A dilemma

Someone I know and respect very much posted a poll on Twitter. I reproduce it here –

Recently Saraswati or Ganesh puja in govt schools is becoming a contested issue. The Govt schools are supposed to be secular institutions. Pujas of all kinds are necessarily religious. Should pujas be allowed in Govt Schools?

The immediate response in my mind was – no. Government run schools are open to all. This may include Hindus, people of other faiths as well as atheists. To workship Ganesha or Saraswati would mean favouring the beliefs of one community over the other. Therefore, one must not allow puja of Ganesh or Saraswati in a Govt run school. In my mind, the answer until this point is clear.

When we were school students, our morning assembly included a prayer song among other things. Part of this prayer song included Sanskrit Slokas borrowed from an Upanishad, which is essentially a Hindu text. The first lines mean – “(Lead me) from untruth to truth”. Further, there was a song, in Hindi, दया कर दान विद्या का which can be loosely translated to “In your compassion, give me the boon if wisdom.” Even the way it was done was typically the Hindi way – with eyes closed and palms folded like a ‘namaste’. As a kid, nothing seemed out of place. We simply fell in line, and when the school pupil leader gave the command – “प्रार्थना गीत गाओ” (“Sing the prayer song”), we just started singing. As a teenager, we would start chatting through the assembly, playing pranks, and sometimes get caught in the process. One particular teacher would sneak up behind us quietly, and cane those of us who are doing things other than what we were told by the school pupil leader. We’d wince, then wink & grin at each other and carry on as if nothing happened.

Now comes the dilemma. I went to a Govt run school. While the prayer did not explicitly mention any deity, it included lines about ‘purifying our inner selves’ and what not. Some of these words, the ‘Om’ for instance, were clearly ‘Hindu’. (“What is Hindu?” is a question for another blog post and I doubt if I’ll ever write it because I doubt if I am clear enough). More importantly, this clearly was a ‘prayer’. By definition, this means an address to an God, an already unknown concept. Therefore, we are willfully suspending our belief and supplicating to an unseen entity. While as a kid, it was a mere ritual, I grew up to appreciate the value of submitting to a higher power. So the question arises – is it alright to teach children acts of faith in an unknown God? Does it not contradict rationale thinking, something we want every human to be capable of?

As an adult, I have somehow managed to reconcile rational thinking, questioning and faith. I am not sure about other religions, but I think this is eminently possible for a Hindu. But is it alright to teach this to children? I am tempted to say, no, but then, I have a fear. I think in some way, I favour a spiritual society, as opposed to an atheistic one. By ignoring this important aspect of human lives, the development of the spirit (for which there may not be an adequate ‘scientific’ definition, I admit), I am not sure if we would be doing justice to ‘educating’ a child. One solution would be to teach children a bit about all religions, or at least the major ones. That, however, could only be done when they are slightly older. What about the younger kids? I think it is ok for them to pray as a group, with verses similar to the ones I’ve said as a kid – there’s no Ganesh or Saraswati. However, there is a form of submission to something unknown. And I think that’s alright.

I wonder what Rohit ji would say.

Same old, something new

I turn a year older today. The better part of life is now behind me. We tend to turn reflective on such occasions. What can I claim as my accomplishments? Not much. I’ve enrolled and dropped out of two different Masters Programmes. May be there’s a third, I don’t remember. I’m quite good with languages. I started learning French, later Sanskrit. In both cases, I was my teachers’ favourite. And I eventually dropped both. At home, my parents lament that I don’t persist with anything. Decades back, Appa told me that I am not exploiting my fullest potential. May be that’s true to some extent, but it is also true that he perhaps overestimated me. I’m quite an ordinary bloke.

Another thing that my parents rue about is my absent-mindedness. They’d instruct me to do something and minutes later, I would check back with them on the exact details. This is something that has dawned on me more and more, in recent times. My mind is forever preoccupied. I’ve lost the ability to sit down and perform a task without being distracted within minutes; eventually getting up to shake a leg or smoke a cigarette or fiddle with my phone. It is frighteningly true of me.

They say awareness is the first step. This year, I’ve resolved to work on my focus. I want to become more focused. Am I too old for it now? Can such qualities be changed when one is past their prime? I think it won’t be easy, but I’d like to believe that nothing is impossible. I’m going to put in some concerted effort.

As a first step, I am re-reading this book. This time around, I am going to be more conscious while reading it. I want to make a summary of it and share with some of my colleagues before the end of February. That’s the first goal. And by doing this, I hope to imbibe some of the ideas and work on myself.

There were a bunch of other things that I had thought of. I wanted to post a list of resolutions. I don’t remember if I’ve done it in the past. I’ll stop with this one item though, for now.

Focus. I might not get there overnight, but I won’t stop trying. That’s a promise to myself.

We don’t understand some things.

I’ve worn something (usually, Vibhuti – sacred ash) on my forehead since childhood. Was ‘indoctrinated’ into it, later understood & appreciated, undoubtedly only to a limited extent, it’s significance. Conditioning, conning oneself, imagination – call it what you may; if it helps me and if its harmless to me or anyone else around me, I’ll gladly do it. I’m a person of #faith and I doubt if that will change in this janma. Even today, when it comes to some special people, I point it out & request them / suggest to them, to wear something – chandan, kumkum, anything. Those few also understand where I’m coming from & continue doing what they must. We still #love each other. Faith and rationality are beautifully reconciled in #Vedanta . Is this #SanatanaDharma ? It is, & much more. There are apparently 5 more astika school of thought & 3 or more nastika schools commonly studied. Wait! Each of them well articulated & comprehensive logical frameworks. Now, beat that! This land, #Bharat , is unique. #SanatanaDharma however vague an entity it is, has some thread that needs to be understood & articulated. And even if you don’t care about the politics of it much, or perhaps even hate this aspect, you can not ignore something as vast, yet subtle & significant as this idea. #SanatanaDharma of #India – it belongs to everyone here, irrespective of ‘religion’. People will rise. I’m confident, because this civilisation has stood the test of time. It is, after all, eternal & will eventually lead the human race into a spectacular & new realm of consciousness. Sri Aurobindo has seen it, as have others. #tathaastu

(Copied from my twitter feed, with edits)

Who is ugly?

I was conversing with S about our weekend plans. I had been invited by this old friend from college, for his son’s upanayanam. Over the years, I’ve almost stopped attending weddings because I find them too crowded and ostentatious, and generally lacking in anything meaningful. However, in this case, it is different, where a child is being initiated into the bath of ‘brachmacharya’. While this has been taken to mean celibacy, abstinence and so on, the literal meaning could be translated to ‘abiding in the Self’.

I mentioned this S how this friend was ‘fat & ugly’, and ultimately got wedded to one of the prettiest day scholars, which shocked a lot of us back then. I was reliving some of my boyhood memories, and smiling, as S bade me farewell and I was left to myself. In a flash, it occurred to me that S had mentioned about her own journey with fitness, about how she had been overweight and chose to work on it. I felt embarrassed at my brashness, and wondered how she must have felt, especially in her younger days.

Later, I felt a tad guilty about my insensitivity and sent her a message. She was kind enough to open up and share with me the emotions she has experienced in this context. I’ve never felt any shame at what others have said to me. For instance, I routinely get teased about my baldness and it has made little difference to me. In contrast, S told me how when she looks back, she doesn’t feel good about the way she was treated. So much so, that she finds it hard to look at herself as someone who is ‘not ugly’.

I can’t recall when I have felt more remorse. It wasn’t just about today, and bringing back undesirable memories to my dear friend S, especially after we had had such a great time together. I also looked back at the times when I, as a younger boy, have bullied people for various reasons and it made me wonder how I could have been so mean. I hope those people are alright.

I can’t take back what I’ve done. Our thoughts, words and deeds leave impressions that are indelible, and the consequences are only for us to face. Each one of us have our crosses to bear. I can only hope those that have been hurt by me have been able to overcome, as I say a mental apology to all of them.

I was reminded of the following verse attributed to Kabir –

बुरा जो देखन मैं चला, बुरा न मिलिया कोय ।
जो दिल खोजा आपना, मुझसे बुरा न कोय ॥

“When I set out to find badness, I couldn’t find any. When I looked into my own heart, I found that there was nothing worse than me.”

Perhaps it is an opportunity to get better. After all, it is the ability to reflect on oneself, identify one’s faults and work on them so that we evolve into a better version of ourselves, that makes us human. I’ll try.

Trees of Delhi

That’s the name of a book I came across many years ago. The author has painstakingly documented more than 250 species of tress in the city of New Delhi, India. The book includes beautiful photographs, botanical names, descriptions, anecdotes and what not else. It is indeed a field guide of sorts. The moment I heard about it, I wanted to get it for Ma. I’ve seen her browse through it now and then, in utter fascination. She loves plants and tress. She knows the names of many of them, grows a few when she can afford to and will never miss the opportunity to look at them no matter where she travels.

Recently, a friend of mine told me about an interesting phenomenon. I got to verify it this morning. As I was walking down the street in Madras, where I currently live, I started observing the different trees. I observed copper pods, badam, mango, a couple of tree jasmines and a few others I do not know. There was a kapok silk cotton, with most of the pods having broken, exposing white fluffy bulbs and it was a sight to behold. I observed, as I was told, that the branches in one direction seem particularly more robust – bigger, fatter – compared to the rest. This was indeed true of most trees I could observe. Apparently, being in the northern hemisphere, the southern direction receives the most sunlight and hence this happens. Well, I told myself, I’ll use this to navigate if I were ever lost in a jungle.

As I was thinking about all this, and enjoying the trees, it occurred to me that Madras has quite a few. Especially locations such as T Nagar, Mambalam, Mandaiveli, Mylapore, Adayar, Besant Nagar and even Anna Nagar to some extent. Perhaps it is the newly developed OMR that may not have as many but even there it isn’t bad. Suddenly, I felt a surge of gratitude. I don’t find city life particularly likeable. When you are on the road, very often, it feels like a dog-eat-dog world. More so for a small town person like me. Trees provide a sense of calm in the midst of all the chaos. They’re just there, and they survive unless someone decides to harm them. They take almost nothing, and give us so much. I was inspired by this being.

I also wondered if some of us who yearn to get out of the cities, to their ‘getaways’, ever stop and notice the trees that we have all around us. I made a promise to myself. To make time for the trees around me, no matter where I go.

Untranslatability

I met with some college friends, after many years. One of whom I was driving with, is from Orissa. However, he has lived and worked in Tamil Nadu since 1998. He has even bought a home here. And I noticed how he was speaking very good Tamil. As we drove, we got speaking in Tamil just for the heck of it and I was enjoying listening to him. The music was also Tamil film songs from the 70s and 80s, my father’s collection, and he was enjoying it.

“What does ‘sakka podu podu’ mean?”, he quizzed me, while listening to a song. I thought about it for a moment and tried to explain, but also adding that it is probably untranslatable.

I encountered, quite unknowingly, another word – sisu.

According to Wikipedia, “Sisu is a Finnish concept stoic determination, tenacity of purpose, grit, bravery, resilience and hardiness, and is held by Finns themselves to express their national character.” What a beautiful concept, I thought. I was quite fascinated by the Finns when I visited them twice in the last decade. And some of it made sense.

The word as a title for the movie made even more sense. War veteran and now prospector Aatami Korpi finds a significant amount of gold in the wilderness of Lapland and sets off with it. Unfortunately, he crosses paths with a Nazi squad. They are ruthless, and intent on snatching his gold, while Aatami is equally determined to protect it. The mayhem that follows forms the entire length of this 90 minute movie.

I didn’t think much of it. I happened to browse through a review in the newspaper where the reviewer had said said that it is a mindless action movie. For some perverted reason, I seem to like violent movies. So I just decided to go. Even though watching OTT has become a lot more common these days, I still enjoy the experience of watching it in a cinema theatre. I had a school friend for company too this time, so there was nothing to lose.

The violence was excessive, perhaps even by my standards. At least in a couple of scenes, I had to shut my eyes. Half, to be honest. The plot, as described above, is quite simple. It is a movie that expects you to set aside the logical mind in multiple instances. Yet, I was hooked. For on, I found the background music to be strangely alluring even when it was grim. While I admired the beauty of the country, I couldn’t make it to Lapland and therefore was in awe of some of the stunning frames that capture the beauty of the terrain.

The characters were very well etched, and that’s another thing that I found quite fascinating. Be it Bruno, who is commanding the German troop or Wolf his assistant. Both equally vile, the former is a bit more crude and takes undue interest in the group of women who are held captive. Then, there is Schütze. In one scene, when Aatami is hanged, he takes off his cap in deference towards the enemy. Then, there is Aino who volunteers to be picked up for the one to lead the troop into a minefield while they are in pursuit of Aatami. Aatami himself is obviously fascinating. He ‘simply refuses to die’, and at one point, Bruno discovers that Aatami, after losing his family to the Russians, sets out to find and exterminate them, and is called a ‘one-man death squad’. He is nicknamed ‘Koschei’, by them, which means immortal. Bruno doesn’t seem to take it seriously, but over the course of the movie, that changes, if only gradually.

All is all, I found Sisu to be a fascinating cinematic experience, and I’m no film critic anyways. As I was reading more, I was continued to be fascinated. I discovered what he word means. I also discovered that First Blood, John Woo movies, and the Finnish legend Simo Häyhä were inspirations for the movie. He was a sniper, and is believed to have killed more than 500 enemy soldiers. So terrified were the Russians of him, that he was called The White Death.

It made me wonder if we know enough about our soldiers. I purchased a comic book some years ago. It described, in brief, the heroics of the recipients of the Param Vir Chakra, the highest military decoration in India. I remember reading it with much respect, and awe at how there are people who don’t fear their death. I find it quite unfathomable.

Riding into the sunset

In the 1970s and 80s, my father was one of the few people in our town to be riding a Royal Enfield Bullet. The classic thumping sound of the approaching vehicle would typically have me scampering, especially because I would mostly be doing things he had forbidden me from doing. There was a rush of fear of being reprimanded, and the excitement of having broken the rules. Some days I was caught, others not. Until we got a car in the 90s, this was our go-to vehicle. My parents tell me that one evening, they set out to watch a movie, and on their way, my mother had labour pains, and they rode to the hospital instead of the cinema. And I came into this world later that night, in the same hospital that they worked at all their lives. “Your sister was much less troublesome, from her birth, up until this day,” my mother would sometimes say, with a wry smile. Do I sense disappointment in them in the way I turned out, I sometimes wonder.

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” — E.E. Cummings

“Oh, you keep talking about it. Let’s just go book one right away,” my dad said, about a month ago. I had been telling them occasionally, that I wish to buy a motorcycle and ride it long distances. I stopped riding one more than 15 years ago, when I moved to hand-me-down cars from my father. Of late though, there has been this itch. There’s a difference between riding and driving a car. While both require tremendous concentration, inside a car, it’s like watching a movie. The windshield is like a frame of sorts. Riding a motorcycle is a different experience. You’re right amidst the action, the wind blowing in your face bringing along with it dust, grime & heat. You’re in the movie itself. I’ve done some really long rides, during a time when there were no cellphones. And the only map we had was folded neatly and stuffed into our pocket. I’ve been longing to get back that experience. And so that day, without thinking much more, my dad and I went and booked a Royal Enfield.

“Do you know what this man did? When he was three, he hid the keys somewhere. And no matter how much we persuaded him, he wouldn’t tell us where. From then on, I had to use the duplicate key, which I fortunately had safely put away. The original was never to be found, until this day.” My dad was narrating this to my neighbour, a few days ago, when they were both chatting from across the gate. Dad was showing him the motorcycle that I had just collected the previous day, as the chrome gleamed in the evening sunlight. “I want to try it out too,” I heard him saying to our neighbour, and I must admit that it surprised me. My dad doesn’t come across some someone who is easily excitable.

The following day was a Sunday, and I asked my dad to come along for a spin. Once we reached the highway, I handed over the motorcycle to him and moved to ride pillion with him. He gingerly picked up the machine from its standing position; I could sense that he was unsure. He tried to swing his leg up once, and stopped half way. Then, on his second try, he managed and sat on the saddle. As he rode slowly, he fumbled with the gears. When a vehicle approached, there was a palpable sense of uncertainty and nervousness as he rode. “It needs some getting used to pa,” I told him.

About 10 minutes later, he started to turnaround. When I asked him to ride some more, he said he had had enough. I made sure to take back ridership before we entered the town. “It is heavy, I hope you will manage. I guess I’ve lost my strength with age. Ride safe and enjoy it while you can” he said, his voice trailing off and I observed that his face did not reflect any emotion, except he was looking into the horizon, as the sun was setting.

“A motorcycle functions entirely in accordance with the laws of reason, and a study of the art of motorcycle maintenance is really a miniature study of the art of rationality itself.”

– Robert M. Pirsig

When I went to bed that night, I wondered how he must have felt. If he did feel anything, his face didn’t show it. I for one, felt happy and sad at the same time. I was happy about the ride itself. I’ve ridden the motorcycle a crazy lot, and I see myself doing a lot more of it in the years to come. Yet, this will undoubtedly be one of my most cherished rides, and something I hope to remember until my dying day.

A Happy Meeting

To love, without seeking to be loved. To give, without expecting anything in return. It is an idea that inspires me endlessly. I wonder if I can ever get there. I hope to keep trying.

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“Vibes are very important for me. I don’t like to listen to negative talk, especially about people. If you can, get away from such people. If you can’t, may be you are choosing to be around them, so why complain?”, she said. I didn’t want to investigate the possibility that sometimes, people are trapped. We, being in positions of privilege, may not realise just how hard it is to escape the reality called life. The conversation was flowing, and I just let it.

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Imagine a 16 year old girl. She is finishing school. Comes from a well-endowed family. One day, her mother sits her down and talk to her. About her weight, of all things. Such are the times we live in. Or may be it always was a problem. I call one of my closes friends ‘motey’ meaning someone who is fat. I always did, from the time I was 16 myself. I never thought much about it. So this kid decides to work on herself.

A decade later, she’s sitting in front of me, full of confidence. Does that have also to do with one’s physique, I wonder. I wasn’t the one to be blessed with the looks. I’m skinny, short & bald. Yet it never came in the way of my self-worth. I’ve had people tell me that I’m too full of myself. Coming back to this kid. She works on her weight while in college, slowly starts working part-time with her fitness instructor, discovers she likes the work, and works even harder to learn. She undergoes courses in fitness, yoga, mediation and what not. And here she is, my fitness instructor. It had been a year since I met her and I was keen that we celebrate. I for one, have been feeling better than ever. And I’ve no doubt that she has had a key role to play.

“Finally,” she said, as she walked in while I was waiting for her outside the place we had chosen to meet at. I was smoking. What else do fidgety people do while waiting? That she didn’t seem to bother only flashed my mind briefly, because by then, she had whisked me inside the restaurant we had agreed to dine at. Always down to business. Her sessions are like that. Professionalism to the core. No nonsense. 10 pushups. If at 7, I collapse, she waits. And when I get up, she simply reminds me to complete 3 more.

That evening, the conversation flowed. Not exactly breezy but more like a gust of wind. A ton of energy. We talked of many things and it was effortless for me. I just had to go with the flow. At one point, things moved to fitness, which is what brought us together. “What do you think should be my goal?”, I quizzed. After all, we had started off without too much thought – I just wanted to bring in some variety apart from running, and more importantly, I was struggling with injuries. “You need to be more grounded. You’re buzzing with energy. It’s hard to stop you”, she said, and then almost as an afterthought, she added, “Yet, I am not sure if I should change. anything. It is your nature. I am like that too.” I was reminded of Gita 18.60.

That evening would be one of the most memorable ones in recent times. I hadn’t ‘dated’ anyone in a long time, leave alone someone so much younger. I expected to be feeling conscious, possibly even uncomfortable though I still wanted to meet her. To my pleasant surprise it was nothing like that. I felt at ease through the evening, and I can only thank her for that.

It was past 9, and we realised it was time to leave. Her parents were had come to pick her up. As she opened the door and introduced me, I instinctively told her parents that they should be proud of her. “I am,” said her father, almost spontaneously.

As they drove off, I set about walking home, with a smile on my face. If she represented the younger lot, I felt very confident about the times to come. My country is in safe hands after all. There’s hope. There’s love.

Catching up

He called out my name first. “True Caller?”, I asked and he answered in the affirmative. “It is a useful thing. After all, I’m so famous and so many people want to reach out to me these days.” He hadn’t lost his pathetic sense of humour, I thought to myself. And it struck me how this technology which was proving to be so useful to him had denied me the pleasure of surprising him. I like surprises. May be it is for this reason that I haven’t installed the app on my phone.

“I’m sure you must be wondering why I’ve called all of a sudden,” he said.

“Actually, I’m not,” I responded almost spontaneously.

“I know that among us friends, we can speak after ages, and it doesn’t feel like that. Almost like we carry on from where we left off, all those years ago. Yet, I know it may not look nice. After all, we haven’t been in touch in two decades and I call out of the blue, because you I wanted something from you.”

“I’ll be honest with you. The only thing I feel right now is happiness, at being able to speak with my friend after all these years. Nothing else.”

I was not lying, not to him or to myself. I really wasn’t thinking anything beyond at that moment. The joy was spontaneous and filled my heart. “Where do you live? What do you do?”, and I had to stop myself even though I was eager to know many things about him. He was probably not the same person I knew. That was two decades ago. In our youthful brashness, there was a certain brutal honestly. The facades may not have been entirely absent, as is with a child, but they were certainly fewer. As we grow up, we tend to create many more of them so as to hide ourselves effectively behind them. And yet, there are some friends with whom the facades come off almost involuntarily.

It was a short conversation. I told him that I’d call back during the weekend. And unlike my resolve to write, I told myself that this is one promise I will keep up with. In those few moments, I was simply savouring the joy of speaking with a long lost friend. It was lovely catching up with my friend.

Privilege

Have you been in love? I have. More than once. I think love is blind, but only temporarily. In my experience, the blindness invariably ended after a while. And so did the love. I am wondering though, if a mother’s love for her child is possibly an exception and perhaps only one of its kind.

Over the last two days, I have been physically exhausted. Yesterday, when I woke up, I had a headache. With India experiencing what they call a second wave of Covid, I wonder if it is inevitable that a lot of us become paranoid. I did feel this a few times last year as well. When any little deviation from ‘normal health’ would make me wonder if I had contracted the virus. Back then, regular prayer & meditation helped. This time around, it is back, perhaps more magnified given the way things are unfolding.

Yet, I was telling myself it is just fatigue. No fever, no cough, no aches. When I mentioned it to my father last evening, he wanted me to get myself tested for the virus immediately. He said that given the circumstances it wouldn’t be wise to ignore anything. I thought he was overreacting but once he had seeded the thought, I eventually decided to take the test. Why not?

He also knew that I was planning on coming home to be with them for a few days, starting this weekend. He asked me what my plan was, in light of this. I asked him what he thought I ought to do. He said he wasn’t sure. Of course he wasn’t, but I was. Until I spoke with him, I was a lot less worried. But once he wanted me to get tested, I wasn’t sure if I still wanted to come home. After all, if I am infected, I would much rather be alone and definitely far away from them.

A few minutes later, my mother called me.

“Just come home,” was the first thing she said. I wasn’t sure as the report would only be available after 24 hours. And there is a weekend curfew at my hometown. She persuaded me by reminding me that I have a separate room in the first floor of the house. “Even in those months that you worked from home, you spent most of your time there. This time, you can simply be there all the time. At least you won’t be alone and there will be someone to take care of you if you are sick.” I decided to sleep on it but also reminded myself to be grateful for such privileges. After all, how many people can even afford to quarantine in their own homes.

This morning, the sample was collected at 6 30 am. When I woke up an hour earlier, I was actually feeling a lot better. I was pretty confident it wouldn’t be the virus, but went ahead and gave the sample anyway. I was still in a dilemma. Should I go or just stay put was the question. Thankfully, I had other things to do this morning, and got busy doing them. By noon, it was time for a break. I didn’t let the thought bother me any more. I said a prayer and left for my home. It is a 3 hour drive, but today, I took almost 4 hours. I had stopped for lunch, and once again for a cup of tea, and driven much slower than I usually do. I was in a pensive mood. The dilemma wasn’t there any more. No fear either. I was just listening to the music playing and driving at speeds much lesser than I usually do.

When I finally reached home, she was at the doorstep, to welcome me with her characteristic “Hiiiiiiiiiii” and a bright smile. Many times, it is a grin, because I mostly don’t tell her or my father prior that I am visiting. I just drop in, because I feel the three hour drive that it takes me to get here, may mean anxious moments for them. This time though, given all the background, they both knew. They were masked up and ready.

“Welcome home. This time, you are more welcome than ever,” she said. From a distance of course. I could not say anything in return, except smile and feel a deep sense of gratitude for being so loved. A few hours later, I reminisced at those precise words again, this time, in wonderment.