The Power of Teamwork

Lessons in life come to you from places you least expect.

On the first weekend of February this year, my son, Rudraditya participated in a Taekwondo tournament, his first ever, and got a silver medal. Taekwondo is a martial art originating in Korea. It combines combat techniques, self-defense, sport, exercise, and in some cases meditation and philosophy. Pretty excited about it, he was too.  Wouldn’t take the medal off the rest of the day and would show it to everyone that we came across. I was however a little less excited than would be expected. Aditya had done remarkably well in the more difficult wooden block breaking part of the tournament and will little or no practice managed even to break a wooden block with a kick. But when it came to the comparatively easier act of demonstrating taekwondo steps, he missed a few, which cost him the gold.

Finally against my better judgment I told him that he could have won gold if he had focused more. He and a friend of his who was also there at that instant cried out in near unison – But our teacher tells winning is not important participation is.  They then went back to playing, paying no heed to the speechless dad, with a gaping open mouth, staring in their wake.

I was truly rendered speechless. For I realized the enormity of the mistake that I was making – Not only had I come really close to depriving my son of the joy of the moment, but what was even worse, that I was projecting a rat mentality onto him that I always boasted of being free of.  Luckily he turned out to be way smarter than his old man. And there by hung a tale.

If I have learnt one thing over the years is that success in any endeavor comes not so much from patchy flashes of brilliance as it does to deep and sustained commitment from a team. Flashes of brilliance and inspiration have their place no doubt, for they act as flares that suddenly light up the path ahead and momentarily afford us a glimpse of what lies ahead. However to make progress in that path what is needed is a team that commits itself to the journey and bring their diverse skills together for a common cherished goal. Committed participation in my vocabulary is synonymous to teamwork and endeavors from the simplest to the greatest have succeeded primarily because of committed participation. And a true leader is one who understands the secret of making teamwork happen. The profile of a true leader is not one who looks to slave drive people but one who brings about self-realization to individuals in the team. Realization about their own uniqueness and talents. Realization about the importance of the work they do and that others in the team do. They push people, but not get people to stumble but to excel. Finally a true leader gets people to collaborate. They are often fun folks to be around.

However perhaps the biggest characteristic of a winning team, leader included, is a belief in the higher goal, being charged with a vision, a purpose. History stands witness how our freedom was won by sustained and committed participation of the common man who worked as a team for a good that was way greater than individual aspirations. Similarly the grandeur of the pyramids, the breathtaking beauty of the Khajuraho temples or mesmerizing charm of the Taj would have never come to being without teamwork.

Each of these wonders needed a long term vision on part of everyone who was involved, needed courage, a willingness to put in time, learn and finally contribute to the common cause. It needed hard work.

The lesson that I now think my little Aditya learnt that day, and taught me as a bonus, was the power of committed participation. On the larger scheme of things a Gold medal wouldn’t have made an iota of more difference. For what he had learnt that day was the joy of participation in a team sport, where no doubt individuals get applauded for doing well, but the overall team score depends on how everyone in the team performs. The short huddle that all the kids, between six and ten years, got to after the tournament, in their cute childlike way to scream in delight, show each other their medals and prizes and promises made to practice more for the next tournament has set the base for long term success.

For it is always Teamwork that succeeds…

Recently I wrote this for the monthly newsletter at work and thought it should show up in my blog as well...  :)

Satyameva Jayate

The climactic battle between Rama and Ravana in the epic Ramayana makes for an engaging read. The demon army of Ravana lay vanquished, his allies dead. But Ravana, the biggest and baddest gangsta of ‘em all keeps fighting with all his might. And what a fight he gives for he is well versed in the ways of warfare. The monkey army, even the mighty Hanuman accompanied by Laxman, Vivhishan (Ravana’s brother who switched sides and came over to the winning camp), watch in awe as Rama, having gotten better for Ravana, sends a well aimed arrow which severs his head. But the cries of victory are cut short for Ravana magically sprouts another head in place of the one cut off and fights on. This happens a number of times more until the novelty kind of wears off and Rama wonders how he would ever get rid of this goon who seems to have an unlimited supply of heads. Then Vivhishan whispers a secret to Rama – A pot of the nectar of immortality, Amrit, lies in the navel of Ravana which is the secret of his immortality. Rama then shoots at the navel with his deadly arrows. Lo and Behold, the demon king finally falls. Diwali signifies the return of the triumphant Rama to his home Ayodhya accompanied by Sita, Laxman and Hanuman.

 

I used to find this story fascinating as a kid, whenever my brother and I would get an elder to tell the story we would listen with rapt attention. The glow of victory that Rama, Laxman and Hanuman felt would rub off a little on us and make us feel like little victors ourselves who had defeated an evil king. This must have been one reason the epic was written on the first place, to identify with the forces of good that battle evil. But like most stories in the Epic, this episode has layers of symbolism and lessons which is fascinating to explore. And make no mistake this episode has lessons for us that we could really use just about now.

For are we not faced with Ravanas in current age and day? 

Yes we are. Today’s Ravana appear to us in many shapes and forms - Corrupt Governments, unethical businesses abusive husbands, children who don’t care for their aged parents, godmen in the unholy business of making a quick buck in the name of god, religious fanatics, dishonest officials and so many things else. I don’t know, guys, I sometimes get an overwhelming feeling that there are some posteriors out there that are in dire need of some foot contact. 

But is the solution taking the evil head-on and try the bang the living wits out of it? 

Those among us who are brave enough take up a battle against certain wrongs do so, such as Anna Hazare fights on against the Corruption in Government. However for every politician that people like him succeed in getting defeated, maybe another equally corrupt takes place exactly as every dishonest official who is removed could be replace by one who is a bigger rogue. Just as the never ending heads of Ravana. 

So could the way evil is vanquished lie hidden in the story that the epic tells? 

The most effective way to vanquish something is to remove the source of that thing’s sustenance. Denying water shall kill a sapling, denying a float will cause a piece of iron to sink. Naval represents symbolically sustenance, because of the umbilical cord that ends there when a child is in the womb. So what Vivishan’s advice implies is remove the power that sustains the many heads of Ravana and you get rid of ‘em all. Easy Peasy. 

The street side goon, the eve-teaser preys on the sheer cowardice of people on the street, the unwillingness to get into trouble. The corrupt politicians thrive on our identification with their community, caste or whatever other narrow prism we use; instead of judging them by what they stand for or have achieved. The corrupt officials in most cases is sustained by our greed or laziness or a desire to stay ahead whatever be the means. Once these vermin are created they establish themselves and prey on people’s helplessness. 

At the risk of making a motherhood statement, let me say that I believe that the only way to make these modern day Ravana’s go away would be to make it not worthwhile to be what they are. If a politican knows that if he is perceived corrupt, inapt or a rogue he has no chance of getting back to the seat of power regardless of whether he is a lingyat, muslim, dalit, upper caste or whatever else, we would have killed one Ravana. And if every Roadside Romeo had the threat of public thrashing followed by a stint in jail, we would have removed our fear that sustains them. Losing our superstitions would take steam out of many of the fake God-men who claim to be miracle workers. 

The change has to start with us. 

And that’s where we have to face our biggest Ravana. Facing our demons If I look inside, I see a scaring looking Ravana inside me as well. This Ravana is greedy and provides substance to all corrupt people who are in the society, this Ravana is a coward and provides sustenance to the all kinds of anti socials. Worst of all this bugger is lazy, smug, self satisfied, brimming with advice for things that he wants others to do while he continues in his own wallowing in darkness. He is the reason why the society as a whole gets flushed down the drain pipe. 

Killing that Ravana by denying the Greed, Anger, Desire, Laziness that feeds and sustains him be really the true Satyamava Jayate.

Wish my family and friends a happy new year and perpetual victory over all Evil.

Jai Shri Ram.

Missed Connection - Part III

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

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

The statue of Buddha on the right side of the big hall, just by the side of the big wooden crucifix hanging on the wall, wasn’t it always so? The small wooden table where a few candles flickered disturbed by the draft as I entered, a blazing fireside on the other side with the seating area, the stairway on the far side from where I stood.  Why did this place look so familiar? Why?

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

There were a number of people in the room.  Standing silently, without word, without movement.

The door behind me closed and I felt Alexendra go past me and melt into the crowd.  I couldn’t see any faces only dark outlines.

On some invisible command, they seemed to start moving toward me all at once. I estimated that there were perhaps twelve to fifteen people. Slowly, noiseless moving toward me.

 

A few hands reached out toward me as I broke into a cold sweat. It was perhaps the most terrifying moment of my adult life.

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

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

“We knew you would return”. Suddenly they whole crowd noiselessly fell behind me as Alexndra and the man on my right slowly took me up the stairs.

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

My voice sounded different. Deeper, gruff.   With sudden sense of shock, I realized that I had just responded back in German!   A language that I had never learnt.  

How?

The staircase felt familiar. As if climbing them was something I did everyday.  Even in darkness I could anticipate the spacing and when the flight ended.

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

The party including Alexendra stopped near the door and pushed me inside.

This room 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 place that was very familiar. Was I going mad? Was this some crazy dream?

I moved forward slowly toward the bed. In it lay a lady, at least mid-fifties, perhaps more. Clearly ill.

And then  I saw her face.  Beautiful, pale and tear streaked. I screamed in the same voice that was not mine. “Mein Gott! Helen!” 

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

No.  

There was Something more.  Something deeper.   

  

I was no longer the person who had entered the mansion.  I had turned into someone else....

I was Otto Schnee and woman that I beheld was my wife!!!

Even as I gazed at Helen, the thought that crowded my mind was of Alexandra. 

 

Alexandra - the love of our lives.  Our darling daughter.  

I was lost.  She had found me and brought me back home.

An involuntary gasp escape my lips as I feel violently shaken from behind...

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.

Missed Connection - The Chronicle of A Strange Adventure ..

This narrative is set in the early 2000s. Before smartphones, wifi and affordable international roaming had become a norm

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. To make the matter worse, the weather reports for the following day didn't look so good either. However they were ready to put me up in a hotel a little far from the airport in a locality named  Lambenburg or something similar. 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 to a waiting area. As I sat down in the cold steel bench, I was told a taxi will come by presently to take me to the hotel.   The wait turned out to be a longish one, no cars were available in this weather ... 

It was already around six when the taxi was found and it started out with only me as the passenger. 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 others who missed their connection? Perhaps the airline had put them in other hotels and I 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, overhear them I got 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 with Swami Vivekanda of India. Do you know about him?” Well, I thought, that was a more familiar territory. However before I could start my speech on Swamiji and the finer points of Advaita and Vigyana philosophical viewpoints, 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 ….

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...

Krishna: History or Myth

Krishna: History or Myth

-- By Manish Pandit

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

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

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.

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…

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 :)

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 know.

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. Our research and test results have been accepted by the 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.

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.

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.

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

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.