watching over Mysore. "Like Olympus over Athens" C.D.N. used to say. It changes the texture of a town, to be in the shadow of a hill.
"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help." [ Psalms-121:1, 2] .
Long before I came in for my post-graduate studies, I met him at the Regional Institute of Education, where I was doing my B.A.Ed.in English Literature.We were sitting around a huge oval table one afternoon--Varma, Vishwanath Mirle, Bezboruah, Suchitha Medappa-- staff members,and two students. One of them was myself and the other was...I think it was Amal. I am not so sure at this distant date.There walks into the room then, a small, very pleasant looking old gentleman wearing a tweed jacket with elbow patches. He had kindly eyes that twinkled behind thick lenses, and a very shy smile. He pulled up a chair next to Vishawanath, and they got talking in Kannada.
I was sitting next to Varma. "Who is that that nice old man?" I asked him.Varma gave an impish smile and turned around. "R.K.!" he shouted " here's someone who wants to know 'who that nice old man' is!"
I was mortified at being so betrayed and must have looked embarassed.
"That's exactly how I would like to be known.Thank you, young lady." The man said leaning towards me with a smile. I still did not know who he was. But I swore I wasn't going to ask.
Vishwa smiled at my discomfort and said laconically "R.K.Narayan." hugely enjoying himself at the expression on my face.
That was my encounter with the creator of Malgudi. And those, by the way were my teachers: a magnificently brilliant lot who looked more like truck drivers than the amazingly creative people they really were.
They were incomparable. I thank them for shaping my sensibility.
R.K.Narayan, I saw many times afterward, always in and out of the Dept. of English ,Mysore. Prof. C.D.Narasimhaiah, or C.D.N. as he was known in the literary world, was a very good friend of his.
R.K. lived in Yadavagiri, and drove and old Fiat. He loved Mysore, and so do I.
Nothing can come near , lifting up your eyes and seeing Chamundi hill, watching over Mysore. "Like Olympus over Athens" C.D.N. used to say. It changes the texture of a town, to be in the shadow of a hill.
"I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help." [ Psalms-121:1, 2] .
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Hubris
Its strange, but most of us talk without giving a thought to what we say. If we did, we would not say half the things we do! What figures most prominently in most of our statements, is the word 'fear'. So loosely used, without a thought as to what it indicates, "fear" is the one word that is easy to put across , its meaning, or whatever it is we assign to it is easily comprehended, and computed by the listener.
What kind of "fear" is the logical question to ask next, and to that the answer is very vertical. "Fear '"of all kinds.
Something else that I have observed is that people tend to be more sympathetic when one declares one is "afraid"
---never mind whether it is of animal, vegetable or mineral. Ah! here is an occasion, they think, to dispense "tea and sympathy". I wonder why.
I would think that a person who is brave, takes risks, and crosses boundaries with confidence would evoke admiration in the fellow human's breast, but that is not what I have seen, at least not in this country.
The Greeks thought that tragedy stemmed from "hubris", which loosely translated would mean an excessive arrogance, pride,and sense of self. In Vedanta it is "egotism" that disables one from going out of one's self towards a larger, more comprehensive understanding. Both amount to the same.Does this then mean that being "afraid" is a residue of the ancient wisdom holding us back from transgression?Hard to agree, because I believe that human achievement ---in every sphere ,in every sense---is only because of an initial transgression that had to be undertaken sans 'fear'.
Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. T.S.Eliot.
"Fear" lives in us and corrodes our life, our sensibilities. We cannot then react "from our solar plexus" ----as D. H. Lawrence was wont to say--- because we are afraid of the consequences of our transgression. Ergo,we do nothing,just vegetate and continue...."By this and only this, we have existed.". No, we do not.
"Fear" has another form today, born of the psychosis of "terror".There are those who true to the Confucian way of thinking " lie down and enjoy it",others fight it their own way.
This is an insidious warfare that is fought from within, through minds. I read somewhere a couple of years back that the Al Qaeda is not as much a physical organization, as it is a state of the mind. Therefore one can never really wipe it out. and why is that? Because it is all about "fear" that once planted can never be gotten rid of.
We fight our own personal "jihads" against the corruption of "fear" that keeps us from striving towards a more enlightened self.
"Fear" is also strangely, a very safe feeling. Don't ask me why, don't ask me how.It is when one decides to shake it off that one feels out on a limb. Wondering at having ventured out on this strange path, for a while one is sorely tempted to seek safe haven in being "afraid". But persevere,and voila no burden any more; free to make the choices one wants. Very important that last bit. Sticking to prescriptions can be very convenient,but oh! the joy of creating one's personal parameters! The pride and the freedom! Convictions and the courage are what is needed to carry them through. Not a comfortable life maybe but yes, a life without the inhibitions of "fear"...
Or stay dithering like Prufrock:
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?....
T.S. Eliot: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
.
What kind of "fear" is the logical question to ask next, and to that the answer is very vertical. "Fear '"of all kinds.
Something else that I have observed is that people tend to be more sympathetic when one declares one is "afraid"
---never mind whether it is of animal, vegetable or mineral. Ah! here is an occasion, they think, to dispense "tea and sympathy". I wonder why.
I would think that a person who is brave, takes risks, and crosses boundaries with confidence would evoke admiration in the fellow human's breast, but that is not what I have seen, at least not in this country.
The Greeks thought that tragedy stemmed from "hubris", which loosely translated would mean an excessive arrogance, pride,and sense of self. In Vedanta it is "egotism" that disables one from going out of one's self towards a larger, more comprehensive understanding. Both amount to the same.Does this then mean that being "afraid" is a residue of the ancient wisdom holding us back from transgression?Hard to agree, because I believe that human achievement ---in every sphere ,in every sense---is only because of an initial transgression that had to be undertaken sans 'fear'.
Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. T.S.Eliot.
"Fear" lives in us and corrodes our life, our sensibilities. We cannot then react "from our solar plexus" ----as D. H. Lawrence was wont to say--- because we are afraid of the consequences of our transgression. Ergo,we do nothing,just vegetate and continue...."By this and only this, we have existed.". No, we do not.
"Fear" has another form today, born of the psychosis of "terror".There are those who true to the Confucian way of thinking " lie down and enjoy it",others fight it their own way.
This is an insidious warfare that is fought from within, through minds. I read somewhere a couple of years back that the Al Qaeda is not as much a physical organization, as it is a state of the mind. Therefore one can never really wipe it out. and why is that? Because it is all about "fear" that once planted can never be gotten rid of.
We fight our own personal "jihads" against the corruption of "fear" that keeps us from striving towards a more enlightened self.
"Fear" is also strangely, a very safe feeling. Don't ask me why, don't ask me how.It is when one decides to shake it off that one feels out on a limb. Wondering at having ventured out on this strange path, for a while one is sorely tempted to seek safe haven in being "afraid". But persevere,and voila no burden any more; free to make the choices one wants. Very important that last bit. Sticking to prescriptions can be very convenient,but oh! the joy of creating one's personal parameters! The pride and the freedom! Convictions and the courage are what is needed to carry them through. Not a comfortable life maybe but yes, a life without the inhibitions of "fear"...
Or stay dithering like Prufrock:
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?....
T.S. Eliot: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
magic
The melody had been wandering in my head, so I decided to pin it down. Thank God, for Youtube, and of course thank god for the internet!
When I first heard the song Leheron pe Leher I did not listen to the poetry of the lyrics. I just submitted myself to the exquisite music letting the epiphany take over,and I found myself crying. That is the magic of Hemant Da's voice. It can create the scene out of the melody...the magic of romance, the magic of being young and being in love... a totally one -time experience that only music can encapsulate.
To Hemant Kumar then,the magic of Romance forever!!
When I first heard the song Leheron pe Leher I did not listen to the poetry of the lyrics. I just submitted myself to the exquisite music letting the epiphany take over,and I found myself crying. That is the magic of Hemant Da's voice. It can create the scene out of the melody...the magic of romance, the magic of being young and being in love... a totally one -time experience that only music can encapsulate.
To Hemant Kumar then,the magic of Romance forever!!
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Us and Them
It happened during the coffee break. We all went up to the Junction for our resuscitating cup of whatever, when we saw the tiny thing perched on the table , surrounded by a crowd. It was a baby kitten, maybe a week old. Utterly charming with its big wide eyes,and all other things so kittenish. She/he made Page 3 that day. A celebrity status was conferred on the tiny thing just the size of a teacup. People took pictures, of the kitten, with their cell phones; and it blinked adorably. All very well.
I asked the tea dispenser whose kitten it was, and he beamed proudly that it was theirs, meaning the kitchen staff. I am kind of goofy about all animals, and so the next day saw me looking for the kitten.there it was in a corner trying to push a metal plate around, and what stopped me in my tracks was the fact there was an open stove right there on the floor near the kitten. I told the tea dispenser to be careful about having open stoves, while the little kitten darted around exploring this "brave new world"!
The next day found me eagerly looking for the new interest, and I found it nowhere.I asked one of the canteen helps, and he mumbled, without meeting my eye, something about it being hurt.
My next question was about the vet, to which the answer was equally evasive.
I knew then for a fact, without anyone telling me, that the poor kitten's brief sojourn in this world was over.
It all came out many days later,that the curious kitten got hurt by the ,don't ask me how, huge grinding machine that does the batter making for the dosa et al.
"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies" seem to be the motto of the canteen people, and also, "Get a move on," they seem to say, "its only a stupid cat!!"
That's where this blog comes in, my friends, at that very phrase "only a cat!"
Such a contempt for anything that is not human, that seems to be the common sentiment of most people everywhere.
Whenever I walk on the beach, I observe the stray dogs and I find them to be utterly peaceful, in that they remain in their own orbit, and never for a moment do they transgress that. They live in their parallel universe and yes, it is all peaceful if you can look at them for a minute as you would look at a another person, and see in their eyes,the shining light of intelligence ,the eager desire to communicate albeit non verbally.If you can look at them and include them in our universe, the world would be a better place.
But no, we need them as objects. We need to have pets around us, to look and behave as we think they ought to. Do we love them? I am sure we do, we feed them, don't we? We walk them, drool over them,and most important, we spay them.
Do we ever worry about the moral implications of this act? Spaying dogs and cats? You must be joking! What has morality to do with animals?
What about respecting the primary thrust of all species ? The need to reproduce. Do we ever see it as the natural right of an animal?
This blog is my personal outcry against all forms of neutering be it human or animal. We have no right to make this decision for another just because we do not want to be bothered by the matrices of mating and birthing of our pets.
What if roles were reversed as in "The Planet of the Apes" and we were lead out to the same fate that we mete out to our cats and dogs? Whither double standards?
The Jataka tales are about animals that are "Bodhisattva". The word, very roughly, means "the intention to enlighten other beings."
Enlightened thinking then, is not a human monopoly. I saw that beautifully illustrated in the movie "Hachiko: A Dog's Story". Hachiko, was a "Bodhisattva".
Whitman just sums it all up:
I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contained;
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition;
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins....
Walt Whitman : Leaves of Grass
I asked the tea dispenser whose kitten it was, and he beamed proudly that it was theirs, meaning the kitchen staff. I am kind of goofy about all animals, and so the next day saw me looking for the kitten.there it was in a corner trying to push a metal plate around, and what stopped me in my tracks was the fact there was an open stove right there on the floor near the kitten. I told the tea dispenser to be careful about having open stoves, while the little kitten darted around exploring this "brave new world"!
The next day found me eagerly looking for the new interest, and I found it nowhere.I asked one of the canteen helps, and he mumbled, without meeting my eye, something about it being hurt.
My next question was about the vet, to which the answer was equally evasive.
I knew then for a fact, without anyone telling me, that the poor kitten's brief sojourn in this world was over.
It all came out many days later,that the curious kitten got hurt by the ,don't ask me how, huge grinding machine that does the batter making for the dosa et al.
"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies" seem to be the motto of the canteen people, and also, "Get a move on," they seem to say, "its only a stupid cat!!"
That's where this blog comes in, my friends, at that very phrase "only a cat!"
Such a contempt for anything that is not human, that seems to be the common sentiment of most people everywhere.
Whenever I walk on the beach, I observe the stray dogs and I find them to be utterly peaceful, in that they remain in their own orbit, and never for a moment do they transgress that. They live in their parallel universe and yes, it is all peaceful if you can look at them for a minute as you would look at a another person, and see in their eyes,the shining light of intelligence ,the eager desire to communicate albeit non verbally.If you can look at them and include them in our universe, the world would be a better place.
But no, we need them as objects. We need to have pets around us, to look and behave as we think they ought to. Do we love them? I am sure we do, we feed them, don't we? We walk them, drool over them,and most important, we spay them.
Do we ever worry about the moral implications of this act? Spaying dogs and cats? You must be joking! What has morality to do with animals?
What about respecting the primary thrust of all species ? The need to reproduce. Do we ever see it as the natural right of an animal?
This blog is my personal outcry against all forms of neutering be it human or animal. We have no right to make this decision for another just because we do not want to be bothered by the matrices of mating and birthing of our pets.
What if roles were reversed as in "The Planet of the Apes" and we were lead out to the same fate that we mete out to our cats and dogs? Whither double standards?
The Jataka tales are about animals that are "Bodhisattva". The word, very roughly, means "the intention to enlighten other beings."
Enlightened thinking then, is not a human monopoly. I saw that beautifully illustrated in the movie "Hachiko: A Dog's Story". Hachiko, was a "Bodhisattva".
Whitman just sums it all up:
I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contained;
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition;
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins....
Walt Whitman : Leaves of Grass
Sunday, February 6, 2011
The body on the beach
There was dead body on the beach yesterday morning. A young man, by the looks of it, in the prime of his life; face all bloodied, washed up on the sands.
Most of us taking a morning constitutional were brought up short at this sight, and we stood there a few minutes paying our respects to this young life so rudely snuffed out.
We learned later on, that this was one of a group of young men who set out to celebrate their reunion on Marina Beach. All except one, decided to go for a swim, and then apparently a huge wave carried the swimmers away. The Bay of Bengal had been acting very rough and stormy these past two days, what with the torrential rains in Sri Lanka; we here in Chennai are after all just a ferry ride away from Lanka.
Two bodies were washed up on the Andhra coast, one on our beach, and yet another way down near Mahabalipuram. The others, badly hurt, managed to survive, and are struggling for their lives at the Medical College hospital.
Sad end to a day begun in high spirits.
The west coast bordering the Arabian sea is known to be treacherous ; the jagged coast line of natural harbors is in truth made up of razor sharp laterite rocks that can rip your body to ribbons. The beaches are enchantingly inviting especially the lesser known ones south of Mumbai like the Aqsa beach. You tread the sand happily and walk out into the ocean to wet your feet, the water seductively draws you in, and slowly without an inkling you walk into it. All at once the sand under your feet gives way, and you go hurtling down into underwater ravines,and of course, that is the end. The jagged laterites tear you up before you can probably gather your wits, or whats left of it, to attempt an escape.
We always used to read about it, and the dead were always the very young: teenagers, college students out for a picnic... Aqsa never claimed old or even middle aged lives. It craved the lives of the young. Warnings were of course put out, but the young, bless them, do not know fear. Lucky to be young, and not feel terror at every passing incident both national or otherwise.
Take the Egypt debacle for instance. What is one to believe? The newspapers make Mubarak out to be some kind of a monster spawned by Western, read USA, powers. Not entirely true of course, the papers in India have vested inetrests.
The Egyptians are protesting about unemployment and the spiraling cost of food. Familiar themes?
History has shown us that no government can hope to last if food becomes expensive. This very basic requirement is the stuff on which political regimes hang in balance.
The fear is about what will the face of the future be? In India, too we need a change, and like in Egypt, we will probably be veering towards the religion based party that has made Gujarat such a success story. The same will happen Egypt, but,and this is a terrifying but,what if fundamentalism gets the upper hand?
Could it be a "Second Coming"? Are we all poised on the edge of the collapse of a "civilized " world?
Its strange and self contradictory that as we go on towards being what is so often called a "global village" ,we are increasingly insular and violently intolerant. I shudder at the prospect of a "Gotterdamerung".
Blessed are the young, so intensely caught up in their lives,they cannot see beyond their deadline at work,the weekend end with the one they love, or of course, how can I forget: the prospect of a raise!
The young....
In one another's arms, birds in the trees...
...at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
W.B.Yeats: Sailing to Byzantium
Most of us taking a morning constitutional were brought up short at this sight, and we stood there a few minutes paying our respects to this young life so rudely snuffed out.
We learned later on, that this was one of a group of young men who set out to celebrate their reunion on Marina Beach. All except one, decided to go for a swim, and then apparently a huge wave carried the swimmers away. The Bay of Bengal had been acting very rough and stormy these past two days, what with the torrential rains in Sri Lanka; we here in Chennai are after all just a ferry ride away from Lanka.
Two bodies were washed up on the Andhra coast, one on our beach, and yet another way down near Mahabalipuram. The others, badly hurt, managed to survive, and are struggling for their lives at the Medical College hospital.
Sad end to a day begun in high spirits.
The west coast bordering the Arabian sea is known to be treacherous ; the jagged coast line of natural harbors is in truth made up of razor sharp laterite rocks that can rip your body to ribbons. The beaches are enchantingly inviting especially the lesser known ones south of Mumbai like the Aqsa beach. You tread the sand happily and walk out into the ocean to wet your feet, the water seductively draws you in, and slowly without an inkling you walk into it. All at once the sand under your feet gives way, and you go hurtling down into underwater ravines,and of course, that is the end. The jagged laterites tear you up before you can probably gather your wits, or whats left of it, to attempt an escape.
We always used to read about it, and the dead were always the very young: teenagers, college students out for a picnic... Aqsa never claimed old or even middle aged lives. It craved the lives of the young. Warnings were of course put out, but the young, bless them, do not know fear. Lucky to be young, and not feel terror at every passing incident both national or otherwise.
Take the Egypt debacle for instance. What is one to believe? The newspapers make Mubarak out to be some kind of a monster spawned by Western, read USA, powers. Not entirely true of course, the papers in India have vested inetrests.
The Egyptians are protesting about unemployment and the spiraling cost of food. Familiar themes?
History has shown us that no government can hope to last if food becomes expensive. This very basic requirement is the stuff on which political regimes hang in balance.
The fear is about what will the face of the future be? In India, too we need a change, and like in Egypt, we will probably be veering towards the religion based party that has made Gujarat such a success story. The same will happen Egypt, but,and this is a terrifying but,what if fundamentalism gets the upper hand?
Could it be a "Second Coming"? Are we all poised on the edge of the collapse of a "civilized " world?
Its strange and self contradictory that as we go on towards being what is so often called a "global village" ,we are increasingly insular and violently intolerant. I shudder at the prospect of a "Gotterdamerung".
Blessed are the young, so intensely caught up in their lives,they cannot see beyond their deadline at work,the weekend end with the one they love, or of course, how can I forget: the prospect of a raise!
The young....
In one another's arms, birds in the trees...
...at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
W.B.Yeats: Sailing to Byzantium
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Pressed leaves
Trying to settle my closet is a fortnightly job, and truly challenging, as it seems to suddenly acquire certain similarities to the White Knight’s recipe for a pudding. Almost everything under the sun seems to have come there to roost.
Getting rid of clutter is good Feng Shui and all that, but more, much more, is the way things get straightened out inside your head. They were canny, those old wise men and women, they apparently targeted the practical, material world, while in truth their target was the inner spaces.
I was already then an ardent “Japanophile”—if I can use such a term—when I was introduced to the Zen garden and its attributes by my husband. What I found fascinating was the raking of the sand everyday, leaving orderly patterns.
I remember the same being done in the huge front yard in Trivandrum where I lived the early years of my childhood. I also remember how my companions and I went about placing odd and interestingly shaped stones arbitrarily over the raked sand. We would then sit down at some distance from the entire arrangement and gaze at it for what then seemed hours. When I heard about the Ryoanji Temple at Kyoto, the raked sand, the stones, and the people who meditated on them, I was simply amazed!!
As children we knew nothing about the metaphysics of the whole process; just that the raked sand, and the rough misshapen stones offered a delicious aesthetic contrast, which we did not want to disturb. We just enjoyed looking at our handiwork from a safe perspective and we did a different pattern every day.
Yes, it takes a while to get it all figured out but this is my understanding after half a century of "living in the material world". Appreciation of visual harmony is, I feel, a very natural instinctive thing. Children are untouched by any artifice or any presupposed notion, either societal or otherwise and therefore their vision is pristine and unclouded.
Is the Zen garden then, a celebration of this instinctive affinity to visual harmony? The Japanese are unique in that they have perfected visual harmony to an extremely refined art centered in the principle of “less is more”.
Great art has this essential simplicity that makes it rise above time and space; and, no, simplicity does not come easily. It is there without seeming to be so, without making a din of it, by just being what it is. The epiphany is not outside the work but a part of it, and is the sole reason why we are drawn towards it in the first place.
“O chestnut-tree, great-rooted blossomer,
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?"
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?"
W.B. Yeats -“Among School Children"
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Resolutions
I hope this blog goes further than the previous ones that lie abandoned at various junctions on the Internet highway!It being a part of the many New Year resolutions that I very rashly commit myself to, I am not too sure about its future, but then I intend to make this one last. Inshaallah.
As I sit here typing, I hear the voices of children, in the building next to mine, raised excitedly in some game of theirs. What is always wonderful to hear is the passion with which they pursue even the most mundane of games being played in such restricted spaces of high rise apartment buildings that now form the face of urban India. What is heartrending is the paucity of playing spaces for children in urban landscapes, in contemporary India.
I do a throwback to my childhood, when almost the entire day ,on holidays, used to be spent outdoors under trees,plants, flowers, shrubs,leaves, and the good earth seemed to be an organic extension of my body. One learnt unconsciously of the rhythms and cycles of Nature, and was in consonance with them, as only children can be. As the natural world around was seen as a part of ourselves, reverence to the same came automatically, there was no need for any enforcement.
Respecting the environment, is respecting yourself.
Jesus said "Daughters of Jerusalem,weep not for me but for yourselves and your children."
As I sit here typing, I hear the voices of children, in the building next to mine, raised excitedly in some game of theirs. What is always wonderful to hear is the passion with which they pursue even the most mundane of games being played in such restricted spaces of high rise apartment buildings that now form the face of urban India. What is heartrending is the paucity of playing spaces for children in urban landscapes, in contemporary India.
I do a throwback to my childhood, when almost the entire day ,on holidays, used to be spent outdoors under trees,plants, flowers, shrubs,leaves, and the good earth seemed to be an organic extension of my body. One learnt unconsciously of the rhythms and cycles of Nature, and was in consonance with them, as only children can be. As the natural world around was seen as a part of ourselves, reverence to the same came automatically, there was no need for any enforcement.
Respecting the environment, is respecting yourself.
Jesus said "Daughters of Jerusalem,weep not for me but for yourselves and your children."
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