Monday, April 11, 2005

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.

Friday, April 08, 2005

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!

Saturday, January 01, 2005

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

Monday, December 20, 2004

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


Friday, November 05, 2004

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.

Monday, October 04, 2004

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.

Friday, October 01, 2004

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

Thursday, September 02, 2004

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. ;)

Saturday, August 14, 2004


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

Friday, August 13, 2004

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. 

Om Namah Shivaya


Wednesday, August 04, 2004

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.

Monday, July 12, 2004

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 ;)

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

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.

Saturday, June 12, 2004

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 :)

Friday, May 21, 2004

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

Thursday, May 20, 2004

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 :-)

Monday, May 10, 2004

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 :)

Thursday, May 06, 2004

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

Saturday, May 01, 2004

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.

Tuesday, April 27, 2004

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....