A laughter as one the Gods themselves be jealous of;
A laughter as the roar of the first thunder on the Earth;
A laughter that could rend the worlds asunder.
-----------------------------------------------------------
RudranArAyaNa Sastry was the nityAgnihotri of his village. He had completed a thousand chanDi homAs till date. He was the foremost authority on tantra in his kingdom. Yet he lived as an ascetic, living on alms and prasadam of the village kAmAkshi temple. He breathed KAmAkshi in every breath. He lived in a small house in the shadow of the kAmAkshi temple. He was born every moment as the son of his loving Mother, and died every moment pining for her eternal love. To him She was the beginning, the end, and everything else.
It was VijayadaSami, and it was the last day of rudranArAyaNa Sastry's old life and the first day of new life, the day when he would call out to the skies waiting to carry out his orders, the day when he would start living without dying every moment, the day when he would finally reach his Mother in her heavenly abode.
The divyachandana lEpita utsava-vigraham of the Heavenly Sankari was adorned with flowers-
SevantikA vakula champaka pATalAbjaiH
punnAgajAti karavIra rasALapushpaiH
bilvapravALa tulasIdala mAlatIbhiH
tvAmhi pUjayAmi jagadIshvari me prasIda!
The utsava vigraham was kept on the ratham and dozens of devotees slowly dragged out the enormous vehicle of the tribhuvanESwari onto the wet road after a rainy night--
chaturbhuje chandrakalAvataMse
kuchonnate kunkumarAgashoNe
puNDrekShupAshAnkushapushpabANa
haste namaste jagadekamAtaH
It has been held that the ratham should never stop on the road till it reaches the tank at the other end of the village. And it never did till now. While the people were pulling the divine vehicle ahead, none but he saw a pool of water on the road right in the path of the vehicle. The pool was deep and wide enough for the huge vehicle to get stuck. But the people dragged it along chanting the Mother's name.
And he beheld Her, his mother, coming towards him in this Divine chaos with mangaLa Arathi being offered to her. There were people everywhere. And a thousand bells were ringing at the same time. And She seemed to him--
As vAgdEvI saraswathi early in the morning to be worshipped in his small house with white lilly flowers,
Manikya vInAm upalAlayanthIm
madhAlasAm manjula vAg vilAsam
mahEndra nIla dyuthi kOmalangIm
mAthanga kanyAm manasA smarAmi.
As AnnapUrnEsvari at noon in the corn fields with turmeric, rice, corn, and chrysanthemum
prAlEyAchala vamsa pAvanakari kASIpurAdhISvari
bhikshAmdEhi kRpAvalambanakari mAtAnnapUrNESvari
As padmagandhini mahAlakshmi worshipped in the evening in the temple with lotuses, and marigolds,
lakshmIr kshIrasamudrarAjatanayAm srIrangadhAmESwarIm
dAsIbhUtasamastadEva vanItAm lOkaika dIpAnkurAm
And as kAtyAyanI kALika with bright red flowers at midnight in the cremation ground.
KALika VarALika
Prachanda jvAla mAlika
kapAlamAla dhArika
Dushta samhArika
And so he laughed.
Yea! It was the same laughter as one the Gods themselves be jealous of;
Yea! It was the same laughter as the roar of the first thunder on the Earth;
Yea! It was the same laughter that could rend the worlds asunder.
The bells were still ringing.
So he realised this is how he has been ordained to ascend to his Mother. This is where the door opens for the path to his Home. And he laughed again. People looked at him with wonder and fright. But they kept dragging the ratham. It was almost over the pool. rudranArAyaNa jumped before the wheel of the ratham and covered the pool with his body.
The ratham went on unhindered. The bells kept on ringing.
And the devotees sprinkled the water from red pool over their heads.
I have died today,
My Mother has come for me,
I am born today.
-------------------------------------------------
kAmAkshi-- in VarALi by SyAmA Sastry, set to misra chApu. Rendered by Maharajapuram Ramachandran
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Shree
Shadows of evening slanted through the high windows. It was not time yet to light the lamps. In the fading light is the silhoutte of a female figure sitting across the front door with head back, resting against the open door. The smell of sandal and jasmine was floating around the house. Dressed as a bride, ThakuraNi Roopmati was staring into the sky. Her hand was playing instinctively with the colourful bangles she had worn--red and green and yellow and of of gold with pearls and stones set in them. Suddenly, she felt a tinge of pain and gave out a gasp. She lifted her head and brought her gaze down onto her right thumb. The bleeding had long stopped but the wound would take a day or two to heal. It was in the early morning that she applied rakta-tilak to her Thakur and sent him to the battle wishing that he come back victorious, as always.
They had said the enemy was already at the gates of the city. They had said they were outnumbered. They had said there was slim chance of victory. But this was not the first time that the Thakur led his regiment to battle to under the leadership of the MaharaNa. She remembered how she had laughed at the prospect of war and how spectacularly magnificent was the huge feast they organised, as was the custom of the household, before war. MaharaNa himself had visited their house.
Yet, there was a deep sense of misgiving and a premonition in her heart right from the time she received the news of the battle and slowly, those vague warnings and notions in her heart began to take a shape and become clearer. And when she saw her Thakur's face, blazing like the Sun, in the glow of evening lamp, she was no longer in doubt. She knew her Thakur was not going to come back this time. She knew this was her Thakur's last feast. She knew that she will be seeing her Thakur for the last time the next morning. But she was a Lioness among RajputaNis. She had a huge reputation of lifting the spirits of others around her. And so she hid her sorrow. No. The Thakur shall not sense her state of mind. He has to go and the battle has to be won. At any cost. She remembered how she had succeeded in lifting the sagging morale of other women who were aghast at the rumours of the losing battle and she smiled wryly at herself.
It was almost night, and Roopmati still did not get up to light the lamp. It was a sombre evening with dull skies and no wind and a few melancholy birds wailing. Lamps could be seen dimly flickering from Neighbours' homes. She succeeded in rallying the neighbourhood to thw cause, but who would assuage the storms raging in her heart? She wondered what was the use of the Durga puja, the tilak, and other such rituals when she could clearly see the truth naked in front of her waking eyes.
An hour later, an errand rider came running to her and bowed to her:
"Victory to you ThakuraNi!"
She did not move and kept staring far away beyond the horizon.
"ThakuraNi... Thakur fought valiantly and saved MaharaNa's life."
She still did not move. Her eyes closed, and tears waiting in her eyes saw enough reason to flow out.
-------
Shree raaga.
Alap and dhamaar by Uday Bhawalkar.
They had said the enemy was already at the gates of the city. They had said they were outnumbered. They had said there was slim chance of victory. But this was not the first time that the Thakur led his regiment to battle to under the leadership of the MaharaNa. She remembered how she had laughed at the prospect of war and how spectacularly magnificent was the huge feast they organised, as was the custom of the household, before war. MaharaNa himself had visited their house.
Yet, there was a deep sense of misgiving and a premonition in her heart right from the time she received the news of the battle and slowly, those vague warnings and notions in her heart began to take a shape and become clearer. And when she saw her Thakur's face, blazing like the Sun, in the glow of evening lamp, she was no longer in doubt. She knew her Thakur was not going to come back this time. She knew this was her Thakur's last feast. She knew that she will be seeing her Thakur for the last time the next morning. But she was a Lioness among RajputaNis. She had a huge reputation of lifting the spirits of others around her. And so she hid her sorrow. No. The Thakur shall not sense her state of mind. He has to go and the battle has to be won. At any cost. She remembered how she had succeeded in lifting the sagging morale of other women who were aghast at the rumours of the losing battle and she smiled wryly at herself.
It was almost night, and Roopmati still did not get up to light the lamp. It was a sombre evening with dull skies and no wind and a few melancholy birds wailing. Lamps could be seen dimly flickering from Neighbours' homes. She succeeded in rallying the neighbourhood to thw cause, but who would assuage the storms raging in her heart? She wondered what was the use of the Durga puja, the tilak, and other such rituals when she could clearly see the truth naked in front of her waking eyes.
An hour later, an errand rider came running to her and bowed to her:
"Victory to you ThakuraNi!"
She did not move and kept staring far away beyond the horizon.
"ThakuraNi... Thakur fought valiantly and saved MaharaNa's life."
She still did not move. Her eyes closed, and tears waiting in her eyes saw enough reason to flow out.
-------
Shree raaga.
Alap and dhamaar by Uday Bhawalkar.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Journey
Those green valleys with those lush meadows,
The bee on the flower and the birdling in the nest,
That trickling stream, running down the mountains,
Those drops of rain and the gentle breeze sweetest,
Those high aims, those lofty ambitions,
Those long struggles and those victories great
Those melancholies and bursts of mirth,
Those smirks to self at treacherous turns of fate,
Those benign people living in inviting homes,
Those smiling faces, with greeting hands,
Those times spent in the pleasant company,
But mere images drawn on the eternal sands.
The feet move with ease by themselves
The hands held aloft on their own,
Away, away my heart, I am carried off,
Yonder to the place He does own.
Shivam Shankaram Shambhumeeshaa na meede!
(From Shivashtakam)
The bee on the flower and the birdling in the nest,
That trickling stream, running down the mountains,
Those drops of rain and the gentle breeze sweetest,
Those high aims, those lofty ambitions,
Those long struggles and those victories great
Those melancholies and bursts of mirth,
Those smirks to self at treacherous turns of fate,
Those benign people living in inviting homes,
Those smiling faces, with greeting hands,
Those times spent in the pleasant company,
But mere images drawn on the eternal sands.
The feet move with ease by themselves
The hands held aloft on their own,
Away, away my heart, I am carried off,
Yonder to the place He does own.
Shivam Shankaram Shambhumeeshaa na meede!
(From Shivashtakam)
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Genesis
The four were not yet born, the eight still far away in thought.
The five were one yet, the universe still was not wrought.
Not even darkness. Not even nothing.
Then there was nothing. Darkness everywhere-- all engulfing, all encompassing-- A defeaning darkness. Issuing out of the depths of that nothing, and going back into that unseen chasm of nothingness.
Out of that nothingness was born the First of All-- Experience. And out of the Experience came a horrid fright. A fright that held the Unborn Universe as She saw her own Nemesis was being born before She was born.
A fright that would have made Man tear his own flesh and drink his own blood in a maddening dementia.
A fright that gripped even the Nemesis as she saw her own End -- slow, painful, and eternal.
A fright that struck and shook fright itself.
When would this torture end?
And fright called out:
O Most Powerful, Most Fearsome, Grandest and Greatest!
O Warrior of the Beyond, Slayer of the Great Foe unsown!
O Harbinger of the Eternal peace, my Only Saviour and Recourse,
Wilt Thou not take me, ere I drown in the venom of mine own?
There were swirling vortexes of blackness all around. Everything feared everything else and itself. Everything engulfed everything else and itself. Unmanifested realities contested among themselves without any rules and shattered themselves into a million fragments with indescribable elan. New unborn realities, formed from those fragments took their place and led the battle to newer planes of rage and passion.
A heavy burden of inexplicable melancholy. A feeling of permanent distress. Yet, no, this cannot be permanent, said a voice within. For anything permanent has to be blissful. Only a passing phase. Only Pangs of Birth. A grim determination arose-- To carry on. To suffer the pain. To brave the blows. To face the fear. To wade through the violence.
And PaSupathi opened His eyes to the Universe born as the Unborn, Unheard Sound--AnAhata Adi nAda.
Paarvathi Naatha Shiva Shambho,
MahaabaLi, Mahaaroopa, Mahaadevatha jaage!
(Dhrupad in Puriya-- chautaal)
The five were one yet, the universe still was not wrought.
Not even darkness. Not even nothing.
Then there was nothing. Darkness everywhere-- all engulfing, all encompassing-- A defeaning darkness. Issuing out of the depths of that nothing, and going back into that unseen chasm of nothingness.
Out of that nothingness was born the First of All-- Experience. And out of the Experience came a horrid fright. A fright that held the Unborn Universe as She saw her own Nemesis was being born before She was born.
A fright that would have made Man tear his own flesh and drink his own blood in a maddening dementia.
A fright that gripped even the Nemesis as she saw her own End -- slow, painful, and eternal.
A fright that struck and shook fright itself.
When would this torture end?
And fright called out:
O Most Powerful, Most Fearsome, Grandest and Greatest!
O Warrior of the Beyond, Slayer of the Great Foe unsown!
O Harbinger of the Eternal peace, my Only Saviour and Recourse,
Wilt Thou not take me, ere I drown in the venom of mine own?
There were swirling vortexes of blackness all around. Everything feared everything else and itself. Everything engulfed everything else and itself. Unmanifested realities contested among themselves without any rules and shattered themselves into a million fragments with indescribable elan. New unborn realities, formed from those fragments took their place and led the battle to newer planes of rage and passion.
A heavy burden of inexplicable melancholy. A feeling of permanent distress. Yet, no, this cannot be permanent, said a voice within. For anything permanent has to be blissful. Only a passing phase. Only Pangs of Birth. A grim determination arose-- To carry on. To suffer the pain. To brave the blows. To face the fear. To wade through the violence.
And PaSupathi opened His eyes to the Universe born as the Unborn, Unheard Sound--AnAhata Adi nAda.
Paarvathi Naatha Shiva Shambho,
MahaabaLi, Mahaaroopa, Mahaadevatha jaage!
(Dhrupad in Puriya-- chautaal)
Friday, November 03, 2006
Swadeshi and Matrix
The swadeshi movement started by Gandhiji was one of the most potent manifestations of the Indian freedom struggle, and I single it out not just because it stands as a monument of defiance of the British authority in India, but it also was a necessary step for the survival of the struggling Indian industry. Simply put, the british were taking raw materials like cotton, jute, iron-ore, etc, fromIndia (did I mention at throw-away prices?), mass manufacturing them into finished goods and selling them back to us as finished products. One can imagine the conditions of the local industry! In this light, the swadeshi movement is one movement that was not just a maneuver to defy the British rule like the Salt Satyagraha or to throw the British off balance like the Quit-India movement, but something that must have hit the British in a very sensitive place! Imagine the worry of the British manufacturers! So... they literally forced the Indians to buy their goods. Well, it might have worked only moderately, with the entire nation of India rallying behind Gandhiji.
Cut to the present--
A Joke: A Yadagiri (in India) asks his friend, lets say a Srinivas, in US to get him a shirt, may be not a costly one, but something from The USA. The Srinivas diligently goes to wal-mart, and picks up a very decent one of about $35. On his visit to India, he proudly gives his friend Yadagiri, a glimpse of the American product. The Yadagiri looks at it in awe, but something near the collar catches his eye, and he throws the shirt back at the Srinivas! On the tag was written: 'Made in Pakistan'. Damn the American honesty!
But no, I dont want to talk about either American honesty or the quality of shirts in Wal-mart. I want to highlight that the same thing that was happening then, is happening now. All the these foreign manufacturers (Van-Heusens, Peter-Englands, Oxemburgs ??) buy raw material at dead-cheap rates from third world countries, mass manufacture them, and then sell them to the same countries! The bad thing is, we are lapping it all up without any sense of awareness or compassion to that good old tailor who used to sew our clothes about a decade ago. Why?
Cut to Matrix Reloaded, the second part of the trilogy-- The Architect tells Neo:
"The first Matrix I designed was quite naturally perfect, it was a work of art - flawless, sublime. A triumph equalled only by its monumental failure..."
As you would remember, Agent Smith tells Morpheus in the first part that "the first matrix... was a disaster.No one would accept the program. Entire crops were lost. "
(please note the word 'crops'. It warrants another discussion... not now though!)
The Architect continues "the answer [to the problem of designing a self sustaning matrix] was stumbled upon by another - an intuitive program, initially created to investigate certain aspects of the human psyche..."
"...she stumbled upon a solution whereby nearly 99% of all test subjects accepted the program, as long as they were given a choice, even if they were only aware of the choice at a near unconscious level."
Cut to the present--
A Joke: A Yadagiri (in India) asks his friend, lets say a Srinivas, in US to get him a shirt, may be not a costly one, but something from The USA. The Srinivas diligently goes to wal-mart, and picks up a very decent one of about $35. On his visit to India, he proudly gives his friend Yadagiri, a glimpse of the American product. The Yadagiri looks at it in awe, but something near the collar catches his eye, and he throws the shirt back at the Srinivas! On the tag was written: 'Made in Pakistan'. Damn the American honesty!
But no, I dont want to talk about either American honesty or the quality of shirts in Wal-mart. I want to highlight that the same thing that was happening then, is happening now. All the these foreign manufacturers (Van-Heusens, Peter-Englands, Oxemburgs ??) buy raw material at dead-cheap rates from third world countries, mass manufacture them, and then sell them to the same countries! The bad thing is, we are lapping it all up without any sense of awareness or compassion to that good old tailor who used to sew our clothes about a decade ago. Why?
Cut to Matrix Reloaded, the second part of the trilogy-- The Architect tells Neo:
"The first Matrix I designed was quite naturally perfect, it was a work of art - flawless, sublime. A triumph equalled only by its monumental failure..."
As you would remember, Agent Smith tells Morpheus in the first part that "the first matrix... was a disaster.No one would accept the program. Entire crops were lost. "
(please note the word 'crops'. It warrants another discussion... not now though!)
The Architect continues "the answer [to the problem of designing a self sustaning matrix] was stumbled upon by another - an intuitive program, initially created to investigate certain aspects of the human psyche..."
"...she stumbled upon a solution whereby nearly 99% of all test subjects accepted the program, as long as they were given a choice, even if they were only aware of the choice at a near unconscious level."
Aah! So there you are! More than a grain of truth in there! Force doesnt always work (in fact, it doesnt work most often!), but given a choice, even if at a sub-conscious level, the human always chooses what s/he is expected to. No one is actually stopping us from getting our clothes stitched by the tailor. Yet we feel compelled to go to a mall and buy clothes.Hmm!
But wait! Thats not all. The local tailor, well, he certainly is out of business. But thats not the worst! People will always find alternate routes to support themselves. So, the tailor might get a job somewhere in the factory of some Levi's. Thats ok. But there is a bigger problem. Now, the ex-tailor is a part of the Levi's process chain... condemned to do a specific repetitive job over and over again... a part of the highly optimised and mechanised design. So, his skill is lost. And the generation of those who call themselves tailors might no longer possess that kind of skill.
All said and done, though the end seems inevitable sooner or later, one saving point in India is that its really difficult to reach the last leaf of the last branch of the tree. It takes a long long time for any sort of change to come into India. So lets wait and watch!
In the meanwhile, spare a moment for the local tailor who used to sew your clothes in your childhood (applies to middle class only!).
Monday, October 16, 2006
Experience
What does a human being long for in life? Money, perhaps? or may be power? or may be love and affection? But are all these different? There is a definite common human quality associated with all these... underlying the outwardly different manifestations of materialism. It is not exactly materisalism that satisfies our human urges... it is the urge for the experience that we crave that matters so much to us. This childish longing for that sublime entity called experience makes us humans go to nefarious lengths, even if its only out of sheer malice and jealousy towards our fellows. Nevertheless, the importance of this thing called 'experience' cannot be underestimated.
But then, of what use is a brilliant masterpiece of visual art to a blind person? how can a congenitally deaf person comprehend music? Experience is more valuable than the value of the object sought! In that sense, the object associated with experience no longer matters once that familiar sensation starts to set in. The object remains as a gate-way to that realm, a vehicle to carry us across to the other shore, a means to the end. Hypothetically it can be argued, eventhough it seems a repugnant notion, that if an obect gives that same beautiful, instantly uplifting, and emotionally intense feeling to a woman that is gifted to her as her maternal instinct, the woman may be less inclined to beget a child since her urge has been satisfied by another object.
The problem is that though over the millennia, ways and means by which this experience can be had permanently, or for atleast a long time have been tried, successfully tested and documented, they have never been popular. And of course, they will never be. Most of us are not ready to wake up to that ultimate reality, to realise what we already know, to understake that ascent to the topmost turrets of the towers of our own inner selves and throw open all the windows and let ourselves be affected, exposed, and receptive to new, hitherto unknown, and inexplicable sensations of the higher realm... for Sensation preserved in memory is but Experience.
Hence, it now seems to me that humans are not exactly materialistic, what is materialistic is the way we adopt to satisfy the urge for the experience.
But then, of what use is a brilliant masterpiece of visual art to a blind person? how can a congenitally deaf person comprehend music? Experience is more valuable than the value of the object sought! In that sense, the object associated with experience no longer matters once that familiar sensation starts to set in. The object remains as a gate-way to that realm, a vehicle to carry us across to the other shore, a means to the end. Hypothetically it can be argued, eventhough it seems a repugnant notion, that if an obect gives that same beautiful, instantly uplifting, and emotionally intense feeling to a woman that is gifted to her as her maternal instinct, the woman may be less inclined to beget a child since her urge has been satisfied by another object.
The problem is that though over the millennia, ways and means by which this experience can be had permanently, or for atleast a long time have been tried, successfully tested and documented, they have never been popular. And of course, they will never be. Most of us are not ready to wake up to that ultimate reality, to realise what we already know, to understake that ascent to the topmost turrets of the towers of our own inner selves and throw open all the windows and let ourselves be affected, exposed, and receptive to new, hitherto unknown, and inexplicable sensations of the higher realm... for Sensation preserved in memory is but Experience.
Hence, it now seems to me that humans are not exactly materialistic, what is materialistic is the way we adopt to satisfy the urge for the experience.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Shri Aurobindo's talk
Taken from:
http://www.voiceofdharma.com/books/ir/IR_part3.htm
July 23, 1923
(A disciple:) The Mahatma believes that non-violence purifies the man who practises it.
I believe Gandhi does not know what actually happens to the man's nature when he takes to Satyagraha or non-violence. He thinks that men get purified by it. But when men suffer, or subject themselves to voluntary suffering, what happens is that their vital being gets strengthened. These movements affect the vital being only and not any other part. Now, when you cannot oppose the force that oppresses, you say that you will suffer. That suffering is vital and it gives strength. When the man who has thus suffered gets power he becomes a worse oppressor....
What one can do is to transform the spirit of violence. But in this practice of Satyagraha it is not transformed. When you insist on such a one-sided principle, what happens is that cant, hypocrisy and dishonesty get in and there is no purification at all. Purification can come by the transformation of the impulse of violence, as I said. In that respect the old system in India was much better: the man who had the fighting spirit became the Kshatriya and then the fighting spirit was raised above the ordinary vital influence. The attempt was to spiritualize it. It succeeded in doing what passive resistance cannot and will not achieve. The Kshatriya was the man who would not allow any oppression, who would fight it out and he was the man who would not oppress anybody. That was the ideal....
There is also the question of Hindu-Muslim unity which the non-violence school is trying to solve on the basis of their theory.
You can live amicably with a religion whose principle is toleration. But how is it possible to live peacefully with a religion whose principle is “I will not tolerate you”? How are you going to have unity with these people? Certainly, Hindu-Muslim unity cannot be arrived at on the basis that the Muslims will go on converting Hindus while the Hindus shall not convert any Mahomedan. You can’t build unity on such a basis. Perhaps the only way of making the Mahomedans harmless is to make them lose their fanatic faith in their religion....
The Mahomedan religion was born under such circumstances that the followers never forgot the origin.
That was the result of the passive resistance which they practised. They went on suffering till they got strong enough and, when they got power, they began to persecute others with a vengeance....
Gandhi's position is that he does not care to remove violence from others; he wants to observe non-violence himself.
That is one of the violences of the Satyagrahi that he does not care for the presssure which he brings on others. It is not non-violence—it is not “Ahimsa.” True Ahimsa is a state of mind and does not consist in physical or external action or in avoidance of action. Any pressure in the inner being is a breach of Ahimsa.
For instance, when Gandhi fasted in the Ahmedabad mill-hands' strike to settle the question between mill-owners and workers, there was a kind of violence towards others. The mill-owners did not want to be responsible for his death and so they gave way, without, of course, being convinced of his position. It is a kind of violence on them. But as soon as they found the situation normal they reverted to their old ideas. The same thing happened in South Africa. He got some concessions there by passive resistance and when he came back to India it became worse than before.
http://www.voiceofdharma.com/books/ir/IR_part3.htm
July 23, 1923
(A disciple:) The Mahatma believes that non-violence purifies the man who practises it.
I believe Gandhi does not know what actually happens to the man's nature when he takes to Satyagraha or non-violence. He thinks that men get purified by it. But when men suffer, or subject themselves to voluntary suffering, what happens is that their vital being gets strengthened. These movements affect the vital being only and not any other part. Now, when you cannot oppose the force that oppresses, you say that you will suffer. That suffering is vital and it gives strength. When the man who has thus suffered gets power he becomes a worse oppressor....
What one can do is to transform the spirit of violence. But in this practice of Satyagraha it is not transformed. When you insist on such a one-sided principle, what happens is that cant, hypocrisy and dishonesty get in and there is no purification at all. Purification can come by the transformation of the impulse of violence, as I said. In that respect the old system in India was much better: the man who had the fighting spirit became the Kshatriya and then the fighting spirit was raised above the ordinary vital influence. The attempt was to spiritualize it. It succeeded in doing what passive resistance cannot and will not achieve. The Kshatriya was the man who would not allow any oppression, who would fight it out and he was the man who would not oppress anybody. That was the ideal....
There is also the question of Hindu-Muslim unity which the non-violence school is trying to solve on the basis of their theory.
You can live amicably with a religion whose principle is toleration. But how is it possible to live peacefully with a religion whose principle is “I will not tolerate you”? How are you going to have unity with these people? Certainly, Hindu-Muslim unity cannot be arrived at on the basis that the Muslims will go on converting Hindus while the Hindus shall not convert any Mahomedan. You can’t build unity on such a basis. Perhaps the only way of making the Mahomedans harmless is to make them lose their fanatic faith in their religion....
The Mahomedan religion was born under such circumstances that the followers never forgot the origin.
That was the result of the passive resistance which they practised. They went on suffering till they got strong enough and, when they got power, they began to persecute others with a vengeance....
Gandhi's position is that he does not care to remove violence from others; he wants to observe non-violence himself.
That is one of the violences of the Satyagrahi that he does not care for the presssure which he brings on others. It is not non-violence—it is not “Ahimsa.” True Ahimsa is a state of mind and does not consist in physical or external action or in avoidance of action. Any pressure in the inner being is a breach of Ahimsa.
For instance, when Gandhi fasted in the Ahmedabad mill-hands' strike to settle the question between mill-owners and workers, there was a kind of violence towards others. The mill-owners did not want to be responsible for his death and so they gave way, without, of course, being convinced of his position. It is a kind of violence on them. But as soon as they found the situation normal they reverted to their old ideas. The same thing happened in South Africa. He got some concessions there by passive resistance and when he came back to India it became worse than before.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Hoomite and Youbee (Who might and you be)
Long ago, there was an insignificant channel called Home TV which used to air some of my favorite shows. Mostly animation series from Cosgrove Hall productions and a couple of chinese mythological dramas-- totally enjoyable!.
One of the animations was "Count Duckula".
taken from http://www.dvdverdict.com/reviews/countduckulaseason1.php :
"Castle Duckula—home for many centuries to a terrible dynasty of vicious vampire ducks: the Counts of Duckula! Legend has it that these foul beings can be destroyed by a stake through the heart or by exposure to sunlight. This does not suffice, however, for they may be brought back to life, by means of a secret rite, that can be performed once a century when the moon is in the eighth zenith. The latest reincarnation didn't run according to plan."
Count Duckula is a funny, odd guy (voiced with above average enthusiasm by David Jason) a vampire duckwho now only wants to munch on veggies instead of hapless necks and who often finds himself overwhelmed by his bumbling, caustic staff. There's Nanny (voiced by Brian Trueman), an oversized bird with a bandaged arm and a knack for walking through walls; and Igor (Jack May), a stuffy Jeeves-like butler who often looks bored/indifferent/annoyed with Count Duckula and Nanny's antics. Other minor characters pop in and out of a few episodes, including Duckula's enemy, Van Goosling (a la Van Helsing).
Count Duckula is often based on odd exchanges between the various characters. To show you the goofy extents the show goes to, here's an example of a dialogue exchange between Count Duckula and two Egyptian characters (Hoomite and Yoobee):
Hoomite: I am Hoomite, High Priest of the Sun God Ra! And this is my assistant Yoobee.
Yoobee: Delighted, I'm sure.
Hoomite: Who might you be?
Count Duckula: Yes, I got that.
Hoomite: No, who might you be?
Count Duckula: Yes, I know, you said that already.
Hoomite: So you will not tell me?
Count Duckula: Well, I hardly need to, do I?
Hoomite: We shall see about that! Yoobee, you try.
Yoobee: Oh, very well master. Listen I am Yoobee, right?
Count Duckula: Wrong. I am, you are.
Yoobee: Aahhh! There you are Master, he is Yooare.
Hoomite: So you are Yooare?
Count Duckula: I am not, I am not.
Hoomite: See! He is not Yooare, he is Knot!
Yoobee: You are Yooare!
One of the animations was "Count Duckula".
taken from http://www.dvdverdict.com/reviews/countduckulaseason1.php :
"Castle Duckula—home for many centuries to a terrible dynasty of vicious vampire ducks: the Counts of Duckula! Legend has it that these foul beings can be destroyed by a stake through the heart or by exposure to sunlight. This does not suffice, however, for they may be brought back to life, by means of a secret rite, that can be performed once a century when the moon is in the eighth zenith. The latest reincarnation didn't run according to plan."
Count Duckula is a funny, odd guy (voiced with above average enthusiasm by David Jason) a vampire duckwho now only wants to munch on veggies instead of hapless necks and who often finds himself overwhelmed by his bumbling, caustic staff. There's Nanny (voiced by Brian Trueman), an oversized bird with a bandaged arm and a knack for walking through walls; and Igor (Jack May), a stuffy Jeeves-like butler who often looks bored/indifferent/annoyed with Count Duckula and Nanny's antics. Other minor characters pop in and out of a few episodes, including Duckula's enemy, Van Goosling (a la Van Helsing).
Count Duckula is often based on odd exchanges between the various characters. To show you the goofy extents the show goes to, here's an example of a dialogue exchange between Count Duckula and two Egyptian characters (Hoomite and Yoobee):
Hoomite: I am Hoomite, High Priest of the Sun God Ra! And this is my assistant Yoobee.
Yoobee: Delighted, I'm sure.
Hoomite: Who might you be?
Count Duckula: Yes, I got that.
Hoomite: No, who might you be?
Count Duckula: Yes, I know, you said that already.
Hoomite: So you will not tell me?
Count Duckula: Well, I hardly need to, do I?
Hoomite: We shall see about that! Yoobee, you try.
Yoobee: Oh, very well master. Listen I am Yoobee, right?
Count Duckula: Wrong. I am, you are.
Yoobee: Aahhh! There you are Master, he is Yooare.
Hoomite: So you are Yooare?
Count Duckula: I am not, I am not.
Hoomite: See! He is not Yooare, he is Knot!
Yoobee: You are Yooare!
Saturday, September 23, 2006
maya ka khel
Since the last few days, the great Mr.Musharraf suddenly seems to say and do things that I never expected of him-- first it was the firm rebuttal of the great Bush's admission that he was prepared to send troops into pakistan to find the terrorists, then he had something to reveal for CBS 60 minutes (RIP, Dan Rather!) that the then deputy secy. of state Richard Armitage said something about bombing Pakistan back to stone age and finally, the deferral of the F-16 deal by Pakistan.
Call me a conspiracy theorist if you wish, but I do smell something. I think that Musharraf is onto something here. By reacting angrily to Bush's remark (rather harmless if you consider that it amounts only to violating the sovereignty of a country whose president fawns on the US) and defering the F-16 deal, a strong message is sent to the world and the Pakistanis (well, especially the latter) that they are not slaves of the US and they have an independent existence and their leaders will not allow that to change at any cost. Also, Musharraf is playing the victim to perfection when he talks about Armitage and Bombing Pakistan to stone-age-- Look! Here is a leader who is prepared to accept the insulting proposition of helping the west in the fight against the fellow muslim in order to save his country. He is a true leader! May God bless him!
And he will lap up all the sympathy he can get from the gullible public.
Why?
Because two assassination attempts have already been made on him, and the Islamic hardliners are gaining good ground in Pak. More importantly, he is losing control over the Islamists. Not that he cares a lot about the countries affected by them, but they no longer listen to him. So.... he needs to crack-down on them-- neither to make an honest attempt at securing world-peace, not to please the US by doing his part in the fight against Terror-- he just wants to consolidate his position in his country. Having the common man's support in such a mission is of utmost importance. Playing victim of circumstances dissuades the common man from letting himself carried away by the imflamatory speeches of the extremist clerics! And makes him follow his leader, and president with more faith. And the US is ok with it-- of course they will be happy if their 'stand-up guy' gets stronger in his own country! They want him to be so!
God knows where he is leading Pakistan to... but I sincerely hope what Barkha Dutt says is true!
Call me a conspiracy theorist if you wish, but I do smell something. I think that Musharraf is onto something here. By reacting angrily to Bush's remark (rather harmless if you consider that it amounts only to violating the sovereignty of a country whose president fawns on the US) and defering the F-16 deal, a strong message is sent to the world and the Pakistanis (well, especially the latter) that they are not slaves of the US and they have an independent existence and their leaders will not allow that to change at any cost. Also, Musharraf is playing the victim to perfection when he talks about Armitage and Bombing Pakistan to stone-age-- Look! Here is a leader who is prepared to accept the insulting proposition of helping the west in the fight against the fellow muslim in order to save his country. He is a true leader! May God bless him!
And he will lap up all the sympathy he can get from the gullible public.
Why?
Because two assassination attempts have already been made on him, and the Islamic hardliners are gaining good ground in Pak. More importantly, he is losing control over the Islamists. Not that he cares a lot about the countries affected by them, but they no longer listen to him. So.... he needs to crack-down on them-- neither to make an honest attempt at securing world-peace, not to please the US by doing his part in the fight against Terror-- he just wants to consolidate his position in his country. Having the common man's support in such a mission is of utmost importance. Playing victim of circumstances dissuades the common man from letting himself carried away by the imflamatory speeches of the extremist clerics! And makes him follow his leader, and president with more faith. And the US is ok with it-- of course they will be happy if their 'stand-up guy' gets stronger in his own country! They want him to be so!
God knows where he is leading Pakistan to... but I sincerely hope what Barkha Dutt says is true!
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
nArada
Posted in an orkut group by me--
My favorite character in the purAnAs is nArada. I shall investigate the character of nArada under the follwing headings:
1)A vital link:I think the very concept of Narada as an intermediary between the three kinds of beings-- the devas, the dAnavAs, and the humans is truly unbeatable.It is interesting to note that almost every mythilogical story involves nArada as a person being trusted by all. From outside, when we see the sequence of the purAnAs, we really feel that dAnavAs do not study their history properly-- time and again, nArada goes to dAnavAs and tricks them, and they still believe him.But if one goes into the depth, one can see that these are all stories out of a comic book. He who looks for a sequence has a very ignorant perspective of looking at Indian Mythology. In this regard, he supplies, through himself, that vital missing link in the story to make it more gripping.
2)Renunciation vs. Gruhasta Dharmam:
Many stories also involve him as one teaching a fitting lesson to some person, or (more frequently) him being taught a lesson in Bhakti. The latter one, I think is one of the most crucial central points about the SanAtana tradition. The moment nArada thinks he is the greatest bhakta of Hari since he has renounced the world, he is humbled by a common man! This is a great lesson, this is exactly why we have survived the onslaughts of religions that preach renunciation and living as an ascetic. Stories like these have taught the world that one can attain mOksha even while following the gruhasta dharmam.
3)Memory:
If Mythological stories were serious, they would really be boring, because the common man doesnt want to be engrossed in bhakti all the time. So--- add a comic element! nArada is perfect in this role! His comic touch makes an impression on everyone right from the newborn to the aged. It is very difficult to forget an entertaining story. This is exactly why our stories are still intact even after thousands of years.
My favorite character in the purAnAs is nArada. I shall investigate the character of nArada under the follwing headings:
1)A vital link:I think the very concept of Narada as an intermediary between the three kinds of beings-- the devas, the dAnavAs, and the humans is truly unbeatable.It is interesting to note that almost every mythilogical story involves nArada as a person being trusted by all. From outside, when we see the sequence of the purAnAs, we really feel that dAnavAs do not study their history properly-- time and again, nArada goes to dAnavAs and tricks them, and they still believe him.But if one goes into the depth, one can see that these are all stories out of a comic book. He who looks for a sequence has a very ignorant perspective of looking at Indian Mythology. In this regard, he supplies, through himself, that vital missing link in the story to make it more gripping.
2)Renunciation vs. Gruhasta Dharmam:
Many stories also involve him as one teaching a fitting lesson to some person, or (more frequently) him being taught a lesson in Bhakti. The latter one, I think is one of the most crucial central points about the SanAtana tradition. The moment nArada thinks he is the greatest bhakta of Hari since he has renounced the world, he is humbled by a common man! This is a great lesson, this is exactly why we have survived the onslaughts of religions that preach renunciation and living as an ascetic. Stories like these have taught the world that one can attain mOksha even while following the gruhasta dharmam.
3)Memory:
If Mythological stories were serious, they would really be boring, because the common man doesnt want to be engrossed in bhakti all the time. So--- add a comic element! nArada is perfect in this role! His comic touch makes an impression on everyone right from the newborn to the aged. It is very difficult to forget an entertaining story. This is exactly why our stories are still intact even after thousands of years.
Friday, July 21, 2006
The Kavi
JandhyAla was a great film personality because of many reasons-- one of them being his contribution to gather and store important artifacts about the linguistic, cultural, and sociological conditions of the Telugu land of his times.
One of his masterpieces is the movie "Rendu-RellAru" starring Chandra Mohan and Rajendra Prasad.
There is reference to a term called "kavi" in that movie-- "kavi anTe kanapaDadu, vinabaDadu". I am not very sure if this term is an invention just for the movie, or if it has been in existence even before, but it is little things like these that have to be passed on to the next generations.
Notwithstanding the formal definition of the word "kavi" which is a 'poet', about 3000-4000 years ago, the word "kavi" meant something entirely different and denoted a person of a higher degree--a 'kavi' used to mean a 'seer'... somebody higher than a rishi. The Gods Agni, Brhaspati,etc., are all revered as kavis in Rig Veda.
This is just one example among many, of how our language, culture, and even religion have changed ever slightly by the day over thousands of years and finally have taken theie present shape. Sri Aurobindo Ghosh was one of the very few who saw a hidden, a rather cryptic meaning hidden in the otherwise mundanely ritualistic suktas of Rig Veda and Sri KapAli Sastry and Sri M.P.Pandit carried on the work started by Aurobindo. Dr.R.L.Kashyap, a Professor Emeritus at Purdue University has taken the responsibility of disseminating the inner meaning of the Vedas to the common people by writing and publishing numerous books that shed light on the real meaning of the Veda Suktas which can be viewed at http://www.vedah.com/org2/pub/overview.asp.
There is a dire need for the youth of this country to take up the study of Vedas because whatever interpretations we have of Vedas till now are by the western minds. Hopefully, atleast a few of us might devleop an interest in the esoteric knowledge of the Veda at some point of time.
I intend to propagate the work done by them by posting excerpts from their books (which are small, easy to understand and cheap!!) . For that purpose, I have started a blog called "The Kavi".
One of his masterpieces is the movie "Rendu-RellAru" starring Chandra Mohan and Rajendra Prasad.
There is reference to a term called "kavi" in that movie-- "kavi anTe kanapaDadu, vinabaDadu". I am not very sure if this term is an invention just for the movie, or if it has been in existence even before, but it is little things like these that have to be passed on to the next generations.
Notwithstanding the formal definition of the word "kavi" which is a 'poet', about 3000-4000 years ago, the word "kavi" meant something entirely different and denoted a person of a higher degree--a 'kavi' used to mean a 'seer'... somebody higher than a rishi. The Gods Agni, Brhaspati,etc., are all revered as kavis in Rig Veda.
This is just one example among many, of how our language, culture, and even religion have changed ever slightly by the day over thousands of years and finally have taken theie present shape. Sri Aurobindo Ghosh was one of the very few who saw a hidden, a rather cryptic meaning hidden in the otherwise mundanely ritualistic suktas of Rig Veda and Sri KapAli Sastry and Sri M.P.Pandit carried on the work started by Aurobindo. Dr.R.L.Kashyap, a Professor Emeritus at Purdue University has taken the responsibility of disseminating the inner meaning of the Vedas to the common people by writing and publishing numerous books that shed light on the real meaning of the Veda Suktas which can be viewed at http://www.vedah.com/org2/pub/overview.asp.
There is a dire need for the youth of this country to take up the study of Vedas because whatever interpretations we have of Vedas till now are by the western minds. Hopefully, atleast a few of us might devleop an interest in the esoteric knowledge of the Veda at some point of time.
I intend to propagate the work done by them by posting excerpts from their books (which are small, easy to understand and cheap!!) . For that purpose, I have started a blog called "The Kavi".
Monday, July 17, 2006
Who was he talking about??
Gandalf in "Return of the King":
"The old wisdom born out of the west was forsaken. Kings made tombs more splendid than the houses of the living and counted the old names of their descent dearer than the names of their sons. Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry or in high, cold towers asking questions of the stars. And so the people of Gondor fell into ruin. The line of Kings failed. The white tree withered. The rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men."
And so, the beautiful Minas Ithil turned into the dark dirty and dangerous Minas Morgul.
Perfect!!! Gandalf (and Tolkien) could nt have been more correct.
But look-- Our own Minas Ithil going Minas Morgul way:
http://www.hvk.org/articles/0706/84.html
"The old wisdom born out of the west was forsaken. Kings made tombs more splendid than the houses of the living and counted the old names of their descent dearer than the names of their sons. Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry or in high, cold towers asking questions of the stars. And so the people of Gondor fell into ruin. The line of Kings failed. The white tree withered. The rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men."
And so, the beautiful Minas Ithil turned into the dark dirty and dangerous Minas Morgul.
Perfect!!! Gandalf (and Tolkien) could nt have been more correct.
But look-- Our own Minas Ithil going Minas Morgul way:
http://www.hvk.org/articles/0706/84.html
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Osmania Biscuit XIII--- Raakshas Mama
It is said that the much feared Shani doesnt come near people who take up Ayyappa deeksha, and wearing black clothes (black shirt, black lungi, black etc) was a sign for him to recognise those that he cant touch!
Alas!
Kaliyugam!!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ever since that incident before Deepaavali, Raakshas Mama has come to fear Lingam. And this, in fact had a very negative effect on Lingam who has, of late, become one of the most timid fellows! Even when some prankster (whistle-blower to be more precise) wrote "Rekha loves Jaffer" on our compund wall (Jaffer being the son of our cleaning maid, and Rekha, the daughter of one of our neighbours, apparently our distant relatives), he was very tight-lipped about it, while my parents made a huge ruckus about it in the colony.
Raakshas Mama is the name my father gave to a gentleman belonging to the huge family that occupies the whole of the front view from our home. He was the eldest son-in-law of the patriarch, known as "Head-Master"(now no more, MHSRIP). Apparently, he had one of the biggest sizes of the (decaying) teeth my father ever saw (with huge cavities), and his voice seemed like the braying of a confused male donkey mistakenly caught up in menstrual problems. Hence the name! And then the fact that whenever he used to meet my father over a cigarette at Yadagiri's shop (Lingam doesnt sell them!), he always used to greet my father with a "Namaskaar, bolaa!" in Marathi (in Telugu-- namaskaaram, cheppandi!) which he picked up from somewhere, having worked in the railways, and my father, being the courteous one, had to cook up some story all the time... but it was seriously getting on him... even if he met him every single evening, the same sentence...
"Namaskaar, bolaa!"
"Arey! what else does he expect me to tell.. I have told him everything from the shaving cream and the hair dye I use to the inside information on how to find out genuine mysore sandal soaps!" And he started avoiding him.
My father later found out from another frequenter at Yadagiri shop (he is not among us as well, MHSRIP) that it was just Raakshas Mama's way saying "Hi" and he didnt expect any information in return!! A huge sigh of relief!!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ahem! So.. anyway, Raakshas Mama is an ardent devotee of Ayyappa, and never fails to take up the deeksha. It was also the Deepaavali season. So, one fine evening, our Lingam here got very curious about a new type of cracker called "air force". It was very small... like a tiny round box. He was told that it shoots up straight into the sky, like a rocket! It seemed absolutely impossible to him.. how can such a small device shoot up into the sky! Well, he took one out, and lit it on the side of the road.
Misfortune, it seems, has her own ways of manifesting herself where there is absolutely no need of her. Walking just beside was our own beloved Raakshas Mama, and the air force betrayed its supposed wont-- instead of shooting up, it went straight into Raakshas Mama's black Ayyappa lungi.
Aahaa!
I have never heard such a loud howl... I came out running, and there I saw Lingam trying to get something out of Rakshas Mama's lungi... I didnt want to know what at that time... it seemed very iffy! I still cant forget the sight.
All said and done, Raakshas Mama developed a thorough mixture of hatred and fear towards both "air force" and Lingam. And Lingam... well, he was crushed beyond imagination. He didnt show his face throughout the Deepaavali season. And to add salt to his wounds, the rest of the "air force" devices didnt do anything strange... just went straight up, which made some theorise that Lingam had a "hand" in air-force goin up Raakshas Mama's lungi.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Raakshas Mama is (also) no longer amidst us. He passed away just a couple of months ago. He was found dead one afternoon in his apartment by one of his nephews. Heart Failure.
Farewell Raakshas Mama!
MYSRIP (May Your Soul rest In Peace).
Alas!
Kaliyugam!!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ever since that incident before Deepaavali, Raakshas Mama has come to fear Lingam. And this, in fact had a very negative effect on Lingam who has, of late, become one of the most timid fellows! Even when some prankster (whistle-blower to be more precise) wrote "Rekha loves Jaffer" on our compund wall (Jaffer being the son of our cleaning maid, and Rekha, the daughter of one of our neighbours, apparently our distant relatives), he was very tight-lipped about it, while my parents made a huge ruckus about it in the colony.
Raakshas Mama is the name my father gave to a gentleman belonging to the huge family that occupies the whole of the front view from our home. He was the eldest son-in-law of the patriarch, known as "Head-Master"(now no more, MHSRIP). Apparently, he had one of the biggest sizes of the (decaying) teeth my father ever saw (with huge cavities), and his voice seemed like the braying of a confused male donkey mistakenly caught up in menstrual problems. Hence the name! And then the fact that whenever he used to meet my father over a cigarette at Yadagiri's shop (Lingam doesnt sell them!), he always used to greet my father with a "Namaskaar, bolaa!" in Marathi (in Telugu-- namaskaaram, cheppandi!) which he picked up from somewhere, having worked in the railways, and my father, being the courteous one, had to cook up some story all the time... but it was seriously getting on him... even if he met him every single evening, the same sentence...
"Namaskaar, bolaa!"
"Arey! what else does he expect me to tell.. I have told him everything from the shaving cream and the hair dye I use to the inside information on how to find out genuine mysore sandal soaps!" And he started avoiding him.
My father later found out from another frequenter at Yadagiri shop (he is not among us as well, MHSRIP) that it was just Raakshas Mama's way saying "Hi" and he didnt expect any information in return!! A huge sigh of relief!!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ahem! So.. anyway, Raakshas Mama is an ardent devotee of Ayyappa, and never fails to take up the deeksha. It was also the Deepaavali season. So, one fine evening, our Lingam here got very curious about a new type of cracker called "air force". It was very small... like a tiny round box. He was told that it shoots up straight into the sky, like a rocket! It seemed absolutely impossible to him.. how can such a small device shoot up into the sky! Well, he took one out, and lit it on the side of the road.
Misfortune, it seems, has her own ways of manifesting herself where there is absolutely no need of her. Walking just beside was our own beloved Raakshas Mama, and the air force betrayed its supposed wont-- instead of shooting up, it went straight into Raakshas Mama's black Ayyappa lungi.
Aahaa!
I have never heard such a loud howl... I came out running, and there I saw Lingam trying to get something out of Rakshas Mama's lungi... I didnt want to know what at that time... it seemed very iffy! I still cant forget the sight.
All said and done, Raakshas Mama developed a thorough mixture of hatred and fear towards both "air force" and Lingam. And Lingam... well, he was crushed beyond imagination. He didnt show his face throughout the Deepaavali season. And to add salt to his wounds, the rest of the "air force" devices didnt do anything strange... just went straight up, which made some theorise that Lingam had a "hand" in air-force goin up Raakshas Mama's lungi.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Raakshas Mama is (also) no longer amidst us. He passed away just a couple of months ago. He was found dead one afternoon in his apartment by one of his nephews. Heart Failure.
Farewell Raakshas Mama!
MYSRIP (May Your Soul rest In Peace).
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Of Judas and Satan
Ever since Gospel of Judas has come to light, a section of the christian orthodoxy is shaken up and is finding it hard to wake up to it. It may be a problem with organised religions. What is written in the book is believed to be absolutely true and any small piece of actuality unearthed that undermines the writing becomes a threat. Nevertheless, it has brought forth a motif, similar to one I was contemplating to write in the Indian context-- that of duty, of dharma and kartavya, and of sacrifice.
In this gospel, Judas is the closest disciple of all the other disciples to the Christ. He even chides others for not knowing the designs of the Messiah. And the other disciples are jealous of Judas. In the end, Jesus himself spells out to Judas on what is to be done to save the world and warns him that this will actually incur the wrath of all the followers. Yet, Judas passes the test, truly comprehends the orders of his master, and delivers Him to the Romans, in spite of his damnation at the hands of the other followers. He is branded as a traitor, though he is not actually one... he is just acting at the behest of his Lord and Master whom He loves and understands. Hmm!
There is a more beautiful concept, more fundamental to the christian myth, not history that I had come across earlier. That of the psyche of Satan himself. About two years ago, I watched the wonderful DVD "The Power of the Myth" by Joseph Campbell, the brilliant mythologist, and he explained the behaviour of Satan in a wonderful way. I am not sure of the sources, but according to one as cited by him, Satan is not exactly the "embodiment of evil", who seeks to destroy everything that is good in the world, a la Morgoth of the Tolkien's Middle Earth. Satan, like Morgoth was the greatest of the angels of God, but when God created Man and declared that Man shall be the most beloved of all of His creations, the character of Satan takes a very curious twist. In his childishly jealous love towards his Lord, he felt that Man has to be ensnared into evil so that Man falls from the grace of God and he could have God's love again, and so Satan is Man's enemy, not the arch-enemy of God directly. A beautiful, though dangerous, thought.
Now, there are two ways to look at it--
1) Christ loved Judas and others were jealous of Judas, and relegated him to a lower status. Similarly, God loved Man and Satan was jealous of Man, and made sure that Man did not stay for long in the Garden of Eden. So here, Satan is symbolised by the other disciples and the Adam/Eve by Judas.
2) There is one more way to look at it ... Judas might actually be an avatar of Satan, in a different way--vilified by the world which has absolutely no idea about the grand design of the God for the universe, Satan might just be doing his duty. And what is this duty? Just as Judas sought to end something good, Satan tried to currupt the hearts of people. The result of ending something good is what is called as 'The Change'. The 'Good', is always associated with a fantastic idea of utopia, where things dont change, stuck in an all pervading constancy. Change on the other hand is the fundamental nature of the dynamic universe and that which brought forth life from non-life. No wonder that constancy doesnt exist in the universe. While the Garden of Eden might be a superlative idea of perfection, denying change is denying that very thing that created the universe, for creation itself is a change. Many things that God thought for the Earth, had to come about in some way, and Satan may be the instrument that causes change that God wanted. As Merovingian puts it, everything in the universe happens due to causality. The interplay of Satan and God, could be viewed as cause and effect. What is reassuring, and probably makes us feel safe in this theory, is that though the cause is the mysterious Satan, the effect is always the benevolent God.
The gospel of Judas has been found of late. It may be that a gospel of Satan will also be found sometime in future, and it may be then that mankind will truly understand the wisdom of Satan. This is exactly why I love the ending of the movie "Bedazzled" where God and Devil are playing chess. I guess Satan has the white pieces.
In this gospel, Judas is the closest disciple of all the other disciples to the Christ. He even chides others for not knowing the designs of the Messiah. And the other disciples are jealous of Judas. In the end, Jesus himself spells out to Judas on what is to be done to save the world and warns him that this will actually incur the wrath of all the followers. Yet, Judas passes the test, truly comprehends the orders of his master, and delivers Him to the Romans, in spite of his damnation at the hands of the other followers. He is branded as a traitor, though he is not actually one... he is just acting at the behest of his Lord and Master whom He loves and understands. Hmm!
There is a more beautiful concept, more fundamental to the christian myth, not history that I had come across earlier. That of the psyche of Satan himself. About two years ago, I watched the wonderful DVD "The Power of the Myth" by Joseph Campbell, the brilliant mythologist, and he explained the behaviour of Satan in a wonderful way. I am not sure of the sources, but according to one as cited by him, Satan is not exactly the "embodiment of evil", who seeks to destroy everything that is good in the world, a la Morgoth of the Tolkien's Middle Earth. Satan, like Morgoth was the greatest of the angels of God, but when God created Man and declared that Man shall be the most beloved of all of His creations, the character of Satan takes a very curious twist. In his childishly jealous love towards his Lord, he felt that Man has to be ensnared into evil so that Man falls from the grace of God and he could have God's love again, and so Satan is Man's enemy, not the arch-enemy of God directly. A beautiful, though dangerous, thought.
Now, there are two ways to look at it--
1) Christ loved Judas and others were jealous of Judas, and relegated him to a lower status. Similarly, God loved Man and Satan was jealous of Man, and made sure that Man did not stay for long in the Garden of Eden. So here, Satan is symbolised by the other disciples and the Adam/Eve by Judas.
2) There is one more way to look at it ... Judas might actually be an avatar of Satan, in a different way--vilified by the world which has absolutely no idea about the grand design of the God for the universe, Satan might just be doing his duty. And what is this duty? Just as Judas sought to end something good, Satan tried to currupt the hearts of people. The result of ending something good is what is called as 'The Change'. The 'Good', is always associated with a fantastic idea of utopia, where things dont change, stuck in an all pervading constancy. Change on the other hand is the fundamental nature of the dynamic universe and that which brought forth life from non-life. No wonder that constancy doesnt exist in the universe. While the Garden of Eden might be a superlative idea of perfection, denying change is denying that very thing that created the universe, for creation itself is a change. Many things that God thought for the Earth, had to come about in some way, and Satan may be the instrument that causes change that God wanted. As Merovingian puts it, everything in the universe happens due to causality. The interplay of Satan and God, could be viewed as cause and effect. What is reassuring, and probably makes us feel safe in this theory, is that though the cause is the mysterious Satan, the effect is always the benevolent God.
The gospel of Judas has been found of late. It may be that a gospel of Satan will also be found sometime in future, and it may be then that mankind will truly understand the wisdom of Satan. This is exactly why I love the ending of the movie "Bedazzled" where God and Devil are playing chess. I guess Satan has the white pieces.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Ramblings of a sentimental fool
The sight of the tops of fluffy milky white clouds brilliantly illuminated by the soft light of white full moon in the midnight sky easily superseded that wonderful view of Fujiyama (Mt. Fuji) more than three years ago. Flight, an experience always associated with freedom, progress, happiness, and wonder, an expression of beauty and faith interwoven destined to find perfection, a triumph of nature's own ability to prove that She Is the divinity...
Flight.
Ironically, to most Homo sapiens now-a-days, flight has come to symbolise exactly the opposite experience-- flight is something that is best when it ends at the earliest-- It is dangerous, confined, and troublesome. I wondered how many of those who travelled with me knew the importance and the rarity of the sight outside. Yet, if they knew it, what else can they do than savouring it with utmost delight? Can they take it along with them, save etch it in their memories? And I, who claim to know all of this already, have done what to keep this treasure from going away? And can I actually do anything in this matter?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was Vata-SAvithri Purnima-- the day when SAvithri defied the God of Death to bring back her husband's life. Yet, there was the heavy feeling that what I lost cannot be brought back. I wanted to be melancholic, in reverence and memory of that guiding thought that was with me all the while when I was in alien land. A vision kept coming back to me in that flight. That evening, as I came out of the bathroom and stepped into the newly constructed (and posh) extended portion of my home, I turned back and saw little footprints coming out of the bathroom... Ah! those must be from the time when I just came out of the bathroom to declare that I belong to the clan of MitrAyu for the very first time. A little way ahead, the prints got bigger. I smiled... that must be from the time when I packed my school bag with books and clothes and said a tearful goodbye to my brother, determined and proud, to leave home forever because of a minor altercation with my parents-- all for my parents' total entertainment. And afterwards, they got still bigger. That was the time I came out from the bathroom not knowing if its was the last time I would ever come out of that room-- I was leaving the home for a long time for the first time in my life. Finally, they vanished into the marble flooring of the new portion.
I always loved that ShAhbAd flooring in my house. Still do. There were times when I wished for smoother, more modern tiles, but ultimately, this flooring was that one thing that made the home what it was, and is. Those little imperfections, those magnificent colours, and those irregular shapes of trees, aeroplanes, stones atop each stone imparted unrivalled uniqueness. Each stone I stood upon produced a different sensation. Each one had his/her voices, memories, emotions. Each one remembered and revelled in a particular moment of my life. I still remember how I used to never go in a straight line while passing through the hall, but used to mimic the movements of the knight on a chessboard. How I was, and still am, fascinated by the enchanting movements of the knight.
Even when I was abroad, the one thing that warmed the cold chambers of my heart was my home-- the walls, the floor, the scent of the old silk clothes that are taken out only during the MAhAlakshmi festival, the chants of my father, the songs of my mother, and so on. I always wanted to succeed my father one day and take up my responsibilities of offering the main puja to the Saligrams on that ShAhbAd flooring, always wanted to roam about the backyard looking after the plants and trees, always wanted to, one more time, stand under the umbrella of a plantain leaf and offer Arghya to the Sun on a rainy morn. It was that one idea that kept me alive, going about mundanities without minding. It was my Zion.
And now, under the garb of "utkarsh" (progress), all those little blossoms have been rolled over by the heavy machinery of the cold logic and obstinately objective rationalism.
The backyard is gone.
So have the plants.
The flooring is about to go this week.
Irony! At one point of time, I was not sure of myself coming back to see all these. Now, I am not sure if these will ever see me again. Nay, I am sure they wont. Hiding my tears, I asked my parents to keep one stone and sell the rest... one that I found as the quintessential representative of that whole bunch.
Where is this flight of progress taking me to? Which reality of life am I going to unearth at that height?
Flight.
Ironically, to most Homo sapiens now-a-days, flight has come to symbolise exactly the opposite experience-- flight is something that is best when it ends at the earliest-- It is dangerous, confined, and troublesome. I wondered how many of those who travelled with me knew the importance and the rarity of the sight outside. Yet, if they knew it, what else can they do than savouring it with utmost delight? Can they take it along with them, save etch it in their memories? And I, who claim to know all of this already, have done what to keep this treasure from going away? And can I actually do anything in this matter?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was Vata-SAvithri Purnima-- the day when SAvithri defied the God of Death to bring back her husband's life. Yet, there was the heavy feeling that what I lost cannot be brought back. I wanted to be melancholic, in reverence and memory of that guiding thought that was with me all the while when I was in alien land. A vision kept coming back to me in that flight. That evening, as I came out of the bathroom and stepped into the newly constructed (and posh) extended portion of my home, I turned back and saw little footprints coming out of the bathroom... Ah! those must be from the time when I just came out of the bathroom to declare that I belong to the clan of MitrAyu for the very first time. A little way ahead, the prints got bigger. I smiled... that must be from the time when I packed my school bag with books and clothes and said a tearful goodbye to my brother, determined and proud, to leave home forever because of a minor altercation with my parents-- all for my parents' total entertainment. And afterwards, they got still bigger. That was the time I came out from the bathroom not knowing if its was the last time I would ever come out of that room-- I was leaving the home for a long time for the first time in my life. Finally, they vanished into the marble flooring of the new portion.
I always loved that ShAhbAd flooring in my house. Still do. There were times when I wished for smoother, more modern tiles, but ultimately, this flooring was that one thing that made the home what it was, and is. Those little imperfections, those magnificent colours, and those irregular shapes of trees, aeroplanes, stones atop each stone imparted unrivalled uniqueness. Each stone I stood upon produced a different sensation. Each one had his/her voices, memories, emotions. Each one remembered and revelled in a particular moment of my life. I still remember how I used to never go in a straight line while passing through the hall, but used to mimic the movements of the knight on a chessboard. How I was, and still am, fascinated by the enchanting movements of the knight.
Even when I was abroad, the one thing that warmed the cold chambers of my heart was my home-- the walls, the floor, the scent of the old silk clothes that are taken out only during the MAhAlakshmi festival, the chants of my father, the songs of my mother, and so on. I always wanted to succeed my father one day and take up my responsibilities of offering the main puja to the Saligrams on that ShAhbAd flooring, always wanted to roam about the backyard looking after the plants and trees, always wanted to, one more time, stand under the umbrella of a plantain leaf and offer Arghya to the Sun on a rainy morn. It was that one idea that kept me alive, going about mundanities without minding. It was my Zion.
And now, under the garb of "utkarsh" (progress), all those little blossoms have been rolled over by the heavy machinery of the cold logic and obstinately objective rationalism.
The backyard is gone.
So have the plants.
The flooring is about to go this week.
Irony! At one point of time, I was not sure of myself coming back to see all these. Now, I am not sure if these will ever see me again. Nay, I am sure they wont. Hiding my tears, I asked my parents to keep one stone and sell the rest... one that I found as the quintessential representative of that whole bunch.
Where is this flight of progress taking me to? Which reality of life am I going to unearth at that height?
Friday, June 09, 2006
DIVINITY IN INNOCENCE
Today, without thinking, Ashvin started running. Just about two hours ago, he was asleep with a serene countenance, clutching his grandmother. When she had got up early in the morning, slowly had he turned to the other side, resting his leg on the bump on the edge of the bed. A pillow was kept under the bedding to prevent him from falling off the bed while asleep.
Today, he realised how much he loved his people. He always knew his father as the wittiest and the calmest person on the earth, but his mother was always wonderfully special to him. Every single spare moment of his mornings was spent relishing the divinity in his mother. Yet, he never thought about it—he was just preoccupied looking at her in the mornings. Sometimes, when she sits down for puja in the morning, he instinctively goes to her and starts to braid her long thick hair. He loves her hair—by the time she is done with her puja, he is done braiding her hair with his tender hands. And ever single time she dresses up in his favorite violet, starched cotton sari and puts a small string of kanakambaram[1] flowers laced with maruvam[2] twigs amidst her braided hair, the vision has something new to offer.
Today, he didn’t care that he was still in his shorts, that his vest was torn, or that he forgot his footwear. He kept running. He still remembered how his mother kissed him goodbye before she left for her work. Yet, something was not right. Something that was supposed to be done was not done.
Today, he ran faster than ever before to catch up with his mother before she goes out of reach. He did not know if what he was doing was necessary at all, yet, he would not abandon his mission. When Varun, his younger brother got up, he could not find his mother home. A heavy gloom of separation descended over him —mother had left him without wishing him goodbye. He was still asleep when she left. She had a long way to go. Yet, Varun does not know all these intricacies of life. Tears welled up in his eyes. For his age, he was a charming character. He behaved with such maturity and patience that the elders were often baffled. He always checked if everyone had the pudding before asking for a second serving, never complained about his debilitating asthma problem, and still was ever cheerful. Yet, his fiery anger and disarming grief were difficult to assuage once aroused.
Today, though, it was not his brother’s anger that concerned Ashvin. It was melancholy that moved him. He could never stare at a tear in an eye without offering an answering tear of his own. But he simply could not stand tears in his brother’s eyes. Once, Varun had come home from school crying. He learnt that his teacher had hit him in school. An instant spasm of pain surged throughout his body, and made it quiver for a moment. He clenched his fists in helplessness.
Today, the moment he learnt what happened, Ashvin knew what to do. He darted out of his home, and on to the road. He always fancied himself one of the fastest runners among his peers. Stones and thorns pricked his soles, yet he went on. He saw his mother walking ahead. He ran faster and caught up with her. Surprised, she first checked her watch. She has a habit of forgetting her watch while leaving for work. No, the watch was on her hand. It is something else. He told her about Varun. She smiled. She put her hand under his chin, and asked him to pass on her characteristic “tata” to her younger son.
Today, as he was returning home, Ashvin had a sensation of triumph and a fragrance of satisfaction about him. As he entered the street where his home lay, he saw his brother waiting for him, sitting on the steps with his face cupped in his palms. As soon as Varun saw him, he rushed towards his elder brother.
Today, Ashvin is a kid of eight and Varun, a kid of six. Yet their mother was proud that in this world where street-smart children are looked at with awe, at least her children have the godly gift of innocence, but she wondered how long this halo would remain around them.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
1Kanakambaram—Firecracker flower (Crossandra infundibuliformis)
2Maruvam—The Sweet Majoram (Majorana hortensis)
Today, he realised how much he loved his people. He always knew his father as the wittiest and the calmest person on the earth, but his mother was always wonderfully special to him. Every single spare moment of his mornings was spent relishing the divinity in his mother. Yet, he never thought about it—he was just preoccupied looking at her in the mornings. Sometimes, when she sits down for puja in the morning, he instinctively goes to her and starts to braid her long thick hair. He loves her hair—by the time she is done with her puja, he is done braiding her hair with his tender hands. And ever single time she dresses up in his favorite violet, starched cotton sari and puts a small string of kanakambaram[1] flowers laced with maruvam[2] twigs amidst her braided hair, the vision has something new to offer.
Today, he didn’t care that he was still in his shorts, that his vest was torn, or that he forgot his footwear. He kept running. He still remembered how his mother kissed him goodbye before she left for her work. Yet, something was not right. Something that was supposed to be done was not done.
Today, he ran faster than ever before to catch up with his mother before she goes out of reach. He did not know if what he was doing was necessary at all, yet, he would not abandon his mission. When Varun, his younger brother got up, he could not find his mother home. A heavy gloom of separation descended over him —mother had left him without wishing him goodbye. He was still asleep when she left. She had a long way to go. Yet, Varun does not know all these intricacies of life. Tears welled up in his eyes. For his age, he was a charming character. He behaved with such maturity and patience that the elders were often baffled. He always checked if everyone had the pudding before asking for a second serving, never complained about his debilitating asthma problem, and still was ever cheerful. Yet, his fiery anger and disarming grief were difficult to assuage once aroused.
Today, though, it was not his brother’s anger that concerned Ashvin. It was melancholy that moved him. He could never stare at a tear in an eye without offering an answering tear of his own. But he simply could not stand tears in his brother’s eyes. Once, Varun had come home from school crying. He learnt that his teacher had hit him in school. An instant spasm of pain surged throughout his body, and made it quiver for a moment. He clenched his fists in helplessness.
Today, the moment he learnt what happened, Ashvin knew what to do. He darted out of his home, and on to the road. He always fancied himself one of the fastest runners among his peers. Stones and thorns pricked his soles, yet he went on. He saw his mother walking ahead. He ran faster and caught up with her. Surprised, she first checked her watch. She has a habit of forgetting her watch while leaving for work. No, the watch was on her hand. It is something else. He told her about Varun. She smiled. She put her hand under his chin, and asked him to pass on her characteristic “tata” to her younger son.
Today, as he was returning home, Ashvin had a sensation of triumph and a fragrance of satisfaction about him. As he entered the street where his home lay, he saw his brother waiting for him, sitting on the steps with his face cupped in his palms. As soon as Varun saw him, he rushed towards his elder brother.
Today, Ashvin is a kid of eight and Varun, a kid of six. Yet their mother was proud that in this world where street-smart children are looked at with awe, at least her children have the godly gift of innocence, but she wondered how long this halo would remain around them.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
1Kanakambaram—Firecracker flower (Crossandra infundibuliformis)
2Maruvam—The Sweet Majoram (Majorana hortensis)
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Aha!
Need I say anything? Of course, a couple of bus conductors did freak out after seeing the state of it...
And yes, thats how I look these days...
Monday, May 29, 2006
The curse
"Ananth!" His uncle Padmanabham cried aloud!
************************************
Eight year old Ananth was becoming unruly by the day. His eating and sleeping habits were never proper anyway. His handling of things at home had gone from bad to worse... a chinaware or a glass piece broken once too often these days, and his respect for elders was not worthy of mention at all... He was living in his own world.
Last week, his grandfather finally bought the tricyle that Ananth had been clamouring for. Alas! He didnt ride it even once. He was often seen sitting on the tricyle with the tricyle upside down, and peddling the front wheel with hands though! And after just three days, he came into the kitchen grinning, sporting a wheel of the tricycle in his hands. And then there was the crockery disaster when he wasnt allowed to watch his favourite mythological because they had to attend a wedding.
But what happened just now was the worst. His maternal uncle Padmanabham had just come to their home. He was very fond of Ananth, and used to turn a blind eye to the complaints of Ananth's mother. He understood Ananth like no one else. While this complaining was going on (as usual), Ananth opened his uncle's briefcase and started rummaging about. He found an alluring object-- a paperweight with some colourful gluey liquid within. It held its attention more than it should.
"What is this Vasudha! Your son has almost killed me!". At their doorstep was the colony's recognised Homoeopathy doctor Mr.Murthy, visibly shaken. He was an old man with a bald head. Mesmerised by the paperweight, Ananth wanted to put it to good use. On the road, he saw the bald head of Dr.Murthy being transported by his legs., which had been an object of his curiosity since long. Here was an opportunity to experiment...
How important can a tiny pebble on the road be? A life-saver if you ask Dr.Murthy, especially if you are fortunate enough to have it stuck in your foot and you bend a just little forward to have a look, just when an impish kid hurls a monstrous paper-weight right at your head. Ananth was disapoointed to miss this platinum opportunity. The doctor was sent home after due apologies and assurances.
************************************
"Ananth!" His uncle Padmanabham cried aloud! He walked towards a shamelessly beaming Ananth and stood in front of him, menacingly tall. Ananth was uncertain what was going to happen.
"Ananth, you have been a very hard kid of late. I cannot let you go on like this. I have to punish you." Ananth gulped. This was going from bad to worse. But he could still handle those traditional punishments--- pinches, beatings et al., so he was still cool.
" I know your parents have tried all kinds of punishments to straighten you. But I know all this will not work. You need a stricter punishment not only to set you right, but also to set an example to other kids". This was getting wierder and wierder! He was actually getting a little scared now as he saw his uncle take a little water from a glass into his right palm...
"So here is my punishment. Ananth! I have decided to lay a curse upon you for your entire life." By this time, Ananth was totally scared. Raising his voice, his uncle said the following words--
"Calling as witnesses all the eight directions, the four vedas, the five elements, and the six seasons, I curse you to be unstable throughout your life, to be disliked by all throughout your life, to bring bad name to you and your parents throughout your life, to be sad and miserable throughout your life".
And he sprinkled the cursed water on a pertified Ananth's face. Little Ananth was crushed. He was gaping stupidly at his uncle.
It took some time for the facts to sink in. After that, tears had no problem in manifesting themselves.
"Amma!" went up the howl. His mother was watching all of this. "Uncle has cursed me. He has even mentioned the eight directions." It was tough not to laugh, but she held on to her stern face. He was told by his mother while they were watching one of those mythologicals that Oaths and curses have double the effect when 'the eight directions' are mentioned.
"Ananth! You have not be a good boy of late. You have hurt many people who love you. Yama's accountant Chitragupta has detailed accounts of each person. He has punished you in the form of this curse. I cannot help you."
Ananth was crushed. All his short life, he had been living according to his own will, never listening to anyone. And now, he was beginning to realise how wrong he was. How much hurt was caused due to him. Alas that it was too late. He was destined to lead a lowly life.
When Ananth's father came home from work, Ananth was not there to greet him. Nor was he seen at the supper. He couldnt control his laughter when he was told happened. But he knew what whatever happened, will change Ananth for the better.
Late in the night, his mother came to his room. He was lying sideways on his bed, his pink tender cheeks still moist with tears. She sat beside him and began stroking his hair with the tips of her fingers.
"Amma!" he uttered and hugged her tightly, and began crying again.
After consoling him a bit, she said, "You know, I had been to the temple this evening. I was talking to Pujari thatha. I think he has some information that might interest you."
"I dont want any information. My life is a waste anyway." Ananth lamented.
"Listen. Your uncle, in his anger has forgotten to mention 'The Nine Planets' in his curse."
"So? Isnt it enough that the eight directions are mentioned?"
"Pujari thatha was telling me that 'the Nine planets' are far more powerful than 'the eight directions'. If you dont mention them in Kali-Yuga, the curse is not that powerful."
"Really??'
"And you can actually defeat the ill-effects of the curse"
"Ohh!" He was a happy amalgam of relief and happiness. "But how?"
"Very simple. By doing exactly opposite to what the curse said. You should learn to be stable, to be liked by all, to bring a good name to your parents, and to be happy. Thats it!"
"Thats it?"
"Yes! And you must listen to your parents."
"Ok Amma! I will do whatever you say" He was totally acquiescent now. He was beaming like never before. he was on seventh heaven. His life, it seemed, was given back to him. He wanted to start afresh.
"You can start off by having your supper now."
He jumped upon her and she carried him off to the kitchen for a quick late night meal.
************************************
Eight year old Ananth was becoming unruly by the day. His eating and sleeping habits were never proper anyway. His handling of things at home had gone from bad to worse... a chinaware or a glass piece broken once too often these days, and his respect for elders was not worthy of mention at all... He was living in his own world.
Last week, his grandfather finally bought the tricyle that Ananth had been clamouring for. Alas! He didnt ride it even once. He was often seen sitting on the tricyle with the tricyle upside down, and peddling the front wheel with hands though! And after just three days, he came into the kitchen grinning, sporting a wheel of the tricycle in his hands. And then there was the crockery disaster when he wasnt allowed to watch his favourite mythological because they had to attend a wedding.
But what happened just now was the worst. His maternal uncle Padmanabham had just come to their home. He was very fond of Ananth, and used to turn a blind eye to the complaints of Ananth's mother. He understood Ananth like no one else. While this complaining was going on (as usual), Ananth opened his uncle's briefcase and started rummaging about. He found an alluring object-- a paperweight with some colourful gluey liquid within. It held its attention more than it should.
"What is this Vasudha! Your son has almost killed me!". At their doorstep was the colony's recognised Homoeopathy doctor Mr.Murthy, visibly shaken. He was an old man with a bald head. Mesmerised by the paperweight, Ananth wanted to put it to good use. On the road, he saw the bald head of Dr.Murthy being transported by his legs., which had been an object of his curiosity since long. Here was an opportunity to experiment...
How important can a tiny pebble on the road be? A life-saver if you ask Dr.Murthy, especially if you are fortunate enough to have it stuck in your foot and you bend a just little forward to have a look, just when an impish kid hurls a monstrous paper-weight right at your head. Ananth was disapoointed to miss this platinum opportunity. The doctor was sent home after due apologies and assurances.
************************************
"Ananth!" His uncle Padmanabham cried aloud! He walked towards a shamelessly beaming Ananth and stood in front of him, menacingly tall. Ananth was uncertain what was going to happen.
"Ananth, you have been a very hard kid of late. I cannot let you go on like this. I have to punish you." Ananth gulped. This was going from bad to worse. But he could still handle those traditional punishments--- pinches, beatings et al., so he was still cool.
" I know your parents have tried all kinds of punishments to straighten you. But I know all this will not work. You need a stricter punishment not only to set you right, but also to set an example to other kids". This was getting wierder and wierder! He was actually getting a little scared now as he saw his uncle take a little water from a glass into his right palm...
"So here is my punishment. Ananth! I have decided to lay a curse upon you for your entire life." By this time, Ananth was totally scared. Raising his voice, his uncle said the following words--
"Calling as witnesses all the eight directions, the four vedas, the five elements, and the six seasons, I curse you to be unstable throughout your life, to be disliked by all throughout your life, to bring bad name to you and your parents throughout your life, to be sad and miserable throughout your life".
And he sprinkled the cursed water on a pertified Ananth's face. Little Ananth was crushed. He was gaping stupidly at his uncle.
It took some time for the facts to sink in. After that, tears had no problem in manifesting themselves.
"Amma!" went up the howl. His mother was watching all of this. "Uncle has cursed me. He has even mentioned the eight directions." It was tough not to laugh, but she held on to her stern face. He was told by his mother while they were watching one of those mythologicals that Oaths and curses have double the effect when 'the eight directions' are mentioned.
"Ananth! You have not be a good boy of late. You have hurt many people who love you. Yama's accountant Chitragupta has detailed accounts of each person. He has punished you in the form of this curse. I cannot help you."
Ananth was crushed. All his short life, he had been living according to his own will, never listening to anyone. And now, he was beginning to realise how wrong he was. How much hurt was caused due to him. Alas that it was too late. He was destined to lead a lowly life.
When Ananth's father came home from work, Ananth was not there to greet him. Nor was he seen at the supper. He couldnt control his laughter when he was told happened. But he knew what whatever happened, will change Ananth for the better.
Late in the night, his mother came to his room. He was lying sideways on his bed, his pink tender cheeks still moist with tears. She sat beside him and began stroking his hair with the tips of her fingers.
"Amma!" he uttered and hugged her tightly, and began crying again.
After consoling him a bit, she said, "You know, I had been to the temple this evening. I was talking to Pujari thatha. I think he has some information that might interest you."
"I dont want any information. My life is a waste anyway." Ananth lamented.
"Listen. Your uncle, in his anger has forgotten to mention 'The Nine Planets' in his curse."
"So? Isnt it enough that the eight directions are mentioned?"
"Pujari thatha was telling me that 'the Nine planets' are far more powerful than 'the eight directions'. If you dont mention them in Kali-Yuga, the curse is not that powerful."
"Really??'
"And you can actually defeat the ill-effects of the curse"
"Ohh!" He was a happy amalgam of relief and happiness. "But how?"
"Very simple. By doing exactly opposite to what the curse said. You should learn to be stable, to be liked by all, to bring a good name to your parents, and to be happy. Thats it!"
"Thats it?"
"Yes! And you must listen to your parents."
"Ok Amma! I will do whatever you say" He was totally acquiescent now. He was beaming like never before. he was on seventh heaven. His life, it seemed, was given back to him. He wanted to start afresh.
"You can start off by having your supper now."
He jumped upon her and she carried him off to the kitchen for a quick late night meal.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Singularity--Part IV
Amy and Chris were playing under starlit skies. Amy called her little brother Chris "Look, there is mom". And Lisa's children saw their mother on the top of a hillock. Lisa stood like a statue with outstretched hands in the wind, still and blissful. Her hair was flying in the breeze. She was talking to the nature. It has been almost fifteen years but since still remembered how Lucy, one night, let her peek into the infinite bliss of the singularity that she herself was attached to so dearly.
Suddenly all went dark... as if the darkest of the nights spread her wings of jet black about her. Fear gripped her... she didnt know what was happening.
She groped madly... only to find nothing... nothing at all.
She yelled for help... only to find that her voice died before it reached her lips.
She got up, and ran till her legs were shaking with debilitating exhaustion... only to find that she didnt move an inch.
She was alone. All alone. She fell on her knees crying. Just then, she heard a soothing voice calling her name. It was a voice she had heard before. It was Lucy's. She called again. It was slender as an ivy, yet in it was a power far beyond comprehension. A power unlike what Lisa had seen earlier. It could move mountains and crush entire populations, but it was not destructive. It reminded Lisa of something far back in time... something everyone in this world knows, and yet is dying to know. Something that was before the genesis of the time... Lisa stopped struggling.
"I am here Lisa. Dont worry. I have to show you something." And Lisa turned to the direction of the voice. In the darkness that stretched far into the distant and forgotten space and time, for the first time, she could see something... something that shone through the diaphanous veil of her own tears... She wiped them off. She didnt need them anymore. A tiny flame in the deep night. And it was approaching her. As it came nearer, it grew bigger. She was afraid no more. And she saw visions within the flame. Visions of entire galaxies being devoured by other galaxies of universe, and new shapely ones with millions of stars and billions of planets being created by shapeless, formless nebulae, and then as the flame came close to her body, it had grown to a huge column. And she saw that all these galaxies, nebulae, stars, and planets started swirling round and round. Engulfing them was huge vortex beginning from a single point.
A Single Point.
Singularity.
From where everything has come, and into where everything shall go.
And she was within the flame.
*******************************
Outside, it had long been since Marigold bud sprouted, opened up into a flower and died away. The chrysalis beside also has long been empty, dangling from the tree. Yet, nature is never in haste. Some metamorphoses take more time than others. Lucy knew it would be a hard time for Lisa. Yet, she did it because Lisa was the only one who was capable of understanding the loftiness of Lucy's goal. And so Lisa went into a pupa for her rebirth. Each time a tornado came, she grew from within. Subtle changes are easy to be overlooked for ordinary humans. They could do nothing. And how could they? They understood nothing. They were but ordinary mortals. And one day, Lisa came out of her own chrysalis. She opened her eyes and there was radiance of a higher world in them. Enlightenment.
******************************
Lisa came down the hillock, and she took her children home.
******************************
Singularity is Inevitable.
Suddenly all went dark... as if the darkest of the nights spread her wings of jet black about her. Fear gripped her... she didnt know what was happening.
She groped madly... only to find nothing... nothing at all.
She yelled for help... only to find that her voice died before it reached her lips.
She got up, and ran till her legs were shaking with debilitating exhaustion... only to find that she didnt move an inch.
She was alone. All alone. She fell on her knees crying. Just then, she heard a soothing voice calling her name. It was a voice she had heard before. It was Lucy's. She called again. It was slender as an ivy, yet in it was a power far beyond comprehension. A power unlike what Lisa had seen earlier. It could move mountains and crush entire populations, but it was not destructive. It reminded Lisa of something far back in time... something everyone in this world knows, and yet is dying to know. Something that was before the genesis of the time... Lisa stopped struggling.
"I am here Lisa. Dont worry. I have to show you something." And Lisa turned to the direction of the voice. In the darkness that stretched far into the distant and forgotten space and time, for the first time, she could see something... something that shone through the diaphanous veil of her own tears... She wiped them off. She didnt need them anymore. A tiny flame in the deep night. And it was approaching her. As it came nearer, it grew bigger. She was afraid no more. And she saw visions within the flame. Visions of entire galaxies being devoured by other galaxies of universe, and new shapely ones with millions of stars and billions of planets being created by shapeless, formless nebulae, and then as the flame came close to her body, it had grown to a huge column. And she saw that all these galaxies, nebulae, stars, and planets started swirling round and round. Engulfing them was huge vortex beginning from a single point.
A Single Point.
Singularity.
From where everything has come, and into where everything shall go.
And she was within the flame.
*******************************
Outside, it had long been since Marigold bud sprouted, opened up into a flower and died away. The chrysalis beside also has long been empty, dangling from the tree. Yet, nature is never in haste. Some metamorphoses take more time than others. Lucy knew it would be a hard time for Lisa. Yet, she did it because Lisa was the only one who was capable of understanding the loftiness of Lucy's goal. And so Lisa went into a pupa for her rebirth. Each time a tornado came, she grew from within. Subtle changes are easy to be overlooked for ordinary humans. They could do nothing. And how could they? They understood nothing. They were but ordinary mortals. And one day, Lisa came out of her own chrysalis. She opened her eyes and there was radiance of a higher world in them. Enlightenment.
******************************
Lisa came down the hillock, and she took her children home.
******************************
Singularity is Inevitable.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Singularity--Part III
On that afternoon, her father looked on as Lisa clutched the bedding with her hands and spread her legs apart. It had been a year of unnatural number of tornadoes, as one twister after another lashed the town. There was no reprieve. And each time a tornado approached, Lisa would explode into her fits of violent base emotion. Her father never got used to it -- whenever it began, he began to tremble violently, and knelt down before the cross in his room, praying ardently for his daughter's return to the living world, as Lisa's comatose body splashed itself in its own sweat reveling in shameless ecstasy in front of her own father-- again and again, she arched upwards and shaking the bed violently, she would let her bottom down with a thud, again and again she would utter moans of indescribable pleasure, again and again she whispered words of unabashed lust being satiated. He wanted to consult the priest, but was mortally afraid of the treatment they would give to Lisa. It would be easy for them to believe that she was possessed. She wasnt. She was in a coma. Nevertheless, the advent of a tornado always struck a morbid fear in the hearts of the people in that house, for that triggered those abhorrent reactions from such a lovely creature that Lisa had been.
****************
Lucy was brought up in a small town in the mid-west. Some believed she was a witch, some others believed she possessed supernatural powers, but most agreed that there was something very weird about the girl. Lucy was not an ordinary girl. She was blessed with a gift. A gift of the feeling. She could feel a lot of things... the sighs of a bough laden with the burden of blossom in spring, the laughter of a brook as she pranced around the trees down the hill in summer, and the dark unfathomable intellections of cold gales in winter as they passed far above. And she talked to them. Understood them. And inquired as to their well-being. But her love was given to one force she admired the most. She was a child when first she first heard of Him. She was fascinated by the description. And her fascination only grew by her age until she was completely in love with the Tornado. She yearned to see Him, talk to Him, understand Him, love Him. Ever she asked those gentle breezes whether they were chased by One. The answer was no each time.
One dark afternoon, she experienced an inexplicable elation, and her heart beat sounded like a train on a bridge. She couldnt control neither the smile on her lips nor the blush on her cheeks. She left her room and went out in the dark weather to meet the gentle breezes. They giggled as they saw how she blushed. And she blushed more. She got angry at the impish winds threw a stone at them. They laughed aloud, and passed around her and through her. And the weather changed suddenly. There was a rumble in the clouds. Thunder drummed the skies and lightning flashed her displays. They all spoke of His coming. The van of his entourage was approaching. The wind-heralds were blowing horns and declaring His hallowed name aloud to all who can hear. This was His dominion. His empire. And He was here to reclaim it. Winds which she had never seen or felt before. Birds flew away, and beasts ran hither and thither. The Emperor was on the march. She tried to talk to them, but they were proud and loyal servants of their Lord. They marched on, rank after rank, as battalions of the Overlord of Gaia.
And He appeared on the horizon moving majestically along. And she saw him. Her love. But, when she saw him, she realised he was not just her love. He was more. He was the One. He was the desitnation. In his vortex, she saw millions of stars and galaxies and universes taking birth only to go back into the same vortex. He was that singularity that she, and all the humanity had been seeking unknowingly. Tears flowed down. She raised her hands to meet Her destiny, and walked to towards Him as if she were in a swoon.
She almost reached his outstretched arms when she was pulled back. The men of the village saw her 'madness', and ran after her. She yelled and wriggled and writhed and wailed. But of no avail. They held her fast and locked her up in the basement. She was not allowed to meet Him. He could not bear it as well. He destroyed the entire town, uprooting old towers and punching through renowned forts-- little resistances of a vermin folk who dared to defy His authority. The trail of destruction that He left that day in the town was unprecedented and unparalleled. For many days, her unconsolable grief haunted her body, mind and soul. She was sent to her uncle's town for a change of weather. And they were adivsed to keep her locked. For her own safety. Heh! All these people with insumountable piety and of immeasureable wisdown beyond ages of time could not understand the simple truths of the universe and of life. But then, these truths were at a higher plane far above the ordinary human psyche. She smiled forgivingly at those people devoid of the means of even trying to comprehend the nature of the universe.
Yet, she knew the moment she saw Him that she would meet him in the End. Inevitability is a phenomenon not many can handle, even when it is working their favour. Yet, Lucy was no ordinary girl. She began to understand the beauty of the grief and the sweetness of the separation. And she learnt to be strong. She wanted to be in her best physical form-- a quintessence of beauty and perfection when she would meet Him.
****************
Lucy was brought up in a small town in the mid-west. Some believed she was a witch, some others believed she possessed supernatural powers, but most agreed that there was something very weird about the girl. Lucy was not an ordinary girl. She was blessed with a gift. A gift of the feeling. She could feel a lot of things... the sighs of a bough laden with the burden of blossom in spring, the laughter of a brook as she pranced around the trees down the hill in summer, and the dark unfathomable intellections of cold gales in winter as they passed far above. And she talked to them. Understood them. And inquired as to their well-being. But her love was given to one force she admired the most. She was a child when first she first heard of Him. She was fascinated by the description. And her fascination only grew by her age until she was completely in love with the Tornado. She yearned to see Him, talk to Him, understand Him, love Him. Ever she asked those gentle breezes whether they were chased by One. The answer was no each time.
One dark afternoon, she experienced an inexplicable elation, and her heart beat sounded like a train on a bridge. She couldnt control neither the smile on her lips nor the blush on her cheeks. She left her room and went out in the dark weather to meet the gentle breezes. They giggled as they saw how she blushed. And she blushed more. She got angry at the impish winds threw a stone at them. They laughed aloud, and passed around her and through her. And the weather changed suddenly. There was a rumble in the clouds. Thunder drummed the skies and lightning flashed her displays. They all spoke of His coming. The van of his entourage was approaching. The wind-heralds were blowing horns and declaring His hallowed name aloud to all who can hear. This was His dominion. His empire. And He was here to reclaim it. Winds which she had never seen or felt before. Birds flew away, and beasts ran hither and thither. The Emperor was on the march. She tried to talk to them, but they were proud and loyal servants of their Lord. They marched on, rank after rank, as battalions of the Overlord of Gaia.
And He appeared on the horizon moving majestically along. And she saw him. Her love. But, when she saw him, she realised he was not just her love. He was more. He was the One. He was the desitnation. In his vortex, she saw millions of stars and galaxies and universes taking birth only to go back into the same vortex. He was that singularity that she, and all the humanity had been seeking unknowingly. Tears flowed down. She raised her hands to meet Her destiny, and walked to towards Him as if she were in a swoon.
She almost reached his outstretched arms when she was pulled back. The men of the village saw her 'madness', and ran after her. She yelled and wriggled and writhed and wailed. But of no avail. They held her fast and locked her up in the basement. She was not allowed to meet Him. He could not bear it as well. He destroyed the entire town, uprooting old towers and punching through renowned forts-- little resistances of a vermin folk who dared to defy His authority. The trail of destruction that He left that day in the town was unprecedented and unparalleled. For many days, her unconsolable grief haunted her body, mind and soul. She was sent to her uncle's town for a change of weather. And they were adivsed to keep her locked. For her own safety. Heh! All these people with insumountable piety and of immeasureable wisdown beyond ages of time could not understand the simple truths of the universe and of life. But then, these truths were at a higher plane far above the ordinary human psyche. She smiled forgivingly at those people devoid of the means of even trying to comprehend the nature of the universe.
Yet, she knew the moment she saw Him that she would meet him in the End. Inevitability is a phenomenon not many can handle, even when it is working their favour. Yet, Lucy was no ordinary girl. She began to understand the beauty of the grief and the sweetness of the separation. And she learnt to be strong. She wanted to be in her best physical form-- a quintessence of beauty and perfection when she would meet Him.
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