Sunday, August 27, 2006
Spirituality and Belief
I consider myself a spiritual person. But my association with spirituality is bookish. I never met a spiritual person, nor did I seek one. Till recently I was happy with my regular course of reading books of Sri Ramkrishna Paramahansa, Swami Vivekananda, a few books written by various swamijis of Ramakrishna order, Srimad Bhagwat Geeta, Jiddu Krishnamurty, Shri Aurobindo, a few discourses of Swami Chinmayananda, and a few sporadic readings of OSHO. I do read of Deepak Chopra, but somehow find them beyond my understanding.
In spirituality I quite often keep discussing with two of my friends, incidentally both are unmarried. At the age bar they are diametrically opposite from mine. Manish shall be younger to me by a decade or more whereas Deshpande must be elder by a similar no. of years. Again incidentally both of them contributed to my present state of spiritual activities.
Well let me start from the beginning. I think, it must be more than a decade now; Deshpande gave me the book ‘Autobiography of a Yogi’. And let me be honest, if my memory is not failing me, this is the only book I could not finish. After a few chapters I could no longer withstand the kind of miracles he was talking about in the book. And there ended my relationship with Sri Sri Paramahansa Yogananda. I discarded the book in some corner of my vast collection of books and do not remember thinking about it further. Here let me mention that normally I don’t borrow books. (Long back I read somewhere that books are not borrowed for returning. Personally it has been proved, I never got back the books friends and relatives borrowed from me). Should we call it a divine intervention that I shamelessly did not bother to return the book? (A few months back I was discussing with Deshpande and mentioned about it. He did not show any surprise, rather confessed, he knew it but did not remind me due to courtesy).
Last year Manish came to Hyderabad and as usual we discussed a lot about spirituality and religion. I came to know that he has joined Yogada Satsanga Society. I narrated my earlier tryst with Yogananda Paranahansa. I don’t remember what was his reaction, but because of his mild personality, I think we did not have any altercation.
After couple months of his visit, one day I received the magazine ‘Yogoda Satsanga’. I had never subscribed this magazine, but I understood that Manish had done that for me. Since then every alternate month I was receiving the magazine. Sometimes I read them, sometime simply kept them aside, depending on my mood.
During last year I was passing through some personal crisis. I was generating self-doubt about the achievements, goals and purposes of life. It was a long disturbing phase. It may be termed as midlife crisis. One morning I was sitting on my desk, really disturbed, and saw one magazine lying in front. Just to pass time I started reading one article. That article created some rejuvenating effect in my mind. Suddenly I took some decisions, rather quite bold ones. I started feeling a new kind of strength and energy.
Should I say that it brought some changes in me? Well it gave me a new kind thought and I decided to track the old book to read it again. But somehow or other I could not do it.
Last month I went to Bilaspur to meet Manish and as usual we discussed spirituality and religion. Manish gifted me ‘Journey to Self-Realization’ – collected Talks and Essays on Realizing GOD in Daily Life, of Sri Sri Paramahansa Yogananda. This time I managed to read this book fully. It generated a kind of interest in me about self-realization. The speeches and writing are of different level and some reached me deep.
Now I took out the old book ‘Autobiography of a Yogi’ and finished reading. Again I found the narrations unrealistic. But now I have some doubt about my doubt. Here is a person who definitely is a highly knowledgeable person, HIS speeches and writings in the just read book ‘Journey to Self Realization’ is the testimony of his knowledge. Then how can he write about such unbelievable miracles? For example he describes about meeting his dead Guruji in flesh and blood as we meet a live person. How can you believe? My dilemma is: that is not possible, but then, if not, he is lying, which is really surprising and unbelievable from such a learned person. Then what is the truth? My mind does not accept that it did really happen; on the other hand I cannot believe he is lying.
I started reasoning, why did I think those are impossible – because till date I have not met anyone who claimed so. Nor did I read about anybody who claims so and on whom I have faith. So this is not a question of actually possibility or not, it is a question of my faith. It is not necessary that something is not feasible just because I don’t know about it.
Hence I am in this situation, torn myself in the conflict between belief and reality.But in the meantime I took another decision of seeking a GURU. I hope to keep you update on developments as and when happens.
In spirituality I quite often keep discussing with two of my friends, incidentally both are unmarried. At the age bar they are diametrically opposite from mine. Manish shall be younger to me by a decade or more whereas Deshpande must be elder by a similar no. of years. Again incidentally both of them contributed to my present state of spiritual activities.
Well let me start from the beginning. I think, it must be more than a decade now; Deshpande gave me the book ‘Autobiography of a Yogi’. And let me be honest, if my memory is not failing me, this is the only book I could not finish. After a few chapters I could no longer withstand the kind of miracles he was talking about in the book. And there ended my relationship with Sri Sri Paramahansa Yogananda. I discarded the book in some corner of my vast collection of books and do not remember thinking about it further. Here let me mention that normally I don’t borrow books. (Long back I read somewhere that books are not borrowed for returning. Personally it has been proved, I never got back the books friends and relatives borrowed from me). Should we call it a divine intervention that I shamelessly did not bother to return the book? (A few months back I was discussing with Deshpande and mentioned about it. He did not show any surprise, rather confessed, he knew it but did not remind me due to courtesy).
Last year Manish came to Hyderabad and as usual we discussed a lot about spirituality and religion. I came to know that he has joined Yogada Satsanga Society. I narrated my earlier tryst with Yogananda Paranahansa. I don’t remember what was his reaction, but because of his mild personality, I think we did not have any altercation.
After couple months of his visit, one day I received the magazine ‘Yogoda Satsanga’. I had never subscribed this magazine, but I understood that Manish had done that for me. Since then every alternate month I was receiving the magazine. Sometimes I read them, sometime simply kept them aside, depending on my mood.
During last year I was passing through some personal crisis. I was generating self-doubt about the achievements, goals and purposes of life. It was a long disturbing phase. It may be termed as midlife crisis. One morning I was sitting on my desk, really disturbed, and saw one magazine lying in front. Just to pass time I started reading one article. That article created some rejuvenating effect in my mind. Suddenly I took some decisions, rather quite bold ones. I started feeling a new kind of strength and energy.
Should I say that it brought some changes in me? Well it gave me a new kind thought and I decided to track the old book to read it again. But somehow or other I could not do it.
Last month I went to Bilaspur to meet Manish and as usual we discussed spirituality and religion. Manish gifted me ‘Journey to Self-Realization’ – collected Talks and Essays on Realizing GOD in Daily Life, of Sri Sri Paramahansa Yogananda. This time I managed to read this book fully. It generated a kind of interest in me about self-realization. The speeches and writing are of different level and some reached me deep.
Now I took out the old book ‘Autobiography of a Yogi’ and finished reading. Again I found the narrations unrealistic. But now I have some doubt about my doubt. Here is a person who definitely is a highly knowledgeable person, HIS speeches and writings in the just read book ‘Journey to Self Realization’ is the testimony of his knowledge. Then how can he write about such unbelievable miracles? For example he describes about meeting his dead Guruji in flesh and blood as we meet a live person. How can you believe? My dilemma is: that is not possible, but then, if not, he is lying, which is really surprising and unbelievable from such a learned person. Then what is the truth? My mind does not accept that it did really happen; on the other hand I cannot believe he is lying.
I started reasoning, why did I think those are impossible – because till date I have not met anyone who claimed so. Nor did I read about anybody who claims so and on whom I have faith. So this is not a question of actually possibility or not, it is a question of my faith. It is not necessary that something is not feasible just because I don’t know about it.
Hence I am in this situation, torn myself in the conflict between belief and reality.But in the meantime I took another decision of seeking a GURU. I hope to keep you update on developments as and when happens.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
We have failed you Shekhar
‘Hey idiot, get up, how can you keep on sleeping.’
Tarun looked around. Isn’t it the voice of his friend Shekhar? He could not believe it. It’s really great to hear the voice of his closest friend. It is a long long time since he last heard the voice of his friend. How long it is, he tried to recollect.
“I thing it should be 1942, isn’t it?”
He again looked around and tried to locate his friend. Oh there he is, mischievously smiling at him. Same old mischievous look. He is looking so young! Nothing has changed of him. Same familiar stature, now hunching over him as if looking down. Tarun tried to get up, but old age has slowed him down. The arthritis also made it painful to get up from his slumber.
Tarun tried to recollected the good old days. Madral village, (very near to Naihati, the birth place of Rishi Bankimchandra, the poet who wrote “Bande Matarm’) their native place, was some 35 kilometers from Calcutta. They were just out of their teens, at Calcutta to study. But what study? The air was full with the freedom struggle. The country was in turmoil. All of them were behind Mahatma Gandhi on his call ‘Quit India’. ‘Do or Die, we want freedom.’ He and Shekhar were the leaders of the students of their college. Shekhar was always with him. Those were the days. The goose pimples started to grow on his skin. The word ‘Bande Mataram’- how it used to inspire them! How the call of Mahatma made them forget their family, relatives, personal responsibilities. The call of Bharatmata was greater than any call weather from his or her own parents or sweetheart, or anyone else.
But it was a long time since Shekhar departed. He was even not with him on the midnight of 15th August 1947. It was a long long time indeed.
“Hey Shekhar, what the hell. You remembered me after such a long time? It is really unbecoming of yours. Anyway how are you? Where are you?...” so many questions started coming out from the old throat of Tarun. It gave him a long burst of coughing.
‘Asthma again” murmured Tarun to himself.
And looked up again to his long lost friend, “Why did not you come to me earlier?”
“Where to come Tarun?” the face of his friend saddened.
“What do you mean?”
“Look around you Tarun. What a mess you have around here.”
“Mess? What mess?”
“I am talking about the country, Tarun. I am talking about Bharatmata”.
“Why, what is wrong? We are progressing. India is shinning. Aam Admi is taken care of. What are you talking about?”
The face of his friend darkened.
“Is this the country we were looking for, we fought for Tarun? Do you remember the ‘Tryst with Destiny?’ It’s a long time back, 59 years. You must have forgotten the words Tarun.. Shall I repeat them, if not fully, a few paragraphs?
‘Long years ago we made a tryst with destiny, and now the time comes when we shall redeem our pledge, not wholly or in full measure, but very substantially. At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom. ‘A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new, when an age ends, and when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance. It is fitting that at this solemn moment we take the pledge of dedication to the service of India and her people and to the still larger cause of humanity.
‘Through good and ill fortune alike she has never lost sight of that quest or forgotten the ideals which gave her strength. We end today a period of ill fortune and India discovers herself again.
‘We may fulfill the pledges we have so often taken and the one we shall take today. The service of India means the service of the millions who suffer. It means the ending of poverty and ignorance and disease and inequality of opportunity. The ambition of the greatest man of our generation has been to wipe every tear from every eye.
‘This is no time for petty and destructive criticism, no time for ill will or blaming others. We have to build the noble mansion of free India where all her children may dwell.
‘On this day our first thoughts go to the architect of this freedom, the Father of our Nation [Gandhi], who, embodying the old spirit of India, held aloft the torch of freedom and lighted up the darkness that surrounded us. We have often been unworthy followers of his and have strayed from his message, but not only we but succeeding generations will remember this message and bear the imprint in their hearts of this great son of India, magnificent in his faith and strength and courage and humility. We shall never allow that torch of freedom to be blown out, however high the wind or stormy the tempest.
‘Our next thoughts must be of the unknown volunteers and soldiers of freedom who, without praise or reward, have served India even unto death.
‘The future beckons to us. Whither do we go and what shall be our endeavour? To bring freedom and opportunity to the common man, to the peasants and workers of India; to fight and end poverty and ignorance and disease; to build up a prosperous, democratic and progressive nation, and to create social, economic and political institutions which will ensure justice and fullness of life to every man and woman.
‘All of us, to whatever religion we may belong, are equally the children of India with equal rights, privileges and obligations. We cannot encourage communalism or narrow-mindedness, for no nation can be great whose
“Do you remember those word, Tarun?”
Tarun started perspiring. Is the blood pressure rising again? He started feeling uneasy. What is this? Today on the eve of 59th Independence Day of Free India, his old friend has come back. He should be dancing with joy. Instead of that he is feeling ill. What is the matter? Is it the presence of Shekhar or the hard words of Shekhar, which is making him ill?
Shekhar was looking at him; his piercing eyes hard, as if accusing Tarun.
“Well we are a free country today.” Replied Tarun.
“Free to do what? Free to loot the poor? Free to kill your fellow countrymen in the name of religion? Free to indulge in corrupt practices? Free to enrich the political class, bureaucracy with ill-gotten money? Free to forget the ideologies the nation stood for? Free to ape anything foreign? ” – Came the retort.
“Hey Shekhar, look around, so much has changed. India is progressing. You know today we are a de facto nuclear state.”
“Tarun, please remember the promises we made. Did we sacrifice our lives in the freedom struggle to become nuclear state? Well Shekhar, No, we did not.
“But never mind, can you tell me by becoming nuclear state how close we are to our goal of:
to wipe every tear from every eye,
We have to build the noble mansion of free India where all her children may dwell,
To bring freedom and opportunity to the common man, to the peasants and workers of India; to fight and end poverty and ignorance and disease; to build up a prosperous, democratic and progressive nation, and to create social, economic and political institutions which will ensure justice and fullness of life to every man and woman.
All of us, to whatever religion we may belong, are equally the children of India with equal rights, privileges and obligations. We cannot encourage communalism or narrow-mindedness,”
“Well we have progressed in space research. Our scientists have proved that India can progress in scientific field” – Tarun tried to assert himself.
“Yes, our scientists are next to none. But where is their expertise required?
“How many of children in India die from malnutrition, how many women fall to miscarriage due to non availability of primary healthcare?
“How many of the villagers have access to safe drinking water?”
“You know our education system has improved. We have world class institutes like IIMs, IITs.” The proud words came out of Shekhar.
“How sad Tarun. You are not able to build enough schools for providing basic education to the citizen. Are you aware how many children are deprived of basic education?
“How many of the citizens are getting primary healthcare? Where is the basic sanitation? Today even beggars hesitate twice before entering a govt. hospital for treatment, if and where available?” – The eyes of Shekhar started to glow in anger.
“What do you expect? Do you know how much difficulties we have to overcome? The country is spending so much of its resources in security purposes only. Look at the terrorists and Naxalites playing havoc and hindering the development”
“Who made them Terrorists? Who made them Naxalites? Don’t you ever ponder why after 59 years of independence also why a peasant, a tribal has to take up gun for getting his justice? It is you who made them naxalite. It is more than half a century that the first uprising of naxalbari happened. The menace of Naxalism has increased its tentacles in newer parts of the country because of the Govt. apathy, shortsightedness. You have made your own citizen your enemy.
“Who made them terrorists? It is you and your impotent govt. why don’t you understand that the seed of terrorism is sowed by you by your inaction? Your citizens become terrorists once they loose faith on the land of the law. You have mutely witnessed the massacre of innocent citizens in the name of religion. Your political leaders fanned the flame of communism. You have alienated the vast majority by your minority appeasement policies. It is you, who have created the division in the citizens. Now you blame outside agencies. You have created a fertile ground for them to sow the seed of divide.
“You are not satisfied with dividing the nation on religious line. You have created Frankenstein by fanning the caste division. You have created division among brothers in the name of religion, caste and even language. Today you find the ugly head of regionalism raising its heads from all corner of the country. Today everybody is bothered about diving the country. More and more regional selfishness are blurring your vision. All of you are busy about thinking about your religion, caste, language, and region. No one has the time for the nation.
“We fought against external enemy. Now you are fighting against internal enemy created by you.
“You know Tarun, you cannot expect to progress. You know what is drawing you back? Look at yourselves. For one forward step you are taking so many forces are acting against you to pull you back, and unfortunately you are not even realizing that all these forces are created by you only. You have created enemy within. You have forgotten the heritage of this country. You have forgotten the teachings of Bhagwan Shree Rama, Shree Kirshna, Lord Buddha, Mahatma Gandhi. You the people of India are solely responsible for creating all the negative forces, which is pulling you back. And as long us you feign ignorance, you cannot even expect any progress.
“Where has the pride gone, Tarun? Look at the young generation. How many of them are proud to be Indian? If you look at their eyes, you will find only greed and apathy. You even could not imbibe nationalism in them.
“Look at your hands Tarun, can you tell what do you see?”
Tarun looked down at his hand. Horrified, he saw those are red and wet in blood. He remembered his hands are soaked with bloods of Shekhar. His vision got cleared. It was at Maidan, they went on a procession. Police started firing. His friend shekhar fell hit by a bullet. He was holding his dearest friend on his lap, blood oozing out from his friends chest. Blood, Blood, so much blood. His friend breathed his least on his lap. The eyes of his friend was glistering with pride and glory as if the eyes of an angel.
He looked up. Where have those glistering and shining eyes gone? Those are now a pair of sad, dejected eyes, looking at him. What are they saying; accusing him for the failure of a nation, for letting his friend down on his sacrifice?
“Get up Tarun,”
“Get Up, Get up”
Someone is shaking him violently. Opening his eyes he found his grand daughter Nisha is shaking him. (He wondered the name of his grand daughter Nisha, means night; is it a premonition which made him name her Nisha, denoting she is born at the Dark Age?)
“Get up grandpa. Don’t you remember, today is Independence Day. They are going to honor you as a freedom fighter. Get up and get ready fast.”
Tarun looked around with his tired eyes and started to cry, howling to the bewilderment of the young lady.
“We have failed you Shekhar, we have failed you. As a nation we have failed you. GOD will never forgive us for wasting the sacrifices of great souls like yours.” – Tarun continued to cry.
Tarun looked around. Isn’t it the voice of his friend Shekhar? He could not believe it. It’s really great to hear the voice of his closest friend. It is a long long time since he last heard the voice of his friend. How long it is, he tried to recollect.
“I thing it should be 1942, isn’t it?”
He again looked around and tried to locate his friend. Oh there he is, mischievously smiling at him. Same old mischievous look. He is looking so young! Nothing has changed of him. Same familiar stature, now hunching over him as if looking down. Tarun tried to get up, but old age has slowed him down. The arthritis also made it painful to get up from his slumber.
Tarun tried to recollected the good old days. Madral village, (very near to Naihati, the birth place of Rishi Bankimchandra, the poet who wrote “Bande Matarm’) their native place, was some 35 kilometers from Calcutta. They were just out of their teens, at Calcutta to study. But what study? The air was full with the freedom struggle. The country was in turmoil. All of them were behind Mahatma Gandhi on his call ‘Quit India’. ‘Do or Die, we want freedom.’ He and Shekhar were the leaders of the students of their college. Shekhar was always with him. Those were the days. The goose pimples started to grow on his skin. The word ‘Bande Mataram’- how it used to inspire them! How the call of Mahatma made them forget their family, relatives, personal responsibilities. The call of Bharatmata was greater than any call weather from his or her own parents or sweetheart, or anyone else.
But it was a long time since Shekhar departed. He was even not with him on the midnight of 15th August 1947. It was a long long time indeed.
“Hey Shekhar, what the hell. You remembered me after such a long time? It is really unbecoming of yours. Anyway how are you? Where are you?...” so many questions started coming out from the old throat of Tarun. It gave him a long burst of coughing.
‘Asthma again” murmured Tarun to himself.
And looked up again to his long lost friend, “Why did not you come to me earlier?”
“Where to come Tarun?” the face of his friend saddened.
“What do you mean?”
“Look around you Tarun. What a mess you have around here.”
“Mess? What mess?”
“I am talking about the country, Tarun. I am talking about Bharatmata”.
“Why, what is wrong? We are progressing. India is shinning. Aam Admi is taken care of. What are you talking about?”
The face of his friend darkened.
“Is this the country we were looking for, we fought for Tarun? Do you remember the ‘Tryst with Destiny?’ It’s a long time back, 59 years. You must have forgotten the words Tarun.. Shall I repeat them, if not fully, a few paragraphs?
‘Long years ago we made a tryst with destiny, and now the time comes when we shall redeem our pledge, not wholly or in full measure, but very substantially. At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom. ‘A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new, when an age ends, and when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance. It is fitting that at this solemn moment we take the pledge of dedication to the service of India and her people and to the still larger cause of humanity.
‘Through good and ill fortune alike she has never lost sight of that quest or forgotten the ideals which gave her strength. We end today a period of ill fortune and India discovers herself again.
‘We may fulfill the pledges we have so often taken and the one we shall take today. The service of India means the service of the millions who suffer. It means the ending of poverty and ignorance and disease and inequality of opportunity. The ambition of the greatest man of our generation has been to wipe every tear from every eye.
‘This is no time for petty and destructive criticism, no time for ill will or blaming others. We have to build the noble mansion of free India where all her children may dwell.
‘On this day our first thoughts go to the architect of this freedom, the Father of our Nation [Gandhi], who, embodying the old spirit of India, held aloft the torch of freedom and lighted up the darkness that surrounded us. We have often been unworthy followers of his and have strayed from his message, but not only we but succeeding generations will remember this message and bear the imprint in their hearts of this great son of India, magnificent in his faith and strength and courage and humility. We shall never allow that torch of freedom to be blown out, however high the wind or stormy the tempest.
‘Our next thoughts must be of the unknown volunteers and soldiers of freedom who, without praise or reward, have served India even unto death.
‘The future beckons to us. Whither do we go and what shall be our endeavour? To bring freedom and opportunity to the common man, to the peasants and workers of India; to fight and end poverty and ignorance and disease; to build up a prosperous, democratic and progressive nation, and to create social, economic and political institutions which will ensure justice and fullness of life to every man and woman.
‘All of us, to whatever religion we may belong, are equally the children of India with equal rights, privileges and obligations. We cannot encourage communalism or narrow-mindedness, for no nation can be great whose
“Do you remember those word, Tarun?”
Tarun started perspiring. Is the blood pressure rising again? He started feeling uneasy. What is this? Today on the eve of 59th Independence Day of Free India, his old friend has come back. He should be dancing with joy. Instead of that he is feeling ill. What is the matter? Is it the presence of Shekhar or the hard words of Shekhar, which is making him ill?
Shekhar was looking at him; his piercing eyes hard, as if accusing Tarun.
“Well we are a free country today.” Replied Tarun.
“Free to do what? Free to loot the poor? Free to kill your fellow countrymen in the name of religion? Free to indulge in corrupt practices? Free to enrich the political class, bureaucracy with ill-gotten money? Free to forget the ideologies the nation stood for? Free to ape anything foreign? ” – Came the retort.
“Hey Shekhar, look around, so much has changed. India is progressing. You know today we are a de facto nuclear state.”
“Tarun, please remember the promises we made. Did we sacrifice our lives in the freedom struggle to become nuclear state? Well Shekhar, No, we did not.
“But never mind, can you tell me by becoming nuclear state how close we are to our goal of:
to wipe every tear from every eye,
We have to build the noble mansion of free India where all her children may dwell,
To bring freedom and opportunity to the common man, to the peasants and workers of India; to fight and end poverty and ignorance and disease; to build up a prosperous, democratic and progressive nation, and to create social, economic and political institutions which will ensure justice and fullness of life to every man and woman.
All of us, to whatever religion we may belong, are equally the children of India with equal rights, privileges and obligations. We cannot encourage communalism or narrow-mindedness,”
“Well we have progressed in space research. Our scientists have proved that India can progress in scientific field” – Tarun tried to assert himself.
“Yes, our scientists are next to none. But where is their expertise required?
“How many of children in India die from malnutrition, how many women fall to miscarriage due to non availability of primary healthcare?
“How many of the villagers have access to safe drinking water?”
“You know our education system has improved. We have world class institutes like IIMs, IITs.” The proud words came out of Shekhar.
“How sad Tarun. You are not able to build enough schools for providing basic education to the citizen. Are you aware how many children are deprived of basic education?
“How many of the citizens are getting primary healthcare? Where is the basic sanitation? Today even beggars hesitate twice before entering a govt. hospital for treatment, if and where available?” – The eyes of Shekhar started to glow in anger.
“What do you expect? Do you know how much difficulties we have to overcome? The country is spending so much of its resources in security purposes only. Look at the terrorists and Naxalites playing havoc and hindering the development”
“Who made them Terrorists? Who made them Naxalites? Don’t you ever ponder why after 59 years of independence also why a peasant, a tribal has to take up gun for getting his justice? It is you who made them naxalite. It is more than half a century that the first uprising of naxalbari happened. The menace of Naxalism has increased its tentacles in newer parts of the country because of the Govt. apathy, shortsightedness. You have made your own citizen your enemy.
“Who made them terrorists? It is you and your impotent govt. why don’t you understand that the seed of terrorism is sowed by you by your inaction? Your citizens become terrorists once they loose faith on the land of the law. You have mutely witnessed the massacre of innocent citizens in the name of religion. Your political leaders fanned the flame of communism. You have alienated the vast majority by your minority appeasement policies. It is you, who have created the division in the citizens. Now you blame outside agencies. You have created a fertile ground for them to sow the seed of divide.
“You are not satisfied with dividing the nation on religious line. You have created Frankenstein by fanning the caste division. You have created division among brothers in the name of religion, caste and even language. Today you find the ugly head of regionalism raising its heads from all corner of the country. Today everybody is bothered about diving the country. More and more regional selfishness are blurring your vision. All of you are busy about thinking about your religion, caste, language, and region. No one has the time for the nation.
“We fought against external enemy. Now you are fighting against internal enemy created by you.
“You know Tarun, you cannot expect to progress. You know what is drawing you back? Look at yourselves. For one forward step you are taking so many forces are acting against you to pull you back, and unfortunately you are not even realizing that all these forces are created by you only. You have created enemy within. You have forgotten the heritage of this country. You have forgotten the teachings of Bhagwan Shree Rama, Shree Kirshna, Lord Buddha, Mahatma Gandhi. You the people of India are solely responsible for creating all the negative forces, which is pulling you back. And as long us you feign ignorance, you cannot even expect any progress.
“Where has the pride gone, Tarun? Look at the young generation. How many of them are proud to be Indian? If you look at their eyes, you will find only greed and apathy. You even could not imbibe nationalism in them.
“Look at your hands Tarun, can you tell what do you see?”
Tarun looked down at his hand. Horrified, he saw those are red and wet in blood. He remembered his hands are soaked with bloods of Shekhar. His vision got cleared. It was at Maidan, they went on a procession. Police started firing. His friend shekhar fell hit by a bullet. He was holding his dearest friend on his lap, blood oozing out from his friends chest. Blood, Blood, so much blood. His friend breathed his least on his lap. The eyes of his friend was glistering with pride and glory as if the eyes of an angel.
He looked up. Where have those glistering and shining eyes gone? Those are now a pair of sad, dejected eyes, looking at him. What are they saying; accusing him for the failure of a nation, for letting his friend down on his sacrifice?
“Get up Tarun,”
“Get Up, Get up”
Someone is shaking him violently. Opening his eyes he found his grand daughter Nisha is shaking him. (He wondered the name of his grand daughter Nisha, means night; is it a premonition which made him name her Nisha, denoting she is born at the Dark Age?)
“Get up grandpa. Don’t you remember, today is Independence Day. They are going to honor you as a freedom fighter. Get up and get ready fast.”
Tarun looked around with his tired eyes and started to cry, howling to the bewilderment of the young lady.
“We have failed you Shekhar, we have failed you. As a nation we have failed you. GOD will never forgive us for wasting the sacrifices of great souls like yours.” – Tarun continued to cry.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Rain Rain go away
‘Rain Rain go away, come again another day’.
The following is the unfinished article I have written last Sunday i.e. 30.07.06, but could not finish as I had to go out of station. After that lot of water has flown down Godavari and Indravati, the mood of my writing must have changed. Hence first I am giving the matter written earlier which will give you clear sign of my mood in one week.
After a long time I am experiencing rain as I used to in my childhood. Rain has some special place for me in my heart. I know to a city dweller rain is the cause for most inconvenience. Especially for people residing in Mumbai and Chennai, rain has become curse for at least last two years. Gujarat also is getting the wrong end of rain.
But if you look at it in proper perspective you will see that it’s all about the timing. During hot summer months, almost all of us start praying for rain. Everyday we look out for weather report, and if I am not mistaken, most of us follow the path of monsoon as we follow BSE / NSE sensex. But once it starts raining it brings hell lot of misery to a city dweller: Road Block, traffic jam, late to office and late return to home, water logging, dampness, outbreak of diseases, so on and so on.
But personally I am very romantic about rain. As a Bengali I find divine pleasure in eating hot Khichdi (Puddle made of rice and dal) with begun bhaja (brinjal fry) or Aloo bhaja (potato fry), the best should be with Ilish machh bhaja (Hilsa fish fry).
I do enjoy rainy day at Goa just sitting in the balcony watching the different moods of rain with small sips of liquor (preferably RUM).
I do enjoy soaking in rain on the ghats of Haridwar, Rishikesh, Puri, Chitrakoot, Radhanagar Beach (Andamans)
I am nostalgic about early days of my marriage during rainy season.
Just the thought of raindrops falling on my face while I stand in rain facing the sky brings enormous joy.
Hell, there are lots of happy memories of rainy days.
But today I am talking about rain in villages.
I have spent the past month in different parts of Chhattishgarh. This rainy season brought me back to my childhood. Here it rains like hell. Once it starts it continues to pour for 3-4 days, relentlessly. The life in village becomes active. The farmers are in the field. I have nothing to do except just watch and enjoy. It is very relaxing once you know you cannot do anything, you cannot go anywhere, just sit in front of the window and watch the raindrops.
Let me recite an old Bengali poem on the occasion:
‘Raat din jham jham, Raat din tup tup,
Ki saje sejechho Raani eki aaj aporoop.
Anane Bijoli haasi, Galaay kadam haar,
Anchale Ketaki Chhata e abaar ki bahar’.
It may be translated to something like;
Day and night, it is only jham jham and tup tup
You queen, what a dress you have adorned!
You have the smile in lightning, garland in Kadam flower,
Pallu of your saree is of Ketaki flower, what a beauty it is!
Well if you just sit and watch rain for long time you can feel the different sounds of rain, ‘tup tup’ and ‘jhir jhir’ - when it drizzles, ‘jham jham’ when it pours. Sometime the rain is so heavy that you cannot see anything; sometime when it drizzles it is different. There is one more type of rain, which in Bengali called ‘Ilshe Gudi’ – this is when the raindrops are so small that there is no sound, you feel the raindrops only when you go out and look up. It falls on your face just to make it moist. The change of light also worth noticing.
One morning after a rainfall of 3-4 days when the rain has just subsided enough, I got out to go to Kondagaon, some 35 kms from here. On the way I have to cross Indravati river. There is a low bridge over the river. But this morning it gave me a different scene. The bridge has vanished under a vast expanse of water. All low-lying areas are submerged. Water, water everywhere, in whichever you way look at. What a scene it is!. Hundreds of people are flocking to watch the overflowing river.
My enjoyment was short-lived. I was told that I cannot go because the road is breached somewhere near Kondagaon and all vehicular traffic is stopped on this route. Well, after a forced rest of 4 days I have become restless and sitting at hotel room has become unpalatable. I changed my plan to go to Rayagada (Orissa), which is in opposite direction. But after a few kms I had to stop again, this road also is closed for vehicular traffic due to breach somewhere farther. Jagdalpur is fully isolated now.
So what to do? Return? The enjoyment of rain has taken its own toll and I am getting frustrated and bored. I got down from the vehicle and looked around. On both sides of the road it is only muddy water. But the villagers are unperturbed. The rainy season is busy season for them. The men and women all are out on the field, some are busy in ploughing, some in replanting the paddy plants. Those who do not know, Paddy seeds are first grown in one small piece of land. After they grow may be one feet or so in height, they are uprooted and replanted in regular rows and columns. As we kept standing we could feel the life of the villagers, they are happy, busy and even don’t have time to gawk at us (which is the normal reaction on my arrival to any village; the moment anybody arrives from city they simply gawk, women and children starts giggling and whispering among themselves.) But today nobody showed any interest.
What the hell? Why to go back? Let me spend the day here only.
The scene of ploughing brought back the memory of one more poem, maybe of Rabindranath:
Aamraa Chaash Kori Aanande,
Maathe Maathe belaa kaate
Sakaal hote Sandhe,
Roudra othe, brishti pare
Baansher bane paataa nare
Chashaa maatir gandhe,
Aamraa Chaash kari Aanande.
Merrily we plough the field,
from dawn to dusk,
we spend our day in the fields,
In sunshine and in rain
the leaves of bamboo tree sways
In the fragrance of the ploughed field,
we merrily plough the field.
I am not a translator, but I hope I could reproduce the basic meaning of the poem.
What a pleasure to go back down memory lane to your childhood!
Slowly we veered the vehicle around a roadside tea stall. How much I like village life, but till could not make me accustomed to the syrupy tea they serve in these tea stalls. But how to spend the whole day? So got myself tea prepared specially instructed.
It started raining again, jhir jhir, jhir, jhir.
I noticed that all the women working on the field is either draped in blue or green. Surprised, on enquiry I was really taken aback, they are draped from head to ankle in polythene sheets. (I am a true crusader against use of plastic) This is the first time I came across a proper use of plastic. Earlier days the farmers used to wear a special kind of hat almost conical shaped, made of bamboo, the size used to so big that it almost used to cover the body along with head (I think it is called ‘toka’ in Bengal).
What a rainy day without ‘jhalmoori’. The tea stall owner was so happy to get a Bengali babu as customer that he made necessary arrangements to feed me jhalmoori (puffed rice, spiced with raw mustard oil, green chillies, fried pea nuts, some mixtures etc.etc.) What a day!
I thought anyway as I don’t have anything to do today and already soaked with rain, why not visit Chilkooti village, which is some 13 kms from here. So we started for Chilkooti. The village road in rainy days is degenerated to puddle of mud and water. Venturing on this road is really adventurous. But I am in no mood to consider the sore face of driver Budhia. So here we go to Chilkooti.
Chilkooti is a village of artisans. There are some 5-6 families who make artifacts of Bell metal. They sure did not expect any visitor in this rainy day hence nothing was ready for purchase. Anyway I took class in making of Bell metal artifacts. First they prepare the articles with wax. Once the article is ready with all the artistic finery, they put clay all over the wax article. Then it is dried. Once dried, it is fired in bhatti (furnace). In furnace the clay hardens and the inside wax melts down and goes out through the hole at the bottom. When the shell is ready, molten bell metal is poured inside the hardened shell. Once the molten metal solidifies, the shell is broken and the metal has taken the shape of the wax article. I saw some wax elephants, brides and grooms, male and female figures drumming, nagaras etc. are getting ready.
I have promised them to get some business. I hope some of my readers will be interested and you know where to find them. (This is one of my part time social service activities – promoting village industry).
Well this is here I stopped last time.
Once again I am at Jagdalpur. And from the moment I stepped in it is raining. I was standing in a tea stall and overheard from the conversation of a few villagers. ‘ye barish jaldi nahin rukegi. Ye mansson ki barish nehi hain, bangal ki khadi mein dabao ke karan ye barish ho raha hain - This rain is not going to stop easily, this is not monsoon rain, this is because of low pressure in Bay of Bengal’. I am sure, like me, you also are pleasantly surprised by the knowledge of village folks. Well, the spread of TV has some good effects also!
Anyway spending another week in a hotel room was enough for me to search for escape route. Last Friday I decided to start for Hyderabad. The train route from Jagdalpur to Vizag is cancelled due to landslide en route. I decided to travel by bus directly to Hyderabad (this route I was avoiding last month or so due to Naxalite hostility, My driver will not travel in this route). I decided to take a bus. But Friday evening was not a good evening for me (Black Friday?). On arrival at Bus stand I was told that the bus is cancelled, as Konta, (a village on the way) is reeling under 7 feet of water. There is one bus for vizag. But my premonition told me to avoid vizag as the geography of the area makes it most vulnerable in case of rain due to low pressure in Bay of Bengal).
I took a detour to Raipur, instaed of south to the north. From Raipur to Nagpur. I have already requested my friend at Nagpur to book ticket for Hyderabad by bus. But after reaching Nagpur once again my premonition cautioned me to avoid bus route. After great persuasion and greasing of palm I booked a berth in Dakshin Express and reached Hyderabad this morning. The first news in the front page is; roads are closed between Hyderabad and Nagpur and similarly from Hyderabad to Vijaywada, one of the two routes I would have taken, and surely would have been sitting somewhere in a marooned roadside dhaba.
So now I am saying, ‘Rain, Rain, Go away, come again another day”
P.S. Who knows? The flood situation in AP is so bad, who knows, you will really find me somewhere in a marooned village in a day or two trying to reach out with relief.
The following is the unfinished article I have written last Sunday i.e. 30.07.06, but could not finish as I had to go out of station. After that lot of water has flown down Godavari and Indravati, the mood of my writing must have changed. Hence first I am giving the matter written earlier which will give you clear sign of my mood in one week.
After a long time I am experiencing rain as I used to in my childhood. Rain has some special place for me in my heart. I know to a city dweller rain is the cause for most inconvenience. Especially for people residing in Mumbai and Chennai, rain has become curse for at least last two years. Gujarat also is getting the wrong end of rain.
But if you look at it in proper perspective you will see that it’s all about the timing. During hot summer months, almost all of us start praying for rain. Everyday we look out for weather report, and if I am not mistaken, most of us follow the path of monsoon as we follow BSE / NSE sensex. But once it starts raining it brings hell lot of misery to a city dweller: Road Block, traffic jam, late to office and late return to home, water logging, dampness, outbreak of diseases, so on and so on.
But personally I am very romantic about rain. As a Bengali I find divine pleasure in eating hot Khichdi (Puddle made of rice and dal) with begun bhaja (brinjal fry) or Aloo bhaja (potato fry), the best should be with Ilish machh bhaja (Hilsa fish fry).
I do enjoy rainy day at Goa just sitting in the balcony watching the different moods of rain with small sips of liquor (preferably RUM).
I do enjoy soaking in rain on the ghats of Haridwar, Rishikesh, Puri, Chitrakoot, Radhanagar Beach (Andamans)
I am nostalgic about early days of my marriage during rainy season.
Just the thought of raindrops falling on my face while I stand in rain facing the sky brings enormous joy.
Hell, there are lots of happy memories of rainy days.
But today I am talking about rain in villages.
I have spent the past month in different parts of Chhattishgarh. This rainy season brought me back to my childhood. Here it rains like hell. Once it starts it continues to pour for 3-4 days, relentlessly. The life in village becomes active. The farmers are in the field. I have nothing to do except just watch and enjoy. It is very relaxing once you know you cannot do anything, you cannot go anywhere, just sit in front of the window and watch the raindrops.
Let me recite an old Bengali poem on the occasion:
‘Raat din jham jham, Raat din tup tup,
Ki saje sejechho Raani eki aaj aporoop.
Anane Bijoli haasi, Galaay kadam haar,
Anchale Ketaki Chhata e abaar ki bahar’.
It may be translated to something like;
Day and night, it is only jham jham and tup tup
You queen, what a dress you have adorned!
You have the smile in lightning, garland in Kadam flower,
Pallu of your saree is of Ketaki flower, what a beauty it is!
Well if you just sit and watch rain for long time you can feel the different sounds of rain, ‘tup tup’ and ‘jhir jhir’ - when it drizzles, ‘jham jham’ when it pours. Sometime the rain is so heavy that you cannot see anything; sometime when it drizzles it is different. There is one more type of rain, which in Bengali called ‘Ilshe Gudi’ – this is when the raindrops are so small that there is no sound, you feel the raindrops only when you go out and look up. It falls on your face just to make it moist. The change of light also worth noticing.
One morning after a rainfall of 3-4 days when the rain has just subsided enough, I got out to go to Kondagaon, some 35 kms from here. On the way I have to cross Indravati river. There is a low bridge over the river. But this morning it gave me a different scene. The bridge has vanished under a vast expanse of water. All low-lying areas are submerged. Water, water everywhere, in whichever you way look at. What a scene it is!. Hundreds of people are flocking to watch the overflowing river.
My enjoyment was short-lived. I was told that I cannot go because the road is breached somewhere near Kondagaon and all vehicular traffic is stopped on this route. Well, after a forced rest of 4 days I have become restless and sitting at hotel room has become unpalatable. I changed my plan to go to Rayagada (Orissa), which is in opposite direction. But after a few kms I had to stop again, this road also is closed for vehicular traffic due to breach somewhere farther. Jagdalpur is fully isolated now.
So what to do? Return? The enjoyment of rain has taken its own toll and I am getting frustrated and bored. I got down from the vehicle and looked around. On both sides of the road it is only muddy water. But the villagers are unperturbed. The rainy season is busy season for them. The men and women all are out on the field, some are busy in ploughing, some in replanting the paddy plants. Those who do not know, Paddy seeds are first grown in one small piece of land. After they grow may be one feet or so in height, they are uprooted and replanted in regular rows and columns. As we kept standing we could feel the life of the villagers, they are happy, busy and even don’t have time to gawk at us (which is the normal reaction on my arrival to any village; the moment anybody arrives from city they simply gawk, women and children starts giggling and whispering among themselves.) But today nobody showed any interest.
What the hell? Why to go back? Let me spend the day here only.
The scene of ploughing brought back the memory of one more poem, maybe of Rabindranath:
Aamraa Chaash Kori Aanande,
Maathe Maathe belaa kaate
Sakaal hote Sandhe,
Roudra othe, brishti pare
Baansher bane paataa nare
Chashaa maatir gandhe,
Aamraa Chaash kari Aanande.
Merrily we plough the field,
from dawn to dusk,
we spend our day in the fields,
In sunshine and in rain
the leaves of bamboo tree sways
In the fragrance of the ploughed field,
we merrily plough the field.
I am not a translator, but I hope I could reproduce the basic meaning of the poem.
What a pleasure to go back down memory lane to your childhood!
Slowly we veered the vehicle around a roadside tea stall. How much I like village life, but till could not make me accustomed to the syrupy tea they serve in these tea stalls. But how to spend the whole day? So got myself tea prepared specially instructed.
It started raining again, jhir jhir, jhir, jhir.
I noticed that all the women working on the field is either draped in blue or green. Surprised, on enquiry I was really taken aback, they are draped from head to ankle in polythene sheets. (I am a true crusader against use of plastic) This is the first time I came across a proper use of plastic. Earlier days the farmers used to wear a special kind of hat almost conical shaped, made of bamboo, the size used to so big that it almost used to cover the body along with head (I think it is called ‘toka’ in Bengal).
What a rainy day without ‘jhalmoori’. The tea stall owner was so happy to get a Bengali babu as customer that he made necessary arrangements to feed me jhalmoori (puffed rice, spiced with raw mustard oil, green chillies, fried pea nuts, some mixtures etc.etc.) What a day!
I thought anyway as I don’t have anything to do today and already soaked with rain, why not visit Chilkooti village, which is some 13 kms from here. So we started for Chilkooti. The village road in rainy days is degenerated to puddle of mud and water. Venturing on this road is really adventurous. But I am in no mood to consider the sore face of driver Budhia. So here we go to Chilkooti.
Chilkooti is a village of artisans. There are some 5-6 families who make artifacts of Bell metal. They sure did not expect any visitor in this rainy day hence nothing was ready for purchase. Anyway I took class in making of Bell metal artifacts. First they prepare the articles with wax. Once the article is ready with all the artistic finery, they put clay all over the wax article. Then it is dried. Once dried, it is fired in bhatti (furnace). In furnace the clay hardens and the inside wax melts down and goes out through the hole at the bottom. When the shell is ready, molten bell metal is poured inside the hardened shell. Once the molten metal solidifies, the shell is broken and the metal has taken the shape of the wax article. I saw some wax elephants, brides and grooms, male and female figures drumming, nagaras etc. are getting ready.
I have promised them to get some business. I hope some of my readers will be interested and you know where to find them. (This is one of my part time social service activities – promoting village industry).
Well this is here I stopped last time.
Once again I am at Jagdalpur. And from the moment I stepped in it is raining. I was standing in a tea stall and overheard from the conversation of a few villagers. ‘ye barish jaldi nahin rukegi. Ye mansson ki barish nehi hain, bangal ki khadi mein dabao ke karan ye barish ho raha hain - This rain is not going to stop easily, this is not monsoon rain, this is because of low pressure in Bay of Bengal’. I am sure, like me, you also are pleasantly surprised by the knowledge of village folks. Well, the spread of TV has some good effects also!
Anyway spending another week in a hotel room was enough for me to search for escape route. Last Friday I decided to start for Hyderabad. The train route from Jagdalpur to Vizag is cancelled due to landslide en route. I decided to travel by bus directly to Hyderabad (this route I was avoiding last month or so due to Naxalite hostility, My driver will not travel in this route). I decided to take a bus. But Friday evening was not a good evening for me (Black Friday?). On arrival at Bus stand I was told that the bus is cancelled, as Konta, (a village on the way) is reeling under 7 feet of water. There is one bus for vizag. But my premonition told me to avoid vizag as the geography of the area makes it most vulnerable in case of rain due to low pressure in Bay of Bengal).
I took a detour to Raipur, instaed of south to the north. From Raipur to Nagpur. I have already requested my friend at Nagpur to book ticket for Hyderabad by bus. But after reaching Nagpur once again my premonition cautioned me to avoid bus route. After great persuasion and greasing of palm I booked a berth in Dakshin Express and reached Hyderabad this morning. The first news in the front page is; roads are closed between Hyderabad and Nagpur and similarly from Hyderabad to Vijaywada, one of the two routes I would have taken, and surely would have been sitting somewhere in a marooned roadside dhaba.
So now I am saying, ‘Rain, Rain, Go away, come again another day”
P.S. Who knows? The flood situation in AP is so bad, who knows, you will really find me somewhere in a marooned village in a day or two trying to reach out with relief.
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