It seems people of Saleem Nagar colony love 'affairs' (you know what affairs I am talking about). So not long after Rekha-Jaffer issue subsided, another one surfaced-- though this one involved the notorious Chappal-bazaar Baby who incidentally neither lived in chappal bazaar, nor was she a baby anymore being in her late forties and mother of two grown ups. Her only claim to fame, other than her loud mouth, was that she was the hindi pandit in the famous Joseph-Thambi upper primary school near Lucky stores run by one Mr.Lucky Makhija, a confirmed miser.
So one fine night, Baalamani, the ironing lady we had encountered earlier (the mother of Dasaratha, if you remember), had a strange dream that Chappal-bazaar baby's elder daughter had run away with their driver, one Mallesh from Narsapur. She promptly passed on the news to her elder son Kashyappa (strange that these folk have such wonderful names whereas we end up with rahuls, rohits, and pujas...) who always was thinking he was born to do a job in this world. So came running to Lingam's shop and avered it there standing on his beloved rock that was beside the shop just like Sri Ramanuja had done about a thousand years ago disclosing the ashtaakshari mantram to the masses.
I was there and we laughed and we forgot, not noticing that selfsame chappal-bazaar baby's daughter Vaasanti was standing right there in the next shop-- a girni.. squarely in the hearing range.
Fate it seems is not without a sense of irony.
--Morpheus, The Matrix
Now what happened after that, no one knows... and it is best that no one knows... for reasons unexplainable of course. But exactly seven days later, Lingam's shop was abuzz with news of the strangest kind: Vaasanti, the daughter of Chappal-bazaar baby had run away with driver Mallesh from Narsapur!
Now, there was no clear target available for Chappal-bazaar Baby's anger and frustration except baalamani and she forced herself to believe that the whole thing was stage-managed by Baalamani herself while poor Baalamani had absolutely no clue what was going on. In the ensuing madness, we saw how Chappal-Bazaar baby unleashed her most terrible weapon-- Badi Bi, her servant-maid and the harridan aunt of Jaffer upon Baalamani. Now this Badi Bi had an old grudge on Baalamani on water sharing from our very home during one especially hot summer. She alleges Baalamani secretly stole water from our compound meant for her during a quiet afternoon and then refused to even confess. And there was a huge fight between the two women and Baalamani had won because Badi Bi had to back away-- her husband had a small accident and she had to attend to it. Ever since, she was looking for an opportunity to get back.
Right on the chaurasta, it all began early in the morning. Badi Bi started calling her names and cursing her. Baalamani came out of her lair after a while and the retaliation began wth such fury that Badi Bi had to step back for a moment. But her heart was already aflame with the fire of revenge upon glacing the countenance of her foremost adversary and she upped the ante. She came charging towards Baalamani and crashed into her.
Hector and Achilles,
Bhima and Suyodhana,
Vali and Dundubhi,
All of these duels would seriously fall short of what we saw on that fatefully sad day.
How they punched and slapped each other...
How they bit and pinched each other...
How they pulled each other's hair....
And no one dared to separate them-- the men were already far far away and were too scated to touch the women and the womenfolk-- well... they had their bit of fun (you know, they didnt have sas-bahu serials back then)-- no one, except one woman! Pushpa, the safai woman. It was generally believed that her real name was Pullamma, and she changed it to Pushpa only to appease her guru of dark arts. It was believed that she smelt news in the wind.
So while all this ruckus was going on, she was busy with her safai work, but suddenly she stodd up, lifted herself head up, and smelt the wind. Up she came running and separated the two like Bhima did to Jarasandha, and then others took over and restrained the two. And then Pushpa said aloud:
"The wind is changing. It brings fresh news. Steady all!!"
Such was the power in her voice that the two fighters calmed down.
The suddenly, the younger daughter of Chappal-Bazaar Baby came running out her home and whispered something in her ear.
It was later known that Vaasanti was an ardent devotee of some "gurumaatha" who had recently taken up her dwelling in prasanth Nagar colony (in the neighbourhood of Saleem Nagar). So also was Mallesh. And it seems that this Gurumaatha was organising some puja for three days in the outskirts of the city. knowing that her mother would never allow her out, she secretly went away with her co-devotee-- the driver.
But upon reaching there, she discovered to her horror that this gurumaatha was not organising any Puja after all, and that she was not a decent woman. It seems the gurumaatha also tried to lure Mallesh with his fair share of 'booty', but he didnt fall for it (having lived in Saleem Nagar atleast for a while makes one strong like that!). So he ran away and informed police of this Gurumaatha and the next day, we saw photos in the newspaper of this gurumaatha being chased along the East Marredpalli roads by the police.
All in all, the colony was restored to its calm. Nevertheless, the rivalry between Baalamani and Badi Bi remains still.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Fleeting Infinity
I am.
Oh look! He is, as well.
And one more...
And there is another one...
Hmm... well, let me look at each one of these...
This one looks like a leader. He is golden, very tall, and shiny. It appears he gets others' things done really well, has a rich stentorian voice, goes about with a royal majesty, floors women and impresses all wherever he goes. Money was never a problem. He will probably get married with a heavy fanfare and have a couple of kids and be a proper family man, with ever rising popularity.
I wish I had his qualities. How very very great He is really is!
And that one... hmm.. looks like a researcher. A rather dark hard lean one with a tough head. They tell me that he listens only to the stupidest one for reasons better left unknown. He has a high strung temper and he is always trying to think, analyse, reason, rationalise. He will probably finish his Masters and then go on earn a PhD in one of the most difficult topics known thereby solving age old mysteries.
I wish I had his qualities. How very very great He is really is!
Ah! the third one... looks a little eely, has a greenish tint, and slithering. They tell me he has a honey coated tongue and that he is a great listener. He is famed to say the right things to the right people at the right time. He always has a lot of friends who think they have impressed him and can kick him anytime they want to, but its generally the other way around. He will probably end up earning a lot of money and friends.
I wish I had his qualities. How very very great He is really is!
And what about me? I am a little bronwish, not too tall, and probably with some adhering qualities... Hmm! Must be artist, or at the worst an art lover. Some say that I have a brilliance often misunderstood because I dont follow social norms. some say I lack the tact to face the world. Some others hate me for knowing what I know, and not knowing what I dont know.
But you know what I actually think? I think I...
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just then, I familiar sound... drowning the voices of all the companions in an equalising vortex...
The toilet is flushed. And the companions, all of them, regardless of their prophetic destinies, are forced to ride the same subterranean current into the same dark oblivion that is ever eager to decimate their existence for ever.
The toilet is flushed. It is clean and spotless without any trace of the introspection conducted with authority by one of the most unwanted entities known. Yet, the toilet is waiting... for the next batch of emotions and egos and ambitions and aspirations that think they can exist infinitely.
Oh look! He is, as well.
And one more...
And there is another one...
Hmm... well, let me look at each one of these...
This one looks like a leader. He is golden, very tall, and shiny. It appears he gets others' things done really well, has a rich stentorian voice, goes about with a royal majesty, floors women and impresses all wherever he goes. Money was never a problem. He will probably get married with a heavy fanfare and have a couple of kids and be a proper family man, with ever rising popularity.
I wish I had his qualities. How very very great He is really is!
And that one... hmm.. looks like a researcher. A rather dark hard lean one with a tough head. They tell me that he listens only to the stupidest one for reasons better left unknown. He has a high strung temper and he is always trying to think, analyse, reason, rationalise. He will probably finish his Masters and then go on earn a PhD in one of the most difficult topics known thereby solving age old mysteries.
I wish I had his qualities. How very very great He is really is!
Ah! the third one... looks a little eely, has a greenish tint, and slithering. They tell me he has a honey coated tongue and that he is a great listener. He is famed to say the right things to the right people at the right time. He always has a lot of friends who think they have impressed him and can kick him anytime they want to, but its generally the other way around. He will probably end up earning a lot of money and friends.
I wish I had his qualities. How very very great He is really is!
And what about me? I am a little bronwish, not too tall, and probably with some adhering qualities... Hmm! Must be artist, or at the worst an art lover. Some say that I have a brilliance often misunderstood because I dont follow social norms. some say I lack the tact to face the world. Some others hate me for knowing what I know, and not knowing what I dont know.
But you know what I actually think? I think I...
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just then, I familiar sound... drowning the voices of all the companions in an equalising vortex...
The toilet is flushed. And the companions, all of them, regardless of their prophetic destinies, are forced to ride the same subterranean current into the same dark oblivion that is ever eager to decimate their existence for ever.
The toilet is flushed. It is clean and spotless without any trace of the introspection conducted with authority by one of the most unwanted entities known. Yet, the toilet is waiting... for the next batch of emotions and egos and ambitions and aspirations that think they can exist infinitely.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Religion and Science
Recently, Maha remarked how soft were my hands (I was spared the word 'womanly' thankfully). I, nevertheless, managed to wriggle out of this awkward situation by offering an ingenious explanation (Hyderabadis call this sort of self-aggrandisement as 'self-dabba' or simply, 'SD')--
One of the names of Shiva (please be reminded that my name is also a Shiva epithet) is 'SadyojAta'-- one who is just born. Of course you would expect that the hands of a just-born one would be soft. Sadyojaata is also very innocent and naive and we dont expect him to know the ways of the wicked world just as yet.
******************************************************
Even today, Religious scholars hide behind the theory that there are no proofs for theory of evolution and they basically "disagree" with darwin... why? because it says right here, in so and so Purana that from the nabhi-kamalam of Vishnu, Brahma was born and from him were born the Vedas or that Lord God made the world in seven days right in the book of genesis. No amount of evidence offered will convince them. Most importantly, they are threatened that all that they hold dear, will vanish in a moment if they agree with modern science. It doesnt have to be so...
I can offer a simple analogy, and in doing so, I will be offering yet another theory to the mankind already suffering from a "theoretical obesity":
Imagine, you want to make nice indian curry-- what do you do? you switch the stove on, put a pan on it, put vegetables, oil, other spices and condiments in the pan, and close the lid and let it simmer for a while. There is not much else to do now, other than occasional checking and stirring, and voila! you have your curry ready after a while. Notice that all the steps after all the ingredients have been mixed together are purely scientific and explainable, though they were happening with your least intervention.
The same can be applied to God and the evolution-- all the natural processes and the organic evolution is but an ongoing process or procedure happening exactly according to science, but what actually matters is the purpose, "the kAraNa" with which the universe, and subsequently, the solar system and the planets were formed as far as God is concerned. The rest, the science can easily handle. In that sense, The Almighty can be viewed as The Master chef with a view to prepare a cosmic soup of His own taste, and he doesnt have to keep it stirring all the while-- just use the ladle once in a while to stir up things a bit and make it more interesting.
The interesting part is that religion is viewed my most sociologists as a briliant outcome of evolution-- it is a successfully tested strategy designed to counter vagaries of mother nature to ensure his survival. It offers hope, a reason for existence, gives importance to his/her life in an odd way even without him/her doing anything of any significance. It also helps a tribe to be better than the competetion.
************************************************************
What an irony! The outcome of a process denies the very process that produces it, only because it feels threatened by its existence. What sadyojAtas we all make denying the very evolution that produced religion!
And when do we grow up to being YathirAjas (The Lords of all those who renounce the material world) ?
One of the names of Shiva (please be reminded that my name is also a Shiva epithet) is 'SadyojAta'-- one who is just born. Of course you would expect that the hands of a just-born one would be soft. Sadyojaata is also very innocent and naive and we dont expect him to know the ways of the wicked world just as yet.
******************************************************
Even today, Religious scholars hide behind the theory that there are no proofs for theory of evolution and they basically "disagree" with darwin... why? because it says right here, in so and so Purana that from the nabhi-kamalam of Vishnu, Brahma was born and from him were born the Vedas or that Lord God made the world in seven days right in the book of genesis. No amount of evidence offered will convince them. Most importantly, they are threatened that all that they hold dear, will vanish in a moment if they agree with modern science. It doesnt have to be so...
I can offer a simple analogy, and in doing so, I will be offering yet another theory to the mankind already suffering from a "theoretical obesity":
Imagine, you want to make nice indian curry-- what do you do? you switch the stove on, put a pan on it, put vegetables, oil, other spices and condiments in the pan, and close the lid and let it simmer for a while. There is not much else to do now, other than occasional checking and stirring, and voila! you have your curry ready after a while. Notice that all the steps after all the ingredients have been mixed together are purely scientific and explainable, though they were happening with your least intervention.
The same can be applied to God and the evolution-- all the natural processes and the organic evolution is but an ongoing process or procedure happening exactly according to science, but what actually matters is the purpose, "the kAraNa" with which the universe, and subsequently, the solar system and the planets were formed as far as God is concerned. The rest, the science can easily handle. In that sense, The Almighty can be viewed as The Master chef with a view to prepare a cosmic soup of His own taste, and he doesnt have to keep it stirring all the while-- just use the ladle once in a while to stir up things a bit and make it more interesting.
The interesting part is that religion is viewed my most sociologists as a briliant outcome of evolution-- it is a successfully tested strategy designed to counter vagaries of mother nature to ensure his survival. It offers hope, a reason for existence, gives importance to his/her life in an odd way even without him/her doing anything of any significance. It also helps a tribe to be better than the competetion.
************************************************************
What an irony! The outcome of a process denies the very process that produces it, only because it feels threatened by its existence. What sadyojAtas we all make denying the very evolution that produced religion!
And when do we grow up to being YathirAjas (The Lords of all those who renounce the material world) ?
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
The Fall of the dynasty of Brahma
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 we relish those bygone days... only as a fantasy.
And so we relish those bygone days... only as a fantasy.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
The Evil King's Castle
So one fine sunny summer day, Maha and I went frolicking straight into the Castle of the Evil King. The present caretakers were gracious enough to let us take pictures of those very forgettable times.
This Evil King had a particular liking for Urdu. So it was that Urdu was made compulsory. And you know, only one non-native urdu speaker passed in the final test-- unfortunately, his name was Balakrishna, so his wiener was cut-off as well and served to him as kabob, Armenian style. The marks list was preserved as a memoir of those good 'ol days and the building rechristened as 'Arts college' of Osmania University.
Looks like a place where the Evil King used to throw his newly wed brides from, after spending a night with them. The walls still seem to echo with the wails of those poor women.
This is where the Evil King used to hold court and sentence innocent bystanders to unmentionably horrid punishments for his pleasure during elevenses time.
The majestic garden of the Evil King. Anyone who entered it would have had his wiener chopped off and then it would be served to him, deep fried and garnished as a kabob, Armenian style!
This Evil King had a particular liking for Urdu. So it was that Urdu was made compulsory. And you know, only one non-native urdu speaker passed in the final test-- unfortunately, his name was Balakrishna, so his wiener was cut-off as well and served to him as kabob, Armenian style. The marks list was preserved as a memoir of those good 'ol days and the building rechristened as 'Arts college' of Osmania University.
You can see a totally petrified Maha standing in the corridor. It is widely romoured that the Evil King's 54th wife looked remotely similar to her....
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
The Mine Of Strength
Far away beyond shore and foam,
In the forgotten backyard of his home,
What does the lad look to find?
He digs and digs, never tiring,
Soiling his clothes and perspiring,
What, indeed, does the lad look to find?
Perhaps wealth hidden by his Sires,
Got from caves lonely, beyond mires,
What, indeed, does the lad look to find?
May be a gentle souvenir rather,
On a high day, given, by his father,
What, indeed, does the lad look to find?
Not, surely, a weapon to tame the wiles,
Of the unseen enemy full of guiles?
What, indeed, does the lad look to find?
A new strength--
Strengthened anew
He emerges now,
From bonds, not a few,
Knowing the fact, verily,
That there is return again,
That there is digging again,
That there is searching again,
That there is soiling again,
To, his strength, gain.
In the forgotten backyard of his home,
What does the lad look to find?
He digs and digs, never tiring,
Soiling his clothes and perspiring,
What, indeed, does the lad look to find?
Perhaps wealth hidden by his Sires,
Got from caves lonely, beyond mires,
What, indeed, does the lad look to find?
May be a gentle souvenir rather,
On a high day, given, by his father,
What, indeed, does the lad look to find?
Not, surely, a weapon to tame the wiles,
Of the unseen enemy full of guiles?
What, indeed, does the lad look to find?
A new strength--
Strengthened anew
He emerges now,
From bonds, not a few,
Knowing the fact, verily,
That there is return again,
That there is digging again,
That there is searching again,
That there is soiling again,
To, his strength, gain.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Cat
Cat
The fat cat on the mat
may seem to dream
of nice mice that suffice
for him, or cream;
but he free, maybe,
walks in thought
unbowed, proud, where loud
roared and fought
his kin, lean and slim,
or deep in den
in the East feasted on beasts
and tender men.
The giant lion with iron
claw in paw,
and huge ruthless tooth
in gory jaw;
the pard dark-starred,
fleet upon feet,
that oft soft from aloft
leaps upon his meat
where woods loom in gloom --
far now they be,
fierce and free,
and tamed is he;
but fat cat on the mat
kept as a pet
he does not forget.
-- J. R. R. Tolkien
The fat cat on the mat
may seem to dream
of nice mice that suffice
for him, or cream;
but he free, maybe,
walks in thought
unbowed, proud, where loud
roared and fought
his kin, lean and slim,
or deep in den
in the East feasted on beasts
and tender men.
The giant lion with iron
claw in paw,
and huge ruthless tooth
in gory jaw;
the pard dark-starred,
fleet upon feet,
that oft soft from aloft
leaps upon his meat
where woods loom in gloom --
far now they be,
fierce and free,
and tamed is he;
but fat cat on the mat
kept as a pet
he does not forget.
-- J. R. R. Tolkien
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Some pics from Kodagu
Do these people know that these are examples of what is called as 'henotheism' in the west? Wall paintings from the Omkareshwara temple in Madikeri, the capital city of Kodagu (the actual name of the anglicised 'Coorg') District.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Look at the busy traffic waiting for green light at a traffic signal in Madikeri.
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One cold winter morning in the kitchen of 'Ambika Tiffanies' in Madikeri.
--pic by Karthik
--pic by Karthik
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Karthik (black shirt, lots of hair on the face) overseeing the stepney change. Notice his stylish pose of sitting. How far behind is the West in fashion!Incidentally, wikipedia article on stepney says that the word is used only in India in that sense.
--pic by Pavan
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--pic by Pavan
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Lots of Urea!
--pic by Karthik
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Osmania Biscuit XIV--Battle of Wits
Ok!
When Lingam performed the maneuver of facing Obul and cleverly running away past him, he did more than a maneuver-- he had won a great battle of wits, which thankfully, neither he knew nor Obul knew. In fact, chroniclers (who seem to be ubiquitous, which should make us think what is in it for them? but then we will not, for now!) think that this technique easily outweighs the last battle of wits (yes! It is a 'battle of wits', literally!) in the famous 'battle of BEML gate'.
What we are missing here is the history behind these battles of wits. Long long ago, there used to be two huge kingdoms-- one was militantly Vaishnavaite, and another was militantly Shaivaite, and they used to battle their guts out for supremacy. It was rumoured that they frequently obained favours from Gods for their militaristic endeavours.
The whole Vaishnavaite kingdom was one very posh, properly planned city called Narayanopolis. It had a beautiful central palace with Golden Spires and sprawling meadows for the King. The people were extremely polite and their taste was exceeded only by their hatred towards their Shaivaite counterparts. The people were highly sentient and hard-working beings and thrived on agriculture and trade. They had a vast, powerful and organised army divided into many regiments. The vaishnavite city also had another Satellite city (literally 'satellite', as you shall see!) named Garudopolis that was susupended in mid-air, and could be used as a huge warship. They also had a powerful air-force named the 'Garudawaffe'.
On the contrary, the Shaivaite kingdom was a large mass of barren waste-land --a paradox with colums of smoke and ash spewing out from one part and snow and grinding ice in another part. It was a rocky and a moutainous region and people mostly lived on hunting and most people, when not hunting were seen meditating on Shiva. Some never stopped meditating and after their death, they added a kind of unseen armour to the Shaiva kingdom that needed many magic weapons to break through. The Shaivas had their own answer to the Garudawaffe-- they had Marutsena.
While Garudawaffe depended on sophistication, efficiency, and precision, Maruts depended only numbers and raw heroics. No wonder, they were much feared. It was partly to thwart any further attacks from Maruts that Vaishnavaites built the Garudopolis. Shaivaites frequently employed women in the army and they had their own regiment called the Bhairavi regiment, and they were notorious for their unrelenting bravery. On the other hand, the Vaishnavaites had a powerful nursing and reconnaisance brigade called the Mohini-Brigade. It was famed to never fail.
Till now, Obul (a name of God Vishnu's Avatara Narasimha) did not know that he was the direct descendant of the lengendary General Oppiliappan-IX (Oppiliappan also means Narasimha. It could be that Oppiliappan is the actual Tamizh form of 'Obulayya'), who single-handedly, with his band of highly motivated fighters, routed an invasion of a huge Shaivaite army consisting of 44th KAla-Bhairava Regiment and the 16th Light-infantry Bhringi Regiment and 24th Rudra Rifles Regiment.
And Lingam, obvioustly as well, did not know that he was a direct descendant of VallinAyagam-III, the prefect of Chidambaram-- who successfully thwarted an attack of 4th, 5th, and 11th VarAha-regiments and even withstood, though at great loss, highly sophisticated and dangerous Sudarshana weapons dropped from Garudopolis. The whole of 6th Marut-Brigade was felled from the skies. The Shaivaites, from then on, never have had a 6th Marut-Brigade in honour of those who found martyrdom on that day. Now, it seems that to save from the onslaught of the Vaishnavaites, some of the Shaivaites in a neutral area got mixed with pastoral and peace minded Yadavs and began calling themselves Yadavs. Same was the case with Vaishnavaites and they mingled themselves with other tribes to find peace.
These wars continued for centuries together, with innumerable battles and skirmishes. As times changed, because of a lot of external factors, the funds for war decreased on Vaishnavaites' side, and not many Shaivaites were intent on ghOra-tapasya, so their shields weakened. So there emerged a new form of tactical warfare called 'Battle of Wits'. The entire warfare consisted of confusing the enemy. The more you end up confusing the enemy, the more crushing is the defeat inflicted upon him. And war-chroniclers, who write down everything, decide who wins. (more often, they are seen taking money from a side and pronounce it victorious!). So, you see, the profession is not without its plus points.
So when Lingam turned around and faced Obul at Janglee ViThoba Temple in Hyderabad, the whole world was watching him, and war-chroniclers were busy scripting each and every minute detail of the incident. By the time Lingam ran away into the galli with a perplexed Obul staring with his gaping mouth, Lingam was already a Shaivaite hero. Chants of 'Hara hara Mahadeva' echoed in the sub-terranean hideouts of the Shaivaite extremist organisations throughout the world. Lingam, without knowing the reason, kept getting many gifts and 'well-done', 'bravo', and 'salute to thou' letters for months. Thankfully, he didnt bother about them one single-bit because they were addressed to a guy named 'VallinAyagam-VII', and he had no idea it was his real name.
And Obul.. poor Obul got busted by the vaishnavaite powers that be. He was hunted by an inexplicable misfortune. He lost money everywhere, his friends deseted him. he was kicked out of his master Erra Satyam's service (in fact, some theorise that the murder of Erra Satyam was an attack to inflict pain on Obul) and was treated as a disgrace. But the powers calmed down eventually and were set to offer Obul a new life and a chance to redeem his honour.
When Lingam performed the maneuver of facing Obul and cleverly running away past him, he did more than a maneuver-- he had won a great battle of wits, which thankfully, neither he knew nor Obul knew. In fact, chroniclers (who seem to be ubiquitous, which should make us think what is in it for them? but then we will not, for now!) think that this technique easily outweighs the last battle of wits (yes! It is a 'battle of wits', literally!) in the famous 'battle of BEML gate'.
What we are missing here is the history behind these battles of wits. Long long ago, there used to be two huge kingdoms-- one was militantly Vaishnavaite, and another was militantly Shaivaite, and they used to battle their guts out for supremacy. It was rumoured that they frequently obained favours from Gods for their militaristic endeavours.
The whole Vaishnavaite kingdom was one very posh, properly planned city called Narayanopolis. It had a beautiful central palace with Golden Spires and sprawling meadows for the King. The people were extremely polite and their taste was exceeded only by their hatred towards their Shaivaite counterparts. The people were highly sentient and hard-working beings and thrived on agriculture and trade. They had a vast, powerful and organised army divided into many regiments. The vaishnavite city also had another Satellite city (literally 'satellite', as you shall see!) named Garudopolis that was susupended in mid-air, and could be used as a huge warship. They also had a powerful air-force named the 'Garudawaffe'.
On the contrary, the Shaivaite kingdom was a large mass of barren waste-land --a paradox with colums of smoke and ash spewing out from one part and snow and grinding ice in another part. It was a rocky and a moutainous region and people mostly lived on hunting and most people, when not hunting were seen meditating on Shiva. Some never stopped meditating and after their death, they added a kind of unseen armour to the Shaiva kingdom that needed many magic weapons to break through. The Shaivas had their own answer to the Garudawaffe-- they had Marutsena.
While Garudawaffe depended on sophistication, efficiency, and precision, Maruts depended only numbers and raw heroics. No wonder, they were much feared. It was partly to thwart any further attacks from Maruts that Vaishnavaites built the Garudopolis. Shaivaites frequently employed women in the army and they had their own regiment called the Bhairavi regiment, and they were notorious for their unrelenting bravery. On the other hand, the Vaishnavaites had a powerful nursing and reconnaisance brigade called the Mohini-Brigade. It was famed to never fail.
Till now, Obul (a name of God Vishnu's Avatara Narasimha) did not know that he was the direct descendant of the lengendary General Oppiliappan-IX (Oppiliappan also means Narasimha. It could be that Oppiliappan is the actual Tamizh form of 'Obulayya'), who single-handedly, with his band of highly motivated fighters, routed an invasion of a huge Shaivaite army consisting of 44th KAla-Bhairava Regiment and the 16th Light-infantry Bhringi Regiment and 24th Rudra Rifles Regiment.
And Lingam, obvioustly as well, did not know that he was a direct descendant of VallinAyagam-III, the prefect of Chidambaram-- who successfully thwarted an attack of 4th, 5th, and 11th VarAha-regiments and even withstood, though at great loss, highly sophisticated and dangerous Sudarshana weapons dropped from Garudopolis. The whole of 6th Marut-Brigade was felled from the skies. The Shaivaites, from then on, never have had a 6th Marut-Brigade in honour of those who found martyrdom on that day. Now, it seems that to save from the onslaught of the Vaishnavaites, some of the Shaivaites in a neutral area got mixed with pastoral and peace minded Yadavs and began calling themselves Yadavs. Same was the case with Vaishnavaites and they mingled themselves with other tribes to find peace.
These wars continued for centuries together, with innumerable battles and skirmishes. As times changed, because of a lot of external factors, the funds for war decreased on Vaishnavaites' side, and not many Shaivaites were intent on ghOra-tapasya, so their shields weakened. So there emerged a new form of tactical warfare called 'Battle of Wits'. The entire warfare consisted of confusing the enemy. The more you end up confusing the enemy, the more crushing is the defeat inflicted upon him. And war-chroniclers, who write down everything, decide who wins. (more often, they are seen taking money from a side and pronounce it victorious!). So, you see, the profession is not without its plus points.
So when Lingam turned around and faced Obul at Janglee ViThoba Temple in Hyderabad, the whole world was watching him, and war-chroniclers were busy scripting each and every minute detail of the incident. By the time Lingam ran away into the galli with a perplexed Obul staring with his gaping mouth, Lingam was already a Shaivaite hero. Chants of 'Hara hara Mahadeva' echoed in the sub-terranean hideouts of the Shaivaite extremist organisations throughout the world. Lingam, without knowing the reason, kept getting many gifts and 'well-done', 'bravo', and 'salute to thou' letters for months. Thankfully, he didnt bother about them one single-bit because they were addressed to a guy named 'VallinAyagam-VII', and he had no idea it was his real name.
And Obul.. poor Obul got busted by the vaishnavaite powers that be. He was hunted by an inexplicable misfortune. He lost money everywhere, his friends deseted him. he was kicked out of his master Erra Satyam's service (in fact, some theorise that the murder of Erra Satyam was an attack to inflict pain on Obul) and was treated as a disgrace. But the powers calmed down eventually and were set to offer Obul a new life and a chance to redeem his honour.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
parivartanAvartanam -- Life, Transformation, and back to Life- III
Back to Life:
Priya was only remotely fascinated by her actual name before-- her parents sometimes used to make fun of her, saying that it would have been better if she had been named 'vakuLa', with a tint of sarcasm. Neither she understood what they meant, not did she understand what was wrong with the name 'vakuLa'. They always said that her grandmother didnt like staying with them even though they tried bringing her over because her way of life was too strict and out-of-date, and that she stayed in a remote village away from them.
It was only later when she met her grandmother incidentally on a trip did she realise what her parents meant. But right in the first meeting, she found her grandmother far more likeable than her parents. She developed a soft corner for her grandmother, who still called her VakuLa, and started visiting her often. Gradually, she began to prefer the name 'VakuLa' over 'Priya'. Though she enjoyed battling with semaphores and forks in work, she found this far more gratifying. In a short while, she had learnt so much that she felt she came a long way. Now, because of the same qualities that made her an excellent team lead in that software testing form, she had become the life of the town because of her commitment and hardwork, and she had become a role model for other young women.
At one point, she understood that more than devotion to the Godhead, it was the commitment to lead a way of life that preserved riches of life that kept her going--an honest attempt at leading a much more organic, natural, intuitive, and richer way of life where she can always learn something about the nature, the people around her, and finally herself.
And so, every weekend, she became VakuLa, and every Monday, she returned to work as Priya. Her grandmother did not coax her into any kind of decision. She knew that her granddaugher had come on her own, and she had to make her own decision-- and the decision had to be made soon.
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It is the end of my narration, for I do not know what the future has in store for the central character. Will she become VakuLa in the end or will she stay Priya... I do not want to take it any further, because I do not want to think for the readers of this story. If you have come till here, you have already an opinion about Priya/VakuLa, and about yourself. Her story ends here and yours begins here. What you want to become and where you want to go is your business.
P.S.: Yes, the narration is sloppy, the character development is incomplete, and some characters are too stereotyped and banal. But if you still manage to look through this nebulous fog and find something to ponder over, then I have done my job.
Priya was only remotely fascinated by her actual name before-- her parents sometimes used to make fun of her, saying that it would have been better if she had been named 'vakuLa', with a tint of sarcasm. Neither she understood what they meant, not did she understand what was wrong with the name 'vakuLa'. They always said that her grandmother didnt like staying with them even though they tried bringing her over because her way of life was too strict and out-of-date, and that she stayed in a remote village away from them.
It was only later when she met her grandmother incidentally on a trip did she realise what her parents meant. But right in the first meeting, she found her grandmother far more likeable than her parents. She developed a soft corner for her grandmother, who still called her VakuLa, and started visiting her often. Gradually, she began to prefer the name 'VakuLa' over 'Priya'. Though she enjoyed battling with semaphores and forks in work, she found this far more gratifying. In a short while, she had learnt so much that she felt she came a long way. Now, because of the same qualities that made her an excellent team lead in that software testing form, she had become the life of the town because of her commitment and hardwork, and she had become a role model for other young women.
At one point, she understood that more than devotion to the Godhead, it was the commitment to lead a way of life that preserved riches of life that kept her going--an honest attempt at leading a much more organic, natural, intuitive, and richer way of life where she can always learn something about the nature, the people around her, and finally herself.
And so, every weekend, she became VakuLa, and every Monday, she returned to work as Priya. Her grandmother did not coax her into any kind of decision. She knew that her granddaugher had come on her own, and she had to make her own decision-- and the decision had to be made soon.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
It is the end of my narration, for I do not know what the future has in store for the central character. Will she become VakuLa in the end or will she stay Priya... I do not want to take it any further, because I do not want to think for the readers of this story. If you have come till here, you have already an opinion about Priya/VakuLa, and about yourself. Her story ends here and yours begins here. What you want to become and where you want to go is your business.
P.S.: Yes, the narration is sloppy, the character development is incomplete, and some characters are too stereotyped and banal. But if you still manage to look through this nebulous fog and find something to ponder over, then I have done my job.
parivartanAvartanam -- Life, Transformation, and back to Life- II
Transformation
When Priya got home, her grandmother was not at home but she found all the arrangements made. An olive coloured silk saree and blouse set were lying on a stool, and some water, cold as a rule, was present in the bathroom. She quickly cast away all of her 'city' clothes, took bath, and wore her saree, braided her hair and made it into a bun, applied a short vertical tilakam on her forehead, wore some green and a couple of golden bangles, a small nose-gem (not a nose-ring), a set of small golde ear-rings set with pearl, and finally set a small lenth of flower strip into her bun.
The process which had come to seem so natural to her now, was not so a while ago. It began only as a small and gentle curiosity about year and a half ago. By and by, her grandmother sensed the flow of her granddaughter's feelings as the curiosity grew into general interest, then into a fully-grown hobby, and then avid enthusaism and finally maturing into realisation of she had been missing all this time as her mentor-grandmother, feeling happy at the progress made by her protege, taught her all she knew-- to cook, dress up, and behave in the trational manner.
VakuLa herself was perplexed how she could imbibe all of this so easily. She felt something was not right, and she tried to keep away from the town and cut all contact with her grandmother. But the urge to come back was too swift. She gave up finally. At times, she used to wonder if she was enjoying it because she was so good at it, or was it the other way around, but now, it did not matter much. She knew where she belonged. Every weekend, she had been coming to her grandmother's place. She kept lying to her parents, friends, and people at office about her whereabouts at weekends. She hardly used to go to her home. But whenever she went, there was a feeling of frustration and loss. Her parents were not qualified enough to peep behind her formal smiles to sense the inner volcano of feelings.
She also had come to know many of the traditional Indian chants by heart. She began reading books on Indian philosophy and very soon she was able to convince other scholars in town that she was someone to contend with. She even had started participating in some of the temple ceremonies. A small coterie of orthodox Brahmins tried to bar her progress, but being well versed in the shastras by now, she came over them, yet without hurting their self-respect using her tact. She now looked into the mirror to give final touches to her transformation from Priya to VakuLa-- the name her grandmother had chosen for her when she was born, but rejected by her parents who found it too old-fashioned. She came out and saw the framed photograph of Goddess Laxmi by the wall in the outer room. She took a slow deep breath, and she felt she was now richer, having driven out Alakshmi from her life:
Kshut pipásá-amalám jyesthám alakshmÃm náshayámyaham
Abhūtimasamriddhim cha sarván nirnuda me grihat.
She wrapped her neck and shoulders with the saree and went to the grocers, who knew her only has the grand-daughter of the old widow Narmada, and ordered the necessary vegetables and condiments. Cooking SODasapakvAnnAs for fifty one people is not an easy task for a beginner. She was used, by now, to cooking for the temple, but the scale was much smaller. A tough task but she had taken it upon her willingly.
She returned home where her grandmother was waiting for her. She had gone over to the neighbours' place. As her grandmother went inside to cook, vakuLa went into the small garden to collect some tulasi-daLams for the puja the next day. It was going to be another long but beautiful day.
When Priya got home, her grandmother was not at home but she found all the arrangements made. An olive coloured silk saree and blouse set were lying on a stool, and some water, cold as a rule, was present in the bathroom. She quickly cast away all of her 'city' clothes, took bath, and wore her saree, braided her hair and made it into a bun, applied a short vertical tilakam on her forehead, wore some green and a couple of golden bangles, a small nose-gem (not a nose-ring), a set of small golde ear-rings set with pearl, and finally set a small lenth of flower strip into her bun.
The process which had come to seem so natural to her now, was not so a while ago. It began only as a small and gentle curiosity about year and a half ago. By and by, her grandmother sensed the flow of her granddaughter's feelings as the curiosity grew into general interest, then into a fully-grown hobby, and then avid enthusaism and finally maturing into realisation of she had been missing all this time as her mentor-grandmother, feeling happy at the progress made by her protege, taught her all she knew-- to cook, dress up, and behave in the trational manner.
VakuLa herself was perplexed how she could imbibe all of this so easily. She felt something was not right, and she tried to keep away from the town and cut all contact with her grandmother. But the urge to come back was too swift. She gave up finally. At times, she used to wonder if she was enjoying it because she was so good at it, or was it the other way around, but now, it did not matter much. She knew where she belonged. Every weekend, she had been coming to her grandmother's place. She kept lying to her parents, friends, and people at office about her whereabouts at weekends. She hardly used to go to her home. But whenever she went, there was a feeling of frustration and loss. Her parents were not qualified enough to peep behind her formal smiles to sense the inner volcano of feelings.
She also had come to know many of the traditional Indian chants by heart. She began reading books on Indian philosophy and very soon she was able to convince other scholars in town that she was someone to contend with. She even had started participating in some of the temple ceremonies. A small coterie of orthodox Brahmins tried to bar her progress, but being well versed in the shastras by now, she came over them, yet without hurting their self-respect using her tact. She now looked into the mirror to give final touches to her transformation from Priya to VakuLa-- the name her grandmother had chosen for her when she was born, but rejected by her parents who found it too old-fashioned. She came out and saw the framed photograph of Goddess Laxmi by the wall in the outer room. She took a slow deep breath, and she felt she was now richer, having driven out Alakshmi from her life:
Kshut pipásá-amalám jyesthám alakshmÃm náshayámyaham
Abhūtimasamriddhim cha sarván nirnuda me grihat.
She wrapped her neck and shoulders with the saree and went to the grocers, who knew her only has the grand-daughter of the old widow Narmada, and ordered the necessary vegetables and condiments. Cooking SODasapakvAnnAs for fifty one people is not an easy task for a beginner. She was used, by now, to cooking for the temple, but the scale was much smaller. A tough task but she had taken it upon her willingly.
She returned home where her grandmother was waiting for her. She had gone over to the neighbours' place. As her grandmother went inside to cook, vakuLa went into the small garden to collect some tulasi-daLams for the puja the next day. It was going to be another long but beautiful day.
parivartanAvartanam -- Life, Transformation, and back to Life- I
Life
Priya was into software testing. In her short 4-year old career after her engineering, she had already become a team lead after just over 2-years of service. A charming smile always adorned her face and she had a knack of getting the most difficult job done by the people working under her. She would push, taunt, or pep up her team mates as the situation demanded. She was extremely committed and hard-working and demanded the same level of commitment from others around her. She took on others' load when they could not bear it any longer. In short, she was the perfect leadership-material. However, not all was okay with her.
Priya had a secret life that began about 8 months before. A part of her that was almost negligible had suddenly begun to assert itself and she felt compelled to satisfy it. She fought it initially-- it was not something well bred girls of upper middle class did without bringing the family into disrepute in the high society. Even she herself took sometime to accept it. But she had finally begun to understand that she was different from others and that her priorities had changed. She knew what had to be done... only, she was afraid of taking the step. Her parents, who were proud of her, would find it opprobrius. They were too worried about their status. Her team-mates would think she has lost it and gone mad. She would be in one of those fringe groups, generally laughed at. She suspended her decision to some other time in future and sat in a bus friday afternoon, as she had been doing every weekend of late.
She got down at a small town in the cold evening after about 5 hours of journey and started walking at a brisk pace. Some people saluted her in namaskaara mudra and walked away with bent heads, some others greeted her as their own child, while some were giving her rather anxious looks. She commanded huge respect in the town. She reached a house, went inside, locked the door and promptly removed all of her clothing. There was a feeling of expectation and excitement-- she had not even dreamt doing something like this before.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jayati tEdhikam kRshna janmanAvrajAH
Srayata indirA kRshna SaSvad atrahi
dayita dRshyatAm kRshna dikshutAvakA-
stvayi dhRtAsavaH kRshna tvAM vichinvatE.
na khalu gopikA kRshNa nandano bhavAn....
Chants of gOpikA gItam, along with highly appetising culinary scents, were emanating from a small house with a label "VakuLa" early in the morning in a mountain town. The female voice was young and ebullient, but it also echoed deep commitment and was full of devotion. The house had a narow fence made of thickets, and it also had a well and a couple of cows in a shed. The priest of the temple stopped in front of the wooden gate for a while to listen to the young voice, wrapt in the beauty of the sonorous chants with his eyes closed, and then walked away to attend to his chores at the temple. VakuLa had become very dear and respectable to the people, both learned and lay, in town in a short while.
Priya was into software testing. In her short 4-year old career after her engineering, she had already become a team lead after just over 2-years of service. A charming smile always adorned her face and she had a knack of getting the most difficult job done by the people working under her. She would push, taunt, or pep up her team mates as the situation demanded. She was extremely committed and hard-working and demanded the same level of commitment from others around her. She took on others' load when they could not bear it any longer. In short, she was the perfect leadership-material. However, not all was okay with her.
Priya had a secret life that began about 8 months before. A part of her that was almost negligible had suddenly begun to assert itself and she felt compelled to satisfy it. She fought it initially-- it was not something well bred girls of upper middle class did without bringing the family into disrepute in the high society. Even she herself took sometime to accept it. But she had finally begun to understand that she was different from others and that her priorities had changed. She knew what had to be done... only, she was afraid of taking the step. Her parents, who were proud of her, would find it opprobrius. They were too worried about their status. Her team-mates would think she has lost it and gone mad. She would be in one of those fringe groups, generally laughed at. She suspended her decision to some other time in future and sat in a bus friday afternoon, as she had been doing every weekend of late.
She got down at a small town in the cold evening after about 5 hours of journey and started walking at a brisk pace. Some people saluted her in namaskaara mudra and walked away with bent heads, some others greeted her as their own child, while some were giving her rather anxious looks. She commanded huge respect in the town. She reached a house, went inside, locked the door and promptly removed all of her clothing. There was a feeling of expectation and excitement-- she had not even dreamt doing something like this before.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jayati tEdhikam kRshna janmanAvrajAH
Srayata indirA kRshna SaSvad atrahi
dayita dRshyatAm kRshna dikshutAvakA-
stvayi dhRtAsavaH kRshna tvAM vichinvatE.
na khalu gopikA kRshNa nandano bhavAn....
Chants of gOpikA gItam, along with highly appetising culinary scents, were emanating from a small house with a label "VakuLa" early in the morning in a mountain town. The female voice was young and ebullient, but it also echoed deep commitment and was full of devotion. The house had a narow fence made of thickets, and it also had a well and a couple of cows in a shed. The priest of the temple stopped in front of the wooden gate for a while to listen to the young voice, wrapt in the beauty of the sonorous chants with his eyes closed, and then walked away to attend to his chores at the temple. VakuLa had become very dear and respectable to the people, both learned and lay, in town in a short while.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Ascent
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
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
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!
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