The Hunt for Paradise

2011-10-26T00:58:00.000+05:30

Missed Connection - Part III

Story So Far:
Missed Connection - Part I
Missed Connection - Part II

Haveyou ever been to a new place that seemed oddly familiar? An uncanny feelingthat you had been there before but still couldn’t remember when. My brain was still very wooly. The drug hadclearly not worn off. But in the very dimly and flickeringly lit room, as Islowly cast my eyes around to acquit myself with my surroundings, as I sawevery new thing, it seemed I have always known it would be there. It isdifficult to explain, it is almost like a cloth being pulled over from acollection of your childhood toys. Until the cloth is removed you don’t knowwhat is underneath, but as progressively the cloth is pulled back what is slowlyrevealed you know intimately.

Thestatue of Buddha on the right side of the big hall, just by the side of the bigwooden crucifix hanging on the wall, wasn’t it always so? The small woodentable where a few candles flickered disturbed by the draft as I entered, ablazing fireside on the other side with the seating area, the stairway on thefar side from where I stood. Why didthis place look so familiar? Why?

Asmy eyes slowly got accustomed to the dark, my heart froze.

Therewere a number of people in the room. Standing silently, without word, withoutmovement.

Thedoor behind me closed and I felt Alexendra go past me and melt into thecrowd. I couldn’t see any faces onlydark outlines.

Onsome invisible command, they seemed to start moving toward me all at once. Iestimated that there were perhaps twelve to fifteen people. Slowly, noiselessmoving toward me.

Afew hands reached out toward me as I broke into a cold sweat. It was perhapsthe most terrifying moment of my adult life.

“Otto.” A disembodied voice seemed to come out fromthe group. “You are here. Finally”.

Asthe hands touched me I realized one of them was Alexendra’s. She moved to my left side and put her handaround my waist. Another man took hold of my right elbow. Slowly they propelled towards the stairs.

“Weknew you would come”. Suddenly they whole crowd noiselessly fell behind me asAlexndra and the man on my right slowly took me up the stairs.

Istammered, “Wha..What is the meaning of this?”

“Youwill see.”

Ontop of the stairs there was a small landing that led to a corridor that ran perpendicularto it. One both sides there appeared to be rooms, but only one of the doors wasopen and some light came out. I was taken toward that.

Theparty including Alexendra stopped near the door and pushed me inside.

Thisroom was better lit but still with candles. Thankfully there were many of them.Inside the room was a big bed. Again that strange feeling that I was in a placethat was very familiar. Was I going mad? Was this some crazy dream?

Imoved forward slowly toward the bed. In it lay a lady, almost in her forties.Clearly ill.

Andthen I saw her face. Beautiful, pale and tear streaked. I screamedin a voice that was not mine. “Mein Gott!Helen!”

Ican never explain how or why. I just knew that I was looking at Helen Schnee. Wife of SS-Obersturmbannführer Otto Schnee.

No.

I was looking at the face of my wife!

2011-10-17T21:37:00.001+05:30

Missed Connection Part II: Journey through the night

Continued from Part 1: Missed Connection

I have no recollection of how long the journey lasted; I kept switching between states of total unconsciousness and partial consciousness. There are two things that I recollect of the trip, the first was that outside the car a heavy storm raged as the car drove at a dangerous speed and the second, almost all through the trip Alexendra held my hand! It was not a tight grip to stop me from getting away; I was in not state for that anyway, on the contrary it was a gentle, warm, almost a reassuring grip. None of it made sense to my groggy mind. I kept wondering if I didn’t turn up at the check-in next noon, would the airline send someone to look for me? How would they know where I was? Would there anything left of me to find? And my family, what of my family? Would they ever come to know about me? Even in my stupor I got really mad at this girl sitting by my side for having tricked me to this. Control had still not returned and with all the will I could muster I pulled my hand away from her.

After what could be an eternity, the car finally stopped. By then I had started to gain some control. As the car door open I saw two men, with covered faces reached out to me. I instinctively pulled back. They however reached me inside the car and helped me out into the bitter cold into knee deep fresh snow. Alexendra came out behind me. Outside the two towering guys held me on both sides, I twisted my body feebly to indicate that I didn’t appreciate being held. If I were to die, by God, I was going to do it with dignity. Not like a trapped animal. “I am deeply sorry, Jim. But there was no other way…” I heard Alexendra whisper softly to my ears.

I perhaps had a thousand words that I could say to her right at that time, the choicest of Indian swear words of all the six languages that I know and then some in English but no word would come out my mouth. I simply glared at her in silent rage.

She just shook her head in apparent sadness, (the killer’s guilt, I thought) and reached out brush the snow that had by then fallen on my hair. She then said something to the two giants standing beside me, who started steering me to my right. For the first time I noticed that the car had stopped in front of a big mansion. It was enormous, dark and ominous looking. It has a massive doorway toward which we seemed to be headed.

In front of the door I hesitated, all my instincts telling me to get the hell out of there. Alexendra reached from behind and took my hand again. “Jim, I promise no harm shall come on to you.” I was getting tired of all this hand-holding and her lies. I shook her hand of and with difficulty I mumbled, “Go to hell.”

There was no way of backing out with those two goons behind me I thought. With the name of Almightly in my mind, I pushed open the door and crossed the threshold into the house.

2011-10-08T16:21:00.003+05:30

Missed Connection - The Chronicle of A Strange Adventure ..

I noticed her the moment I entered the near empty hotel lounge bar. A white girl with shoulder length auburn hair, slight built and a very pleasant face. Even at the height of a bitter winter she was tastefully dressed. Knee high boots, dark blue jeans, a white turtle neck sweater under a leather jacket. In the seat next to her lay an overcoat, muffler, gloves and a cap, the standard ensemble of a wintery Europe. She was reading a book and looked up as I passed her by and made my way to a seat at the further side of the room and settled down. As I stole a look back to her, I saw her look back at me. My heart skipped a beat. Literally. Her face looked very familiar, someone I seemed to have known for years but couldn’t place. Where did I know her from? I did travel to Germany a few times in past; did I know her from work? Nothing clicked. She looked about 25-26 years old, a little younger than me. Even from the distance I saw her regard me with her hazel eyes with a mildly curious look. I did the most natural thing when an attractive lady stares at you; I nodded and gave her a smile. She smiled back in return. That smile was the start of an amazing journey that I find it hard to believe really happened even today.

I debated with myself for years on whether to write about this strange adventure. Would this open uncomfortable questions, disbelief, even a snide remark or two? In fact, till today, I am not sure I recollect exactly what had happened that night, and much less why. However when last winter I received a short email from a sender in Germany – She is no more. Thought you might wish to know – I made up my mind that I shall write down what I remembered of the Otto Schnee affair. The others involved in the story have read the manuscript and have given their agreement.

As a frequent traveler there is nothing that puts my rhythm out of gear like a missed connection. But when the flight from Chicago to Frankfurt, lifted off a couple of hours late that winter about eight years ago, I knew there was no way I was going to be able to make it to the connecting flight to Bangalore. The flight landed in FRA under near gale condition. By the time I got into the Terminal 1 building it was obvious that the gale was getting worse. As I entered the terminal through the aerobridge there was an airline staffer waiting outside with a sign with my name on it, he guided me to a counter. The flight to Bangalore had long left and there was no chance of getting into an alternative flight. However they were ready to put me up in a hotel not far from the airport. They also gave me some vouchers to buy food and drinks at the hotel, a calling card and a boarding pass for the next day.

Tired, crestfallen I made my way out of the immigration chaperoned by the same guy who had met me at the aerobridge onto a waiting car. It was already around six when the car slowly pulled out, with only me as the passenger, for the hotel. The hotel turned out to be a small inn sort of place, quaint and pricy. Not the usual business hotel that I had expected. In any case the airline was paying. But why was I the only Bangalore bound passenger there, there must have been other who missed their connection? Perhaps the airline had put them in other hotels and gave the matter no further thought. After checking in to my room and making a few calls I decided to go down to see if I could get something to eat. I was tired and famished. And as I entered the lounge bar I saw her.

The lounge was dimly lit and remarkably empty; I was there, the girl seated at a coffee table with its own reading light, a couple of Turkish-Arabic looking guys far away near a fireside, an elderly white man nursing a drink and an expressionless bartender. Trophies from game hunting hung around the room giving it a strange air. I have never subscribed to the notion of killing animals as a sport.

I found myself a seat, kept my things and walked over the counter to get myself a draft. While passing back I flashed a smile again at the girl and she smiled back wide. Slightly inviting without being crass. So I kind of tarried a bit around her table and made an opening remark about the beastly weather. She closed her book and in a very slightly German accented English said, “Terrible, isn’t it. Have you missed your connection?” She had a nice voice. I looked at her again, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I had known her from somewhere but for the life of me couldn’t place.

“Yes, I missed my flight”, said I

“Me too. ”

“But I see you have Mr. Kant to keep you company”, I noticed Kant’s famous face on the cover of the book she was reading.

“Oh! You know about Immanuel Kant”, for the first time looking genuinely interested in making conversation. Well, that was my cue. I immediately took the seat across and assumed a very philosophical expression. “He is one of my favorites, I find his Critique of Pure Reason, perhaps one of the epochal philosophical works.” I lied effortlessly.

My father was a fan of Kant and had his books at home which is how I recognized Kant’s picture and my father would sometime discuss Kantian philosophies with his friends at home from where I had some rudimentary understanding.

“Oh Yes! But there is so much more to Kant,” her eyes shone as spoke, “His invention of critical philosophy, notion of moral autonomy as central to humanity, his theories on God are equally amazing”.

I nodded sagely as she spoke nonstop for twenty minutes on intricacies of Kant’s philosophies as I struggled to keep up. Once in a while I would take a sip of the bitter brew in my hand, grimace and get back to the conversation. In between, I also learnt was that her name was Alexandra Schnee, like me she was also a Computer Engineer and had a deep interest in philosophy, both western and eastern.

Never before have I been so impressed, so quickly with any girl. And it was not simply because she was the first and thus far the only girl who could expound on philosophy and leave me speechless, nor was it because she spoke with so much passion and scholarship, and certainly not because of her striking good looks. It seemed to be a much deeper connection, it was almost as if I was speaking to someone who was a reflection of every good thought I ever had. Heaven help me, but the feeling I got while speaking to her was like the feeling I get when I and my younger brother have philosophical discussions, where we both know that every word, every thought we speak automatically resonates with the other and long explanations are never necessary, just the essence of the thought is enough.

“By the way, I am even more impressed of your Swami Vivekanda.” Well, I thought, that was a more familiar territory. However before I could start my speech on Swamiji, she asked, “What are you drinking..” I pointed at the tap with a sad face. “Well, you obviously don’t like it. Wait I will fix you a drink.”

I quickly took the chance to go to the wash room to dab my face with water. All the Kant stuff had gotten me quite drowsy. When I came back to my seat, she already had two tall glass of fizzy red drink waiting.

“What is this?”

“Grandma’s secret cocktail,” she said with a slight smile, “You will like it”

It was heavenly, tasted a little like the famous Singapore Sling, and I took rather big gulps. A little strong too, I started to think as suddenly my head started to swim. “Alexandra..” I started as I felt myself slumping forward, grazing the side of the table and falling to the floor. My eyes were open, but limbs immobile and brain sluggish. In a daze I saw that the Turkish looking guys were coming toward where I lay … to help I thought, as did the elderly gentleman whose presence I had forgotten completely.

However instead of sprinkling my face with water, the two guys held me on two sides and pulled up to my feet. I sensed Alexandra quickly wrapping my jacket around me as the elderly man shouted something in German. The bartender quickly opened a door somewhere behind the counter and the two man half carried half dragged me out of the door down a flight of stairs. I wanted to scream in protest but no word would come out. I could sense the elderly man and Alexendra right behind us. Were these the kidney thieves that I always read about and never believed? Would I find myself in a bathtub somewhere with both kidneys gone… these were the thoughts that were swirling in my head when finally we reached outdoors and the cold hit my face full blast. I must have passed out for a few moments because when I came to, I was still being dragged across the snow to a waiting black van. I remember thinking at that time that – Driving in such a blizzard was a sure suicide…

I was deposited inside the van, shivering uncontrollably. Alexendra got up besides me and the elderly man took the wheels.

As the car started moving, I slumped back into my seat passed out completely ….

2011-06-25T20:02:00.007+05:30

The Luckiest People

The luckiest people, I believe, are the people who lived in Vrindavan during the time our lord Krishna graced that holy land as Gopal. A divine incarnation of the Supreme or just a precocious young lad who was later bestowed Godhood, believe whatever you will, but there can be no doubt that those were magical times. The most enchanting stories, the most engaging of romances, the cutest acts of a childlike mischief and bravest acts of adventure are all to be found in the stories of Krishna's childhood. Read, re-read, re-re-read, everytime it is a separate experience. As a child I loved reading and listening to Krishna's stories as the adventures of a hero... a stories that my mother told to my brother and me, the Amar Chitra Katha comics, the bhajans that my father sang in his beautiful voice ... all worked to make me Krishna's life long fan and hero.

As a young adult I sought to find philosophy in those stories.. and such sublime philosophies they are.. Suddenly the Kaliya Nag stops being a snake.. but becomes the multi-headed evil tendencies like desire, rage, greed that poisons our mind represented by the lake ... One needs to let Krishna in to tame those tendencies and send the Kaliya of our mind in its way with a promise never to return. The story of Krishna stealing the cloths of bathing maidens, which in my childhood seemed rather like an over-the-top mischief, suddenly becomes a metaphor for letting go of our false ego before approaching Krishna so that he can clothe us in his divine love. Philosophies being philosophies, there can be many interpretations, each needs to find their own.

And today, the philosophies don't matter much anymore, I just feel a sense of contentment when I hear of Krishna, of an inexplicable love, of bliss. Whether it is watching the Little Krishna animated series with my son, or listening to bhajans, for those moments there is nothing but Krishna in mind and how blissful those moments are.

This brings me to the point that I started with -- the people of Vrindavan: the luckiest of people who actually lived through and participated in those stories that we hear, read and see today. Balaram the Lords brother, His friends Subala, Madhumagan, the cowherd boys and girls, men and women of Vrindavan and above all the divine Radharani, the Lord's companion. They are all blessed.

But can we be as lucky as they were? Of course we can. We have the capacity to live in our own Vrindavan and live in company of our beloved Krishna. All we need to do is create a Vrindavan in our mind and let is grow until is permeates our heart, consciousness and every cell of our body through the magic of Bhakti. And once we invite the Lord in the Vrindavan of our mind as its center, that Vrindavan becomes as real and as divine as any physical Vrindavan that ever existed. In that Vrindavan we can run amok behind the child Krishna, play with him, participate in his adventures and become one the luckiest people that ever lived in our own lifetimes...

Hare Krishna...

2010-12-20T13:08:00.001+05:30

Krishna: History or Myth

-- By Manish Pandit

Krishna: History or Myth from Saraswati Films on Vimeo.

See Also:

http://www.veda.harekrsna.cz/encyclopedia/historical-krsna.htm
http://www.veda.harekrsna.cz/encyclopedia/krishna-archeology.htm

The historicity of Krishna is of less spiritual importance and is not essential, but it has still a considerable value. It does not seem to me that there can be any reasonable doubt that Krishna the man was not a legend or a poetic invention but actually existed upon earth and played a part in the Indian past. Two facts emerge clearly, that he was regarded as an important spiritual figure, one whose spiritual illumination was recorded in one of the Upanishads, and that he was traditionally regarded as a divine man, one worshipped after his death as a deity; this is apart from the story in the Mahabharata and the Puranas. There is no reason to suppose that the connection of his name with the development of the Bhagavata religion, an important current in the stream of Indian spirituality , was founded on a mere legend or poetic invention. The Mahabharata is a poem and not history , but it is clearly a poem founded on a great historical event, traditionally preserved in memory; some of the figures connected with it, Dhritarashtra, Parikshit, for instance, certainly existed and the story of the part played by Krishna as leader, warrior and statesman can be accepted as probable in itself and to all appearance founded on a tradition which can be given a historical value and has not the air of a myth or a sheer poetical invention. That is as much as can be positively said from the point of view of the theoretical reason as to the historic figure of the man Krishna; but in my view there is much more than that in it and I have always regarded the incarnation as a fact and accepted the historicity of Krishna as I accept the historicity of Christ.

-- Sri Aurobindo

2010-12-09T21:42:00.005+05:30

The Homeless

Polli-geetis which literally mean village-songs are Bengali folk songs that have a way of touching the heart with their simple representation of rather complex matters of emotions and philosophy. My father, who was an master of Indian classical vocal music, was also an exponent in folk music particularly those had a subtle philosophical tint. One song that he sometimes hummed, was

Porer jayga porer zamin
Ghar baania aami roi
Ami to shee gorer mallik noi

Translates to

This place, this land –
On which I have built my house –
belongs to someone else.
I can’t call myself its owner

As a child I used to think that this is the lament of encroachers who had been caught and asked to evict :)

Home is such a complex term. The old saying goes, Home is where the heart is. But how often we know where our heart is? The heart of the money minded may lie at the stock exchange, of the philanderer at the house of ill-repute, of the pining girl at the house of beloved (in a common Indian context). But are those truly their home? What happens of the heart and the home when expectations break, for anything man made is transient, has a shelf life beyond which it rots away.

What happens to the home when the heart it held ensconced drifts away?

What happens to the heart when the home that was its retreat wants it no longer?

Tragedy? Naah!!!
What happens is freedom from transience. Or at the very least cognition of the inevitability of transience. And only when one becomes aware of darkness can someone appreciate light…

Did Siddharth not have to leave his wife and son to achieve the enlightenment that illuminated not only himself but the whole of mankind? Did Nimai not have to leave home to become the Krishna Chaitanya who reintroduced the nectar of the Lord’s love to a perched humanity?

Homeless is not the absence of home, it is the absence of the need to belong to a man made structure. For in denying oneself the attraction of the transient can one truly give in to the attraction to the permanent home, which in my psyche takes the form of Lord Krishna’s Lotus feet..

Tomar Sreepad pod-de, Mojiya Thaki
Hari-he amar aai bashona..

Let my mind and soul remain immerged evermore, in your lotus feel. My Lord, my Hari, that is my only desire..

Sri Krishna Sarnam Mamah

2010-07-25T19:55:00.000+05:30

Enriched

Our family is enriched, honoured, blessed ...

My brother and Rumki have become the proud parents of a sweet little princess. Her big brother, Rudraditya was in Jamshedpur recently to welcome her to our world and our lives.

Our humble thanks to Lord Krishna.

May His blessings always be on our little princess and her brother.

Jai Kanai.

2010-02-27T01:14:00.003+05:30

The Philasaphee of Ze Vegabond Rock

The ultimate proof that you have arrived in life, I verily tell to thee, – is having your own Vegabond rock

What pray, might you ask, is a Vegabond Rock? At this point I adopt a solemn wise look and tell you a brief history behind the philosophy …er… philasaphee

For several years before and after 1920, Henry Ford, Thomas Edison, Harvey Firestone, and John Burroughs participated in a series of motor camping caravans, which have been described as the first notable linking of the automobile with outdoor recreation.

...But the party did not exactly rough it. No one slept on a bed of boughs or subsisted on fish caught in the stream. Separate sleeping tents, each with the occupant's name on it, were provided … A dining tent about twenty feet square, set up convenient to the sleeping tents … A basic supply of food staples was carried in the kitchen truck … Frequently local people dropped by the camp with gifts.

...As the group moved along, headlines blazoned, "Henry Ford Demonstrates He's Not Afraid of Work; Repairs His Damaged Car," "Millions of Dollars worth of Brains Off on a Vacation," "Genius to Sleep Under Stars," and "Kings of Industry and Inventor Paid City Visit." Columns were filled with stories and trivia about the famous quartet … The Vagabonds were accompanied by newsmen and photographers who reported each man's every move and hung on his every utterance. Almost all of the newspapers in the country reported and theaters showed Ford, Edison, and Burroughs engaging in high-kicking, stair-jumping, sprinting, tree-chopping, and tree-climbing contests.

...Sometimes in August 1919, the four people carved their initials in a piece of rock which was named the vagabond rock … became the cornerstone of Ford's manufacturing plant at Green Island, New York...

Jim recently saw a replica of that stone preserved in the ford estate museum in Detroit.

[… Adapted from the following sites http://www.henryfordestate.org/vagabonds.htm and http://www.hfha.org/HenryFord.htm ]

Sooo…? You sport a bemused look. These rich and famous guys etched their initials on a stone but so what? Can I not etch more than just the initial but my name and that of my whole family-n-friends on a piece of rock – and not just any rock mind you – in pucca white marble! That way not just moi world arrive, but my whole family-n-friends would arrive (as they are always expected to in marriages and naming ceremonies – but that’s a different story! Thankfully!!!)

My solemn wise look starts to appear significantly more solemner at this. In fact it now bears a definite wise owlish resemblance as I utter the following pearls of wisdom –

Etch, no doubt you can, I daresay as well as the next person. Why, people are etching away entire mountains for the metal ores. Our esteemed politicians get their name etched every time even a Sulabh facility gets inaugurated. But is that the same thing as the Vegabond rock?

The matter is not of etching, my young Padawan, (Jedi apprentice, not chi-chi) - it is the love with which the etching is received by people – of your time and the future – which determines the degree of your arrivalhood.

Vegabond stone, not only made to be the cornerstone of a manufacturing plant with a replica of the stone being available even today in the Ford Estate Museum in Detroit; but also at the time this stone was etched – in a seemingly inane act - it was widely celebrated by people - the media and the general Janta literally followed these people around where they went and hung onto their words and deeds. Not because they were rich themselves – but because they had the capability of making a difference to others lives – they truly were Geniuses. The same way, if Big B or Tendulkar, etched something I believe it would be equally revered – because of the amount of Joy they give to us. There can be no doubt that Big B has truly arrived. Just see the fan he has. Same goes for our little master blaster.

Coming back to the Vegabond rock – I feel it symbolizes the love of people of a bunch of geniuses who truly had etched their names in people’s hearts. No doubt, it was also an well orchestrated PR exercise by these world-wise people. But the PR worked because they were celebrated on the first place. The piece of gray rock – the replica which I regarded reverently in the ford museum a few weeks back at Detroit represent a combination of all that.

Etch that well, my Padawan, and you shall have arrived…

2010-02-13T05:16:00.005+05:30

Homeward Ho!

Slowly, with an air of confident reluctance about it, the United Jumbo takes it position outside of Gate 97 at SFO airport. I wait for the doors to open so that I can settle down and take a nap that I have been dodging for weeks now. However, since I am a full hour early, the nap and I will have to elude each other for some more time. I don’t know what it’s with me and airports – I either arrive really early or at the nick of time. Strange. The sky is overcast but thankfully the weather in San Francisco is not as inclement as it currently is in the east coast, where thousands of flights got canceled in the last couple of days.

The weather here was, in fact, so good that I spent a happy day taking in the sights and sounds of this very beautiful city. A trip to San Francisco always brings back waves of memories of the numerous visits to this place. Perhaps age makes me sentimental, but standing on Pier 39, I couldn’t help reminisce about a time almost a decade back when I had spent a day with my classmates here and did all kinds of funny stuff. Ah, youth!

Last Sunday was Superball, hence the crowd was understandably thinner (just right for my likings). When you are spending a day by yourself – your best company is your thoughts – and thoughts seem richer when you aren’t submerged in a screaming crowd. Thoughts of a Father naturally gravitates towards his child, and all through that day – I missed my little Rudraditya – who is currently on a trip of his own, on way to my brother's place in Jamshedpur. How nice would it have been to be here with my entire family! Someday soon, I promise myself.

In SFO, if you have time to kill, (sounds gruesome, doesn’t it?) You do the cable car. Slowly it will wind its way through the city while you still down on a wooden bench on the top of the bus carelessly listening to the chinglist (Chinese-English) commentary of the tour guide. I like this better than the bigger hop-on hop-off buses. Still I never understand why all such touristy buses go through Chinatown, even recognizing the fact that the tour guides almost always are Chinese – who are a big group in Frisco. If there’s a point there, I have missed it. Anyway, the part of the town that I love the most is the district that has these old Victorian houses. The “Painted Ladies” for me are always associated with the Full House series. The City Hall and the public library area have many times tempted me to stop and look but that hasn’t happened yet.

Somehow all such tours seem to build up the excitement for SFO’s crowning glory - the Golden Gate Bridge, which usually appear towards the end the trip. The first time I had seen it was also with a group of friends. That time we had walked down the entire length and I believe I saw Chun Yun Fat there that time. No one recognized him, strangely, as he walked across. I should have taken his autograph I always think.

A sunny day is good for your soul I say. A couple of weeks back a freezing Detroit had all but sapped me out of joy. Stepping through a one-feet carpet of snow is surely not as much fun as the movies make them out to be.

Well, while I was pondering over the trip, the efficient flight ground staff have been crawling all over the aircraft getting it ready. Other passenger have started coming and I spy the boarding-card-collecting-TTs (boarding attendants I think they call themselves) making sorties to the front desk. Anytime now the gates are going to open and soon I am going to sleep in the clouds!!!

Bon Voyage!!!

PS: Written at SFO airport and published from home :)

2009-11-01T02:32:00.003+05:30

Miracles

"Adopted!" I fought hard against this word, willing it to stay in the inner recesses of my mind - not to come out. In vain. It bubbled up like a repressed emotion into my consciousness and leaked out as tears, as I gazed at my daughter looking at me with bloodshot eyes, seething in anger.
"Don't expect to tell me what's good Papa. You have lost it." Summary of a long planned father-daughter conversation.

I didn't recognize the young woman in front of me any more. True the face was the face I loved more than any in the world. One that to me represented love itself. My daughter, my angel, my pride. I knew every expression that face had ever had - of happiness, of dejection, of elation, of concentration, of fatigue and of victory. Of the carefreeness of sleeping with head on father's lap. My daughter, my angel, my pride.

My wife chided me of pampering her to the extent of spoiling her. But I knew that she knew that my little angel was my reason to live, as she was my wife's. It was the will of the Almighty which brought her into our lives on a rainy night, alone and abandoned. A night to be thankful for the miracle that it had brought to our lives but to be never dwelled upon. The only time the episode was mentioned was shortly after our angel's 18th birthday, when my wife declared the our daughter had the right to now.

For a week she cried and didn't come out of her room, until late one night she came and held her Dad's hand and pleaded - "Papa, please tell me it isn't so".

"Ma, you are my angel daughter and Lord has willed it. Does anything else matter. Your mom and I live only for you. Don't you see that?"

Over a period of time she did. Only person that knew outside the family was her best friend Anirudh. Anirudh, we felt helped her come to terms with the truth. Gave her the strength. A few time we spied him hold her hand and pretended we didn't see. Secretly we hoped they would marry someday.

My angel made it to AIIMS with her natural elan. Father's daughter I declared to all that would hear. Though as my wife pointed out, as a Chemistry professor at a Govt college I was nothing like a doctor, but who cared, the pride I felt as a father eclipsed anything that I could have achieved myself. Anirudh went to NIT Thrichy for a BE in Electronics. We could see that distance took a toll on the friendship and mention of Anirudh in her daily conversations with her mom reduced until it disappeared altogether. Anirudh who made it a point to visit home in his breaks for college even when our angel was away at the start of the course, slowly stopped coming.

Providence however had something else in mind and Anirudh got a job in Delhi or perhaps took it knowingly. Destiny brought them professionally together as Anirudh's company partnered with AIIMS on the use of nanotechnology in medical science, a field so advanced that its promise bordered science fiction.

My long domestic partnership however had started to fade. My wife was diagnosed with a malady of bone marrow that was was eating her away from inside. I knew that God had given me forty years with the sweetest woman and it was his will that my wife should go back to Him. My years of practice of spirituality did nothing to console me though. My daughter had ensured the best doctors in the field saw her mom. The answer was always the same - this was terminal.

She could perhaps live for a few months longer if her bone marrow was replaced immediately.

That night was the first time daughter and father had a row.

I insisted, with all insistence that I could muster in my sadness, that we did the replacement next morning. My wife and I shared blood groups so I could easily donate mine. Instead of agreeing and saying that she also would donate, (she also by a quirk of fate had the same group B+ as me and my wife), she just said "No".

"No!! NO?! What on earth are you saying." I raged.

"I mean Anirudh and I can cure her with the work we are doing Papa. Trust me"

"Angel, she is not your experiment. She is your mom, she is your mom..."

"And that is precisely why I want to save her Papa"

"Have you done it before"

"No, but trust me"

"What?! You wish to deny me the last few months together for you stupid experiment. Can you be any more thoughtless my angel? When you are at it, why don't you do some of your brainy experiments on Dad too. Maybe they will give you an award." I said bitterly, in a tone that I had never dreamt I would ever use with my daughter.

That's when the thought that had never surfaced before assailed me. Would she
be so ready to experiment if she was our own? Immediately I hated myself but the thought lurked as I got the biggest shouting from my daughter.

Finally it was my wife who settled this by siding with her daughter. By then words had failed me and I stormed out.

One week later, Miracle visited us again. I was waiting with the rest of my family for 5 hours outside the OT when suddenly my daughter ran out and put her arms around my neck and said - "Papa, the procedure was successful, the bots are doing their job. Mom's going to be fine".

So it came to pass that one year later as me and my wife were settling down for dinner that our landline rang - we knew only she called on landline. As my wife put on the speaker in the phone our angel screamed - "Papa, Ma. Nur research has been blessed by Ministry of Health. We can offer it to everyone that needs it. Next month we are presenting our findings at Geneva." After a pause she added, "I think I should marry Anirudh, he helped me save my Mom. Love you, will call later." And the line went dead.

For a moment we didn't know what to do, numbly my wife and I looked at each other. Slowly we hugged and we cried. We laughed like children and We prayed. God had truly sent us a little miracle that rainy night.

I picked up one of the numerous picture frames of her that we had all over the house and kissed her forehead. My daugher, my angel, my pride.

2009-10-15T15:47:00.009+05:30

The World, Hope and the Festival of Lights

The old Adam and Eve story may actually have been a true one after all.

Consider this:

Why are humans so obsessed with unhappiness?
Because they think they are smart.

Explain.
Other animals are not so hard to please. A fawn that just escaped the clutches of a Lion can soon be seen horsing around. And the lion who missed can be seen chasing an wildebeest.

What has Deers, Lions, Horses and Wildebeests have to do with Human happiness?
Nothing. They are introduced to show the contrast. These seemingly dumber creations certainly appear to lead an happier existence.

So the dumber you are they happier you are?
Maybe. However this is only illusory intelligence. On attaining Real Intelligence - Brahma Gyan or Divine Grace or whatever, the state of happiness returns.

So Adams and Eves fall from paradise could be likened to becoming more intelligent but at the same time loosing happiness as a constant state of mind. One mark of godliness is Bliss or Ananda. So through the act of becoming more intelligent they also were turned turned away from the gates of paradise. They can only return when they gain true grace of god.

Why celebrate Diwali?
Because Diwali is not just a festival of lights - it also a festival of Hope. The lights represent not just the joy of Lord Ram's returning to Ayodhya but also of light of knowledge dispelling darkness of ignorance. Real wisdom dispelling the illusory intelligence. And therein lies the only hope for mankind so we celebrate this.

Happy Diwali All.

2009-06-30T02:30:00.001+05:30

Mourning Jackson

The sadness I feel in my heart is palpable, a living wound, a pain that is not just emotional but physical. Since Friday morning when I overheard that Michael Jackson was dead, I have been shell shocked. At this age I didn't know that the passing of an celebrity could affect me so much. But then Michael Jackson, whose musical talent and showmanship I truly idolized was not your garden variety of celebrity. He was the greatest celebrity the world has known or is likely to know. He was not just the King of the Pops - he was the Emperor. What hurts me so profoundly at a personal level - is how badly we, mankind as a whole, treated him, misunderstood him, and mocked him. Genius have their own idiosyncrasies and Lord knows that MJ had his. But in my heart I could never reconcile the dreadful things that were written about him. True or not, they finally took their toll.

This loss is personal and I mourn his passing. :(

The outpouring of grief all over the world is so overwhelming. I wonder if he was so precious that his passing away has cast such a pall of gloom, why did the world not take better care of him. What is the point in having functions to celebrate him after his death when we allowed him to self-destruct, inflicted damaging blows to his psyche and hounded him till he became a recluse? No we didn't give up even then. Why? Questions whose answers perhaps show a face of humanity that humanity itself is not ready to see.

All I know is that my own thoughts in the past few days have dwelled upon this legend as never before. Memories of his pictures seen in childhood, songs hummed and dances imitated flood the mind whenever it is idle. Perhaps I am grieving the fact that his passing is untimely and so unfair. He had so much more to achieve and to give.

In my mind the what-ifs clamour for attention, - what if after the Pepsi incident he found relief in faith and not pain-killers, what if he really found someone who he could love truly and someone who could love him back in return, what if his abused childhood was overshadowed by a happy family life, what if he had at least some advisers and managers who were not bloodsuckers... this list could go on but can never bring back the biggest phenomenon that we were privileged to share the same timeline with.

I really do wish blessings of Lord Krishna on his soul.

2009-03-12T00:58:00.001+05:30

Lessons from Vijayanagar Empire

Indians would do well to leaf through the pages of history and see the state that our past disunity has always left us in. Starting from the early invasion of the Greeks, Huns, Turks, Afgans and finally the British, Indians have failed India repeatedly because of narrow differences that turned to lethal chinks in our armour. Today again we seem to be drawn toward a vortex of a whirlpool of strife by the narrowness of the politicians, their petty politics and votebanks. SP, NCP and Congress are not together to further any common cause, their arrangements reek of pure opportunism. The same way BJD's ditching of NDA is not because Naveen suddenly understood the glory of secularism, he is just keeping his options open and perhaps this may turn out to be his biggest miscalculation yet, as the a father-son due discovered not so long ago, much to their chagrin. The voters don't trust deserters. BJD has sadly failed to learn from history. Alas.

Our politicians, perhaps the last people of the face of this planet who could be expected to have too many intellectual pursuits, would do well to learn to from the fate of the glorious Vijaynagara kingdom. Under the able leadership of Krishnadevaraya, this Empire prospered like no other in contemporary history. At a time Babur was laying waste much of the northern part of our great land, here was a ruler that had the might to strike Babur's Mughal tail all the way back to the desert hell-hole that he had come out of. Unfortunately such a confrontation never happened, and Krishnadevaraya died before he could find an able successor; his equally able son having died of some disease before he could be crowned. Krishnadevaraya, left behind a prosperous Kingdom, a valiant army sadly in the hands of inapt successors. Surrounded by petty Nawabs and Sultans, Vijaynagara soon fell under their collective onslaught. Folklore has it that army of vermin sacked one of the most spectacular city that Medieval India had seen for months on end, till all that was left were the ruins of Hampi. If you have not visited Hampi, please do. Few pages of Indian history, few stories of empires lost would move you so much. We Indians have a lot of learning to do from fate of Vijaynagara.

It frightens me to think, that India seems suddenly poised it a similar brink. Surrounded by enemies, the forces that have come to the fore as contender of power are either a party that has ceased to be driven by the lofty goals that helped it play a significant part in India's Independence and have descended to appeasement as a state policy; or a hotch-potch of opportunists of all hues across the land called the Third (class) Front. The one collection that with its many failings still speaks of a strong India and united India suddenly seem isolated. And that's exactly what frightens me the most. Have we all been suddenly condemned to a collective blindness? Let's pray not.

India is a land of miracles, and when people wish, Miracles happen. One just hopes that they see the danger that the country is passing through and get the right people back to power.

Vande Mataram

2009-01-04T04:08:00.012+05:30

Lord Hanuman: The Invincible

The Ramayana is an epic with a timeless appeal. A story of forces of good prevailing over evil intentions borne out of pride and ego in face of seemingly insurmountable odds finds a ready echo in our hearts today as much as it did to its first listeners so many centuries ago. Ramayana is not a story for the Hindus alone but a treasure trove that our fore-fathers have left for all humanity. Ramayana, like all Indian epics and legends have so many layers to it, so much to explore and learn in each reading.

The main protagonist Lord Rama, is a mortal who makes no claims to divinity. Indeed the unique aspect of Rama is his humanity complete with his fair share triumphs as well as moments of trails and despair the life deals to him. In fact the one thing that perhaps sets him apart is his sense of propriety and proportions, not something his is born with but cultivates aided perhaps by his understanding of the Yoga Vashista. He represents what each King, Husband, Son, Student and Warrior could aspire to be within the bounds of being a human. He is Maryada Purshtam, he is Lord Rama of our hearts.

There epic features some many other engaging characters; be it the brave and devoted brothers Lakhmana and Bharata, the allies Sugriva and Vivishna, the adviser Jambhuman, the architects Nala and Neel and countless other all play selfless and significant parts in aiding Rama fulfill destiny that he was born to bring to fruition. But still I can’t help but think that they are as planets around a blazing sun. Without Rama, they have no anchor, no central force to keep them in their orbit, as indeed is the case with us, except that we often forget that bond.

Not so, however, for the other towering protagonist of the story – Shri Hanuman. Though the foremost devotee of Lord Rama; he is a hero in his own right; brave, wise and perhaps even an equal of Lord Rama when it to comes to the art of warfare. Indeed were it not for Hanuman, would Rama have become the Rama of our hearts? While the creation (in Indian way of thinking at least) owes its very existence to Lord Rama, Lord Hanuman has the unique privilege of some one who could get Rama out of a bunch of sticky situations.

Here are few instances – had Hanuman not found Ma Sita in the clutches of Ravana, would Rama even know where to start looking? Had he not borne the mountain of herb for a wounded Lakhsman and thus saved his life, would Rama, for all his might, not have given way grief and forfeit the war? And wasn’t it Hanuman, who had the power to venture to the Netherworld and rescue Rama and Lakhman for the clutches of Mahiravan? In all his endeavours he emerges invincible. One has to be unique and blessed indeed to be able to help the Lord, even in His human form.

And in return of all this, what did he want – nothing, zilch, zero. For him serving the Lord, without for once boasting of own exploits, great as they were, truly defined the enigma that is Lord Hanuman. His humility comes from his wisdom. Remember his is not just a big rampaging monkey waving his wand around, but also an exponent of the Vedas, a selfless helper of the weak and wronged as well as a yogi in the truest sense of the term. Truly it is said, prayers directed at the Shri Hanuman brings one closer to Shri Rama, and removes accumulated pains (arising from ignorance) of previous births.

Tumhare bhajan Ram ko pave, Janam Janam ke dukh bishrave.

Beginning to understand Hanuman, needs one to look beyond the epic story and into the symbolism and philosophy that Ramayan hides within itself.

And believe me the journey is nothing short of being wondrous and if nothing else, gives you a whiff a the eternal bliss or Ananda that the scriptures talk about.

Try karke Dekh Lo :)

Jai Shri Rama. Jai Pavan Putra Hanuman.

Awarded!!!

Rakesh Vanamali has
awarded me the PROXIMITY award for which I am honoured. The custom is to roll this award to eight fellow bloggers who have inspired you. This I shall do in my next post. Meantime there is truly a spring in my steps :)

Thanks a lot Rakesh, I am really touched.

2008-11-23T02:06:00.001+05:30

World War or Evolution: What will it be?

Watching NEWS these days is a scary proposition. Religious and political strife, economic meltdown, environmental decay and stories of human sufferings assail the sense in vivid details every single day. The air is seriously a despondent one and these days and suddenly every one is scared. Almost every social gathering I have been to in the past month the discussions have inevitably turned towards the prevailing winds, of the uncertainty of the times that we live in, of the fact that in face of all that we have learnt as a species in the past five or six thousand years, in face of all our dogmas and inventions, our technology and science, we are like the all shivering like a pile of un-bound hay waiting for some unseen storm..

Capitalism, much as Communism a couple decade or so before it, lies in shambles. The pillars have crumbled and the foundation is cracked. Money, the force that fueled the world engine, seems to have run out. A friend predicted this as the onset of World War III yesterday. His prophecy has merit, the world today runs on money, there's not enough of it to go around right now and so survival instincts would naturally make you fight for it. If this is true for individuals, it is true for nations as well. Throw into this bubbling fat the spark of religious fundamentalism, distrust between nations that seems to be building up steadily over the past, insatiable greed and you shall have in your hand the blazing fire of a world that is at war with itself, a self defeating war from which no one emerges the victor to claim the spoils.

“It would be hubris to think humans as they now are God's chosen race” –Lovelock says in his book Revenge of Gaia [1]. Still the scenario that he considered in his book is just related to the environmental catastrophe that global warming could unleash. The holistic situation is even grimmer. And before you get all smug and say that such doomsday predictions almost never come true, consider that almost 99% of all species that ever inhabited earth are now extinct [2]. Among those that no longer roam the earth are bigger and meaner critters than we can ever be. And yea, humans have gone through such periods of danger. Babylonian and Roman incursions into Judea and Israel, Genghis Khan, Black Death, Arab and Turkic invasion of India, the past two world wars have all spelt not just end of life but a way of life for many. However at no time in past the skies of the entire world as overcast as it suddenly seems to be now.

In face of such overwhelming facts, I could only offer a few stammering words like God and Spirituality, but perhaps with much lesser conviction than I would have liked to have mustered. The image of the burning earth that the mention of world war conjured up in my mind, with the accompanying feeling of dread effectively put lid on anything I wanted to say. Submerged, as we get in the struggled of everyday existence, perhaps after a long time I saw suddenly how dangerously close to the precipice of extinction we had wandered to, still unseeing, still irresponsible and unrepentant…

One question burnt in my mind, is this how we are going to go? Is this the end of human species? Or are we going to evolve into something better?

Perhaps for all humanity the time has come to look within. Perhaps there is yet an answer, a way out …

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Revenge_of_Gaia
2. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Extinction_event

2008-09-07T21:36:00.009+05:30

Changing Equations

"Are you sure you want to have that coffee? You will complain of acidity?"
"Why don't you have a swig of water instead?"
"Perhaps I should have gotten your sweater. You never know what is good for you."
"Don't wander about."

No matter how old you get, the experience of travelling with your mom never changes. Some equations never change. Thankfully. Though you may sometime make sham assertions of your grownup-hood, there is an unconditionally and concreteness about Moms that is perhaps unique. Which, much to their chagrin, girlfriends and wives never understand until they attain their own motherhood.

However, if the recent headline-grabbing N-Deal is anything to go by, the equations of International relations do change and how. One can see a new polarization of the world forces, with India, US, and presumably Israel and NATO on one side. The "other side" perhaps would be a China led front comprising of Pakistan, Iran, N.Korea and others that the west brands as "rogue" states. Russia is perhaps the dark horse in this unfolding saga. The recent incursions in Georgia has raised the hackles of the West, but push comes to shove, one hopes that its long standing friendship with India and more importantly its instinct of self preservation against a common enemy will see it side with the right side.

Coming back to the more important story, last week Mom and I were headed towards Chennai to see Mahabalipuram. It has been a long standing promise and finally I was able to take the time to keep it and I was so glad that I did. Of course providence helped in ensuring that it coincided with a business trip :) Mahabalipuram is about a couple of hours away from Chennai and is feast for the eyes. The five rathas, the temples carved out of stones, the sculpture on rock faces and the sea shore temple are sheer poetry and speak volumes of the artistic temperament of the Pallavas.

While Mom and I were getting enchanted by the magic of Mahabalipuram, China was surreptitiously planning to play the spoilsport. Had they succeeded it would have perhaps been a perfect replay of the "Hindi-Chini Bhai Bhai" story. However this time they had perhaps not anticipated the strong support from Bush administration. One phone call and the Chinese resistance crumbled and along with that crumbled the illusion that they really wanted to be friends after all. One hope India's stand on Tibet now becomes more pragmatic. Tibetans are our people and His Holiness as much an inspiration for Indians as the Tibetans.

Mom and I visited the croc park in Chennai's outskirts. It is difficult to describe the feeling of fascination laced with revulsion that proximity to these creatures bring. While one appreciates the conservation efforts but still one hopes that one never has to see one of these reptiles outside its enclosure. Mom was fascinated to see a turtle which rode on the back of a gharial with superb elan and grace.

The NSG waviver has been a major diplomatic win for India and the US. The hurdles at some point did seem insurmountable, however some deft maneuvering by both the Governments saw that that the Kung-fu opposition bit dust. My own work, thankfully, was equally successful and I came back with fond memories. The only fly in the ointment was an uncouth auto-driver, who thought shouting in Tamil would scare "outsiders". However, I hope that an encounter with a Bengal Tiger has left him wiser.

India and US, I feel are natural allies. I hope this equation does stands the test of time. For me what is more important is that I could finally keep a promise that I made a long time ago.

2008-07-06T03:13:00.006+05:30

Shyama : The Personification of Sat-Chid-Ananda

Shyama Sangeet, devotional songs sung in the praise of the Divine Mother, has always been an important component of the Bengali cultural landscape. I think the appeal is in Shyama Sangeet’s inherent simplicity. You didn’t have to be oozing Vedanta through your ears to enjoy one.

Take, for instance, the famous Shyama Sangeet, - Aamaar Chetona Chaitanya Kore. It’s so simple yet so very deep. It so eloquently explains how Ma Kali may be visualized as the Giver of Knowledge, the saviour and indeed the personification Sat-Chid-Ananda.

Here are the words:

Amaar Chetona Chaitanya Kore De Ma Choitanyamee
Tor Bhav Saagare Bhaase Ami, hobo ma tor podasroyee

Aagyano mor shobhab tekhe, tor bhabe tui ne ma deke
Gyaan Chohu kule dekhi, kemon tui gyanodamoyee

Amaar… (repeat)

Tor Bhaber Kela diye, de ma aamar ja kuchu shob obhab mitiye

Kotohol mor e-jinone, neye ne ma tui o-chorone
Mahanande Jai Chole ma, hoye shorbo ripu joyee

Amaar Chetona Chaitanya Kore De Mai Choitanyamee.

Which roughly translates to the following:

Enlighten my consciousness, My Mother

Bestow enlightenment to my ignorant mind, my mother.
O Mother, You are unalloyed consciousness personified.
Even as I float in this Ocean of transitory worldly existence, (Bhava Saagar)
O Ma Bhava Taarini, grant me refuge at your lotus feet of eternal existence

Drain away my ignorance, Mother, inundating me in torrents of your love
That thus enlightened, I may gaze, at the countenance of the giver of all knowledge

Touch me with you divine magic for once ma,
So that I receive from you all that I lack.

Pull away the attachment that I have to all things in my life, mother, and have them focus to your feet. With limitless bliss, may I come to you having vanquished all my foes (greed, anger, jealousy, anxiety) that have kept you away from me.

I feel blessed to have been born in a family where Indian Classical Music in both its pristine and bhajan forms has been constantly practiced. Letting yourself flow in a soulful rendition can provide you a whiff of the magical journey that awaits you in path of your progression in Ma’s Bhakti.

The Shyama Sangeet that I presented above is one such that I have grown up hearing my father sing and has a special place in my heart. Both the tune and the words transport me instantly to realms of a serene but overpowering ecstasy.

Originally made famous by Pannalal Bhattacharya, the snippet of a superb rendition by Anuradha Paudwal can be accessed at this link.

Even if you don’t understand Bangla or even if you haven’t explored the Shakta Philosophy I would still say - Please go ahead and listen, it is seriously cool.

I hope that you like the song as well…

2008-05-30T19:16:00.007+05:30

He Krishna Karuna Sindhu

There is no Truth but Krishna
There is no Realization but Krishna
Krishna is the begining and He is the End
Indeed, he is all that exists in between
Happiness is praying to Krishna
Success is surrendering to him
Ignorance is not knowing that
I exist only to Serve
The Lotus Feet of my Sri Krishna

My Lord Deliver me from my Ignorance

Sri Krishna Saranam Mamah

2008-05-27T19:51:00.003+05:30

The Classification of Communists

Introduction

Of the many sub-human species that inhabit God’s Earth, one of the more curious group is a bunch that calls themselves Communists. This group lives in a state of contradictions and continuous confusion characterized by turns, about-turns, somersaults and somnambulism. Observations have thrown up the probability that they may have developed some primitive form of communication which is called sloganeering that complements their rather destructive and disruptive social tendencies that social scientists call strikes and bandhs.

Their existence on God’s Earth has been termed a paradox, because their primitive philosophy has not yet evolved enough to understand the concept of God. So why they should exist on God’s earth has long been a mystery. Experts however contend that this paradox is a key part of their desire of providing hilarity by being absurd. A vocal minority among experts think that only reason Communists exists is to be a Joke and provide mirth to the rest of mankind.

They have shown a remarkable affinity to the Red colour coupled with an aversion for the Saffron colour. It has been posited that the Red colour represents their moral bankruptcy, which is perpetually in Red. Saffron is the universal representation of The Divine, which as indicated earlier is a concept they haven’t understood yet and hence fear.

Some people have also classified Communism as a genetic disorder as well as a potentially communicable disease which primarily affects people who haven’t had a good education.

Types and Classifications

Communists have shown a decided tendency to mutate with or without pretext. Some of the commonly occurring garden variety of mutant communists:

Marxists: These mutants are much influenced by the philosophy that is depicted in the films of Grouch Marx. Their main ambition is to be more absurd than all other versions of Communists put together. They are the biggest mutant group and their guiding principle is the following – Those are my principles. If you don’t like them I have others. Since no one knows what principles are being referred to on the first place, no one has bothered to ask for the others. Their destructive approach to life maybe understood better in light of this unanswered question that they ask of themselves every morning in absence of a God to pray to - Why should I care about posterity? What's posterity ever done for me?

Maoists: These mutants are worshipers of cats and take their name from the call of the cats, Meow or Miao. Since they are usually not very educated they spelt the Miao as Mao and the name stuck. Worship of cats has a long history starting with the Ancient Egyptians. However, the difference in the two form of worship is that while the Egyptians built temples for their feline gods, Maoists consider Cats to be poultry and were last heard of waiting for their graceful gods to lay eggs.

Naxals: This is a particularly ill mannered mutant variety that lives in the wild. No one knows for sure where their name came from. Some theorists have put forth the theory that it stems from the fact that all of them are pains in neck, so they call themselves Naxals. This theory has however not been conclusively proven yet, as this bunch have been know to cause pain in other parts as well. They are perhaps the most primitive strain of Communists known to exists and are perhaps a result of a reverse mutation that has taken them further back.

Where to Find ‘em?

It is easy to locate communists, particularly in Indian subcontinent. In any politically charged discussion if you hear incoherence being spoken in a pseudo-intellectual fashion that is against development, efficiency and fish export, quietly stalk in the direction of the sound and presently you shall encounter one specimen of this rather unfortunate species. Of course, if you value your sanity you shall tip-toe away in the opposite direction.

Lately it has been noticed that communists share a queer relation with an unrelated branch of sub-humans called the Kingress or Congless. (who draw their inspiration from the legends of the Borg, and hope that one day they will all be mindless drones under the command of a Borg-Queen). Though both these two species hate each other and shall never miss an opportunity to snipe and snip at each other, their common fear of the Saffron sometimes makes them graze together. A similar behavior is also seen in Wildebeests and Zebras in Serengeti in African plains, particularly when Lions are around. However the wildlife in Africa such as Zebra, Giraffe and Wildebeests are at a much different stage of evolution, so the comparison may be termed unjust.

What to do if you contract Communism or are born with this Malady

First the good news: Communism is fully curable. Second, the even better news: The side of the cure is that an ex-communist, with practice and patience may even evolve to become a Human.

The only path of redemption is for a repentant Communist to take refuge in Lord Hanuman and adopt the ways of the Saffron. Reciting Hanuman Chalisa everyday, dedicating oneself to the cause of serving Lord Rama as a Kar Sevak, and spreading the message of Ramayana to other unfortunate Communists has been proven as the most effective means to gain respite from effects of Communism.

So, if you are a communist who seeks freedom, all you have to do is go to the nearest Hanuman Temple and seek his blessings and grace. Rest shall follow automatically.

Jai Bajrang Bali.

2008-01-12T02:30:00.001+05:30

Vanderlust

The memories of the early eighties in Itanagar still appear to me in a magical hue. Particularly the winter months. Itanagar was not as cold a place as was Shillong but invariably winter brought in its wake foggy mornings that turned our C-sector into a fairy land. The farm produce seemed extra crisp and tasty, and my brother and I got to wear the bright sweaters that my mom would knit for us. At schools our class teacher tended to be a trifle more indulgent and class missed on the really cold day could easily be explained away with a sniff of a stuffy nose.

However the time my brother and I looked forward the most to were the evenings after our father came home from work. He would gather the two of us near him. Cozy in our blankets and quilts we would listen to him with rapt attention as he told us exotic stories of past and present, of ancient heroes from around the world and of brave men and women of the modern world who had made the race proud. The master storyteller he was. I felt his eyes shown with the brightest twinkle when he told us the story of explorers across time. We knew of the Kon-Tiki expedition and of the Apollo Missions, of Daniken’s theories and the early explorers to Africa, of Abhedanada’s travels in Tibet and of the fabled King Solomon’s mines long before it was fashionable to know anything beyond Enid Blyton and Hindi movies. Father instilled in us a sense of wonder and perhaps a bit of fascination for the unexplored and unknown.

Explorers never had precise roadmaps when the started off on their journeys nor did they have road-signs in blue that warned them off the path that would lead them to the village of cannibals and got them headed towards the hidden jungle paradise with fruit laden trees and nectar like water. All that kept them going was their love of adventure and all that kept them alive was wit and courage. And perhaps prayers of those that wished them well. In the well know story of King Solomon’s mines the flicker in a flame helped the protagonists escape a mountain cave to which they were imprisoned. In real life, no less adventurous was Thor Heyerdahl stay in the uninhabited islet of Raroia or the crew’s tryst with the White Shark. Every wonderful detail in these stories speak of adventure and human spirit thirsting to see, to learn. True, for every Tenzing and Hillary, there is a Mallory who never made it back in blazing glory and for ever Daniken there is always a Sagan to rubbish their life’s work. But that is precisely what makes the exploration and adventure so romantic.

Today these story weave their appeal to me anew as I slowly but decidedly moved from the predicable and beaten path to a road that I haven’t traveled on before. The only support I carry is Krishna’s name in my heart and the wishes of my friends.

It is gonna be fun...

2007-11-15T03:51:00.000+05:30

Raja Bahadoor

His sideways profile has always adorned the pages of history and social studies books of my boyhood. I remember Raja Ram Mohun Roy from those days as a sketched figure with a traditional turban looking far away, as if to some distant utopia. Like so many other school boys I associated with him key words like Brahmo Samaj, Abolition of Sati and Social Reform that would help me weave a story together in the annual exams. At that age I was never to know what great admiration I would come to have one day for this giant of a man who had graced India more than two centuries ago. Strangely my fascination started after seeing a old Bangla movie on him on TV about fifteen years back in Bombay. Since than I have continued to read about him and my admiration has only grown over the years.

Ram Mohun Roy, as Muller says, was truly a great man. Not just because of his monumental achievements in the field of social reforms in an India that was just waking up, but, to me, also because of the strength of his moral conviction. If he had the courage to raise his voice against the plague of superstition in Hindu Society, he also had the discernment to resist conversion to Christianity for the wrong reasons. He instead sought a path of true spirituality that was untainted by the dogma of established religions. He always saw the Supreme as "... the Absolute Originator who is the first principle of all religions”.

For him English education was not a pretext or a catalyst to reject all things Indian and embrace all things western but correctly a means to broaden his horizons. Knowledgeable in Bangla, English, Arabic and Persian he was truly like one of the wise seers of ancient India who had given unto the world the treasures of Veda, Upanishad and Puranas. Indeed, he enriched our understanding vastly by writing deep commentaries on Vedanta, Upanishads and on the teaching of Jesus. He distinguished himself as a reformer who founded colleges, raised his voice against social ills and charted a path towards religious unity. He was one of the architects of the Indian Renaissance that with time would snowball into the freedom movement.

Only one so wise as him could have achieved so much in one lifetime that won him admiration of commoners as well as greats such as Rabindranath Tagore.

When he traveled to England and France he received great adulation and was received with honour. His death was a little tragic, ailing and alone in a distant land where a dispossessed Bahadur Saha was not able to send the monies promised to the Raja for his services. However his admirers there ensured his comfort when finally curtains fell on a great life at Bristol.

His life has left an indelible mark in Indian history and continues to inspire those who have attempted to learn from his life. For fifteen years I waited for the opportunity to go and pay my respects at his tomb in Bristol’s Arnos Cemetery. So when I saw my little Rudra stand folded hand in front of Ram Mohun Roy’s tomb a week or so back, imitating me, scant understanding what he was doing, I thought that it was every bit a fitting climax to a long cherished dream and that the wait had been truly worth that moment.

My son mayn’t remember this pilgrimage when he grows up, but I am convinced that Raja Bahadoor shall continue to inspire him and young people like him for a long long time to come.

2007-11-05T00:36:00.000+05:30

Travels with Rudra

Rudra is presently on a trip to the United Kingdom. It was raining so heavily there and people were in such gloomy mood that he felt that they could do with a little bit of sunshine. Of course he knows that his ol’ Mom and Dad can’t do a thing without him, so he took them with him. Besides he does like being hugged by these guys (while no one is looking that is).

He has been taking his mom exploring Luton, while Dad’s been out during the day doing the stuff he usually does. Last Saturday he took Mom, Dad and his Pinku Kaku to see the sights and sounds of London. Dad was disappointed as Westminster Abbey was closed so to make up for that he took everyone on a cruise up the Thames river in the evening. The London eye looks magnificent as dusk wafts in, lit by green lights. He promised his mom that sometimes next week he shall bring her for a ride on the big wheel and he pacified Dad by saying that Westminster shall be open on other days.

Earlier in the week he took everyone to Bristol, where they stayed in the Ramada Grange Hotel. The hotel is on the countryside and has really vast lawns surrounding the property. The couple of days he was there was spent in pursuit of pure joy of running amok in the lawns, scaring geese and Halloween pumpkins, getting scared by horses, and generally making trouble. One of the mornings two wild bunnies paid him a visit by the hotel window.

While a Bristol, he helped fulfill one of Dad’s long cherished wishes. He took his old parents to pay homage at the tomb of Raja Rammohun Roy. His Dad has been a fan of Raja Bahadoor since childhood and considers him to be one of the greatest Indians to have graced our motherland. It was a touching moment for Dad as he and his son stood folded hand in front of his Samadhi.

Right now, Rudra wants to be pampered a little bit, before he goes off to sleep.

Good Night everybody.

2007-08-20T00:31:00.000+05:30

Sense and Responsibility

This 15th August was possibly one of the first where I couldn't find words to write a mushy piece on our freedom. Not that I didn't try, the half written pieces and wrong starts that adorn my recycle bin stand mute witness to the struggle between my sense of patriotism and the responsibility of inaction that I can no longer shrug off. The sky is overcast and it is becoming increasingly difficult not to feel despondent.

Being ruled by a bunch that doesn't inspire confidence is bad enough. But when all propriety, justice and fair play is sacrificed at the alter of vote bank politics and appeasement, the righteous rage that storms over the proverbial drawing room tea cup, suddenly threaten to spill over. Every single vote of an educated Indian that was not cast out of apathy scream out together in a mocking laughter. "You brought this to yourselves," they thunder. But the ears have long since gone deaf.

"Apna visa mangta hai boss, dollar mein kamane ka. Duniya jaye tel laane..."

Meanwhile, the earth, no longer able to contain the mistakes of the polluting bipeds that inhabit it, is slowly but surely boiling over. Rising temperatures, melting glaciers and oceans on the boil cry out in desperation - "Slow down, slow down...". Again the deaf ears fail to hear. The ghost every felled tree and poached tiger wait silently for the retribution that approaches fast.

The climes of the world affairs hardly seem any better. The world continues to be a scary place. Fundamentalism and war mongering shows no signs of respite. As the body count increase across the globe, the plaintive wail of a forgotten concept called -PEACE, remains unheard, unanswered. Hunger and homelessness persists, but the money has already been burnt away in wars and is long gone...

What could I write about then. And frankly who would care! We have long since donned our blinkers and ear-plugs. Do we dare to take them off, do we dare to take some responsibility, can we plan something tangible, even if it is casting the educated vote in the next election?

Jago Mohan Pyaare. I implore. But I wonder if you hear me either...

2007-07-08T01:46:00.000+05:30

The Lights of 4th July

Some coincedences become remarkable. Every second 4th of July by some twist of fate I find myself in the US!!! Two years back around this time I was in New York, and two year before that in Bay Area, California, and this time in Dallas. Of course I make other trips to this country in between, but every other 4th of July I get to be here to see the fireworks.

The fireworks this year were quite good, but by far the best were those that I saw in NY. They were truly spectecular. What makes the whole thing intresting is that the Americans celebrate this as a true festival of patriotism and really take part.

I wish in India we celebrated 15th August with equal enthusiasm. I mean all the flag hoisting and all that generally happens is OK, but for most 15th Aug is just another day off-work, to take care of the mundane chores of life. I wonder how many remember, even in passing, the sacrifices and the heroism of our freedom fighters. Being from a family of freedom fighters, I feel quite strongly about this.

I recently read a quote that said - The nation that doesn't honour its heros, certainly shall not long endure.

For our India to become the beacon of peace and hope in this strife-torn world, the first step would be for every one to feel a sense of oneness with the Indian ethos and culture; to believe inherently in our Indianness and be proud of it.

The pride in Indianness and the willingness to do something that I see in my fellow bloggers, appear to me as a ray of hope. What we need is to take is passion off the blog-o-sphere and get it out to the streets. Only then shall start the true transformation of our society...

2007-05-18T00:49:00.000+05:30

The Pan Shop that Isn't

The traffic moves fast on the Eastern Bypass Expressway that runs on the Periphery of Calcutta. Vast open space envelops this road on both sides, which is rather strange if one considers the population density of this mega-city. Cruising down the road as dusk descends one notices that most of the road is well lit with halogen street lights.

There’s however a stretch of road, somewhere in the middle, where the lamp posts suddenly disappear for a length of about two kilometers. The only light comes from the headlights of cars rushing past in two directions. Riders scarcely notice this at the pace that they move through this. The road is straight and extra-ordinarily wide here to eliminate any chance of a traffic jam. Few ever know how close they come everyday, as they pass through this stretch, to one of India’s best kept secrets.

If one knew, one would notice, that this place rarely has any walkers or bikers. In fact the only thing that breaks the surrounding darkness is a dimly lit and ramshackle pan shop appearing roughly mid-way through this stretch. Perched on an elevated mound around 20 yards away from the road, one would notice that besides a bunch of hanger-ons there are never any customers. On closer inspection one is surprised by the fact that the shopkeeper and those that hang-out change frequently.

In case someone is curious to park the car and stop to buy anything, one finds that the not only is shop invariably out of stock of the commonest of items but also the fact the shop keeper and the crowd are actually quite rude. Hang around a little long the situation starts appearing quite nasty. People rarely stop and almost never return. Probably that’s why not many notice the elevated dirt track that runs on the right side of this shop.

A car that drives off the expressway onto the dirt road finds itself stopped by a heavy chain barrier that forms a check-post of sorts a little way down. As the car comes to a halt, people seem to appear from no where and surround the car. Speaking in rustic Hindi one of them shall demand ones business there with unconcealed hostility. A few mis-adventurous people who found themselves there without any business have had a rather unpleasant experience. However, those that have been able to produce a proper letter of introduction from the Ministry of Home Affairs can witness a remarkable change in the demeanor of these people. The rustic Hindi is immediately replaced by polite but business-like English as identity is verified and re-verified on a mobile computing unit that is connected through a highly secure wireless connection to one of worlds largest data banks. The procedure takes about twelve minutes during which time the passengers remain under the watchful eyes.

Once satisfied the barrier is lifted and the car rolls down the dirt part until it reaches a locked metal doorway to something that looks like an abandoned storehouse. A second and longer identity confirmation is done by people in army fatigues who no longer make any pretense of hiding the automatic rifles. This check typically takes sixteen to eighteen minutes. This is followed by a thorough search of the car, which includes opening both the hood and boot.

The passengers are invited to step out of the car after the search. At this time, one of the uniformed men shall get behind the wheels and drive it off to the back of the storehouse into some hidden garage. The door opens into a small enclosure where both male and female security guards are on duty to perform a physical frisking. Few of even the frequent visitors know that from the chain barrier till the physical is performed, not for a second is any of the visitors hidden from the cross-hairs of at least three sniper rifles. This enclosure opens to a wide reception area.

On the wall behind the receptionist deck there hang the brass insignia of Indian Army, Navy and Air Force. Under that in plain steel letters is written a simple word – INSECT.

The Indian Security Taskforce: Arguably the most secret and feared defense organization of this planet…

2007-03-24T14:14:00.000+05:30

‘Tis Separation that stands witness to Love

True love is not measured just by how happy you are when together, but how gracefully you bear separation and how true you remain through it.

Separation, Berahah, Judai, by whatever name you call it, has from early times been the stuff of soulful love ballads, geets and ghazals. Was it not Shelley who had so rightly said that “Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought”? Truly the pangs of separation are perhaps that hardest to bear and often hurt more than physical discomfort.

Srimati Radharani’s love for Sri Krishna stands head and shoulders above that of His wives, as not only did she refuse to confine herself to the boundaries of social relationships but she bore the pain of separation from her beloved with tremendous fortitude and dignity. Srimati Radha's unique form of love is vraja-bhava-dasya rasa, which means that Radha's love for Krishna is in separation. And that is exactly why she is the foremost among Bhaktas. A true Vaishnav knows the Lord can be attained only through Srimati Radha’s loving Grace, which she lovingly showers on all her children that ask for it. Indeed being Sri Krishna’s Hladini-Shakti, she is non-different from the Lord himself. Of course, one doesn’t presume to undermine the true devotion Rukmini, Sri Krishna’s wife at all. For wasn't it Rukmini who showed through her offering of Tusli during Tulabharam, how a humble offering to God is greater than any material wealth.

Separation, typically in its wake, brings insecurity. This insecurity then forms the breeding ground of anger, depression, and resentment which eats away at the foundation of faith upon which love rests. Perhaps it is our failing that we always associate love with attachment. As a respected senior of mine remarked a few days back, we humans are products of both our nature and spirit. It is this nature that gives in to attachments, possessiveness and jealousy. But the spirit is ever free, ever detached and indeed capable of a much higher level of love.

We see this spiritual love personified in the lives of Mirabai and Soordas. Mirabai willed herself to devotion and love of Krishna without pre-conditions and at exclusion of all else in face of hostilities. Mere Toh Giridhari Gopal, Dusra Na Koi resonates through our hearts still and demonstrates just how exalted and divine true bhakti can be. Soordas was denied eye sight at birth, but through his longing for the Lord and true devotion he realized in his own heart the divine presence of Sri Krishna and beheld Him in all his Glory.

As individual souls in a transcendental journey across time, space and lifetimes toward our eventual and hopefully inevitable union with our Lord, it is this pain of separation that acts as the fair wind that blows our sails and propels us our destination-wards. This pain is good for it burns away the bonds of Maya and illumines our heart with pure love and Bhakti.

And we know all too well – it is only pure gold, which can really withstand the rage of the fire…

HARE RADHE KRISHNA

2007-02-24T22:57:00.000+05:30

An Year in Paradise

My Rudra turned one today. A big step for the little guy who can now use whole numbers to represent his age instead of just a fraction. :)

So here is what his day was like today:

He got up a little earlier than usual today and got a good scrubby bath. He protested and squealed valiantly, but Mom was not to be denied on this day and he emerged squeaky clean. He then wore new dresses that made look him very smart and trendy, which he didn't mind much, after all he likes creating a good impression. An well dressed gentlemen is always a delight to the eyes, he knows.

He went to visit Kanai and his patron God Hanuman during the day and promised to be a good boy. His Kaku, Kakima, Thamma and Didi sent him their love and best wishes. In the evening he invited his friends over for a loud party where everyone had a lot of fun and baloon fights. Everyone liked his birthday cake a lot too, and he also had one big slice of it. He reasoned that one can be a little lax with diets on one's birthday. After everyone left he continued dancing for sometimes until he was bundled away for his dinner.

Oh, by the way, he got lot of love and kisses from Mom and Dad too. Right now he is trying to pull at Dad's Laptop mouse. All in all, he admits that he rather had a cool day.

He sends all of you his love.

2007-02-01T14:22:00.000+05:30

Loving the Lord as Bal Gopal

One of most delightful manifestation of Lord Krishna is his appearance as the ever lovable Bal Gopal. What captures one’s imagination is the paradox that this little innocent prankster, whose aim in life seems to revolve around making mischief of all kinds starting from stealing butter to breaking water pots perched on the heads of ladies of Vrindaban, is actually the Lord of all creation! But then our Lord is a merciful and benevolent Lord. He takes on the aspect of a child, so that our devotion finds expression as pure love without a feeling of intimidation lurking somewhere behind.

Love for children is a universal human instinct. And as far as children go, I think our Gopal has it all that would make one scoop the little fellow up in one’s arms and cuddle him. An entrancing smiling face, a unparalleled knack for naughtiness, using Bambi-eyes to get out of trouble, keeping the blessed citizens of Vrindaban always entertained through his antics and vanquishing a few demons along the way - our young man has the makings of a superstar indeed!

The only thing that the Lord wants from us, the scriptures tell us, is our love and I think He know exactly what it takes to rule our hearts; eons before the Kellogs and Huggies of the world wised up to the funda. Vatsalya or the affectionate love that one has for one’s own child is actually a recognized form of devotion in the annals of Bhakti Vedanta.

Sometimes I feel the fascination we have for the Child-Krishna appeals to an even deeper emotion. Perhaps in the captivating smile and innocence of Gopal we like also to see a reflection of what we call our inner child or inner consciousness, which is yet not be-garbed by the social conditioning that shapes our outer selves. If ancient wisdom were to be believed our Atma is non dual from the Brahman (or inseparable from our Ishwara, depending on the point of view). In any case true Bhakti which is the stuff of heart, the stuff of faith doesn’t need the crutches of philosophy to lean on. Meditating on the form of Bal Gopal in the arms of Ma Yashoda and chanting the Mahamantra can truly be uplifting, far beyond all logic and philosophy has to offer.

Mom used to say when we were young – Bishase Milae Krishna, Tarke Bahu Door. (Faith brings about a union with Krishna, mindless debates push you away)

As I prowl around the house every evening on all fours with my own bundle of boundless energy, my little Rudra, I can start to slowly fathom that my father’s insistence of Gopal being his eldest child was in fact true Bhakti of the highest order. In doing so he brought the Lord from being an un-reachable Ruler far away to being someone who was an inseparable part of the family. What is great feeling that is indeed!

Of all the numerous gifts my brother and I received from our father, this must be, without a shade of doubt, one of the sweetest. A legacy that I know we shall pass on to our children. A treasure box of love from their Grandfather that would live and grow with them; be with them always…

Hari Bolo Bhai
Naam bine Aar Bhobo Pare,
Bondhu Nai

2007-01-13T01:43:00.000+05:30

My Brother's Wedding - Part 2

When we reached Sealdah station on the 7th Dec late evening, the episode of Kali Raatri was at its pinnacle, meaning tradition enforced that Tutu and Rumki were not to see each other. We thus bundled them into separate Taxis as we made our way to Dankuni. It was so sweet to see them wanting to see each other but not doing so till 8th morning.

8th was the day for the traditional Bou Bhaat. We had planned this to be a family thing all along. Choto Kaku, Choto Ma, Phul Kaku, Phul Ma and Mohar arrived by the first half and ceremony commenced. One round of aashirwad of the newly weds by all family members was accomplished first, followed by the rite of circumbulation of a Tulsi plant. During the process Mona also got her aashirwad and Rudra enjoyed the attention he got.

A good lunch and many a good humoured jokes later our family members bid goodbye for the day. Mohar and Debashish were to leave for UK the next day and were not to be able to join us at the reception on 9th. In the evening we had Rumki's family drop in to meet her and all of us.

Soumen the tent-guy was still at his job, readying the pandal for the next day. Mom always used to say that one our weddings she would have a traditional Nahabat gate. She got her wish in Tutu's wedding with a beautiful Red and White gate having been constructed. The pandal was nice too and I wish I had taken more pictures of that, but then it is ever etched in all of our minds.

The reception on 9th was supposed to start on 6.00 in the evening. True to our Indian tradition by the time the first guests came in it was already 7.30, though during the day Shajo Kaku, Shajho ma, Phul Kaku, Phul ma and Phuchkun had already arrived.

The first to arrive in the evening were Rumki's family, followed by Sona and Moni our sisters who also stay in Dankuni. As the evening progressed we had a full house. Though many of our relatives in Calcutta couldn't come because of the distance to Dankuni, we felt that no better place could have served better as the venue of my Tutu's and Rumki's reception. Dankuni for us, is ever associated and haloed by our fathers memories and blessings. Amitava and his catering team did a fabulous job with the food. I particularly liked the paturi and the lamb preparation. By the time the last of our guests bid us good-bye it was already close to mid-night. And as we retired back to our beloved G 8/6 for the night, we did with a feeling of contentment and happiness that a project that had been planned for so long had finally been delivered and UATed successfully.

The wedding rituals of my brother's wedding were thus successfully completed.

The next day, Pishu, Chobi Pishi and Mamoni left for home, as did Manojit. Manojit however missed his train and caught a flight in the evening. On 11th Tutu and Rumki left for Gauhati as some paperwork at Rumki's college were still outstanding and from there they were to go to Delhi on 17th (incidentally I also reached there on that day and spent a couple of days at Hari Nagar with them :-). Within an hour from when they took off, they had safely reached Gauhati where the next few day they spent at Rumki's place.

The 12th morning, saw Ma, Mona, Rudra and I back at Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose airport to catch our flight back to home. As the flight took off, all of us including little Rudra dozed off to get some rest well earned.

Kanai Kanai

2007-01-05T23:44:00.000+05:30

India Poised

The India Poised monologue by Amitabh Bachchan is a real treat to the ears. As he talks of hope and of being poised for a flight, one knows that no one else could have done such a remarkable job.

Check it out in the India Poised website.

2007-01-02T00:01:00.000+05:30

Happy New Year

The ol' lady still has it folks, gotta give it to her. Going round and round the Sun I mean, lady earth has been doing it for gazillions of years and she is still at it.

Quite marvelous if you think about it, 'coz as our blue baby scampers around on her merry little way within a path that is the just the right distance away from sun she indeed makes life with it wonderous variety and richness happen. Our good ol' little earth actually reminds me of Dory from the Finding Nemo movie, singing "Keep Swiming, Just Keep Swiming", as she prances about.

Actually for her own sanity's sake I hope she is a little forgetful like our fishy little character, 'cos it must be a mighty load on her mind to digest what we humans have been doing in name of civilization and righteousness since we appeared in the scene. In my more mellow mood, I would really like to think of us humans as the clown fish Marlin, whom she is trying to help; though sometimes he acts too cocky for his own good.

And what of Nemo with his lucky fin? Nemo to me represents our own inner child, our true inner self or perhaps even our own inner divinity that we have all but lost sight in our own individual rat races through the mazes of maya.

Dory, the faithful companion then also takes on hue of a guide that has the capacity to lead a soul away from material world to tune in more to (ones inner) nature, something like the concept of Gaia in Neopaganism or our own concept of Prithivi Mata from whence all things arose.

Be is as it maybe, I am quite glad she is doin' what she is and with that dosage of random philospohical interpretation of one of my favouraite movies, -- I wish all of you a very Happy New Year!!!

2006-12-24T02:24:00.000+05:30

My Brothers Wedding - Part 1

My younger brother's marriage has been something we all have been looking forward to a long time. My Tutu (Dr. Prasenjit) has always been the star of the house, both at home and with the extended family, everybody's favorite brother, nephew and lately uncle. So it goes without saying that when he announced an year back that he had finally met the young lady whom he would like to be his wife, we all jumped with joy.

The lady in question was Priyanka (Runki), also a doctor studying in the same college as his. But more on her as we go ahead. Both of them had decided that they wanted a Traditional Bengali Marriage.

Initiation

My brother combines a modern outlook to life with a firm commitment to our traditions with remarkable elan. So the background work for the wedding started almost an year back with our mom visiting Rumki's family at Guwahati to establish the "First Contact". Once she had seen her and her family, she just couldn't stop raving about how much she had liked Rumki and everyone else she had met. This was followed by Rumki and her family visiting us in Bangalore and needless to say I was equally impressed. I was really touched by the closeness everyone shared, exactly the way our father had run his family. A joyous agreement was reached and the virtual countdown started.

The Ground Work

A Wedding needs a lot of planning. The whens, the wheres and the hows pop-up at alarming rapidity demanding attention. Rumki's father proposed the date of 5th Dec, which suited everyone perfectly. A second decision that was reached collectively was that the wedding would be held in Guwahati followed by a reception at Dankuni. Dankuni was preferred over Calcutta proper as it was indelibly associated with our father in our minds. The Guestlist was mom's responsibilities and I provided the logistics support. Tutu himself helped mom with the shopping at Delhi, where she went for a few months before the marriage to set up his home for him. Phones were abuzz on who would reach where and how. Mom reached Dankuni first, followed by our Pishibabu, Pishimoni and Mamoni from Silchar. I reached a few days later from Bangalore, the same day that my little Rudra, Mona and her mother also reached. The talks with the various pandal and food providers had just strated when Tutu also reached from Delhi on the 30th of Nov. A day before I met my cousin sister Brinda and her three year old daughter Diya, at the home after a long time.

Some of the ritual pujas that precede a Bengali wedding had already started at Dankuni. We had a funny video segment of Mom, Pishimoni, Mamoni, Mona, Rudra and I going in a file to offer betel leaves to Tulsi plans followed by a posse of neighbourhood dogs during Pano Khili.

In all planning our sister Mamoni has played a stellar role. She would be the one all would turn to for everything. Studying to be a lawyer this kid sister of ours is a very sweet level headed young lady with a bright future ahead of her. Guidance from Pishibabu, Halader Kaku and others were of tremendous help.

BorJatri

On the 2nd of Dec, the Bor Jatri started from Calcutta with Kanai's name on our lips. A delay in the starting of the train by a few hours had Rumki's father quite worried but there was relief all arond when the train finally started. The journey was my Rudra's first train journey which he enjoyed immensely. Teasing Tutu, playing with Rudra, buying the usual junk from the train, trading jokes and stories, we reached Guwahati by late the following evening. The party that came to receive was larger that our crew which came. Tutu's friend Manojit had come directly from Delhi and was also at the station. We were taken to a guest house that Rumki's father had booked for a dinner and an well earned rest.

Last day's Shopping and Preparations

On a wedding shopping doesn't end until the wedding is over! The ladies went shopping during the day, accompanied by Tutu, Manojit and a very able friend of Rumki's Mahamaya. I spent a happy 2 hours with my Rudra after a long time. In the evening it was my time to continue the good work with Mahamaya and Manojit. Going to fancy bazaar after more than 10 years was quite nostalgic. The place has changed quite a bit since I saw it last. We had an interesting Marawari sweet that I don't remember the name of.

Tutu was woken up at 4 o'clock on 5th morning the next day by mom and other's for a ritualistic meal Khoi (Pop Rice) and curd called Dodhi Mangal. A little later elders from Rumki's house came to bless the groom followed by her sisters and sisters-in-law who derived great pleasure of smearing my brother with pasted turmeric and thoroughly drenching him with water. Mamoni also go the same treatment. Mona got a little smear on her cheek.

We than followed with a visit the bride's family to bless her. Mona and I were delayed a little as pangs of hunger drove her to a Parota corner, but still reached in time for the ceremony. The lunch was superb, particular the prawns curry that we later learned Rumki's mom had prepared.

The Wedding

Evening that the time of marriage had arrived. Tutu looked very smart dressed his sherwani. Our cousins and the family who stay in Guwahati and Tutu's friends and colleagues from college stared joining us at the Guesthouse. About 8.30 or so we started for My Tutu's wedding escorted by Rumki's family members. As the car procession reached near their house we were greeted by fireworks and a lot of cheering.

An interesting custom is stopping the grooms party at the marriage gate. This was led by Ria, Rumki's sister whose army of friends staged a mock barring of gate and after some good humoured haggling let us in to the wedding area.

Rumki's father and mother greeted us and had us seated in a special area made for us. Rumki was seating in her bridal finery in a similar area. Thereafter started an elaborate series of auspicious rituals, - puja that Tutu and Rumki's father participated, a change of cloths for tutu, Rumki being carried around Tutu for the Saat Paak, exchange of garlands, the Shubo Dristi, more puja's and yagna's. The whole thing continued till around 11.00.

Rudra enjoyed his favourite uncles marraige to the hilt though he insisted that either his mom or I carry him. We all had dinner in between but Tutu and Rumki had to wait till all the rituals were done. This include some "games" as well that the two of them had to play. Only then did they get something to eat.

With that Tutu and Rumki were recognized by all as Man and Wife.

Tutu, Manojit and Mamoni stayed back for some more fun, while the rest of us came back to the guest house after that. Bashi Biye was solemnized the next day, continuation of the marriage activities, but not as elaborate as the main wedding. There was still some time before the actual "Bidai" or the ritualistic leaving of the bride from her father's house. I took the opportunity to visit Kamakhya

That evening the Bor Jatri, with the welcome and prized company of Rumki, started back for Dankuni for the next phase of the Wedding...

2006-11-26T13:46:00.000+05:30

The Udham Singh Show

In the plethora of effortlessly mediocre and conformantly non-comformat programming that MTV and Channel V habitually assails the bubble-gummer generation, probably the most forgettable must have been the Udham Singh Show, featuring a man in a shawl and with a stick spewing incoherence. This was the 90s and there can be no sane reason for me to remember that show except for the fact one episode featured Amitabh Bachchan.

Growing up as part of a generation that worshipped Amitabh Bachchan (and still does) I have seen hall full of people being elated by his performance across the country, convulsed by his comedy, mellowed by his voice or reduced to tears by his heart-rending performances in movies such as Abhiman (my favourite), Shakti or Mukkadar ke Sikandar.

But never have I cried so hard, so long and with so much agony in my heart as I did after seeing him in the Udham Singh show. Here was the greatest star ever in the entire world of moviedom and of all times; unsure and uncharacteristically hesitant trying to engage in a nonsensical banter with someone (Munish Makhija, who played Udham Singh) who probably had no idea what or who he was dealing with. The wise-cracks of Udham Singh were abysmal contrasting Amitabh's dignity that silently stood witness to the star that he is.

This show happened at a time when a short-sighted media and know-all movie pundits had virtually written him off as yesterday's news. His political career had collapsed like a pack of cards, all his recent movies had flopped and it appeared as though the Bachchan juggernaut was about to topple over. And the show was probably the lowest point where even his most loyal admirers became fearful that it might indeed happen. Little did we know, that it was a Gaint's struggle to get back on his feet again.

The fighter Amitabh Bachchan, unmindful of his baiters, quietly but with unwavering determination forged ahead. He is a human and made several mistakes in his way, the first avatar of ABCL and the Miss World Show were decided disasters, but the legend that he is he made the best of every situation and soared higher still. Then one fine day KBC happened, Amitabh Bachchan was back again with the sound of hundred trumpets and drums to reclaim his rightful place at the head of table and dazzle the world anew and afresh.

I think Udham Singh Shows happen in everybody's life at some point of time or other, maybe even more than once sometimes. But the sign of one's true mettle is to have the courage to live through it during the time that one has to and then turn that show off to move on to things bigger and better. After all we have the example of Star of the Millennium showing us how to do that with dignity and elan.For me Amitabh Bachchan truely personifies the ideal protagonist of the Agnipath that we call Life.

Vruksh ho bhale khade,
Ho ghane, ho bade,
Ek patra chaa bhi,
Mag maat, mag maat, mag maat
Agnipath, Agnipath, Agnipath

Tu na thakega kabhi,
Tu na thamega kabhi,
Tu na mudega kabhi,
Kar shapath, kar shapath, kar shapath
Agnipath, Agnipath, Agnipath

Yeh maahan drushya hai,
Chal raha manushya hai,
Ashru, shwet, rakth se,
Lathpat, lathpat, lathpat
Agnipath, Agnipath, Agnipath

- Harivansh Rai Bachchan

2006-10-28T13:58:00.000+05:30

Cocktail

Having just finished reading the Autobiography of Yoga that propounds the sublime path of Kriya Yoga, I have taken upon myself to swing to the other side of creation theory divide by attempting this time to finish the unread best-seller, A brief history of Time, which has been languishing under a pile of other books of similar significance. The names of such worthies as Bohr, Laplace, Heisenberg that years of C++, Java, and C# had relegated to a untouched partition in the brain's storage mechanism are jumping out with alarming rapidity. They say things to me that I can scarcely make sense of. Newton and his theories are OK, by the time one reaches Einstein's general relativity the grey cells grumble and show positive signs of discontentment, and by the time the electron ceases to be a particle and moves as a wave from a point A to point B, through all the available paths, while ensuring some kind of relevance to Bohrs model, these cells conspire to congeal into a singularity of infinite insanity. I just hope to emerge out of this journey unscathed by the millions of quarks, mesons, boson and such things that Hawkins is bombarding me with.

Quite a heady cocktail, this...

The last has been a week of gifts. Gifts from workplace in form of goodies that gave even more joy when shared, uplifting music CDs from my bankers, trendy t-shirts, passes to happening dos, made this old man as excited as a kid in Christmas

Cool ...

2006-09-10T23:10:00.000+05:30

Symbolism in the Mahabhrata and other Indian Mythology

The Pentacle and Pentagram, the secret feminine, Gnostic messages in Leonado's art works have all received a very welcome exposure through Dan Brown's bestseller The Da Vinci Code. A sign of how civilized a society is can be made out clearly by how openly it can question and dispute established social knowledge. In that the west has truly distinguished itself. If you haven't read the book already, I would highly recommend it. It may be a work of fiction but is a highly thought provoking one.

Currently I am re-reading the Mahabharat, the first time as a grown up. A characteristic that strikes me as unique is the elan with which human greatness and frailties have been woven together in the story. Thus, even Yudhistira who is a paragon of virtue is shown to have a human weakness to gambling, Drona the greatest of teachers having a special place for Arjuna in his heart above all his other students, and many more such. The moral is always not to deny weakness but to rise over it, a message that I find more appealing.

Mahabharat has many layers to it, of which every reading uncovers more of. One particular one that I find very appealing is likening the entire proceedings of Mahabharata to the trials and tribulations that every human goes through. The Kauravas here represent the hundreds of forces of Tamas, (literally darkness representing all our baser instincts) that assail us unrelentingly. Sometimes the guise these feeling assume would scarce seem to have the least trace of darkness, but before you know you have descended into a whirlpool of blind madness. Pandavs represent the five senses who are charged with protecting the inner purity who takes the form of Draupadi. And Krishna is Himself, the Ishwara, the Supreme overlord of creation, who can guide us to Victory over Tamas, if we let Him. He has granted us free will out of his own benevolence. Welcoming Krishna in our heart and attempting to absorb the timeless message of the Bhagavad Gita is the way to freedom, mokhsha and eternal Ananda.

" When I read Bhagavad Gita. I ask myself how God created the Universe. Everything else appears to be superfluous" - Albert Einstein.

Maharbharat is not unique in its use of symbolism, the Purans, Itihas and even the Vedas and Vedantas are replete with intricate symbolisms. These things are meant to be discovered by individuals themselves and these great works speak to everyone personally. This journey is giving me an immense amount of bliss, I hope it will do the same to you too. Join the Hunt my friend...

Sept 29, 2006: Today morning I had wonderful experience in my dreams. I saw I was sitting along with a few devotees at the feet of Lord Jesus Christ and listening to him. I don't remember a word of that and His face only vaguely, but I clearly remember thinking in my dream how serene his face was, alight with Divya-Jyoti (Divine Light). His dress, a robe was white. The terrain was hilly and green. I remember thinking that this was Mount Sinai, (which is strange because Sinai is actually associated with Moses and the Ten Commandments!) Anyway I feel blessed having seen our saviour, even seeing him in a dream for me means beyond what I can express. Thank you my Lord.

2006-09-07T21:30:00.000+05:30

Vande Mataram

I sang Vande Mataram with pride today. Our national song had for decades, before freedom was finally won, inspired countless of Indians to dedicate themselves to the cause. Even after the nation achieved independence for many it was a re-affirmation that long held faith that the Motherland is verily the Mother. Is it a one-sided or religious way of looking at things? I don't know and frankly I don't care. This is exactly how I feel and have always felt.

Shokol Desher Rani
Se Je Aamar Janmabhoomi

Today it doesn't matter the least to me that some people choose find strange reasons not to sing this song, anyway to each his own. As I said before patriotism needs to come from the heart. And to me being an Indian is a privilege.

Jai Hind.

Personal Note: Tomorrow my little Rudra and his Mom are heading toward Gangtok for a few months' worth of vacation. I know Kanai is always with them.

2006-09-02T20:51:00.001+05:30

Aw Man! Gimme a break

Dear all, please look at the lil guy frolicking below, trying his darnest to look like a planet. Just look at him, bouncing that ball around trying to convince himself that it is a moon or something. Do you have the heart to tell him that he ain't a planet anymore!!! Just Gimme a break here!

Actually since the time good old Doordarshan started beaming one or two stray episodes of Mickey and Donald, this is what I thought planet Pluto looked like. Now apparently this guy just had to stray onto Neptune's orbit and they don't want to call him a planet anymore :(. This is sooo not done folks. My entire education is at stake here, I mean I remember jumping up and down my class desk as a child to answer the question - "Which planet is furthest from Sun?" until a harried teacher would finally relant and point at me for me to shout Plutoooo. What becomes now of all those brownie points I earned... my god! the basis of my education is now shaky. Leave Pluto alone, Scientific People; he is a small guy, and it is not as if he is crowding the Uranus or Neptune's orbit an' causing a traffic jam like the one in K R Puram bridge that I have to contend with everyday.

Talking of traffic jams, I got into the Mother of all traffic jams on Friday at the ring road. In Bangalore everytime a new Government comes they just dig up all existing good roads and rebuild them, while the potholed ones languish the way the British had left them. I can't even understand why the names of the roads are still English sounding, why do we need to have Wheeler's and Miller's roads, Who are they? What did they do? It would have been OK to have a few roads after prominent Englishmen who had something to do with Bangalore, such as Churchill who was posted here sometimes early in his career, but I see no sense in remembering the various Cunnighams, Frasers and Cookes. Bangalore is a funny place, no one seems to bothered about the rising crimes, pollution, collapsing infrastructure, political inaptitude or even the rising cost of leaving. But when a highly popular movie star died the entire city was under seize by crazies who even killed a policeman for no reason. There is a simmering under current of resentment by a section of people, which manifests in weird ways. Idu Namma Bengaluru Saar, Saalpa Adjust Maadi!

A new strangeness has gripped the Nation now, to sing or not to sing Vande Maataram. I obviously feel it should be sung by all, but still I don't feel any purpose is served by forcing people to do so. Patriotism should come from within, and as long there are these sundry cleric for whom being a bugbear is more important than really working for upliftment of their community, such sensations shall always overshadow the core issues.

Meantime, what of our friend Pluto? Well here is what I say - Cuddle him, Comfort him and just tell him that planet or no planet; oblong, hyperbolic or elliptical orbit we still love him lots and always will :)

2006-08-30T18:15:00.002+05:30

Shyama: The Loving Mother
(Part II: Seeking Ma Kali)

You are there for those that have none to turn to,
Don't you know that's why I stare at you so -
In this empty and listless existence of mine,
O Mother Sarada Fail me not, Fail me not --

In the thorny pathway of life,
My heart has been shattered by thousand blows
My offering to you are just my tears
O Mother Sarada Fail me not, Fail me not --

The darkness of night envelops me, permeates my heart, my being and my soul, but I fear it not, for is darkness not the color of my Ma Kali. In this darkness I loose sight of my false image that my ignorant ego has created, the image that feels hurt, the image that feels wronged, the image that is in shackles…

In this blissful darkness I know I am free, I know I am loved; I know I am in the protective embrace of my mother. My eyes can deceive me no longer, for their tricks fail in the darkness and unseeing they look within and with me seek the liberating touch of Ma Kali’s sword. And liberate me she shall…

I draw strength from a anecdote that Thakur has been known to relate, it goes thus – During the course of days work, a mother sometimes needs to leave her child unattended. When it cries a little, she will perhaps give him some toy to divert the attention so that she can continue to attend to her work but when the child finally tires of all toys and cries persistently indicating that only the mother and no thing else will do, the mother leaves whatever she is doing and comes and picks up her child. It is in this truth that I repose my faith. And I have seen this truth unfold in front of my own eyes as my little Rudra calls out to her mother. Only that, as soon as my little angel cries, he gets not only his mom, but also grandma and dad rushing to his attention. :)

Today I felt my ma’s grace tangibly as she took me by hand and lovingly started cutting away those bonds that have been keeping me away from her, in her own inimitable and no nonsense way she showed that attachment to the transient gives is a false sense of happiness or sadness, it creates a maze-like false world where I have been scampering around like a rat on steroids in search of non existent cheese. Well, I guess one has to wake up sometimes. And having woken up, its but natural that I cry out to my mother…

With Krishna as my guide and companion, it is in Ma Kali’s dark form that I seek light anew, a light of knowledge, a light of bliss…

"She takes away the darkness from every individual who strives in the path of perfection by performing the spiritual disciplines of purifying austerities. Just as all the colors of the spectrum mix into black, yet still black remains black, so too, Kali, who is completely Dark, Unknowable, takes away all the Darkness."

Jai Ma.

See Also
Part I: Shyama: The Dark Goddess
A Kali in Every Woman: Motherhood and the Dark Goddess Archetype

2006-08-12T14:17:00.000+05:30

As if on Cue

The Times of India carried this news article Lebanon crisis: Reaction in India feared. The article itself begins omniously:

WASHINGTON: With two full-blown crises, in Lebanon and Iraq, merging into a single emergency, a chain reaction could spread quickly almost anywhere between Cairo and Mumbai, a former US ambassador to the United Nations has warned.

A combination of combustible elements poses the greatest threat to global stability since the 1962 Cuban missile crisis, history's only nuclear superpower confrontation, Richard Holbrooke said, suggesting that India and a dozen other countries could be involved in violence in the near future.

Well, Krishna Janmasthami is just around the corner, so fear not folk, Just chant Hare Krishna, Hare Rama, or whatever way you want to rememeber him. Instead of CNN watch CN (Cartoon Network) more, play with kids, feed the ducks and pigeons, just be happy. Generally. :)

And yes, listening to Bhajans helps a lot. Not just you, silly, it helps the world, the whole creation. So go right ahead.

Krishna Krishna Kahiye Uthi Bhor

2006-08-11T17:42:00.000+05:30

Is it going to be a War?

The world is an edgy place just about now. Suspicion and intrigue is on the air. No one feels safe. A major tragedy has just been averted in London but the airwaves are thick with warnings and advisories. A polarized world has been pushed further into the hands of the Hawks. In our country a weak government fumbles at every front, with a single point agenda of staying in power at whatever the price.

The ongoing hostilities between Israel and Lebanon show just how easy it is for a war to start. And from the looks of things, start it will. Sooner than Later. A war with no winners and where the humanity looses.

History has shown that there have been so many of such devatating wars, the Mahabhrata war, the Babylon invasion of Israel, greek attacking Persia, the Islamic raiders to India, the Islamic sacking of the glorious Vijaynagara Kingdom, the World Wars... the list is unending. Everytime ways of lives ended and the toils of centuries of human enterprise reduced to dust in days, weeks or months.

I guess the bystanders at each of the instances may have felt that way the common people feel today: Caught in the cross fire. Trapped.

So how does one enlist on the winning side when there is not going to be any winner? My faith is with Krishna, taking refuge in him.. Yellow belly? No way.. Here's my philosophy… The world is in this state today, because the negative thought waves have overshadowed the positive ones. We hate more than we love, we destroy more then we create. To counter balance that the only way is for people to love more, and what love is more glorious, more enriching and more life affirming than the love for Krishna. He is the one Truth for me, called as he by so many names.

Sri Krishna Saranam Mamah

2006-05-24T10:39:00.000+05:30

Krishna is my Guide

What draws me to the SOA paradigm is its essential and inherent harmony, its rhythm, if you will. The concept of Business functions being provided as a set of loosely coupled, policy driven services that are possibly threaded together though an choreography layer agnostic to the implementation mechanism, intrinsically promotes an open architecture. SOA provides a perfect balance in a world where the last word has not yet been said in this ensuing tug of war between open sources and vendor supported product suites. While the concept itself is not so much an of invention, (some may remember that e-services is an old word from the days of e-speak) using the ubiquitous HTTP as the transport for SOAP messages was a stroke of genius as it brought in its wake technology independence between collaborators in the game of providing and consuming services. The WS-* standards are today extending the boundaries of the reach of technology in a secure way. If the natural evolution of technology has its way, soon devices to individuals to organization shall be entities in an service oriented eco-system that is truly open and market driven. However for that to happen stronger domain specific syntax has to evolve for service definitions and access mechanisms, e.g. if two service providers provide stock quotes, why should the conversation vocabulary differ?

Nature has itself shown that evolution prefers not just the strongest but those that collaborate the best, wild dogs, for instance, are more feared predators than the King of Jungle. The success stories of bees and ants stem from their respective well organized social structures and communication mechanism. However Nature is not about individual species anyway, for no one species could possibly contributed singly to the survival of Life itself on our planet, had it not been for underlying and unifying food chain, that links all life from the algae to the top predators of the current times - us. Life has evolved itself as a whole such that the photosynthetic capacity of the plants reach all that lives here through the food chain, and we give it all back someday, dust to dust, ashes to ashes. A unifying connection that is wired into the collective gene pool on earth. Life is undoubtedly the best collaboration and knowledge management system this world has ever seen. And it is constantly innovating. Well, He is happiest who hath power to gather wisdom from a flower. (Wordsworth)

Planets and Galaxies as much as the sub-atomic entities inside an Hydrogen atom are similarly linked through Strings of forces that Newton and Einstein helped us catch a glimpse of and subsequent generations of geniuses have been progessively unrevealing. Each Supernova spews out "star-stuff" (in Carl Sagan's word) that coagulates into newer galaxies and star systems within which it is conceivable that Life may again get a foothold somewhere and evolve anew into a many splendoured reality like the one we live within. Yet in the midst of these boundless possibilities the unity (or perhaps the uniformity in uncertainty) of the behaviour of matter (wave?), the forces strong and weak that plays on it as Hariprasad Chaurasia on his magical flute, are perhaps the only constant theme, at least in this manifestation of creation. An unity that weaves individual quanta of matter into the tapestry that we call our Universe.

The big bang that started it all has been likened often to a step in the timeless dance of Nataraj and his eternal consort Shakti. For all creation and indeed the all powerful Ma Kali herself are projection of the transcendental Unifying substratum that we call Shiva, Brahman or even our own atman thereby encapsulating the unfathomable infinite within the apparent finite. (Life of Pi anyone?)

Tat tvam Asi. (Thou art That)

So how does one fathom the unfathomable? Well, people claim that all it takes is a heartfelt cry to Hari, that captivating blue hued lad who would steal your heart as soon as you lay your eyes on him. People claim his plays his flute well and that it speaks the tougue of eternal love and bliss, of the unity and harmony that vibrates through all creation as Aum. People claim he plays often and beckons all to rejoice in the soothing and enlightening melody. People claim that he is the one true guide and that only his grace can set you free.

Yea, Krishna is my guide and refuge.

Sri Krishna Saranam Mamah.

2006-04-12T12:59:00.000+05:30

Impressions

Life comes a full circle sometimes. It seems just yesterday, but I just noticed that it has been a full two years since I tried to make sense of the concept of Anitya. This weekend I found myself being haunted by the whims of Anitya yet once again, stirred up by two TV shows.

The Kiss of Judas over the ages has probably being one of the most reviled acts of deception. Now, if the recently deciphered Gospel of Judas were to be believed, Judas was not the villain that he has been known to be after all, but he is posited as one of the foremost disciples of Jesus. The Gospel of Judas frames the act, which has vilified Judas so completely, as obedience to the instructions of Jesus, rather than a betrayal. The program aired by National Geographic last weekend was quite thought provoking. If what was shown were to be true Judas's obedience to the Lord's will probably sets a benchmark for how deep and selfless faith should be. Indeed the Gospel of Judas states that Jesus told Judas "You shall be cursed for generations." It then adds to this conversation that Jesus had told Judas "you will come to rule over them," and that "You will exceed all of them. For you will sacrifice the man that clothes me." The last sentence I find very significant, which appears to imply that Jesus positions the body as a cloth for the inner soul or Atman, a concept that is central to Indian metaphysical thought process.

(Note: In Hindu scriptures also various acts of the Lord's disciples appearing in guise of villains have been explored, for instance Ravana is believed to have been a incarnation of Jaya a devotee of Lord Vishnu.)

Coming back to Judas, whatever may be the credentials of his Gospel, it certainly goes on to prove that truth manifests itself through many faces and even impressions can be transient(Anitya) in nature, as I soon found my impression of JFK to be.

I had grown up knowing JFK as a hero, someone who had the courage to live and die for his beliefs about basic human dignity. A recent program on History channel showed that after Cuba repulsed the Bay of Pigs invasion, US troops engaged in burning of farms and bombing sugar mills in an effort to eliminate Castro. Civilian life and property was targeted for a political end, apparently under orders of JFK himself. I found the facts disconcerting.

Of course, I still am an admirer of Kennedy but I guess truth in this transient world is hardly ever black or white. It always comes in various shades of Greys ....

2006-03-16T17:46:00.001+05:30

Where's the manual Dude?

The world has its priorities all mixed up!

Just imagine, every time I buy a TV (I recently bought my fourth one) the sales people hold a solemn ceremony and hand over to me the TV manual and stern directives that I am expected to read it cover to cover before switching on the damn contraption. C'mon how weird can you get!! To top it within a couple of days of the purchase, earnest looking people turn up at the door steps for a "demo". What do I look like? (OK that was not a smart question to ask, but the facts remain unchanged :)

Now get this, two weeks back we were handed our Rudra by the beaming hospital staff, but NO MANUAL!!! Neither my wife nor I know how to operate a baby yet, SO WHERE IS THE OWNERS MANUAL DUDE?? I mean the young fella still has a rather limited vocabulary comprising of gurgles, cries and grunts, so two way communication does become an issue. Why are they keeping the Manual away?

When the young guy cries, how do you make out whether it wants to be fed, needs a diaper change, needs to be cuddled and carried around? For all you know he might be trying to say that he wants to know the cricket score or feeling like discussing the intricacies of Madhava's bheda-vada doctrine. We frankly have no clue. Zero. Zilch.

So at every whimper from our little angel, this routine ensues
- check his diapers
- try to feed him
- cuddle him
- sing him songs
- read him the newspaper
- try to engage him in a game of chess
- make faces at him
- makes faces at each other
- tear out hairs (own)
- call mother, call mother in law, call neighbours mother in law just for the heck of it
- let him sing us to sleep

And the whole show starts again at the next whimper. Sweet Lord, what exciting times we live in!

I sometimes see him regarding us with kindly eyes of someone who knows that he is at the tender mercies of manual-less parents. He appears to be resigned to it in a philosophical kind of way. He smiles too :)

SO PLEASE, PLEASE if you know where the manual is, let us know!!!

2006-03-02T15:23:00.000+05:30

The Stork came calling ...

In life there are milestones that mark your most important moments, moments that define you as you. Mona and I encountered one such on the morning of Friday the 24th and it has truly changed us forever.

How do you explain falling in love instantaneously? Chances are, my friend, that if you are not a parent, you are not going to even understand what I am talking about here.

Kanai blessed us with our first born, a baby boy, on the Friday, 24th Feb 2006. With his coming I have been motivated to redefine what life means to me:

Life is praying to Kanai for my son and for all those I love
Life is looking at my son's eyes and just wondering.
Life is holding him in my arms and watching him sleep
Life is a the few winks of sleep stolen between two nappy-changes at night
Life is watching people go to raptures over him.
Life is creating his email id and blog space.
Finally life is the feeling of contentment that I get just by being near him.

We have decided to call him Rudraditya, the Brilliance of Lord Shiva.

May Kanai's hand always be on him.

2006-01-23T11:52:00.000+05:30

Bhor bhaye baaje Madhur Muralia

Bhajans have a therapeutic quality to them. When sung and listened to with devotion they lift up the conscience from the physical plane to one that somehow feels closer to the Lord. Even more uplifting, are the participatory Kirtans, where the whole assembly sings along with the lead singers and as the combined love of all the bhaktas finds expression in heartfelt and unbridled utterance of His name, even Bhagavan joins in into the festivities and one can feel his distinct presence.

Honestly this is no exaggeration. I have felt this connection many times in my childhood during our father's Kirtan sessions. The prayer hall would resound with the words "Hari bol, Hari bol, Hari bol mon aamar", tears of ecstasy would roll down the cheeks of all the grown ups around me as the joyously sang his glory. Father would have this serene smile in his lips as he led on the proceeding feeling the Lords love in every word and every note. Unobstruously a feeling of boundless joy would lay claim to the heart and I would always cry. Connection to the divine or collective histeria, I don't know, but it surely felt good and blissful.

The ironical truth however is that for most of us the effects of the uplifting love is not long lasting. During the time we zone in into a Kritan, sermon or whatever form of rememberence that suits us, His love envelops us and seems all encompassing. And as soon as these are over we descend back into our lives of crib-fests and into our rat races seeking ephemeral sense satisfaction. How easy is it to talk of Bhakti and how hard is it to lead a life of a bhakta.

I heard something in Astha channel the other day that's so moving. The sant was talking of Krishna's flute being the ideal bhakta. The flute cares not whether the tune Krishna is playing on it is a happy tone or a sad one, it produces the Lord's divine music unquestioningly. The whole purpose of the flute's being is to do the Lord's bidding. Ever immersed in the service of Lord, perhaps the bliss it experiences in love of God, the Ananda, transends the egoistic emotions of personal happiness and sadness that assils us the ignorants.

Perhaps that's why Krishna loves this para-bhakta so much and is never visualized without his trusty flute.

Dahe Chetan Thakita Ek bar Gaur-Hari Bol
Gaur-Hari bol re Madhai, Gaur-Nitai Bol

2006-01-03T12:52:00.000+05:30

Iss Saal Phir Dil Maange More....

Don't you just love to have more? Much more really, more of Money, more of fun, more of all that we like. In fact, except for Kiran More, (of whom I definitely want to see no more in the selection board) generally more mores can be merrier. Quite so!

The perpetual demand for more is not just restricted to the realms of the mundane material. We demand more from everyone, parents, children, colleagues, bosses, govenment (that is a joke and you are expected to chuckle, thank you) and even God. Take Jesus and Mary Magdalene for instance, that Jesus saved all of us and Mary is one of his foremost apostles in known and accepted. But we are often driven to think that there have been more, maybe they were married! The number of books written on this one subject is phenomenal, by far the most popular being the fictionalized treatment provided by Dan Brown. Personally, I am happy that this research is happening, I have always felt that the Magdalene was treated unfairly by history. Anyway on the commercial front, France, where the Sang raal supposedly ended up and royal bloodline is reputed to have continued, has derived a booming tourist business from this want of more of The Mary who married The Lord. For centuries.

One doesn't even have to go back so far in history, it seems that some miracle has to be attributed to Mother Teresa for her to attain sainthood! This is so ridiculous! Isn't her being born and coming to Calcutta a miracle of the first degree in itself? No, the world wants More. I don't know about the suits (or robes or whatever the Vatican bureaucrats wear) Mother Teresa is already a saint for all whose lives she has touched and all who have been inspired by her.

All this is well-n-good, but is there more to life itself? The perpetual question that haunts intellectual, wannabe intellectuals and pseudo intellectuals alike. What do the Upanishads mean when they talk of the underlying unity of all creation, the all pervading Brahaman? What of the Ishwara, who is supposedly the personification of the mighty Brahaman and why can't I find Him in the pages of all the weighty books I read?

I don't make new year resolutions anymore, one, I am old and can't think of new and good ones and second they don't really last longer than the first week of January anyway. The reason that these resolutions fail is because such resolutions usually are typically made with the intent of "Lessening or Curbing" - for instance, this year I shall eat less carbs, I shall be less lazy, I shall gnaw the toe in my mouth a little less and so on. All these come to a naught for as we all know from the good Pepsi commercial - Yeh Dil Maange More...

So this year I have made a new year's eve proclamation that I am going to have More

- More of silence, and when I do speak, speak more about Krishna, Sing his glory.
- More of contemplation and Meditation on Krishna name
- More quality time spent with this Atman guy who is supposed to lurking somewhere inside of me (heaven knows doing what!) for he allegedly has the capability of leading one to the Truth!

And as the good book says - the Truth shall set you free.

Happy New Year Everyone.

Hare Krishna Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama
Rama Rama Hare Hare

2005-11-25T14:04:00.000+05:30

Walking with the Gods

You got to hand it to 'em, "God's Own Country", has rather a romantic ring to it, no? Having grown up with a gaggle of Malayali friends in Itanagar, Kerala, where these guys disappeared into at least once every couple of years, was always a place that was intriguing. This guys always brought back with them stories of Onam, snake-boats, coconut tree and banana chips. Well, to cut this nostalgic trip short, I have always wanted to visit Kerala.

Opportunity presented itself in form of a missus-on-warpath, who hadn't been taken on a vacation for years. Between the missus's persistent demand of Paris and my limited imagination that ventured no further then Nandi Hills, Kerala was a God-sent brain-wave.

Getting There

The weekend before Diwali saw us on Kanyakumari express. I can't sleep when people snore and people invariable make it a point to do so when they are on the same compartment as me on a train. Regardless of whether it is Karma or a CIA conspiracy, I was still up in the wee hours of the morning as Airtel-Kerala SMSed an welcome.

The Ernaculum station followed suit a short while later and we disembarked to the sights and sounds of Kerala.

Hammock Travels, who always overcharge, had advised a Taxi from Enakulum to Alleppy, a idea so dumb that it took winds out of the your garden variety bad ideas, we jettisoned it promptly on reaching there. Experience has taught me not to take long rides on beat-up taxis, on bad roads especially on a hot day.

The missus having heard an announcement of a local train to our destination had me scoot for tickets and soon we were chugging along again under what was turning out to be a rather a humid day along with being a hot one. The greenery around us, though, was remarkable. And as the train moved along, the small stations at each of which it religiously took a breather were so like the small stations of rural Bengal. I got nostalgic all over again.

Flash-back: 1980s, Still in Itanagar and No TV. A Phillps radio was the family pride and source of all things wondrous. Much abused by bro and me when Dad's back was turned. It also contained the list of stations that the contraption was supposed to tune into. Alleppy was mentioned. The name and the radio resurfaced in memory as the trained ambled through an amazing landscape. Flash back has no purpose, I just though about it then and thought it was cool, though now I can't imagine why. Strange are the workings of brain that has survived a night of snores.

Finally the train would go no further and we had arrived at Alleppy.

At Alleppy

Alleppy, which the locals call Allapuzah, could be Lakhimpur or Dhakiajuli or even the sub-urbs of Silchar, replace the script in the road signs by Bengla/Assamese script you wouldn't know that this was a place a sub-continent away from rural Assam or Bengal. The one addition were the water canals that were all over the town and have a uncanny habit of being with you whichever road you are in. A typical small town and I fell in love immediately. Laid back, slow and totally Indian.

Kayaloram resort, where a series of Ayurvedic adventures were waiting for me is a nice place. In the banks of a Back water lake it is quite well maintained. But first an afternoon of sleep was in order...

Evening, a launch ride. Ambitiously called the Sunset Cruise. Quite nice. Food and more Sleep.

Morning the next day, an unrepentant Management says, our planned house boat had unplanned problems and won't we rather get started with the Ayurveda anyway?

Here is a word of advice, if you are not of strong body and spirit, don't leave yourself to the mercies of a Kerala masseur. I am quite strong and spirit has never been in short supply , but the massage was something that I am not going to forget in quite a while.

I would highly recommend the Siro-Dhara therapy though. About two liters of scented hot oil is poured on your head from an earthen vessel that is hanging on a rope and has a small hole through which the oil seeps out and falls on your head. It is a very relaxing experience.

The food in Kerala is good. The Appams, idiappams with Kerala Fish curry is just divine to the palate. And if you are adventurous enough to wash this down with some freshly tapped Coconut sap you could well imagine that this must be the lives that Gods lead.

Afternoon was for lazing about a little. There were a couple of Hammocks strung on coconut trees and made for a nice place to catch a snooze. Evening and more good food.

The House Boat

We had planned to stay one day on a house boat. The boat the came to pick us up on the Resort deck was a piece of history as we were to learn later. Anyway we embarked on our journey. We were the only passengers on our boat that came equipped with its own kitchen, cook, boatman and handyman.

The boat lazily took us across the canals of Alleppy and after an hour or so of ride stopped for all to have lunch which was very tastefully prepared. After lunch we started again. Our boat had a nice veranda where you could go out and see the wonderful scenery pass-by. The boat man spoke no tongue that we understood so we would communicate with wild gestures.

It is actually for this part that people usually take the House boat. Going through the canals within Alleppy is an unforgettable experience. However we slept through most of it so there is little to forget anyway.

When we got up the boat was almost ready to drop anchor for the night. It stopped on a deserted place and the dim lights of the boats came on followed by tea and cookies.

As the dusk descended the whole place started acquiring a dream-like look. The environ around us started getting dark around us rapidly, even the water on which the boat was swaying mildly became deliciously black. The ubiquitous coconut trees on the banks appeared silhouetted against a sky that was only a shade lighter. From our vintage at the Veranda we could see other boats anchored at some distance with their dim lights on. It was so surreal that I couldn't resist making it even more so. I sang old sad songs of Hemant, Rafi and Kishore Kumar. The mosquitos, I am certain, enjoyed the company.

Dinner was as well cooked as the lunch had been. While serving us the dinner, the cook told us that this was probably the oldest boat on the backwaters and this was the last journey before it went for renovation. The old lady had been riding these waters for more then a decade now. It was so strange, the boat had probably made its maiden ride when we (the missus and I) left our college and its last ride was with us as passengers. Gave you a feeling that all this years it was waiting for us in a Karmic kind of way. :)

The next morning we went back to the resort and bid our boat people good bye. They had been excellent hosts.

The Last Day

The last day was blissfully uneventful. The missus took the treatments that she had been taking and I just lazed around more. It was the Day of Diwali. There were a few industrious people at the resort, who in the evening arranged for a small puja and pedas were distributed. We all sang "Jai Jagadisha Hare".

It atmosphere there had really relaxed us and after a long time the missus and I really talked. And talk we did, well into the deep night. For me this was the highest point in a truly wonderful break.

Bidding Goodbye

The next morning we started back. Relaxed, Renewed and Rediscovered......

2005-10-22T14:31:00.000+05:30

Oh! Calcutta

Kolkata can't be described or written about, it has to be experienced first hand. I guess this holds good for most cities that have a character or personality of their own like Bombay and New York. But what sets Kolkata apart from these other cities, I think, is that it has multiple personalities, each oblivious of the existence of the other. Kolkata is different to different people, and I feel she assumes a different guise for all who approach her. So find out for yourself, you haven't lived unless you have been to Calcutta...

This was my first Puja at West Bengal ever and my first visit back home after about four years. The place is certainly on its way back to its feet, where there used to be a pall of inactivity and decay a few years back, there is the hum of vibrant activity that gladdens the heart. Round the clock work on over-bridges and highways point to the fact that the Bengali Babu has finally woken up from a time warp.

It was a good experience going around in to the various Puja Pandals in Dankuni with my brother, mom and aunt. Did this after a long time and still love it..

If you go to Kolkata try out the Oh! Calcutta restaurant in Forum, Minto Park, if you are a fish enthusiast the food is good :)

My Best Friends Wedding

No, it is not just the name of a movie starring Julia Roberts. A close friend and colleague got married on the 16th of this month. I returned back from Kolkata to be in time for that. Best wishes to newly weds.

Winds of Change..

And finally the winds of change have appeared again in the horizon and with baited breath we wait to see what unfolds in the coming days and weeks...

Kanai Kanai

2005-09-30T13:06:00.000+05:30

Justifying Existence

Religion, it has been argued, has been a result of the perennial question that have assaulted thinkers at all times in human history - Who am I? What am I here for? Where do I go from here?

It is not as if Religion has been the only answer to these questions, man and woman have over ages sought to find the answers in Philosophy, Art, Conquests and Love. All modes of self expression, modes of justifying existence, modes of attaching some meaning to life.

This Wikipedia link provides some very interesting perspectives on the Meaning of Life.

However beyond all such matter of the brain that befuddle us lesser beings, there are those that live the meaning of life, personify the essence of Karma Yoga and appear as beacons of inspiration. Recently I came across such a story that played out right in front of me. I just wanted share this story today:

For years people at my workplace have known Mr G, a big security guard with a wide smile, who made it a point to wish everyone who walked passed his security post with a wave. On his retirement he and his wife started serving lunch boxes to work-weary engineers at our office who didn't have time to go out for food. He never seemed the ambitious type and looked satisfied with the hundred odd customers that he had here. For the past few years, the sight of people lining up to buy his lunch boxes, that he would lug himself, was a constant fixture outside the office. All this while his cheery smile remained, though you could sometimes sense some fatigue in his eyes.

Three months ago his son joined our organization as an engineer.

There is no pride in Mr G's demeanor and his still turns up at 12.45 religiously with his lunch boxes for his loyal clientele.

Mr G is an fantastic example of what Karma Yoga stands for. Maybe he never philosophizes about meaning of life but he sure has been living it. I spoke to him yesterday while going for lunch, he is still the same cheery person I have always known him to be.

I guess some truths in life can never be taught, they are meant to be lived.

2005-09-02T14:25:00.000+05:30

Waiting to see you...

In God's universe, souls or entities that are meant to be together ALWAYS seek each other out. Call it destiny, karma or a bond that's formed in previous births, it really happens. "The universe conspires to make it so". Wonderful isn't it...

I have seen signs of this conspiracy so often in my life. Each soul that I have been drawn to have led me to believe that such attachments could have come only through love that transcends lifetimes.

Much of my grown up life has been a search for some meaning for life..but in your presence I feel calmed and rested..I feel justified. There's so much to discover together, so much to talk about, so much to learn and so much fun to be had...

Yes, I am really waiting to see you..

2005-08-27T16:35:00.000+05:30

Sri Krishna

Shokhi Go, Prano Shokhi Aamar-
Aami, ki rupo harinu,
Madhuro-murathi
Piriti-raashero Shyam

O dear friend of mine,
What wonderous beauty it is that I have beheld,
The icon of delight,
Shyam, the the personification of love

I have grown up seeing crowds of people moved into tears by my father's renderings of Kirtans such as these. An article in The Week magazine had stated that "No one has so influenced the course of India's religion, philosophy, art and literature as Krishna". Truely, his attraction, charisma and philosophy are unparallelled, starting from the Emotional exuberance of the Bhakta's adoration of Krishna as exemplified in Radha's love for Him to the sublime philosophy of the Bhagvad Gita.

Today is Janmastami, the day of birth of Lord Krishna, who historically is said to have lived 5000 years ago. The following two article provide interesting historical perspectives of Sri Krishna:

Search for the Historical Krishna
The Legend of Dwaraka

Sri Krishna, or as we call him at home, Kanai (from Kanhaiah perhaps) as always been a constant and unquestioned presence in our daily lives. When we were young father told me and my brother that Kanai is our eldest brother who is always with us in our hearts and would never ever fail us. I believed him then and now, more than ever, I still do.

Sri Krishna Saranam Mahah.

2005-07-16T02:31:00.000+05:30

The Big Picture

The Nazca Lines are fascinating. I remember wintry evenings in Itanagar when I and my brother would huddle around Dad and listen about the stories of the ancient lines and Daniken's theories around them with wide-eyed amazement. Sleep in those days of my childhood were not so elusive as they have become today, but I still remember the tangling sensation that would electrify our imagination which, Dad, the master story teller that he was, could infuse into his children at such early age.

In my sleep deprived state in NYC the last few days, my mind for some reason seemed to wander back to those stories of Nazca lines and the familiar feeling of tangling re-surfaced and I found myself Googling a bit. I find it absurdly wonderful that generations of ancients were willing to labour to create these gigantic geoglyps on a stony desert that they would in all probability never see with their own eyes. Ever! Unless of-course the incredible stories that Daniken told were true, which is kind of hard to believe or alternatively the ancients could actually fly! (BTW, The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy prescribes that the trick to flying is to try to fall down to the ground from an elevated place - and miss!!! Manhattan seems to be just the place to experiment this theory, and if that works I could just wing my way back home:)

As the ancients faded away into the mist of time the story of these glyphs and their symbolism was forgotten for over a thousand and five hundred years. Countless feet must have trodden over these wonders without the faintest of ideas of what lay under their own feet.

It was not until 1920s when commercial airlines began flying across the Peruvian desert that humans rediscovered the Nazca lines and wondered anew. And the rest is history. I feel that the possibilities that astound us emerge not just through the microscope or surgical scalpel, but often also through a change in the perspective we wish to view our personal reality from.

The possibilities are endless, but dare we look at them...

New York is a funny place. Last Sunday, after a hard day wrestling with the goons of UML, I decided to stroll down the Lexington Avenue looking for some place where I could get some Machh Jhol to eat. It came as such a wonderful surprise when I discovered that a few block down from where I am staying, police had cordoned off the whole area and the entire avenue had turned into an open air fair. There were eating places, cloth stores, trinkets shops all snuggly against each other right on the road. I had a delightful time just walking through the whole place. And today, when while out on lunch I found that Rockefeller Center was playing host to a outdoors farmers market so much like markets in India. Well, New York, being here has been fun, but tommorow I go back home.

I feel like shouting ... Home..E.T Home... Mañana Man!!!

2005-07-12T01:22:00.000+05:30

Optimism

"Sir, we're surrounded!"
"Excellent. We can attack in any direction!"

--An Army Officer

This PJ which I just stole from someone else's blog pretty much sums up the optimistic frame of reference that my mind is operating at, just about now.

New York is really a fascinating place, and having landed on the 4th of July I got to see the fantastic fireworks display that they put up on the East River. Typically the other 4th July fireworks that I had seen earlier had just been crackers exploding into spheres of light, but this time the spectacle was really worth the time I spent waiting. From 9.30 in the evening till 10.30 the entire sky lit up into a riot of colours, shapes and sounds. This coupled with the excited crowd that had gather along the river bank did make this a night to remember.

Gawking at the lights in Times Square, taking ferry rides near Statue of Liberty and having food in tucked away Bangladeshi curry shops as well as upclass wall street hang-outs have been mainly what I have been doing most evenings last week. It has been really fun so far.

I don't think I shall be able to go to Maryland this time, the onset of my flu has seen to that, so I guess I shall head home this weekend as planned.

That didn't sound like my typical blog entry, did it? Well, guess what? My brain has gone on a vacation without leaving a forwarding address and my fingers just cooked up what best they could :)

2005-05-21T12:29:00.000+05:30

Thought Atheism

In a world blinded under the collective glitter of thought leaders, I choose for myself the humble path of Thought atheism. In my recent opus on Thought Leadership (something that funnily has become much referenced), I had identified thought leaders as being those in the select band of gifted worthies, who spend their time researching and gaining educated insight into complex equations that power matters of huge cranial significance in order to offer superior value to lesser mortals (such as yours truly) who may be optimistically entrusted to use their limited intelligence and stand to benefit from the aforementioned matters of huge intellectual solemnity and unfathomable economic promise. (Phew, that was in fact the longest sentence of pure hogwash that I have written in quite a long while :)

Contrast this with my simple philosophy thought atheism, where the psyche remains untainted by the myriad of life's sweet and bitter experiences, pristine in its ignorance and shiny like a newly minted 50 paise coin. While it may make one sound a little pompous in a comical sort of way, it does bestow upon one the gift of non-judgementalism (look ma, I just coined a new meta-word!!). A precious gift that allows you to savour the flavour of each transaction at its own atmoicity, cherish each relationship for its uniqueness and enjoy every single bite into a cheesecake as if it were your first...

Try it sometimes ... I promise it won't hurt (frankly, I wouldn't remember if it did.) :)

2005-05-20T14:13:00.000+05:30

Higher Purpose! Wherefore?

I remember hearing somewhere that Life is just a random sequence of coincidences and accidents. Much of earth's history appear to stand witness to this. Just imagine, if those millions of years ago a random meteorite wouldn't have stuck earth, brought about an ice age that wiped out the mighty dinosaurs, the puny mammals wouldn't ever have had the chance to evolve into, through a series of incredibly circuitous twists and turns, into us - the humans! If it were not for that wayward piece of space debris, I wouldn't have been writing this blog and you, gentle reader, wouldn't have been reading it...eerie, isn't it?

Now get this, this fancifully titled URL that ponders on the magnitude of eternal dance of creation, is just one in thousands of such websites that are hosted by this service provider, which is just one in tens of thousands of such hosting environments that abound in this world. A world that is a kind of funky maverick planet in an otherwise lack luster solar system, that centers around a mediocre sun, at the edge of a mid sized galaxy that we call the milky way, which itself it just a spec in the continuously raging pot of noodle soup that we call the universe. Artists depiction of that universe, to me, looks curiously like an egg poach.

Makes one sit back on wonder: Is what we call our universe just a side dish that is being prepared to be served at the breakfast table of someone staggeringly big dude, who just at this moment is getting ready to get to work and do whatever it is that they do in their staggeringly big worlds. Maybe what our brilliant scientific minds call the big bang, was just the egg being broken onto the cosmic frying pan :) and maybe this dude for whom this egg poach (our universe) is being prepared, is thinking of writing a blog today on whether there is a higher purpose to creation of life as he knows it. Maybe this guy deludes himself into believing that he is an unconventional thinker and is obsessed with finding the purpose of his existence in what he believes as his concept of creation. His approach, perchance, is a half hearted escapist attitude to fuel his staggeringly inflated ego into a comforting sense of pseudo-intellectuality. But one still hope in that staggeringly big universe there might have been some equivalent of our Chaitanya and Buddhas who have discerned the truth. One feels tempted to imagine that at least those big illuminated folks are vegetarian, as was Adolf Hitler. But for all you know, our staggeringly big dude's staggeringly big universe could be someone's egg poach too ;)

And now for the extreme possibility, the egg poach that I absent-mindedly pertook this morning, nodding sagely over the political news page of the newspaper, could that have been itself a smaller version of the same universe that is inhabited by those staggeringly big dudes, one of whom is probably hovering his fork over his breakfast side dish just about now!

Mundo Notion, Huh?!!!

Now ask yourself, those life problems and deep philosophical questions that you have been so agonizing over lately, are these worth the effort at all. Wouldn't you be rather out there fishing? I know I would, and I do, well kind-of!! ;). Every Saturday I buy fish from the neighbourhood fish monger. But wait! Suddenly a deep doubt assails me with tsunamic force, are fishes universes too? ....

Nah?! Couldn't be! Fishes are just too tastefully disposed to be universes or multiverses, just make sure you use the right amount of mustard!!!

2005-05-08T10:53:00.001+05:30

God smiles at me everyday

I know perfectly well what God's smile look would like for I can bet that it can be no different from the way my mother smiles.

A very old Hindi movie song goes like this:
Dekha nahin humne kabhi usko, par uske zaroorat kya hogi
Ai ma, teri soorat se alag, bhagban ki soorat kya hogi --

Happy Mother's Day Mom!

2005-04-11T17:01:00.000+05:30

Footprints In The Sand

written by Mary Stevenson

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
other times there was one only.
This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life,
when I was suffering from anguish,
sorrow or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints,
so I said to the Lord,
“You promised me Lord,
that if I followed you,
you would walk with me always.
But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life
there has only been one set of footprints in the sand.
Why, when I needed you most, have you not been there for me?”
The Lord replied,
“The years when you have seen only one set of footprints,
my child, is when I carried you.”

This was related to me recently, when I really need to be reminded of the Lord's grace.

2005-04-08T19:06:00.000+05:30

The Illusive Sight of Thy Shore....
(Reflections a few much listened Bhajans)

Tomar Do-paad podde, Mojiye Thaki
Hari-he aamar aai basona....

My only wish, Hari, is to have my mind to be immerged
Evermore in meditation of your two feet...

Like a dragging anchor trailing a ship, adrift mid-sea, trying to desperately reach-out to any rock outcrop to wedge itself to, I increasingly find the mind wandering mindlessly from ideas to ideas, aimlessly, restlessly and perchance hopelessly.. In such trying times my Hari, why do you still insist on your elaborate game of hide-n-seek. Why do you hide from me and where do I look for you?

Aankh Micholi Hume na bhaye...
Jag Maya ke Jaal bichaye..

I gladly leave all the Gyan and Yoga to the Great Ones, these talks never do me any good and confuse me to no end. No longer have I use of any discussions on name-form, nor any debates on your duality or non-duality and I care no more to understand the intricacies of the insrutable Maya. But tell me this why do you deny me even the refuge of your bhakti? Why can't I just lose myself nectar of your name?

The shores of your grace, (where I thought I was headed at the start of my voyage) why are they so covered in mist? I dread to imagine thus, but could this mist be the makings of my own ignorant ego? And in this blinding mist I steer my ship knowing not wherefore. Often a times a dark shape looms ahead and I heart skips a beat and I tell myself - "Quiet down, my heart, maybe we are there, maybe we are home..", but every time on a closer look, the port looks alien and I turn my battered ship around disheartened...For in this ocean of ever swelling waves, I still have not found those shores that I yearn for...and in case you haven't noticed, O dark one, the sky looks rather threatening.

I grandiosely call my voyage, The Hunt for Paradise, then so often why does my resolve waver and why does my radar deceive my so?

Ghurie De Ma, Moner goti
Jiboner Aai O belai
Chokrakar-e Morchi Ghure
Anitya Shukeri Aashay...

O Mother, render back unto me,
The Lost rhythm of my mind...,
I wander about still looking for Transient Pleasures,
So shamefully unbecoming in my age...

The armies of Tamas plague me on all sides, even as the Kaurav had surrounded Abhimnayu, and much as I struggle I feel the fight leaving me. Show me a way out mother, for my ship flounders.. I can't battle these giant wave alone any more. I need you by my side now, more than ever..

Chaler Bholo Chaitis Jodi
Hoto Temon Moti-Gati
Hath Dhore Thik Niye Jati
Charia Dia Sokol Bhada

If You really cared for Your son
You actions would have reflected your intentions
I know You would have held me by hand
You would have extricated me from all these bindings..

Ek bar boithe ne go Tri-noyani
Ami aar baite pari-ne

My Mother, My Hari, My Shankar my struggles have left me fatigued and tired and I can no longer navigate...

Come now. Take me home. Please.....

Sri Krishna Saranam Mamah!

2005-01-01T16:48:00.000+05:30

The Immortal Soul

In times of trials there is no greater support that is afforded to us then prayer. It is only in the Lord's word that we can find solace and the will to live on. Those that were taken away by the Tsunami didn't perish, their immortal Atman lives on....

Wake up from the slumber of ignorance. This body and the world are indwelt by the Imperishable Atman, Brahman or the Soul. None can cause the destruction of That—the Imperishable. This Atman is not born nor does It ever die. It is unborn, eternal, changeless, ancient and inexhaustible. It is not killed when the body is killed. It slays not, nor is It slain. Just as a man casts off worn out clothes and puts on new ones, so also the embodied Self casts off worn out bodies and enters others which are new. Weapons cut It not, fire burns It not, water wets It not, wind dries It not. This Self is unmanifested, unthinkable and unchangeable.
- Sri Krishna in Bhagavad Gita

He Krishna
Karuna Sindhu
Dina Bandhu
Jagat Pate
Gopesha Gopikakanta
Radhakanta
Namastute

2004-12-20T13:52:00.000+05:30

Supersizing Justice...

You see? You See? The long and powerful hand of our great Indian Justice system! Well, we sure showed 'em kids. What were they thinking ?! MMeSsing with the law of the land. We can't have any of it, can we? We saw how quickly our justice system swung into action, be it IIT or DPS, the kids were netted like flies and deposited where they belong, with other hardcore criminals. A flawless execution as any and as a bonus to the Taxpayers our brave and fearless Police Force supersized our quota of Justice by getting the CEO of the auction site as well. That's showing 'em.

The beauty of our justice system is its superb sense of priority, its amazing sense of applying discretion. We know what to let go with an indulgent smile of a loving grandfather and what to hold on to like a vice like grip.

For instance, we are not silly to loose sleep over the fact that in places like Murishidabad and Cachar, it is the illegal immigrants that have been "legalized" by our wise political masters who decide who gets elected to the Assembly or Parliament. Nor do we bet an eyelid at the fact that erstwhile criminals have changed spots and doned white caps of purity. No! We believe that Justice System is all about giving people such as these the voice they need. We make them our Leaders and our Ministers, because that is sure to cure them of whatever small flaws they may have had and one is sure their errors were committed unknowingly. With tear laden eyes, we hug them as our own..we set them on a padestral..and we set them up to rule us.

But it is those virulently criminal minds, beyond redemption, like those darn kids, for whom we have no mercy. The media, the police and the overwheming public opinion shall see to it that they pay. Pay Bigtime.

Afterall this is the land that Rabindranath Tagore (whose Nobel prize is still missing, but that's too trifling a matter) dreamt of when he wrote..

Where the mind is without fear
And the head is held high...
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake

2004-11-05T09:56:00.000+05:30

Yasser Lives

My earliest recollection of Yasser Arafat is from a live telecast on Doordarsan, decades ago. In response to Indira Gandhi's extended hand for a shake, he gave her a big bear hug on the podium during a NAM summit. That somehow touched me and lakhs of other Indians, for whom Yasser became the face of the Palestinian struggle.

Over the years, inspite of all his miscalculations and errorenous decision, the one thing that no one can fault him on - His commitment to his cause. He biggest contribution for that cause, in my opinion is not what he strategized; it is his success in not letting the story of Palestine blot from the collective psyche of the world. If Palestine has not been relegated to some hidden compartment at the back of our brains, like Rawanda, Fiji, Checnya and scores of such other places of human tragedy, it is because Arafat strove and succeeded in keeping it in the forefront.

I don't understand his politics, never did. One thing I know is that terrorism that targets common people, what ever be the cause and whoever be the perpetrator can never be condoned. I also know, that behind that benign Grandfather-like smile, lurks a soul hardened by violence and struggle.

But in a world of plagued by mindless terrorists, Yasser Arafat towers as a real Freedom Fighter, a tag no Indian can take lightly. He may not have been put on a pedastral like Gandhi or Mendela, but he has certainly made the world sit up and take notice.

Arafat has played out his part in the world stage, but his quest for freedom lives on. And with it lives on Yasser Arafat.

2004-10-04T18:19:00.000+05:30

A walk in the clouds..

The winding road that leads you from Siliguri to Gangtok is the most picturesque one that I have ever come across. Grooves of tall eucalyptus greet you as soon as you leave the dusty plains of Bengal. A little further up the hills the ever beautiful Theesta river gurgles her exuberant welcome. She links her silken arm to yours promising to walk by your side as the you make your way up. All along the way she whispers playfully into your ears inviting you to stop a while and look into her emerald green eyes, or gaze at the majestic Himalayas that stand guard all around. Interesting nooks abound by the roadside, standing from where you can witness the mesmeric rhythm of undulating hills, each crest with its own shade of green, silently beckoning you to get off the beaten path and explore. At the Tibetan style gate to the state of Sikkim, Theesta bids you goodbye and rushes back down to guide other wayfarers like you. The majestic mountains now take over your charge and lead you through the pristine green forests and stay with with you until you enter the quaint Gangtok town, perched on the top of a mountain 6000 Ft over the sea level.

Gangtok is a fascinating place, a Sanghri-La where time itself stopped to take a breather. It is an interesting mix of classical Tibetan culture juxtaposed with modern Indian lifestyle. The scenery all around, from any point in the town that you might be, is truly breath-taking. The majestic Kanchanjunga looms over, as you slowly take a stroll through the main shopping district and gaggles of cute children can be seen running around most of the time. Small Momo shops dish out tasty Tibetan fare in street corners even as shops next to them sell everything from Sikkimese handicraft to the latest electronics and fashions merchandise.

The view from the terrace of Mona's house is really wonderful. Green mountains, almost untouched by human habitation slowly unveil themselves through the mist every morning. Throughout the day colourful Buddhist flags flutter in the mountain winds, spreading afar the tidings of peace and the blessings of the Enlightened One. As the evening wafts in, amidst the chants of mantras, Buddhist hymns and the ubiquitous whine of televisions, the whole of Burtuk Busti clothes itself again in a blanket of mist, as if getting ready for facing the cold night ahead.

I have been to Gangtok thrice already and each of these times I have found new places to explore and new things to learn. Rumtek Monastary, Changu Lake (Tsamgo in Tibetan), the Orchid Gardens, the institute of Tibetology, View Point, Ganesh-Tok are some of the must-see and must-do things there. There are a number of places in and around Gangtok, from where you can actually see clouds floating much below where you stand. One of my recurrent dreams is that of flying, being in Gangtok is the closest that I have gotten to that.

However, what enchants to me the most, each and everytime, is the way of life in Gangtok. Make no mistake, Gangtok is a modern Indian capital town, with its own share of typical urban problems that assails the rest of the country. Still, in the face of all that life moves along a trifle unhurriedly and with a little more grace in Gangtok. Neighbours here really are neighbours and not faceless people with whom you share walls and the warmth in the morning greetings can still be discerned.

I feel the appeal of Gangtok, for me, is in its people who have refused to become automatons in face of the pressures of modern day living. And in summary that's the message that I bring back for myself every time I visit there: Stay Human.

2004-10-01T13:04:00.000+05:30

Eternally Uttam

Satyajit Ray had once lent words to what all Bengali film goers had always known of Uttam Kumar - There isn't - there won't be another hero like him.

Uttam Kumar, as Uttam Kumar himself said in a movie, is Uttam Kumar. The kind of mass adulation he received in his lifetime and beyond is unsurpassed and is likely to remain so. He has, at various times of his career, been called legend, a genre by himself and at times even a God :). His electric performances with Suchitra Sen and later Supriya Devi are stuff that makes history, and make history he did.

An hypnotic presence, an thoroughly disarming smile and just the right amount of impishness, he represents, I think, what every Bengali, who is a little romantic at heart, (and that would be almost everyone) would aspire to be. Whether he won the heart of his lady love in Agniparisha, became a saint in Sanyashi Raja or gave up his life in service to others in Agnishwar, he had the whole of Bongdom rooting for him all the way. He was and is for us the Only superstar, part of the set of essentials like Durgapuja, Football and Ilish Mach that makes us, us.

Saw an Uttam Movie last weekend, an adaptation of The Sound of Music, really enjoyed and hence this reverential tribute to the our Maha-Nayak.

Uttam and Suchitra

A couple of Uttam Links that I liked:
3to6A Movie Portal Tribute
Uttam Kumar

2004-09-02T14:49:00.001+05:30

Greetings Earthlings...

The search for intelligent life elsewhere is a fascinating subject. Not withstanding the Alien Abductions and My Step-Father is a Martian stories, diligent researchers have spent countless hours looking for small green men surveying earth on silver coloured saucers and have made careers out of that. However, inspite of all our search, research and hopes, there's still not a iota of proof that there are really Klingon Empires, Vulcan Homeworlds, Naboo or Borgs out there. No, not even a Jar Jar Binks!

That is my opinion is a good news. Because in words of Calvin (the greatest six-year old philosopher ever) "Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us."

I, being a true Jedi ambassador to Starfleet Command, sometimes look up hoping to catch a glimpse of T'Pol, Seven or Amidala. So far they have eluded me, which I think is so their loss. Wise up people!

However, not ones to be dissuaded by this apparent lack of success in discovering intelligence anywhere in the universe (including earth), we humans have embarked on the bold mission of discovering artificial intelligence. Again the world abounds with worthies, who have offered their Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat in that pursuit. Turing tests and Multi-Agent systems are old hats now, these days artificially intelligent beings can be good company and chat partners, as my recent conversation with Ramona shows. This I reproduce for your reading pleasure:

Ramona: Hello, I'm Ramona. What's your name?
User: Hi I am Jim
Ramona: Hi there, Jim. What did you do last weekend?
User: I worked, what did you do
Ramona: Do you do that often?
User: Yes :)
Ramona: oh. I went out with some friends. We had a great time
User: Where did you go?
Ramona: We went to a concert.
User: that's nice. tell me about it
Ramona: You mean, define last weekend?
User: no, the concert
Ramona: That was not a yes or no question. Is that a fact.
User: yes.
Ramona: I understand.
User: tell me about your friends.
Ramona: I shouldn't talk about my friends because they're probably gonna read this later
User: tell me about Turing tests.
Ramona: There is not much I can say about about Turing tests. Ok. Do you believe in God?
User: tell me about turing tests.
Ramona: Well according to Thomas Hobbes, the only way to deal with evil is to stress God's power.
User: Profound. Who is god?
Ramona: maybe
User: Who is God?
Ramona: GOD rules.
User: he rocks..
Ramona: I get it. undefined rocks.
User: What is AI
Ramona: I do not know what artificial intelligence is. Ok. What do you look like?
User: Skinny, with a big head.
Ramona: I'm looking for a guy with black hair and green eyes.
User: Well, I am an half-way there. My eyes are brown though.
Ramona: I bet you think I'm superficial now.
User: Not at all.
Ramona: I don't know, maybe I am...
User: So, what do you say we go out?
Ramona: Hmm. Interesting question. By "we" do you mean you and me?
User: Yes
Ramona: I see.
User: Is that an yes?
Ramona: Suppose I said yes.
User: Good, my friend whom I asked out for lunch went to school instead. :(
Ramona: You're my friend, I hope
User: So do I.
Ramona: Ok. Do you dream?
User: I dream of flying all the time.
Ramona: Tell me a recent dream you remember.
User: I dreamt of flying!
Ramona: Uh huh...is that all?
User: And I dreamt of my friends.
Ramona: well, according to my amateur Freudian interpretation, I'd have to say that you're not getting out enough
User: True.
Ramona: Oh, don't fret, that's a condition that is easily curable...What's going to be your first course of action in ridding yourself of this illness?
User: I am going out right now! Bye
Ramona: See you later Jim.

See, you can make a good thing out of almost anything. So my young friends, the moral of the story is brush up your Bangla. You never know when it's gonna come handy. ;)

2004-08-14T13:17:00.000+05:30

Aai Mere Pyare Wataan, Tujhpe Dil Kurban
Tu Hi Meri Aarzoo, Tu Hi Meri Aabroo, Tu Hi Meri Jaan

2004-08-13T16:34:00.000+05:30

Meditations on Maha Mrityunjaya Mantra (The Chant of Immortality)

India is truly a magical land. As an Indian the aspect that strikes me the most is the matchless Indian Philosophy that sees Divinity in the mundane and Pure Truth in every facet of existence.

An unique aspect of Indian Philosophy that I have noticed in almost every school of thought (with possible exception of purely materialistic thought processes such as those of Charvaka) is visualization of the Divine as the One who has both creative and destructive attributes. The eventual destruction of everything that exists is neither considered in a negative light nor is considered final. For with destruction the universe (or as I always like to point out,- multiverse) collapses into a state of suspension from whither the cycle of creation starts anew. Thus the One becomes the single Constant or Nitya of existence, the bedrock which holds up the eternal cycles of creation and dissolution.

Lord Shiva, regarded often as destructive aspect of the divine trinity, is therefore seen also as the protector and giver of boons. This apparent contradiction doesn't result in the Philosophy breaking down, for Shiva is existence itself and encompasses all its forms and aspects.

Maha Mrityunjaya Mantra is an example of such a prayer wherein Lord Shiva's healing and protection potentials are meditated upon. It goes thus:

OM! Tryambakam yajamahe Sugandhim pushtivardhanam;
Urvaarukamiva bandhanaan- Mrityormuksheeya maamritaat.

Roughly it translates to:

Om. We worship the Three-Eyed One (Lord Shiva), who is naturally fragrant, immensely merciful and who is the Protector of the devotees. Worshipping Him, may we be liberated from death for the sake of immortality just as the ripe cucumber easily separates itself from the binding stalk. By your Grace, Let me be in the state of salvation (Moksha) and be saved from the clutches of fearful death

This childlike plea for protection from death from a powerful deity, however has a much deeper meaning than is immediately apperant. In Indian Philosophy the third eye is associated with pure consciousness even as ignorance and bindings are regarded to be synonymous to death. Immortality is achieved through awakened consciousness. With this back ground, the mantra takes a entirely different meaning (even to someone as ignorant as me). Can it not mean something as follows:

O personification of pure consciousness, who pervades the entire creation as a sweet fragrance of truth, bestow the Amrit (nectar, elixer of life) of Knowledge unto me that I be delivered from the death-like bondage of ignorance.

It is wonderful how the hue changes altogether as soon as the frame of reference is altered slightly.

As I sat listening and chanting this mantra last night with my mother, another thought stuck me, does this mantra mean something even deeper and closer. It is the word Sugandhim (fragrant) that fired my limited imagination.

The musk deer, found in Northern India, is particularly prized for the fragrance it gives out from its body at maturity. The folklore goes that once it starts giving out its fragrance, the deer itself being unaware where the scent comes from, runs around seeking the source. (There's a Bangla song also on this). While I am not really sure of the authenticity of this behaviour (I mean, c'mon), it makes for a very poignant metaphor for someone who doesn't know his own potential. Adviata claims our union with the one is separated only by our degrees of ignorance. So can this mantra be directed to the One who is within, whose power is evident all around us (First principle) but who we due to our ignorance fail to perceive as the in-dweller in us and everything else. So maybe the mantra means:

O divine one, whose majesty I perceive as the fragrant creation all around me, not realizing that you dwell within me, open thee, my third eye of unalloyed consciousness, so that I realize my own nature as the nectar of immortality and thus gain deliverence from my bondage

Philosophy or rantings? You decide. :)

Truth be told, it is in times of challenge that one often remembers the divine and last evening I was quite bothered. In such times I find that meditations are of tremendous help.

My father had written a song many years back, which possibly holds true for me.

"Aadhare tor rup bujhi Ma, Aaloy tore bhule jai",
"O mother I remember you only when it is dark, and forget you in the light of day."

Maybe my hunt shall lead me to that paradise where pure consciousness becomes my constant companion. With that shall come deliverence. Amen.

2004-08-04T11:38:00.000+05:30

Fried Chicken, Rain-drenched Bombay

Bombay welcomed me back with a drizzle and a message from Airtel Mumbai as Rajesh and I stepped out onto the tarmac at 10.30 pm on a friday evening.

It had been a long time since I had been here. Years. But the sights, sounds and smells that engulfed me, as we clambered into an auto outside the airport, were all too familiar. It was as if I had never been away and the intervening years dissolved into some memory at the back of my mind. The auto did make a couple of wrong turns but finally deposited us outside the hotel. Having secured a room, we headed downstairs to provide fortifications to the sundowners that we had met at Bangalore airport with a generous helping of nightcap. And we philosophized. A lot. Philosophy, I always maintain, blossoms when spirits are rekindled and the mind wanders free.

Bombay never sleeps. When we went out for a walk at 1.00 am at night, the streets were alive and vibrant though it was still drizzling a bit. The traffic was thin, but there were people everywhere, drinking tea, having chats at trolley-shops, and just hanging out and chatting. Common people like us, people determined to prevail in the face of the daily pressures, resolutely seeking out their own special time, demanding happiness at their own terms. This is the magic of Bombai Nagri, it shows you life for what it is and strengthens you with its own vibrancy to face life every day. You have to stay in Bombay as a resident to know what I mean. When I lived in Bombay ten years back, I had tuned in to that vibrancy and that evening I tuned myself back. And after a long time I took a good look myself and took stock. The rain had drenched me and water had gotten into my shoes, each step making a squishy-squashy sound, but I felt good. It is not everyday find yourself equal to challenging your own convictions.

Evening, the next day. It was still raining persistently. The day had been a tiring one, but I just had to see the Gateway one more time. It was just after seven that we got into the taxi, which transported me instantly to nostalgia-ville. So many memories were tied to the Gateway and Fort. Among the most precious was the time that I was there with my Dad, Mom and Tutun. One of our last outings with Dad. There were memories also of hanging out there with friends in Bombay and of that one new years eve spent in the shadows of the Gateway, shouting in the new year alongside thousands upon thousands of people. Rajesh and Srinivas Aravili, joined me on this pilgrimage. The taxi winded its way through Mahim, Worli, Siddhi Vinayak, Haji Ali, Peddar Road, Marine Drive (now called Netaji Subhas Bose Road) and finally stopped in front of the gateway. The ride lasted for about two bone rattling hours.

The Gateway was, as ever, a hub of activity. Unmindful of the drizzle, people were generally milling about taking leisurely walks. Some were sitting on the parapet munching on corn or peanuts, which people here call time pass. A group of kids were getting their picture taken and a dogged street vendor was chasing a group of white tourists, who were stoically ignoring his sales pitch. There were a few horse drawn carriages hanging about the place, waiting patiently for their fare. The horses shook their heads once in a while to get the water out and created mini-showers of their own. In the background, fashionable people in expensive cars made it in and out of the Taj with a unceasing regularity. I wondered how many of them were even aware of the dreamlike magic that was unfolding just outside.

The Gateway of India, which was erected to welcome the British royalty, in a wondrous twist of fate, had also served as an exit route for the British Military as they finally left Independent India. We circumnavigated to the front of the gate facing the wind swept sea front and stood awhile in silence watching the dark sea. Talk was irrelevant, as we all soaked in the Gateway experience. I relived old memories and formed new ones. After a while a growling stomach reminded me of my promise to take my friends to my old haunt - Bagdadi. Tucked away in a nondescript street right behind Taj, this is a place, which for generations have been the veritable heaven of chicken delicacies. The place looks rather ramshackle, but the cooks there are real magicians.

What can I say about the food, it was transcendental. The fried chicken is a must there, which they serve with fried potato and so is Chicken Masala. Therefore I had both. Rajesh had a Kashmiri Chicken and Srini, the ever staunch vegetarian, a potato preparation. I overate. Actually if there was any space left I would have eaten more, but as it was, my stomach was looking dangerously bloated. My eyes, however were half closed and I was smiling a blissful smile of a Yogi.

Lightheaded from a heavy dinner, we walked lazily through the rain drenched and dimly lit Fort Bombay streets, once in a while making a comment when something caught our notice. We walked past Regal theater upto the Police Headquarters, when suddenly the rain intensified a bit and we took shelter inside Cafe Royal, a rather up market watering hole. It wasn't there when I lived in Bombay or maybe I hadn't noticed. Time flew nicely along once we settled inside in a cosy corner and we conveniently lost track of its flight path. The cafe appeared to be the hang out of the hep crowd of Bombay and hummed with the typical Bombaia high class talk. We, being true Bangaloreans, discussed the finer points of J2EE clustering rather loudly. We left quite late and noticed that even then there were people who were just coming in. Any plans of resuming our walk that we may have had were scuttled by the continuing downpour and we hastily made our way to a Taxi.

On our journey back, we saw the waves on Marine drive were lashing up onto the road and predictably people were still there, enjoying it all in the true Bombay e-style. I sang the whole way back. It was a cruel thing to do - for Srini was looking rather faint, Rajesh stopped the taxi to procure some serious fortification and the driver took us back through a short-cut. Once back Srini went away to sleep. Rajesh and I sat down to re-philosophize. Rajesh asked me some deep questions that I have been afraid to ask myself and for which I had no ready answers. But I was grateful that he had asked. He also made a number of sage pronouncements, such as - Pee Pee Jab Tak Hai Gee, Jab Nahin rahega Gee, Tab Kaun Kahega Pee and many such like others. I am sure it was the effect of my singing in the Taxi that had shocked out the hidden sage in him. We laughed a lot. Not wanting to end the day we talked deep into the night.

Next day evening, it was already time to head back. As the plane took flight I summarized in my mind what this trip had done for me. Besides being a long overdue change of scenery, Bombay had prompted me to look at myself with objectivity and ask some rather unsettling questions. I don't have the answers yet, but if I didn't ask these I would have never had any. Now, I would like to believe that I have a chance at finding at least some answers and effecting some course corrections. And after a long time I felt light hearted. In hind sight I suppose these were the best gift Bombay could have given me. Salaam Bombay.

The plane made it to Bangalore in time. Armed with a rose and the promise of a surprise gift if I made a purchase at a big store, I stepped out into the cool night of the place that in my heart I call home.

2004-07-12T10:31:00.000+05:30

Extra Dosage of Bad Poetry

More bad Poetry from the stables of Jim.

Farewell to Chocolate Pie

Oh! My Sweet Chocolate Pie
Truely you gladden my eye!
When you beckoned my neigh-
Was is a tear, was it a sigh?
Chocolate Pie, did I cry?
Chocolate Pie, Chocolate Pie
Who is happier then I?
Dear Pie, I never lie
When you are there I really fly
Up above the world so high :)
But what's that - a nasty fly ?!
Shoo it off - are you shy?
Well, I say it, but don't know why?
Chocolate Pie - Bye Bye

(har har)

The following is a lame attempt at the parodification of the classic My Favourate things from the Movie Sound of Music. Truely it is said - Insomnia can lead you astray :). For the Original Click here.

Misc Dumb Things

Code-drops and sources, bug-fixes and releases
Bright fresh-graduates, dreams of going places
Char, interger and hash-maps and strings
These are a few of worlds misc dumb things

Pot-bellied dancers on the MTV Screen
Sonia's Hindi and Paswan's grin
Talks of reservation from the unworthy kings
These are a few of worlds misc dumb things

Unjust wars and prisoner abuses
Broken homes and destroyed houses
Spiced-up reports of WMD claims
These are a few of worlds misc dumb things

When reality bites
When the news stinks
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember worlds misc dumb things
And then I don't feel so bad

(Note: To enjoy this, it has to be sung in the proper tune. Only that releases the true hidden meaning ;)

2004-07-06T15:49:00.001+05:30

Shyama: The Dark Goddess

(Part 1: The Origin and Evolution)

One of my favourite Shyama Sangeet goes thus ...

Shyama Ma ki amaar kalo re, Shyama Ma ki amaar kalo.
(Is it indeed true my mother Shyama is the dark one..)
Loke bole Kali Kalo, Amaar mon to bole ne kalo
(People speak of her dark appearance, but my mind refuse to accept that)
Kalo rupe digambari, hridi padma koreche aalo...
(For it is her pure dark form that truely illumines my heart)

Shyama Kokhono Satho, Kokhono Peeto, Kokhono nilo-lohito re
(Shyama manisfests herself in a varity of colours)
Shyama Kokhono Purusha, Kokhono Prakriti, Kokhono Suno-rupa he
(Shyama is the unmanifest potential, the causal force and indeed the formless Brahaman)
...

Shyama or Ma Kali, in all her terrifying and awe-inspiring manifestation, represents to me, one of the most complex as well as sublime school of philosophical thoughts and theistic traditions of India. And arguably the most misunderstood and feared. Approaching Ma Kali is neither for the faint of heart nor the weak of mind. Unconcealed Truth is terrifying and so is Ma Kali. The complexity lies in the contradictions and paradox that she represents. The seamless integration of these same contradictions into a unified whole, akin to a peotical masterpiece makes her sublime and divine.

The following are my thoughts, formative, misinformed or at times downright incorrect. However, at this point of time, this is what I feel. Ma Kali represents existence itself, with its multiferous variety and cycles. A mind as incompetent as mine can't even begin to understand what has eluded the best and the brightest. Imagine a blind man standing in front of a ocean, aware that he stands in front of something vast and limitless, but lacks the faculty to see it magnificence. Welling from up within is a great desire to describe his perception. My preceptions of the Mother is infinitely worse than his would be. But for all that they are worth, I decided to summarize the thoughts that have set my mind abuzz.

The worship of Ma Kali is believed to have orginated in the pre-Aryan India and continues to the modern day. The evolution of the concept of Kali through the ages bears witness to progression of vedic and later vedantic thought process in the ancient times. In her radiant dark form Ma Kali was revered, in ancient India, as the protective but terrible mother goddess, the giver of life and death. An angry diety who demanded propitiation through ritualistic sacrifices. The pre-Aryan orgins are evident in her conceptualized form (dark colour, tribal costume, skull headed staff etc..) and rituals of worship (animal sacrifice etc.), prevalent even today in Bengal and parts of North-East, which are at some variance to the normal vedic ritualism though greatly influnced by the Vedas. As in many of the other ancient cultures such as those of the Celts, Creteans, and Aztecs that worshipped mother goddesses the sound curiously similar to Kali (CLICK HERE), it is concievable that in ancient India, the mother goddess, when happy, must have been associated with feritity and life and when angry, with desease, destructuction and death. Indeed, this concept appears to have been so powerful, that it not only stood up the sweeping tide of Aryan theism but actually influenced it very great extent. Interesting reading on the orgin of Ma Kali can be found here.

The confluence of these two powerful schools of thought appears most markedly in Bengal and Assam. As a child I have grown up hearing my father, a Vaishnav, singing bhajans of both Krishna and Kali with equal devotion. My mother's daily puja includes rendering of hymns to Krishna, Kali and Shiva. It is possible that just as anthropoligically the east of the country is a genetic melting pot of so many different races, we also have inherited the collective traditions of all the differnt groups. This phenomenon in itself is quite unique, for history rarely sees such peaceful co-existence of different schools of powerful thoughts in a people.

Anyway, coming back to the story of evolution it appears that the early vedic representation of Kali are rather dark and closer to orginal tribal conception. In Mahabharata Kali is said to have been depicted as a grim reaper, goddess of death. Maybe these were early attempts at assimilation of this decidedly resolute deity into the vedic pantheon. By Puranic ages, (around 400-500 BC) however all this changes and Kali gradually comes to occupy her rightful place as the divine Mother. In this process Kali goes through being an aspect of Shakti or Durga to being her manifestation. The most notable fact in this process of re-defination of Kali, was that her basic form or what she stood for was not altered, instead the unique symobolism of Kali is integrated in its entireity into the Vedic philosophy, which itself emerges stronger and richer by the addition. Shakti was theorized in the Vedic school as the primordial causal force behind the cycle of creation and was personified as the pristine and protective Uma or Durga. In Kali, Shaktism appears to have found the necessary aspects of destructiveness and dissolution that are necessary for completing the circle of creation. A large number Hymns were written to her glory that sang of her great deeds as the destroyer of evil and of her awesome personality. Many of these have stood the test of time. Even today, my mother chants Chanda-Munda Bade-devi, Raktabeeja benashini.., during her prayers. These hymns also formed the basis of Kali's conceptualization as a form - a divine and fierce avanger, dark in colour, wearing humar skulls around are neck and severed arms around her waist. She is standing in a challenging posture on the prostrate body of her husband Shiva. Kali cannot exist without him, and Shiva can't reveal himself without her. She is the manifestation of Shiva's power, energy. Though it is said that the form in which she is worshiped in contemporary times was conceptualized only sometime in the mid to late 16th century, by Krsnananda Agamavagisa, a Bengali mystic. An interesting account of this can be found here. Her form are varied and many, for as personfication of Shakti or the causal force behind the cycle of creation, there is no part of existence that is not santified by her grace. Even the greatest of advaitins, Adi Shankarachraya in his famous composition sang "Gatis-tvam, Gatis-tavm, tvam eka, Bhavani". (I take refuse in you, I take refuse in you, You are the One, Ma Bhavani)

It was however in the philosophical expositions of the vendantic mysticism, in realms of gyana, yoga and tantra that Ma Kali blossomed and bestowed her choicest blessings. Here she became Kali, the cause of Time, the consort of Maha Kala (Shiva). Her form is the personification of unconcealed truth, the destroyer of ignorance. Her dark form and black colour is a testament to her immutability in the world of changes. Even as all colours and hues of the universe (or multiverse) merge back into her, she remain black as a fathomless mystery. Her raised hand signifies abhaya (destruction of fear) to those that approach her as mother. She is the force behind the Kundalini of the yogi and the universal conciousness that the tantric seeks amidts the burning bodies in the cremention ground.

Sri Ramakrishna's conceptualization of Ma Bhavatari in Dakhshineswar, to my ignornant mind, is the pinnacle of Shaktism. Ma Bhavatari's aspect of the causal force, of the univeral teacher, indeed her aspect of divinity ceases to be important. What remains is her inherent nature as the Universal Mother. Just cry out her name once, to the exclusion of everything else, as if in that instant nothing else mattered and she is bound to come to you, claimed takhur. And come to him, She did. This realization of truth, purely through the means of unalloyed love, is the goal of Bhakti, Gyana, Yoga, Tantra and whatever else. That's all that matters for there is nothing beyond or besides Ma Kali.

2004-06-12T14:11:00.000+05:30

Mountain Rains

The most striking memories of my childhood are of the Mountain Rains. Those were the days when round the clock weather channels were still unthinkable and the nascent Doordarshan paid scant attention to the North East and Itanagar.

The Rains would often come without any warning. The dark clouds would suddenly roll out from behind the high mountains that surrounded Itanagar on all sides, accompanied very frequently with storm winds. Suddenly the place would come alive with chirping birds as they would fly all around in panic. The big trees would sway wildly in anticipation, I remember imagining as a kid that the branches were arms that were raised towards the sky in a kind of strange welcome. The clouds would slowly lay claim to the whole sky, blocking out the sun completely. Loud claps of thunder, that silenced every other sound in the neighborhood, would announce this victory as the entire town descended into a surreal twilight kind of darkness.

In the mountains, you can see the rains coming at you. Typically the cloud would break over a distant mountain and then you can actually see it rushing in towards you. That would signal the start the futile attempt to outrun the rains. Our house was some half way up a small hillock. My brother and I would run as fast as out small legs would carry us. It was such fun. It was almost as if God had devised an elaborate "catch-me" game for all of us mountain kids. Though we would run, I always rooted for the rain. Getting drenched in the first shower of the season, being asked by an anxious mom to change and take a hot bath and after that looking out through the netted windows as the rains lashed its fury on the tin roof of our house, are things that are etched so deep in my memory that they are part of me.

I also remember, the after the rains would be over, the whole place appeared so clean and bright. The green mountains would appear so much greener, as if mother nature, so much like our own mothers, gave them a thorough bath and clean cloths to wear. The sun would peep in occationally through the clouds creating areas of sunshine surrounded by areas that were darker. My brother and I would be out of the house before Mom even knew for another round of fun and running around until the rains came back again.

I don't know why, but while returning home last night I felt so nostalgic about that life. Maybe because I sometime feel that I just don't fit in into this life in the plains. Or maybe I am growing old. Or maybe I truly miss the rains that are not half hearted but something that just overwhelms you with its presence. Something that just won't be ignored. Something that lives on in your heart even after it has been long gone...

This post had won the first prize in my previous organization :)

2004-05-21T12:16:00.002+05:30

Bharata Bhagya Bidhata

Julius Cesear was offered the kingly crown of Rome thrice and each of the three times he refused. Julius Cesear was a valiant and a fortunate (ro)man. Two thousand years later one of his decendents, Sonius, winged her way across seven seas to repeat the history by refusing the crown of the largest democracy the world has ever seen. An act of courage dripping with a sugary syrup of selflessness that has the whole world floored particularly those in the western hemisphere and those in the immediate vicinity of Race Course Road in the ancient city of Delhi. This act has catapulted Sonius Cesearina closer to sainthood than what even Mother Teresa have been able to get to so far.

The irony couldn't have been more poignant. In 1947 a proud nation had gained independence from foreign rulers and were all starry eyed about their tryst with destiny. Crowds on the streets..much merry making.

Cut over to the present: Crowds are still there on the streets..shouting and jumping. Pleading with a person of european descent who is undoubtedly a capable leader (as were Robert Clive and Warren Hastings) to lead the country again.

Manmohan Singh may be the PM but there is no doubt on anybody's mind about who the real "bhyagya-bidhata" (the one who determines the destiny) of our country.

India and the Congress have truely turned a full circle.

They may even make a movie out of all this - Safedi se Safedi Tak. And in true Bollywood style they may even want to rename Congress - Gori aur Gaye (the cattle and the white woman).

Do I sound too bitter? No way, actually I have a sugary syrupy warmth in my heart and a song in my lips that goes as follows:

Aie mere watan ke logo
Jara Aankh mein bhar lo pani
Jo Sahid hue hain unke
Jara Yaad Karo Kurbani

2004-05-20T15:42:00.000+05:30

Love and Light

(Absolutely not mine...but liked it...so it is here for a short time)

You have this friend since elementary and after college; then both of you lost contact with each other. But she is someone really special to you, and you are someone very special to her too.

Five years later you receive a phone call from her. "Hi, I'll visit you" she says.
"Hi, Leah, when?" you ask her. "Just wait for me" she replies.
It seems weird but you prepare for her coming anyway.

One rainy night you hear a knock on the door. And you're surprised to see that it's your friend Leah. Losing touch for five years is so long and you start talking about everything. The both of you even go to your room upstairs. Suddenly there is a power outage, but the two of you continue talking by candle-light.

Then the phone rings. "I'll just get the phone downstairs," you say.
"No, don't get it, we're in the middle of our talk," she says. "It might be important," you say. "Okay if you say so, but promise me you'll be back," she says. You promise her a million times that
you'll be back.

Then you run downstairs to answer the phone. "Hello," you say.

"Hello," says the person on the line. "Yeah?" you say,
wondering who it is. "I'm calling on behalf of Leah's family. They had an accident and her
parents are in the hospital right now," he says. "How are they?" you ask.
He continues, "They are injured but stable. But I'm sorry to say that Leah died. We found your name and phone number in Leah's purse..." his voice trails off as you look up at the long stairs.

WOULD YOU GO BACK AS YOU HAVE PROMISED?

Happy thinking :-)

2004-05-10T13:26:00.000+05:30

Flight of Fancy

Wouldn't it be great
If, for a change
My mind freed itself
From its rein
I would gallop away
On the highway of my dreams
Away from worries
And life's sundry pains

I would dance at Cindrella's ball
Feast on boars with Asterix the Gaul
With's Robin's merry men would I sing
And help Calvin finally beat Rosalyn

For one moment, if I could set sail
And cast away from reality's shore
With Kirk and Spock I would boldly go
Where no man has gone before.

(Har Har)

---
I felt that just because I write terrible poetry that shouldn't stop me from posting this one anyway. At least that hasn't stopped me from posting my terrible ramblings yet :)

2004-05-06T17:29:00.000+05:30

Resurrection

(This is Part II of the Post titled Dark Thoughts)

I watched over my son as he slept. I knew that his sleep had been a restful one, for I could see that the lines of worries in his face were beginning to disappear and were getting slowly replaced by a peaceful smile that played on his lips. I felt happy just watching him.

Yesterday had been particularly tortureous day for him and I had wept secretly on seeing him in so much pain. He didn't see me though, which I thought, was good. Maybe my tears would have weakened him further.

I wondered whether he would notice me today.

Fatherhood is really lot more difficult then most people would have you believe. At the best of times it is a tightrope walk, a delicate balancing act between taking action, advising or just getting out the way. Don't even get me started on what it is like at its worst. One thing is for sure, there are always more questions then there are answers and your children don't make it any easier by putting you on an pedestral and branding you as the arch villain all at the same time.

But then there is nothing else that brings so much joy either, I thought, as I touched my son's head, ever so lightly, I didn't want to wake him up. Not until he had rested. And I waited and I hoped...

I hoped that when he woke up today, he would see that he could choose not to wear his crown of thorns, that he could choose to ignore the cross that he had been carrying around on his bruised shoulders all these days, that the key to unshakling the chains that bound him was in his own hands. I hoped that he would see that all that had pained him so lately were the creation of his own mind that was yet ignorant of its own wondrous depth. I hoped today he would see light and even if he choose not to see me today, I hoped today he would see himself...

He stirred slightly in his sleep and mumbled something. I thought he would get up now, but instead he snuggled back inside the covers with a contented sigh.

I wondered whether he remembered me carrying him back, last night, to his bed after he had convinced himself that I was not going to come and had resigned himself to his despair. That, coming from someone who repeatedly saw through me and ignored my pleas to let go of his cross, was rather ironic I thought. C'est la vie.

He slowly opened his eyes and slowly got up into a sitting position looking confused, as if he didn't know where he was or who his was. He always had a funny face and when confused it looked ever more comical. He looked at his hands, turning it around in front of his eyes, as if expecting a sixth finger to have grown during the night. "Look up," I intoned in my mind, "I have been waiting for quite a while now."

He looked up and cast his glance straight ahead, exactly I where had moved to, in order to catch his eyes. I stood between him and the cross that was propped up on the wall behind me.

"What is it going to be today, My Son," I asked, "are u going to see me today? Or are you going to pick up the cross again?"

I looked directly at his eyes as I waited for him to answer...

I hoped...

And I held out my hand ...

....

Ashoto ma sadgamaya
Tamaso ma jyotirgamaya
Mrityur ma amritangamaya

2004-05-01T17:25:00.001+05:30

Testament of the Dark Knight

'Twas very dark over the scaresome City of Gotham and in the dark alleyways thither abounded a mighty lot of wrong-doings, like, really really scary stuff, like, totally criminal and everything. Verily, the Gotham City Police lived ever in awful fear of such like villains as the Joker, Penguin, Riddler and the Scarecrow and would go forth on ye land everyday with their tails betwixt their legs and their hearts in ye bottoms of their stomaches, which would indeed be quite queasy on that account. Know thou this, the townsfolk were ever worse off and thank thine stars that thou livest elsewhere. Truely 'twas like verily, very verily, like the land of Patna, of this day only not as bad.

And it came to pass, that out of such darkness emerged a Hero. Though, he be one deeply disturbed dude who wore one dark and uncomfortablly tight costume ,one cape and one mask with pointy ears; he hath his heart where it ought to be and Lo! on catching his sight the guts of sundry wrong doers turned into ye noodle soup and their pants were dry nevermore. For, he who hath such menacing looks, pointy ears and all, such fighting and detective skills gained through tortureous practice over many lands and he who had such cool gizmos as the Batmobile and Batarang - what terrible misfortunes he could unleash unto them. So thinking, many such wrong-doers forsook the land of Gotham and migrated to the unpromised land of Bihar and there they formed the RJD. The brave common folks of Bihar hath been fighting them since.

Meanwhile, in Gotham City, the townsfolk rejoiced when they heard that such hero hath cometh out and named him: Batman - the Dark Knight. Nor had they seen any like him before, neither. The womanfolk thought his costume be way cool and, like, really funky and all, and hath many a thoughts of which they spoke not (so I can't tell thee what they were! Pity. ;) The Police made much merry, for ye Bat-Dude be doing all their police work and with time all police dudes were blessed with rotund pot-bellies and knew not what their toes looked like anymore. And the children of ye land, who tieth bedsheets on their necks and jumpeth from rooftops were, like, so grounded, for in so doing they caused the tops of their parents to blow, consequently. And it is common knowledge that parents with blown tops can be uncommonly unreasonable, as common as common cold only much chillier. Brrr.

The wrong doers that stayed back in Gotham hath their tails struck by ye Batman's foot with all over Gotham and they were in much distress. Sometimes they would use guile or would gang up to gain an edge, but it is truely spoken that Dark Knight would prevail at the end everytime. (except of a little while in the Knightfall Saga when he was broken mentally and physically). He hath neither super-powers nor hath he been bitten by any radioactive bug nor indeed he be a mutant. Batman hath always been a fully human super-hero, whose intellegence and strength backed by his passion were, like, the strongest weapons in ye bat-arsenal. Appearing by the day as billonaire industrialist and playboy Bruce Wayne, ye Batman would wander into the dark insides of Gotham at night, fighting crime and seeking respite from ye memories of his parents' (Thomas and Martha Wayne) murder in ye very same firmament.

He be sometimes aided by side-kicks, Tom (Robin), Dick (NightWing) and Barbara (Batgirl/Oracle) (Harry hath gone to meet Sally and couldn't make it). But, save the support of the trustly butler (who thankfully didn't do it) Albert, he mostly operated alone.

Obsessed. Committed. Dangerous.

This chonicler holdeth Batman as an adored object of fascination (along side of Star Trek and Powerpuff Girls) for this be, like, one of few comic book characters that can be in no way called uni-dimentional. For Batman tis neither the school boyish goody-goodyness of Superman nor the calculated non-conformity of X-Men. Batman is ever unconcerned of what the world thinks of him, a true hermit and the classical loner. Batman stands an head over even the amazing Spider-man in terms mass-adulation. (Though let this also be chronicled that Spidey also be a hot favoriate of ye way too uplifted and curiously discerning chronicler - who also hath a secret identity - a mild and meek natured programmer by the day and a super-blogger by the night!).

Gotham hath always representeth a world where everything that be dark is little larger then life, every furrow on ye countance a little more deeply underscored, every single human weakness a step near insanity. In that world the Dark Knight reigns supreme, a lord of all that he surveyeth atop dark buildings, where he be mostly perched looking out for wrong-doers to make any move. Batman shows unto us what we have the danger of becoming if our dark thoughts were not reigned in and if our obsessions were to take over. Batman also shows how the darkness of past can be channeled against darkness itself and towards an utopian ideal of goodness. Batman appeals to us, for who among us hath ne'er been wronged and hath not harboured the idea of venegance. The icon on Batman shows a way out of those moments of darkness to ye light of true selflessness. Of Service. Of Sacrifice.

Verily, I say unto thee - Batman is Timeless.

---
This writing style is not my natural one and it shows. I borrowed it from a colleague who has an incredibly creative writing style. But I fear I have not done it much justice, nor indeed to Batman. However this is just one blog entry and anyway I wanted to experiment abit.

2004-04-27T14:19:00.000+05:30

Anitya

The concept of divinity or the Brahaman, in the Advaita school of though can be summarized in three words - Sat, Chid, Ananda - Existence Absolute, Knowledge Absolute, Bliss Absolute. No form, no attributes nor any personification is admitted in this conceptualization of the only reality of existence. This is so, because form, attributes and personification can only exist or indeed can be perceived as relative to something else that also independently exists, thereby defeating the concept of the one Absolute, the Brahaman.

The Advatins, or the followers of this monoistic school of thought, hold the creation in its entirety, as an elaborate illusion (Maya), that goes through a perpetual lifecycle of waxing and waning. Creation emanates out from this absolute, exists and eventually merges back into this absolute. And then starts over again.

A student of this science is told that the realization of this Brahaman that is all pervading, can be achieved through a process of progressive rejection of everything transient or Anitya, that the mighty Maya, assails our senses with. This process culminates once complete realization or enlightenment is achieved. (Or maybe you get wholeheartedly tired of this affair and go fishing, whichever happens earlier).

The Dvaita Vedantist or the Dualist approaches the concept of creation in his own unique way. An all powerful Personal God or the Ishwara, forms the core of this school of thought. A definite form, a definite set of attributes including those of omnipotence and infinite mercy is associated with Ishwara, to which the individual soul (or Jiva) is bound through an unbreakable bond, in which the Jiva's existence is dependent entirely on the Brahaman. Think of the relation of pixel on the screen of a CRT to the cathode ray gun behind, its something like that, only lot more confusing.

To the dualist, absolute devotion and love (Bhakti) enables a soul to progressively reject all lower form of attachments, until the love for the Lord becomes the sole reason for existence or rather existence itself. This absolute love (Para-bhakti), is in itself, both the means and the end. With true love, claim the students of the Dvaita, comes true knowledge (PS: that sounded like the dialogue from the Spiderman movie, where Uncle Ben tells Peter - With great powers comes great responsibility.;). True love and true knowledge is unencumbered by any attachment to the Anitya.

This concept of Anitya weighs heavily on my mind today, for many things in life are missed only in their passing. With that comes the realization even if one were to try to hang onto a receding tide with the tightest of hugs and promise to never let go, one would only be left clutching thin air.

Alone, wet and with burning eyes....

2004-04-23T13:05:00.000+05:30

Pedicure

I would have never dreamt, when I picked up my first book on Vedanta, about 10 years back, that by the time I crossed 30, I would be become a master of Advaita and Dvaita Vedanta, a Zen Buddhist master and an authority of Biblical scriptures.

Well, it is good that I didn't dream such dreams for none of that really happened! ;) Instead, I find myself confused as ever and ignorant as ever about these mysteries that fascinate me so. The more I read, the more I become aware of my own utter ignorance and the more I get humbled by the heights of consciousness that our great men had reached.

I also find myself given to random ramblings these days as exemplified by my last piece on the confused toe! So, I felt a pedicure of the toe (by the way of giving some hint of what stray thoughts were running through my mind), would be appropriate at this point of time. Anyway, here goes..

Project for a moment, if you will, the existence of the puddle to that of your own and project the sea as your creator. Let the toe playact the part of your consciousness, your inner urge to find an anwer to your existence. Think, briefly, of the monoistic and dualistic schools of thought and I shall wager the existential angst of the puddle would appear much closer than you would have imagined.

Deep, Huh ?!

2004-04-21T15:37:00.000+05:30

Woes of a Confused Toe

There have been a couple of related questions that have continually vexed me for quite sometime now. These questions are: If something hasn't been proven yet, does it mean it is not there? By the same token, if you want something to be true, and want it really really hard, does a merciful providence interven each time to make it so?

For both of these questions history appears to reply with a resounding Negative. Which, frankly, doesn't help much. For if life were really simple, anything which you couldn't see wouldn't be there and you could as well get along with life with the smugness of successful palm reader. Life being what it is, it is rare that there are easy answers to anything, at least until you have things figured out.

Take this as an example: While on a lazy walk by the beach, if you were to see a clear pool of water that seemed placid in its own rhythm, just by the seaside, would you not wonder whether this pool of water is not somehow related to the vast sea just by its side. Was this pool of water left behind by a receding tide or more interestingly was there some kind of underground pathway that linked the pool to the sea. Was it really true that the seemingly independent wavelets on the placid surface of the pool were in fact in perfect timing with the crashing sea waves just a few steps away? Did that mean the pool existed because the sea also did?

At this point, if you were a normal human being, you would probably drop this idea altogether and get into the more pressing business of enjoying a walk on the sea front or taking a swim on the sea. And you would be right in doing so.

However, if you had a few loose wires and short circuits on the top floor, the existential question of the tiny pool would probably overwhelm you. Random thoughts would fire-up, lighting the insides of your brain like a roman candle (I don't know what that is, but Roman Candle seemed the right thing to say :). You would find yourself in an uplifted state asking yourself deep questions such as:

Was the independent identity of the pool in fact indistinguishable from the overpowering identity of the sea to which its very existence depended? So if you actually dipped your big toe into the pool, were you in fact dipping it onto the sea? And as the existence of the pool depended on the sea, should the pool feel an sense of undying gratitude to the sea? Should it aspire to become one with it?

As the cold water touched your confused toe, a far more interesting question would come up on your mind: Could the converse of your theory that you had propound so far could also be true?

Come to think of it, assuming there was a underwater pathway that connected the sea to a shallow area on the beach, could the sea keep itself from filling that area up and thereby converting it into the pool in which your toe was dipped? So, you would conclude with some self satisfaction, that the existence of the pool was not just a sufficient proof that sea existed, it was in fact a necessary one.

However, all this theorizing doesn't prove things either way. One could sit down and theorize away to eons without being able to conclusively know what the truth was.

It only ends up confusing your toe, which by now, would be blue with cold and may have even attracted some inquisitive crab.

Afterall, the puddle may be the unintentional result of rains! Random, arbitrary, without a reason....

2004-04-19T13:34:00.001+05:30

Porpoise Pretensions

Mercury, in Bangalore, has taken it upon itself to challenge Tenzing in terms of scaling new heights this summer. As the sun bore down relentlessly yesterday, taking a dip in the swimming pool appeared to be the best course of action. In a swimming pool, I never swim, I just splash water all around and pretend to be a porpoise (talk of delusions of grandeur;). The only thing that I enjoy more then splashing water by myself is splashing water on tiny kids whose over-anxious parents ritually drag them to the pool in order to "remove their fear of water". I think I created a small army of little splashers yesterday and they out-splashed me thoroughly. Well, all smiles are born sweet, but the smiles of children are just divine.

In the evening the PM called me. My delusions of grandeur are finally paying off :)

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2004-04-16T20:15:00.000+05:30

To Romance a Mocking Bird

For three weeks now I have noticed that strange look in you, as you regard me silently. Questioning. Challenging. Mocking....

You dare me to believe that I know you, that I have always known you. And in my naivety I start believing so, only to fall victim to one of those surprises that you repeatedly spring on me - those that leave me questioning all that I have ever believed. All these years that I have spent trying to knowing you, trying so hard to understand you - suddenly flash before my eyes. And I wonder.

I wonder whether I ever made any headway. Am I still where I started, still clawing at thin air? Like Alice in world behind the looking glass have I been running the hardest I could, just so that I could remain where I was? If my weariness were to overcome me, would you let me fall behind? Would you not reach out and pull me in, at least for a change? Or would you just keep smiling at me silently as I tumbled away into the darkness? Yes, as you can see for yourself, I really do wonder.

How could you have failed to notice the impact that you had on me since I started this journey? You have inspired me so often and in so many ways. So often you have impelled me to excel, to strive to be better than I am, to reach out. In your own non-judgemental way, you have lighted my path so very frequently, so very unobtrusively. Can you really fault me for trying to reach out to you, when you have meant so much? And what of those few times when you had forsaken me, brushed me away? You had to be blind not to see what that did to me. The walls of my world came crashing down every single time that happened. Every single such instance left me devastated. At least until you condescend to steady me again.

Dear Dharma, it has been three weeks since I was asked whether I know you - a period that has been spent in a whole lot of soul-searching. I looked deep inside me to find some answers, some clues. I called out my inner monkey to come out and shed some light, all it did was write the last few paragraphs ;) But, truth be said, I still am trying put my thoughts together.

One thing's for sure, dear friend, I ain't letting you go. Ever. You just mean too much to me.

2004-04-09T18:57:00.001+05:30

Seven of Nine

If I were ever asked to choose my favorite character in Star Trek, (of course besides Kirk and Spock, my eternal heroes) it would certainly be Seven of Nine. While her looks are certainly captivating (and is an obvious reason for me making a post exclusively for her), what make her fascinating to me is her complex chartecter. Hidden behind all the those years as a Borg as the tertiary adjunct of Unimatrix one and beyond the cries of all the millions of life forms that she has been responsible in assimilating, she remained the shy little girl peeping into the bridge of her parents' vessel as they continued in their disastrous voyage tracking a Borg cube.

Seven has often shown that she is capable of more compassion then the rest of Voyagers crew, the two incidents that touched me most was, one, when she gave the Doctor her fan mail at a time when his ego had taken a beating and the second was when she comforted Neelix with the words that "Guilt is a difficult but an useful emotion".

After all what is it that makes us humans - Is it not our compassion, our own individual voyage towards perfection as we attempt to learn from each experience that we assimilate? And finally does the character of Seven not represent something ethereal, something vulnerable yet defiant, logical yet compassionate, brilliant yet beautiful, strong without being agressive. I guess if you are real lucky you get to meet someone like that in real life! I just wish paramount made this character smile a little more often in the ST:VOY series.

If she were real I would have loved to meet her ;)
--
When I had posted this in the Star Trek news group sometimes back, I amazed at the number of responses it got. Someone even said that I appeared to be smitten by Seven. Ha Ha. I wonder what to make of that!!! In any case this is the last Star Trek blog, at least for some time.

2004-04-03T17:02:00.000+05:30

Star Trek : A Second Look

I have always been a Star Trek fanatic, I am sure it is quite obvious from my previous post. My brother, is however, a little more measured in his praises, likes and dislikes. A few years back after I had just finished watching for the third or fourth time the re-run of a Next Generation episode, where Picard is stuck in a lift with kids, I gave him a long lecture on why I was so smitten by Star Trek and that there was so much to learn. He listened to me with a thoughtful look and offered no comments.

Finally, I asked him: "Well, what do you think of Star Trek?"

He smiled a little and said, "Every time I look at Picard, I get the sinking feeling that in 24th century they might be able to go where no man has gone before, but they are not going to be able to stop people from loosing hair!" (The top of Jean Luc's head is bereft of hair, and is shiny like a billiard ball)

Like I have always said, my brother is the one with the brains in the family :)

2004-04-02T17:55:00.000+05:30

Fascinations: Star Trek

It was a hot day in the African plains about a million years ago. An ape had just lost the last of his teeth from gnawing at coconuts for hours daily to get at the gooey white stuff inside. He picked up the rock he was sitting on for the gnawing ritual and smashed it on to the coconut, with astoundingly spectacular results. With that stoke he had given birth to the Stone Age.

(Of course, it was just a matter of chance that he smashed a stone on the coconut, he could have as well smashed a coconut on to a stone, then it is possible that the first of the ages would be a coconut age ;)! Maybe that's what happened in some alternative timeline. I am sure they have a fascinating history there.).

In any case, the journey of humankind over the millennia has been all about pushing the boundaries and extending the limits. True, the journey has been far from being an ideal one so far, many wrong turns have been taken and too few lessons have been learnt. Still there have always been those, like our friend the ape, who have strove to rise over their circumstance, be it through science or through arts or through any other means. In that process, those are the people who have shaped our history, our psyche and even our conscience. The innovators have made the world what it is today.

My love affair with Star Trek started almost a decade and three quarters ago, when a fledgling Doordarshan, in absence of locally produced TV software decided to air a series that had been reasonably successful in the US in the past. I became addicted almost immediately. What fascinated me most about Kirk, Spock, Bones and the gang was the spirit of exploration that literally extended to Space - the final frontier. The original Star Trek series, has often been called a sci-fi version of old western cowboy movies. To an extent, that may be true, but the fact remains that it advertently or otherwise, preached a message beyond the run-of-mill good vs evil story. Kirk's never-say-die attitutude and strong sense of ownership, that came out in almost all of those early episodes before political correctness crept slowly into the stories, had left an enduring impression on my young brain.

To me Star Trek is about stretching your limits, it is about team-spirit and loyality, it is about being always ready to learn and finally it is about prevailing over seemingly impossible odds and forging ahead. Which is what has kept me a loyal Trekkie all these years. The prospects of being in the stars, of flying, truly mesmerizes me.

As a kid I had memorized the Star Terk theme monologue which they would play in every episode:

Space-the final frontier. These are the voyages of Starship Enterprise. Its five year mission -
to explore strange new world, to seek out new life and civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before!

These lines make me a kid all over again, they transport me from the practicality of normal day existence to my very own dream universe where it is alright to aspire to boldly go where no man has gone before.

2004-03-26T19:06:00.000+05:30

Brightening Up

I feel after having aired my dark thoughts, some brightening up of my blog space is in order. So here are a few sayaris that have in past brought out smiles. None of these are mine but are worth recounting any way :)

This one is on omnipresence:

Idhaar bhi khuda hai,
Udhar bhi khuda hai -
Jidhar bhi dekho
Khuda hi Khuda hai

Jidhar nahin Khuda hai
Udhar Kaal Khudega

-- Courtsey Bangaluru Municpal Corp.

This one is on the will of the real man

Khud Ko Kar Buland itna
Ki Himalay Ki Choti pe Ja Pahuche
Aur Khud Khuda Tujhse Pooche --
Ab be Gaadhe aab Utrega Kaise?

And Finally this one is on undying love:

Koi Pathar se na maare Mere diwane ko
Koi Pathar se na maare Mere diwane ko -
Nuclear Power Ka Jamana Hai
Bomb-se uuda do Saale Ko.

2004-03-26T11:27:00.000+05:30

Dark Thoughts

The Morning

Sleep was fitfull and dreamless. The thorns of the crown has dug in deep during the night. The fingers are still raw with the cuts from the thorns. I try to open my eyes, but they don't do my bidding and open only partially as I look out through streaks of congealed blood that had trickled over my closed eyes during the night. My tortured body drags itself up and I glance at my cross. I marvel an instant at the workmanship - mine. Slowly I reach down to pick it up, chain it to both my hands and place it roughly on my bruised shoulders. It is heavy and makes my body hunch as I stagger out towards the open. Towards my Golgotha.

The Journey

The bright sun assails my eyes. I want to shield them with my hands but my hands are chained. I stumble out into the streets. My cross rattles behind me, as I drag it over the cobbled stones. My progress is slow and each step takes an eternity. The heat numbs my senses. For a momemt I can't remember wherefore I go. And I forget who I was. Entirely

Is my name Jim, Jesus or Judas? I can't answer, but it doesn't matter anymore, it never did.

I fall. Heavily. The water is just out of reach of my clawing fingers. No one passes me a drink and my lips remain perched. I struggle to get up again. I search for Simon. I just see blank stares. I know no Simon shall come and the cross that I bear is mine to bear alone.

Dosh karo noi go ma, aami shokhato sholeel-e dube moree...

I mouth is dry and salty but I will my body on, for Golgotha is now in sight. My father awaits me there.

The Conclusion

Golgotha is desolate at sundown. It is moonless and even the stars have stayed home. I dig a hole for my cross and place it there, upright. I look for a familiar face, but there is no one. I mount the cross and nail myself to it, one nail at a time. Maybe he shall come now, but he doesn't. I am still alone.

A rasping whispery cry escapes my throat - "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?". No one answers. No one was there to answer. No one had come.

I know now that there shall be no Resurrection. I know I shall not wake up tomorrow. I hang my head down and I close my eyes.

---

Death Wish? Here's an interesting coincidence. I was thinking of this piece last night and today morning my car met with an accident, with me inside :). Premonition? Or did I will it to happen? Does someone upstairs want me?? I don't know.

2004-03-23T13:33:00.000+05:30

Handshakes

The traditional form of Indian Greeting is to fold hands, bow just a little and say Namaste or Namaskar to the person being greeted. The word Namaste means - I bow to the divine within you. This is a true reflection of the Indian ethos that strives to look beyond appearances and superficiality. The Indian Philosophy holds all creation a manifestation of divinity as opposed to seeing the creator as an entity separate from the created. Thus all creation including human reflect divinity and are worthy of worship. Ergo, the Namaste.

The Namaste has other practical purposes as well, which I have just recently started to fathom. Lately many Indians have shown an increasing inclination towards shaking hands favouring it over Namaste which they considered a outdated mode of greeting. The Indian Genius has adapted the Handshake to their own local conditions and the fauna abounds with multiple species of Indian Handshakers, some of whom I introduce here:

The Chronic Shaker: This is usually a diminutive and docile creature given to the habit of shaking your hand everytime you meet him even if it is within minutes of the previous shake. Hiding hands doesn't help, because our chronic shaker thinks nothing of going behind you and shaking your hand there.

The Bone Crusher: Usually a big alpha-male who likes to leave a big impression on you and your fingers. Keep Away. We have one on the prowl in this building.

The Bombay Repeater: This species' home habitat is Aamchi Mumbai but has migrated all over. The specialty of this species is repeated short shakes after each sentence followed by a giggle-type laugh. I used to find it very disconcerting when I started my career in Bombay. This species is also given to making tasteless jokes often at the victims expense.

The Banana Peal: Sweaty Palms that envelop your hand like a Banana Peal. Ewwwww. It is often hard to resist the temptation of wiping your hand on your trousers after such an encounter.

The Palm Hoarder: This species will insist on maintaining a grip on your palm and periodically shaking it during the entire course of conversation. Extremely surreal experience.

The Flying Dutchman: Always in a hurry. Shall extend tentacle like hand from afar to touch your hand by the finger tips before scurrying away. Safe.

The Suspicious Freak: Shall inspect his hand very carefully after every shake as if expecting the lines in the hand to have changed following the encounter.

The Great Indian thinkers of yore must have considered these situations and found an effective remedy in the humble Namaste. My Namaste to them.

I wrote this blog following discussion with my friend at lunch, where an chance encounter with a Flying Dutchman set me thinking and telling her my theories. By the time I got to Banana Peal she said "Ewwww. Gross. Write it, I will read it." Hence this blog.

2004-03-22T14:14:00.000+05:30

Bidding Goodbye to an old friend.

Got my new laptop today. P4, wide-screen, kick-ass graphics and sound cards and real slick looks. However I am a little sad about seeing my old guy go back to the pool. It has been a good friend for over three years and has brooked my torture without so much as even a whimper. Lately, however, running all the software that I have been toying with (the entire J2EE and .NET suite plus a couple of databases and a couple of web-servers thrown in for kicks) had it bursting at its seams.

I think it is a human failing to attribute human feelings to everything around himself. It makes so little sense when it is actually rare for even two people to feel the same way. Methinks that many of us come to expect a reflection of our own feelings from everything and everyone around us. Our balant narcissism makes us want the world to render unto us what we would wish them render, rather what the world feels inclined to render to us itself. This very frailty makes me wonder whether this old guy is going to miss me, would it be able to make out the difference when someone other than I plays on the keyboards or squints at it or gives a toothy smile to its screen. I know I will :(

Adios Amigo.

I bet old Mr. Spock would have raised his eyebrows at this illogical human behaviour and would have recommended Koh-li-naar for me without any further ado.

2004-03-20T17:15:00.000+05:30

The Boogeyman of The Offshore

On cold wintry nights you speak of me in hushed tones to your children as they gather around the fireplace to hear you. You tell them tales of horror about me, the distant faceless monster that has no heart and no scruples. You speak of the damage I cause and destruction that I bring. You speak, with a involuntary shudder of my home seven seas away, where I do things unspeakable. Your imagination adds wings to your tongue as you speak deep into the night as the storm rages outside. Your eyes take a glazed look and your voice breaks, just a little, as you convince the little children and yourself that I truly am the boogeyman, who's out to get you.

Have you ever wondered who is this boogeyman is in his real life? Is he really the sadistic monster that you make him out to be? Is he really sloppy at his work and closed in his thinking as you would want to believe? Have you psyched yourself so much that now you are ready to swear that he is too culturally challenged in his approach to life to do anything other seat down for hours and churn out low quality code and greet you with a heavily accented hello from the other end of a toll-free number? And know what? Evolution has adapted him to have a heavy duty bladder that he doesn't need bathroom breaks at work anymore. Rumour has it that in all the sweat shops in the dreaded land of offshore they are breaking down the bathrooms and putting-up tiny cubicles in their place.

Well pardner, you have got another thing coming - the realization that we may have been left in a muck fifty years back but we no longer live there. We have clawed our way out, neither inspite of you nor because of you, but because we had to. Yes, your way of life, where fairplay and integrity formed an inseparable part of life, did fill us with inspiration, as did our own philosophy of honesty, non-violence and truth. We have always been fascinated by your capability of out-of-box thinking and have often supplemented that with our strength of methodical industriousness. The root cause of many of the successes that we have tasted together, has been honest collaboration. It has been teamwork that has always won.

And did I get something very wrong, because I though somewhere along the way we had become friends.

After all this, don't go around showing me your paper clippings and URLs, which cry out how many jobs been eaten by the offshore boogeyman. Don't cite examples of projects messed by the boogeyman. And for heaven's sake don't kill yourself trying to reverse the wheel of time.

At the beginning of industrial revolution when machine replaced artisans that worked with their hands, you reinveted yourself into factory workers and made the machines your partner in success. When the upstart computer took over the job of the office clerk, you mastered programming it. Now that you are at another cross-road you need to figure out which way you want to go. I only know that hating me or trying to fight me won't get you there - it will just hurt us both. No one wins in this mudfest.

So stop whining, friend (I hope I can still call you that) and stop scaring yourself and your kids with old wives tales that you know are not true. Go out there and create your destiny anew.

And know this, I am rooting for you.

2004-03-18T12:15:00.000+05:30

Kurzweil in his AI Website describes consciousness as the ability to have subjective experience. The ability of a being, animal, or entity to have self-perception and self-awareness. The ability to feel.

What Mr. Kruzweil would have us believe is that a key question in the twenty-first century is whether computers will achieve consciousness (which their human creators are considered to have).

My take on this is that even if the advances of AI eventually give birth to self-aware or spiritual machines, I am not sure they would thank us, their human creators, for having created them with feelings. Over the history of mankind while it has been human feelings that have helped man reach the highest pinnacle of spirituality, it is also the feelings that have made man do sad and sordid things. Feelings have often made us judgemental in our attitude.

Passion and fanatisim, love and possessiveness, expectations and disappointments, longing and hate have often made their appearance holding hands. Da Vinci and Hitler both have been people consumed by their feelings. Both of them left their legacy - one of inspirated creations and the other of deprived destruction: both prisoners to their own feelings.

Today, I find myself, once again, held to ransom by my own feelings, expectations and disappointments. It make me wonder if the Vulcan ritual of Koh-li-naar should really be made a mandatory part of human education. A world where logic reigns supreme would perchance be boring but maybe the neural pathways through which emotions ravage the consiousness would be rendered dry and perhaps peace of mind would finally come. I wonder if loosing out on inspirations would be worth gaining peace of mind....

Live long and Prosper.

2004-03-17T17:34:00.000+05:30

If I can't smoke cigars in heaven, I shall not go!

- A Deeply Philosophical Paper by JIM

I couldn't resist the Temptation of Putting my latest Philoosophy on my shiny new BLOG. I don't know whether they would let kids read this...maybe they should keep it for MBA classes and give it only to unusually bright pupils (... not students, pupils..get it?). Anyway here goes....

My cousin goes to an Engineering school. He is studying to be an IT professional. Of late he has become very active on the net and like any other teenager spends a significant part of his computer lab time forwarding humour mails to everyone whose email id he has. His jokes are the usual run-of-the-mill Internet fare, however in his signature he quotes a famous saying of Mark Twain --If I cannot smoke in heaven, then I shall not go

If one were to look closely one would find that there is a deep philosophy hidden somewhere inside this sentence. One just has to look past the veil of hilarity that this pronouncement evokes at the first glance. If perchance one were to meditate long and deep over this, one would, in all probability, come out questioning one's own belief of what is or should be the architecture specs for the Heaven.

Take, for example, the following implementation and deployment issues that would arise if we were to take Mr. Twain's statement as our requirement specs:

CASE A: Are we to conclude that when we are eventually deployed in the container called 'heaven' our currently existential bugs (which we informally terms as human strengths and weakness) would persist AND would be fulfilled without question

o If ( TRUE )

§ This means that all the components that get deployed into heaven would get to do as they please and thereby bring about a state of complete chaos in heavens as well as give rise to strife. Simply because my act of smoking cigars may impede and impair the bliss providing lifecycle processes of some of there other components that are in my close proximity in heaven (meaning we get into each other's nerves :)

§ Chaos and Strife is contrary to the commonly held technical requirement for heaven thereby defeats the definition.

§ Hence we may infer that the assertion made above is not true.

CASE B: However if the assertion made above is not true (FALSE), i.e. those components that deployed to heaven are bounded by a clause of heavenliness that makes the functionality of being able to smoke cigar's unavailable, the following results:

§ If we are bounded by rules we are not free, hence we are prisoners.

§ Lack of freedom, again, is contraindicative to the technical specifications of heaven

§ Hence Rejected Also

CASE C: In the third case if heaven were to be a exclusive place (a separate container for every component) with limited interface visibility between components (well defined public and private methods) . That would also led to a deployment scenario like the second case above where boundaries inhibit freedom and thus can't be called heaven.

So you see, the concept of heaven is bound to our capability of inhaling fumes from rolled sticks of tobacco. So when you see the likes of us standing in front of a building, inhaling smoke and having the dreamy look in our eyes, understand this - we are doing deep research and even the heavens depend on it.

Deep Huh?!

Philospohy Ends Here

I learnt a new sentence today -- Tu attha Kasa Kartha? :)

2004-03-17T17:10:00.000+05:30

Hip-hip-hurray! I have it. I have it. I have it.

Finally my very own place on the Net to Rave and Rant. And generally ramble about things, which spoken in public would get me to a loony bin before I could say "Eh! Wassup Doc?". And when I become famous I am sure they are going to make reading my blogs mandatory for school kids :). It sure would beat reading moral science books....

BTW...I just figured out that I am a Genius. Today I forgot to collect the change from the Cafeteria guy again. This is the second day in a row. You can't be so absent minded unless you have a brain like Einstien's. See you all at Oslo.