Thevile Anante Taisechi Rahave

I suppose all of us wake up sometimes with a tune playing in the mind, which then keeps playing like a scratched CD. Today I have woken up to the tune of "Thevile Anante Taisechi Rahave, Chitti Asu Dyave Samadhan". (A strange thing - the mind. One never knows what it churns up, when or why - am not complaining today though. It has started my day on a blessed note.)

This line used to feature in one of the bhajans my neighbours used to sing every Sunday morning. This is a famous line by Sant Tukaram of Maharashtra (see below)

This is one of the most beautiful one liners by Tukaram. It contains the simplest and profoundest truths of life and means "Be as the Lord meant you to be, Let there be "Samadhan" (satisfaction, contentment) in your mind.

Look at babies. What do they want? What do they ask for? Do they want wealth, fancy clothes, fancy toys? All they need is for their hunger to be appeased. Finito.

What happens as they grow up? They see so many people with so many things that take their fancy, they want everything. Covetousness (the desire to have something one does not have) takes over.

Dissatisfaction and discontent faithfully tag people everyday of their lives. While I can understand people who are really poor, living in abject conditions being discontented, ironically it is these very people who appear to live contentedly with what little they have. How many times have seen little kids on the streets, smeared with dirt and still laughing and smiling, sometimes even through their tears? It takes very little to make them happy. As people start acquiring more, the greed for more is born. Even within the working class, aspirations rise in direct proportion to living conditions (of course, one cannot deny that the reverse also holds true and is also necessary for them to have a decent life style. Let me clarify here, this is not to say that people should continue to live in poverty - everyone has a right to live well). It is the definition of "living well" which is the question here. I somehow wonder at the dissatisfaction born of sheer greed in people who already have everything one can wish for and more than can use. Strangely enough, it is the very people who have power and who classify amongst the richest in the world who keep chasing "more".

How much does a person need? The fact is we can travel only in one car at a time - it does not matter if we own 50 or 100 cars. We cannot use all of them at one time. Try stuffing in more than you need, even your stomach will protest. You can only wear one set of clothes and one pair of shoes at one time. For all her collection of shoes this rule held true even for Imelda Marcos and all she got at the end was to get hauled over the coals. We need homes that can accommodate us and our loved ones. Do we really need 60 storey buildings with helipads, parking lots and the works? The question is are people satisfied even with this? Soon they realize the vastu of such homes is not suitable and set about building another such monstrosity.

And the greatest irony is after earning all this wealth - by means fair or foul - people lose their peace of mind. Then starts the quest for "spiritual gurus" - often people who are as fallible as their shishyas - a classic case of the blind purporting to lead the blind.

Reminds me of a lovely poem which brings a lump to the throat every time I try to recite it.

The Miller of Dee

There was a jolly miller once lived on the river Dee,

He worked and sang from morn' till night,

No lark more blithe than he

And this the burden of his song, forever used to be

"I envy nobody, no not I, and nobody envies me"

Thou'rt wrong my friend, said Old King Hal,

Thou'rt wrong as wrong can be

For could my heart be lithe as thine

I'd gladly change with thee

And tell me now what makes thee sing

With voice so loud and free

For I am sad while I am king beside the river Dee

The miller smiled and doff'd his cap

"I earn my bread" quote he

"I love my wife, I love my friend, I love my children three

I owe no penny I cannot pay

I thank the river Dee

That turns the mill, that grinds the corn, that feeds my babes and me"

"Good friend" said Hal and sighed the while

"Farewell and happy be

And say no more if thou'dst be true

That no one envies thee

Thy mealy cap is worth my crown

Thy mill my kingdom's fee

Such men as thou as thou are England's boast

Oh miller of the Dee".

Sant Tukaram (1608–1650) was a prominent Varkari Sant and spiritual poet during a Bhakti movement in India.

Sant Tukaram^[1] was born and lived most of his life in Dehu, a town close to Pune in Mahārāshtra, India. He was born to a couple with the family name "More", the descendent of the Mourya Clan (Āmbile) with first names Bolhobā and Kanakāi. In accordance with an ancient Indian tradition, Tukaram's family name is rarely used in identifying him. His real name is Tukaram Vhilhoba Aambe. Rather, in accord with another tradition in India of assigning the epithet "sant" (संत) to persons regarded as thoroughly saintly, Tukaram is commonly known in Maharashtra as Sant Tukaram (संत तुकाराम). He is known asBhakta Tukaram to South Indian people.  (Source:  Wikipedia)

The Ritual of Eating

After a very long time, I had the good fortune this morning of eating phulkas directly off the fire.  Being a foodie at heart, but a healthy eater by practice, I normally avoid using butter or ghee.  But the piping hot phulkas brought back of those eaten in my childhood with home made ghee on it.  A foodie cannot resist such temptations, but making a concession to healthy eating, I liberally smeared two phulkas with Nutralite (manufacturers are you listening?  You could consider giving me a small percentage off your sales for voluntarily promoting your product!!!!!) and ate it with piping hot mixed vegetable gravy (cauliflower, capsicum, potato, peas, carrot, beans and soya paneer).

To say my soul was touched would be an understatement of the day.  "Annadaata sukhi bhava" automatically sprung to mind.  It was a sudden reminder of the original meaning and sentiment behind these seemingly simple Sanskrit phrase which is so loaded with gratitude and fulfillment.  When I said it today, it came from the bottom of the heart and I really understood not only the literal meaning, but also the full contentment and joy that brings out the blessing for the one provides us food.

Talking of which I was also reminded of a Marathi prayer which we are taught to say before every meal in childhood.  It goes:

Vadani kawal gheta naam ghya Srihariche
Sahaj hawan hote naam gheta phukache
Jeevan kari jivitva anna he poornabrahma
Udarbharan nohe janije yadnya karma

This is a prayer which reminds you to remember the Lord when taking every morsel of food. It says, taking the name of the Lord while eating makes eating an act of offering or a "havan".  Anna (or food) is the complete God principle which bestows life on the living.  Remember eating is not just an act of filling your stomach, it is a yagnya karma.

If we were only to remember this everyday, it would help us to respect our stomachs and bodies and offer good, nutritious and healthy food instead of just overloading and stuffing ourselves silly.

It reminds one to sit quietly in one place in a happy frame of mind with family and/or friends and eat every morsel of food with gratitude to the ones who helped put this food on your plate and with consideration for the body which needs it as fuel.  Treat your stomach with due respect, not as a dumping ground.  Treat the food which you get with the same respect.  Don't waste food.  There are many who are not so fortunate as you.

Let us first thank God for having given us rains that helped the crops, the means to buy our food, the farmer who sowed the seed and harvested the crop, the bread winner who earned us the food and the one who toils in the kitchen to put the food in edible form on the table.  

Ayurvedic Rice

Of late I have been craving to eat something different - something that is tasty, easy to make and easy on the stomach. Besides, a constant topic of conversation on chats with my friends these days is "Food". Also being a member of the group "Foodies" on Facebook, it is always pictures of food, discussing menus, drooling over the simplest of dishes .......

As I snuggled under my blanket this afternoon, I closed my eyes and pictures of a simple, colourful, healthy rice floated to my mind's eye. Voila - a recipe was born. OK, you might say, what's so new about it? Just that I have never made it before, my mom has never made it before and I don't remember eating it anywhere else either.

Of course any recipe has to have a very fancy, "in" name.  So here it is "Ayurvedic rice".

So this is the recipe:

Ingredients:

A.

Half a bunch of corriander
1 small leaf of ajwain
3 curry leaves / kadipatta
1/2 green chilli
1/2 inch piece of ginger
1 tsp of udid dal
1 tsp of jeera
1 kashmiri / bedgi mirch
1 small piece of tamarind (to taste)

B.

1 small carrot
4-5 beans
A handful of sweetcorn
6 cashew nuts
1 tbsp chana dal
Salt to taste

Method:

Cook 1/2 katori of rice. Allow it to cool.

Fry the udad dal, kashmiri mirch and jeera and grind it to a fine paste with the remaining ingredients under A. Don't make it too wet.

Heat a tablespoonful of oil in a kadai. Fry the chana dal and cashewnuts in the oil. Chop the vegetables diagonally and add them to the oil and cook lightly with salt and a bit of water. Once the veggies are fully cooked, add the rice to it. Add the paste and salt to taste. Mix well. Close the kadai and allow to cook further for a minute or two. Remove it from the fire and serve.

A simple lunch menu

I love cooking.  Having said that, I generally love cooking routine dishes.  Am not a specialist.  My food is pretty decent and hence I am daring to write a blog on cooking.  However, this is the first time I am writing about cooking on a blog.  Hence E & O E.  :-)

Today I am going to start sharing some simple lunch menus.  Some of the dishes which are not so well known will be described with the recipes.

Today's lunch has simple chappati, rice, ladies finger, potatoes and cabbage "molagutal".  

"Molagutal" is a very typical part of the Kerala Iyer menu and is a generic term for any vegetable or combination of vegetables that are cooked in dal.  The various vegetables that can be used is a combination of cubed (small - medium sized) bottle gourd/dudhi/lauki or white pumpkin, carrot, peas, beans and potato, or just cabbage, or finely cubed banana stem or  palak which has been cooked and mashed in a mixer or in a "kalchatti" i.e. a vessel made of stone as shown below.  (More on the "kalchatti" below).  

Recipe for Cabbage Molagutal:  

Ingredients:  One medium or small sized cabbage.  

                       1/2 coconut (small sized) grated.

                       1- 2 red chilli(s) - to suit taste 

                       1 table spoon jeera (cumin seeds)

                       2 teaspoons  udad dal

                       Asafoetida (hing) - a small piece or a generous pinch.

                       2 teaspoonfuls of oil

                    Tur / Moong dal - 3/4 to 1 cup (vaati) (depends entirely on individual   preference)

                       8-10 kadipatta/curry leaves 

Method:

Heat a teaspoonful of oil.  Add the hing, jeera, red chilli and udad dal to the oil.  Allow to roast till the  udad dal turns a light brown.  Add this to the grated coconut and grind finely in a mixer.  Keep it aside.

Shred cabbage finely.  Cook with salt, turmeric and half a spoonful of sambar powder (available in various brands such as 777, MTR, Nilgiri's etc.  Can also be made at home.  Shall share the recipes of various masalas very soon) and the curry leaves.  Cook tur dal or moong dal well and mash it well.  When cooked, add to the vegetable.  Add the ground masala to the vegetable and dal.  Allow to froth.  Then allow the mustard to splutter in 1 teaspoonful of oil and add it to the molagutal.

The molagutal is ready to be eaten with steaming hot rice.

P.S.  Although traditionally no onions are added to "molagutal", I am no purist.  I do tend to add onions and/or garlic to it, if I want to eat it with chappatis.

P.P.S  The "kalchatti" is a very traditional container which is extremely versatile and can be used to cook a variety of items.  It absorbs a lot of heat and keep the food piping hot for a very long time.  It can be used for cooking, serving as well as for storing food.  It is available in certain places in South India like Srirangam (near Tiruchy).  It needs to be seasoned before use failing which it will crack as soon as put on the fire.  To season a kalchatti, a mixture of oil and haldi is applied to it inside and outside and it is kept out in the sun.  This process is repeated for 4-5 days.  Then water is boiled in it for a couple of times till any traces of fine stone vanish.  Only after this it is ready to be used for cooking.  A bit tedious, may be, but food cooked in it has a special taste to it.  I am a complete kalchatti freak.  

Another point to be taken care of is that there should ALWAYS be some water in the kalchatti.  DO NOT ALLOW ALL THE WATER TO EVAPORATE otherwise the food will get burnt and the kalchatti will crack with the heat.  It is therefore best suited to cook dishes such as sambar, molagutal and kadhi.

The kalchatti, being heavy, should NEVER be picked up with tongs.  Always pick it up using a cloth. 

Of course the "kalchatti" is not indispensable.  In fact very few people use them these days.  An ordinary vessel will do very nicely too.  :-) :-) :-)

Jaago India Jaago, Mahaan Bano!!!!!

One more Independence Day has come and gone.  More programmes on TV celebrating our independence and more shouting from the roof tops about how great we are.  More odes sung to all the glorious achievements of India and Indians.  We have produced the likes of Aryabhat who gave the world the concept of "0", given the world Ayurveda, trigonometry, chess, ....... (I do not know the veracity of all these claims - I have not checked them out - these are just a few of the claims about which we keep thumping our chests over the ages).  

All very fine. But what have we achieved or what are we achieving in recent times?  Does not help to rest on our laurels and that too laurels achieved by people in ancient times. How long will we continue to harp on them?

We talk of the achievements of Kalpana Chawla - she achieved whatever she did on foreign soil.  The opportunity to do so was given to her by a foreign country.  How many women or even men in our country have been given this opportunity here?  We boast of the number of successful Indians in foreign companies in the US or the UK.  Why are these people not in India?  What made them leave the country and go out?  What is the population of India?  How many people can we account for who have done something noteworthy?  What percentage of the population does that account for?

Leave aside our achievements.  Look at our politics.  Look at our politicians.  I need not recount a list of all the "achievements" of those "greats" who occupy the highest positions in our country.  It is there for all to see, on the front pages of newspapers every morning, on all the new channels on the hour, every hour and throughout the hour.

Here is a country that sends people fighting against corruption to jail. It is something the British did to freedom fighters. Anna Hazare is fighting for freedom from corruption. And our own government is sent him to jail. So how are we any different from our erstwhile colonial masters, nay tormentors?

Is this what the likes of Mahatma Gandhi, Nehru and other freedom fighters sacrificed their lives to get us independence for?

Look at the gross indiscipline on the roads.  Look at the lack of work ethic, be it amongst the poorest of the poor who work in menial jobs or people who man high positions in the government machinery.  Look at the corruption and inefficiency all around.  Look at the filth, illness and poverty everywhere.

Does the number of vehicles on the road, the number of mobile phones in the country and the number of television channels available make us a great country?  Or is it the number of malls that have replaced the "kirana waala's dukaan"?

Sorry, it is not that I am not patriotic or don't want to be proud of being Indian.  I am simply unable to rejoice over our independence till we pull our socks up and develop something called social and national conscience. Where is our honesty, where is our discipline, where is our work ethic? What about the moral bankruptcy in our country? How can we be proud of ourselves or ever look people all over the world in the eyes?  Forget others, how can we look at ourselves in the mirror and say "We are great"?

It has become our habit to revel in various "facts and figures" and forget what we as a country have to come to. It is just my agony over the existing state of affairs that makes me present these other facts here. This should be food for thought for all of us Indians.

What we really need to do to grow as a nation is to take a good look at ourselves in the mirror and see all the blemishes in ourselves. Only when we see our own faults can we really set about correcting them and grow into a truly great nation - which we have a immeasurable untapped potential for. What we really need is to develop something called national character.

Bas! Bas! (Enough, enough)

I love travelling, but have always had a hard time on buses. Before you all start writing me off as a snob, I would like to say it is not me. It is my stomach. It seems to have an allergy to any vehicle called a bus and protests at the very word. I can almost hear it screaming for mercy "Bas, bas, no bus for me" at the very mention or thought of the word. 

The history of my bus rides goes back to my childhood. Those days, cars too were an equally detested mode of transport. I remember my aunt taking me in her chauffeur driven car to Zaveri bazaar - shopping for my cousin's wedding - and I left my indelible mark on it by the time we got back. Of course with threats from aunt to make me clean up the car myself.

The next memory of a bus ride in Mumbai is of me - a 4 or 5 year old - going with my Mama. The bus breaked somewhere in between and I fell flat on my face. That was bad enough, but the outrage at such buses being called "BEST" buses was tremendous. "What are their worst buses like"? I asked when I got back home.

Back in Kerala, when travelling once by bus, the poor bald guy sitting in front of me was at the receiving end of my indignant stomach. Those days I used to be given lemon and ginger to suck - all to no avail. Many years later, when I was unwell, my parents struck a deal with Guruvayoorappan, that they would bring me to the temple (even if it meant physically dragging me) if he would make me well.  (Talk of corruption having reached the high heavens in India!) As consolation, I was given an anti-emetic. All along the way I wanted to sleep, while my mother kept trying to wake me up asking "Have you come to sleep or to see the scenery"? She conveniently forgot that I had not come - I was dragged along. By the time I got off the bus, I was sick. I was given 2 idlis to compensate the loss. After that my brain packed up on me and I passed out. But my parents were not to be deterred. Both of them gave me a shoulder on either side and dragged me round the temple.

Why am I talking of all this now? Well, just to explain why I do not travel by bus. For further explanation, refer to this picture.

That is not a great incentive is it, to travel by bus? This is what buses in Bangalore frequently look like. Besides, all the boards being in Kannada, I don't know where the bus plans to take me - up, down, left or right. Any enquiries earlier were met with the very helpful answer "Gottilla" (don't know). So my preferred mode of travel these days is on my Activa or by autorickshaw. 


My experience with auto rickshaws has been a varied one. I have shared this previously in "10 Golden Rules of Auto-rickshaw etiquettes". Yesterday I needed to go to the old part of the city for some work and so hired one. The driver stopped midway and explained with a sweet smile that his accelerator cable was broken. So I was grateful to get off. Unfortunately other drivers did not share my enthusiasm to go to the part of town where I needed to go. Just as I was wondering what to do, a bus came along. I enquired if it was going to Town Hall and when the answer was in the affirmative, I made to enter, but the bus started moving. Not one to be deterred, I actually managed to jump onto it all the same. That was a major achievement which made me feel good about myself. I have not become as old as I imagined. And the bigger achievement was the fact that without a word, I managed to get the conductor to stop the bus once again - he probably is not used to seeing middle aged women try such stunts. The other achievement was the fact that my stomach did not actually protests too loudly - it just went into a major sulk for the rest of the day. I can deal with that. Maybe it is mellowing down with age. 


In any case, I am extremely grateful to the rickshaw driver for helping me rediscover my innate gifts (jumping onto moving buses) as well as for saving me a fairly goodish pile. 


Maybe in due course of time, I will muster the courage to step into a bus once again. In fact, one of these days I plan to buy myself a monthly pass, go on every bus in town to find out where it goes and where all it stops. It will spare you the need to read all this stuff here - I will be too busy travelling to write and my tum like the proverbial shrew will be tamed too. 

How I did not become a Journalist

I had just finished my B.Sc. I wanted to try for a seat for M.Sc at the University of Pune. Unfortunately the seats were limited, and I was not as good as the others who tried that year. I was at a loss of what to do further. The future seemed bleak.

The newspaper carried an advertisement for a course in Journalism. I thought I would give it a try. People at home were certain I would not make it. Not one who was never interested in the news, never read the newspaper etc. Not one whose general knowledge did not extend beyond the area in which she lived.

Anyway, I decided to take the entrance test. I did not have anything to lose. Believe me, this is the best position to be in. It makes one take risks one would otherwise hesitate to take.

Next day I went for the test. There were objective questions and multiple choice questions. There was a question "Who was the Frontier Gandhi"? Search me. I was aware of only Mahatma Gandhi. Although I had heard of Frontier Gandhi, I had no clue who it was. For some reason a voice whispered in my head "Say Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan". I thought I would once listen to someone. Anyone reading it would be unknown to me, so I had the immunity of anonymity, so who cared if it were right or wrong.

After I went home, I faced another Spanish inquisition about what questions were asked. When I came to Frontier Gandhi, there were curious looks and I was asked "and, what did you write"? Imagine my relief when I found out that my thukka was right. Next day there was a list of candidates who could attend a viva.

I was there early enough to check out the list and imagine my surprise to see my name on the list. One of my classmates who had done her Microbiology was there (although she had got admission for M.Sc.). What a waste I had thought. Anyway. I went for the interview. It went this way:

(I = Interviewer S = Satchi)

I: What have you studied?

S: I have done my B.Sc in Microbiology.

I: Then why do you want to do Journalism?

S: I did not get admission for M.Sc and thought this would be something that would interest me.

I: What newspapers do you read?

S: Indian Express and Poona Herald.

I: Poona Herald?

S: Sorry, Maharashtra Herald. (The name had been changed a few months before that).

I: Then why did you say Poona Herald?

S: Force of habit. Old habits die hard.

I: OK. How many columns does the paper have?

S: I read the paper. I did not count the number of columns.

I: So what do you read?

S: I read who died, who murdered whom, Mandrake the Magician and Mickey Mouse.

I looks like he wants to leave the room and take in some fresh air (or at least I think so).

I went home and was again faced an inquisition. When they heard what all I had answered, all hell broke loose and I was told I could forget any hope of getting on the course.

Next day I went to look for the results. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I found my name on the list of people selected. My friend was also selected and I was happy, I would have my close friend with me in this course.

The course started. I went to class and took my seat. The first lecturer walked in. He was the editor of a very reputed Marathi newspaper. (He was also the one who had interviewed me).

The first thing he did was look around the class and said "My God, this class is full of girls. I do not feel inspired at all when I have to teach girls, because you will do the course, quit and get married". I was shocked.

After the class was over, there were 5 minutes for the next lecturer to arrive. I thought over my course of action. I could not bring myself to learn anything under such an MCS. My mind was made up. I went straight back home and decided I did not want to be a student to this kind of a teacher. My friend later on told me that they had made him eat his words packed in newspaper covered with printers' ink.

Well, I could say "My Loss". But that is in retrospect. May be I was never destined to be a journalist. My name is not Barkha Dutt. May be it could have been Geetanjali Aiyer.

P.S. My friend finished her journalism, did her B.Ed and has been teaching in a school for the last 25 years.

July 4 celebrations in Manhattan

Today being the 4th of July, thought I would share a couple of clippings of the fireworks and celebrations in Manhattan on the same day 2 years ago i.e. in 2009.

Punyachi por

I come from the city of Pune
Jethe mhane kahi nahi une
But now I live in Bangalore
Though ever a Punekar to the core
Sutat nahi kadhihi bandhan june

Me aahe Punyachi por
Jithoon aale pushkal mothe thor
Of Pune I am proud
And I'll say that clear and loud
I miss you dear Pune very sore

LimerickWala: Welcome Swati

LimerickWala: Welcome Swati

Does Your Life Need Some Spice?

A certain dear friend named Ice 
Complained that her life lacked some spice 
I told her "Go see a movie
Or do something groovy
I'm sure you'll find that very nice"
.
"Or I'm always willing for a chat 
Do you think you'd like to do that?
Do you find me a bore
Then pray say no more
I'd rather know nothing of that"

Ice said she was going crazy
I didn't think she was being lazy
She really had loads of work
Which she did nothing to shirk
So I wished to make her life a bit easy.

Now I suggested "something Italian
Or maybe something completely European 
It could be a culinary blessing
With lots of salad dressing,
Be it vegetarian or non-vegetarian".

"Or how about a nice new dress 
Shopping's known to reduce stress
But make sure of the price
Don't spend thousands in a trice
Or your balance sheet would be a complete mess".

"Or how 'bout in the Bahamas a cruise, 
I hope that will certainly amuse,
A young lady who is bored,
Of being at work moored,
For a holiday she now has a ruse".

Peacocks and Their Rituals

Friends, 

While going through my collections, I found some rare videos of peacocks.  I had the good fortune of being able to witness these sights a couple of years ago.  I thought I would like to share these with you.  Would certainly appreciate your comments on these.

A PEACOCK PUTS UP A GLORIOUS DISPLAY

A

PREPARING FOR A FIGHT

MOMMA AND BABIES GO OUT FOR A WALK

The Sanity of Insanity

Are all the insane really insane
And the sane really sane?
Or is it just our imagination
Or the phases wax and wane?

I have for you just one question,
Please tell me if you can.
Who decides who is insane
And who the sane man?

If life is but an illusion,
Everything springs from our imagination,
And if living in that perpetual state is sanity
Then shouldn't we redefine insanity?

Who is to say our illusions
Are more legitimate than their delusions
Imaginations or even hallucinations?
It's all a matter of perceptions.

And if this logic we accept,
Then all are insane except 
The Old Man laughing above
While he makes us all his puppets.

If this truth we realize,
All “sane” people would be wise
Enough this simple fact to learn to accept,
No one on earth is born perfect.

So why can't we be more humane
To those the “sane” consider “insane”?
We know not when we cross the border
That should to us be pretty plain.

The line in-between is fine
We could cross over any time,
Or the border could move either way
Which side would we be on that day?

For what one sees as white
May not to another seem so bright.
He may see a shade of gray
Whose perception is right, tell me, pray?

So let's not mock at those who are yonder
But take time off the fact to ponder,
That to remain perfectly sane
We all need a streak of the insane

We need a streak of the bizarre
To keep us as sane as we are,
Or at least as sane as we seem
In this life that is but a dream.

Without that streak of insanity
There would be no sanity.
Truly no one is sane or insane
Let's stop making such empty claims.

The Divided World

Look at that bird fly in the sky,
I can't do that, no matter how much I try.
On terra firma I am sentenced to stay
Friends, can you just tell me why, can you say?

I crave to fly to the world beyond
My little world, just take a round
Of the globe which is mine to inhabit,
But only a minute bit to inherit.

Tell me friends, do you think it fair
That I must live here, not dream of going there
Without obtaining a paper permit,
Or my visit would be deemed “illegitimate”

Who gave us humans the power to say
Who comes on a visit and who may stay?
Why is it that we think it right
To shoo away some, who gave us that might?

God had already divided the earth,
And as HE did that He shook with mirth
As the land split and the oceans came
Our natural wanderlust to tame.

But then in HIS mercy HE gave us the power,
With intelligence and emotions HE did shower
Humans, so that aircrafts we may build
And visit each other as we willed.

But alas we used those mighty brains
To fight each other in a manner insane.
The power to love has gone to rust
Other races we do not trust.

We divide our homes, our land, our hearts,
Each inherits just a tiny part.
Don't come here, this is my land,
Any problem was caused by the foreign hand.

Why can't I just fly at will?
There is so much that I haven't seen still.
For me the very finest way to worship
Would be to make round the earth a trip.

For the earth is to me my God's creation,
HE did not intend its joys to ration.
HE wished me a path over the whole to trace
See all there is and HIS work with wonder praise.
HE is the creator of all seasons,
Of every beast, man and woman.
What right do we have to pray
When God's basic laws we disobey?

Folks, wake up! Listen to God's orders
Create a world without borders!
Please each other do tightly embrace
Live life fully, with perfect grace!

Wake up! This world to everyone belongs,
Everything in it including rights and wrongs.
Go everywhere that you were intended to go,
And in doing so, to the Creator bow!

And praise that eternal Magician,
Whose powers extend beyond human reason!
Be grateful for all that you have received,
And give up your ways so false and deceived!

That when you eventually get back HOME
After having the whole world roamed,
HE will welcome you back with open arms
And you can rest there forever, happy and calm
For an eternity at complete peace
And happiness at your Heavenly father's knees.
With all your siblings black, brown and white
Holding each other's hands, never again to fight.

The Buddha Replies

Why me she cries,
Why did it have to be my son?
He was so young and sprightly
His life had just begun.

Why he? Just what had he done?
To deserve an end, why not somebody else's son?
Master tell me, I have come to you
Seeking an answer to my question,
Who else can help me besides you?

You are the divine master
Enlightened and worldly wise
I know you can bring back
My dead son in a blink to life

Please do me this great favour
That my son's long life I may savour
Please Lord bring him back to life
For my sake and for his wife's

The Buddha listened silently
While the lady in grief shook violently
Dear Lady he said in a voice quiet and calm
Lady, calm down, I'll help you
His words worked like a balm

But if you will first fetch me some rice
From a home at any price
Where never a dear one was lost
I'll revive your son at any cost

The lady went from house to house
"Lady last week I lost my spouse"
"I lost my dear father"
"Yama took away my brother"

or"I lost last year my wife
What use my useless life"?
Plague took away my sister
Before life's joys had even touched her".

And so went on the mourning
Everyone under life's eternal strife groaning
To the master the lady at last returned
From every house having been spurned

She prostrated before the master
Very practically he had passed her
The wisdom of the worldly wise
By asking for a handful of rice

Death is the only certainty
In life there is no other guarantee
The wise therefore learn
Never for the unattainable to yearn

Life and death is a cycle
From birth to death we go full circle
Death is not life's end
But on the road just a bend

Every end has a beginning
Every beginning an end
It is to learn this eternal secret
That God us to earth has sent.

Once a Killer, Always a Killer

"Killing a mouse could get you 5 years " says the Times of India dated May 11, 2011. Hmm..... I can now safely say I think "and rightly so" when I read that headline. No creature deserves to be tortured the way lab animals are and put to death at the whim and fancy of any random scientistl. If humans have a right to life, so have animals. I am certainly pro-life and in favour of animal rights. I am no longer a researcher. So no reason I should be on the defensive.

Long ago shortly after the sun, moon and the stars came into existence, I had a brief fling with science and research. What I had to do for a living was not what I was entirely comfortable doing. There was a conflict between scientific practicality and human emotionality and sentimentality.

But late in the evening my smirk was wiped off my face . I was hauled over the coals  by a certain member of the medical fraternity for the cold blooded murder of a mouse which he treasured very greatly. It had been tortured badly and struggled and suffered at my hands before it gave up the ghost. The headlines in the newspaper flashed in my mind's eye. Mouse dragged along the floor by its tail, hit on the furniture mercilessly, sat on, dragged from the table to the floor before being put to death.

You have guessed it right. This was a mouse of a different species, not furry and white  as you may think with a pink nose and whiskers, but a black one, hard in texture as well as being a part of the hardware of dh's favourite companion - the computer. 

I can't help it if this mouse has a tail which is a few metres longer than its little body. I sit on my bed propped up against pillows working at the laptop. At 7 pm, my mom comes along and wants me to migrate to the front room to watch telly with her. But I can't bear to part with the laptop and with the Internet. So I get up, pick up my laptop and set off. I forget the mouse, which drags behind me, falls off the bed and then drags behind me a step or two before I realize what is going on and pick it up. After a couple of months of such torture, the mouse obviously breathed its last.

It was replaced by another mouse which was dug out from the drawer. But the old mouse did not have long to live. It was of course old. But fate had decreed that it would stop working only after I had laid hands on it. So finally today I was given an ultimatum this morning. If I tortured mice like this, I did not deserve to own one.

I have spent the whole day having vivid images of myself behind bars for the next 10 years - 2 X 5 = 10. Mercifully I was given a new mouse. I keep my fingers crossed and hope I treat this one better than the other ones. But I don't trust myself. Old habits as they say die hard. Once a mouse killer, always a mouse killer, no matter what the species. Yes, I have a dark secret - a skeleton in my cupboard you may say - I am a serial mouse killer.

So if I vanish off the radar, you know where I have vanished to. Meet you after 10 - 15 years! 

I Chose You My Dear (contd......) Part 4

GROWING UP TO THE TRUTH

Life was never the same after Tanya came home. She was the centre of attraction and everything she did was like some radically new achievement, which no other human in history had achieved before. Every milestone was faithfully captured on video by a doting father and cherished by a loving mother and grandparents. There was a virtual library of Tanya's life - her smiles, her laughter, her face smeared with cereal, the mischief in her eyes, her playing peek-a-boo with mommy, the first time she crawled, the first time she tried to stand, Tanya trying out her first waddling steps, .......

Shweta was over the moon when she said "ma-ma" for the first time. Daddy was a bit peeved that it was mamma first and not pappa. That too did not take too long in following. Grandpa was "da-da"and grandma was "da-di".

Every morning started out with Grandpa taking the dear granddaughter for a walk. She would look at the trees, flowers, listen to the chirping birds and coo in delight. Grandpa's heart would leap in ecstasy and he would look up proudly at little Tanya perched like an empress on his shoulders.

Life however was not without its ups and downs. Tanya had to pass through all the travails of childhood. Teething pains, tummy aches, no potty days, lack of appetite, fever, and the works. But we humans are a resilient lot and Tanya and family got over these trying times without much ado.

Months passed by and so did years. It was finally time to send Tanya to school. After facing all the travails that parents today face in the process, Tanya was admitted to "Sacred Hearts' Convent". The first day at school was traumatic. There was little Tanya in nursery with a lot of other wailing infants and there were all the mothers outside, some with tears flowing down their faces. After all this was a second cutting of the umbilical cord for most, but not for Shweta. For her, this was the very first time. She could not quite comprehend the idea of sending her baby away from her. But human resilience came to the rescue once again. Tanya got used to being away from momma for a few hours every day, had a few friends in her class and grew quite fond of "teacher aunty", who was her heroine. Everyday she would come home and lisp new nursery rhymes in the most attractive voice and Shweta's heart would fill up with pride.

Things went smoothly, till Tanya was in Std. III. It was then that a storm swept into Shweta's life and took away her peace for a while. As we saw, she was worried about Tanya's silence and withdrawn mien. When repeated efforts to get the matter out of her failed, she had to eventually take her to a paediatric psychiatrist. After a few sessions, during which the doctor had to work really hard to draw Tanya out of her shell, she had some information that came as a real shocker for Anil and Shweta. Tanya had somehow got to know that she was not their biological child. Some children in school (children can be pretty vicious) had teased her saying her parents did not love her, since she was not their own child.

Shweta and Anil had already been advised by the agency that they would eventually have to reveal the truth to Tanya. They had been waiting for an opportune time, when she was a bit older and in a position to understand. They had not, however, bargained for this.

That night, as she was getting Tanya into bed, Shweta without saying anything directly, told her a story of a little child who had been adopted. Tanya listened in silence. At the end, Shweta asked her, why she was looking so sad. The child blurted out "because the parents do not love the child". "What makes you say that"? asked Shweta. That was when the dam burst and the child sobbed out "Some children in my class said, you and daddy don't love me, because you brought me from an orphanage, They said, I am not your daughter". Tears of anger welled up in Shweta's eyes, and she said "Darling, those children are really stupid. Next time they say that to you, just tell them, their parents did not have any choice when they had them. You, my child are very precious to us. We chose you, because we loved you". The child was listening wide eyed. She finally gave Shweta her winsome smile and dropped off to sleep.

I Chose You My Dear (contd......) Part 4

GROWING UP TO THE TRUTH

Life was never the same after Tanya came home. She was the centre of attraction and everything she did was like some radically new achievement, which no other human in history had achieved before. Every milestone was faithfully captured on video by a doting father and cherished by a loving mother and grandparents. There was a virtual library of Tanya's life - her smiles, her laughter, her face smeared with cereal, the mischief in her eyes, her playing peek-a-boo with mommy, the first time she crawled, the first time she tried to stand, Tanya trying out her first waddling steps, .......

Shweta was over the moon when she said "ma-ma" for the first time. Daddy was a bit peeved that it was mamma first and not pappa. That too did not take too long in following. Grandpa was "da-da"and grandma was "da-di".

Every morning started out with Grandpa taking the dear granddaughter for a walk. She would look at the trees, flowers, listen to the chirping birds and coo in delight. Grandpa's heart would leap in ecstasy and he would look up proudly at little Tanya perched like an empress on his shoulders.

Life however was not without its ups and downs. Tanya had to pass through all the travails of childhood. Teething pains, tummy aches, no potty days, lack of appetite, fever, and the works. But we humans are a resilient lot and Tanya and family got over these trying times without much ado.

Months passed by and so did years. It was finally time to send Tanya to school. After facing all the travails that parents today face in the process, Tanya was admitted to "Sacred Hearts' Convent". The first day at school was traumatic. There was little Tanya in nursery with a lot of other wailing infants and there were all the mothers outside, some with tears flowing down their faces. After all this was a second cutting of the umbilical cord for most, but not for Shweta. For her, this was the very first time. She could not quite comprehend the idea of sending her baby away from her. But human resilience came to the rescue once again. Tanya got used to being away from momma for a few hours every day, had a few friends in her class and grew quite fond of "teacher aunty", who was her heroine. Everyday she would come home and lisp new nursery rhymes in the most attractive voice and Shweta's heart would fill up with pride.

Things went smoothly, till Tanya was in Std. III. It was then that a storm swept into Shweta's life and took away her peace for a while. As we saw, she was worried about Tanya's silence and withdrawn mien. When repeated efforts to get the matter out of her failed, she had to eventually take her to a paediatric psychiatrist. After a few sessions, during which the doctor had to work really hard to draw Tanya out of her shell, she had some information that came as a real shocker for Anil and Shweta. Tanya had somehow got to know that she was not their biological child. Some children in school (children can be pretty vicious) had teased her saying her parents did not love her, since she was not their own child.

Shweta and Anil had already been advised by the agency that they would eventually have to reveal the truth to Tanya. They had been waiting for an opportune time, when she was a bit older and in a position to understand. They had not, however, bargained for this.

That night, as she was getting Tanya into bed, Shweta without saying anything directly, told her a story of a little child who had been adopted. Tanya listened in silence. At the end, Shweta asked her, why she was looking so sad. The child blurted out "because the parents do not love the child". "What makes you say that"? asked Shweta. That was when the dam burst and the child sobbed out "Some children in my class said, you and daddy don't love me, because you brought me from an orphanage, They said, I am not your daughter". Tears of anger welled up in Shweta's eyes, and she said "Darling, those children are really stupid. Next time they say that to you, just tell them, their parents did not have any choice when they had them. You, my child are very precious to us. We chose you, because we loved you". The child was listening wide eyed. She finally gave Shweta her winsome smile and dropped off to sleep.