ILLUSIONIST

I was forty-ish then. I was interested in occult. Then I met a person who said he too was into occult. He told me that by seeing a person’s features he could tell their personality type. To prove it, he made observations about a few passers by. I did not know Sanskrit, but he did. He chanted lots of hymns. 

There used to be an open play- ground before my house, on which was a huge cement stage. That became our meeting point. Every night after dinner I used to go there, and he with his few friends and I used to hang out there for an hour. Those were the days when TV programs ended by 8PM, so we depended on friends to entertain us.  He said he was into occult palmistry. The difference being, the client had to stand 20 feet away from him, and show the palm. He said that he could see the palm lines clearly, even in darkness. Then he would make the predictions. This overconfident, cocky, boastful, brash person fascinated me. He could really bluff. He could keep me amused .

He then learnt a healing technique called “ Pranic healing.” Within weeks he self promoted himself as a powerful healer’s healer. He claimed that the other healers in the healing institution were astounded, by his capacities.

He also claimed to be capable of describing people’s features, just by hearing their name. He once struggled to describe my grand father.  After I let him visualize for sometime, I showed him my grand dad’s photograph.  There was a visible difference. He said his tuning-in capacity was down that day.

He wanted to be an achiever in life, without the hard work that is unavoidable for success. Therefore, he compensated the lack of hard work by pretending to be larger than life.

When he turned forty, he fell in love with a twenty-year girl. He begged me to convince her to marry him.  I reasoned with him, that within five years, he would be on the other side of virility, while she would be on a high. This would lead to incompatibility issues.  When he insisted, I refused categorically, stating that I could never spoil the life of a young girl.

After his mother passed away, he got his share of family property. With the unexpected windfall, he took to liquor everyday. Soon all the ideas of greatness were replaced by drunken stupor.  His companions for boozing were the poor people, like auto-rickshaw guys, and guys of the manual labor class.  With low immunity, he fell ill and was in the ICU for some time.

He recovered, but drank away the entire fortune. One day in a drunken state as he leaned from the terrace, he lost balance, and fell down three floors. He died a few days later in a hospital when medical treatment failed.

He was a vagabond by nature, and lived his entire life in self-created illusion about himself. 

CREATING A SAINT

One of the companies  I worked for, decided to print a yearly planner with twelve sheets, one for each month. The printing was given to a person; know to one of the company directors.  The man had a printing press, in Mount Road, a prime commercial locality in Chennai. It was his late father’s  press. My director told me that the man was neck deep in debt,[ Rs. 3500000,a huge sum  in the 1990s]. I frequented his press, to supervise the work quality.

He started talking to me, about his work, finances and family. He told me that he meditated regularly. During one such meditation, he saw a vision. Muruga, the Lord  of Tamizh language and the commander-in- chief of the heavenly beings,  appeared to him, and insisted on granting him a boon.

My friend, asked the Lord to be born as his son, because only then as a father he would be able to shower the God with unconditional love. Soon his wife became pregnant, and delivered a son, with the same auspicious star, Vishaka, the star of Lord Muruga.

The son grew up, and being a divine child, could materialize things out of thin air. One day in school, the child’s class mates wanted cool drinks, but no one had cash with them. This child materialized Rs.500, and satisfied the desires of his class mates.  

In another instance, my friend had to go for an important interview, but  did not have any decent clothes to wear. The child reading the father’s mind, asked him to check the wardrobe. And wonder of wonders, there was six pairs of Branded pants and shirts for my friend.

He invited me home to see his child. I could not go then. But, much later in 2005, I met him incidentally,  in a restaurant and he took me home to see the child, now grown into a teenager.

 It was a Thursday . As I entered the house , I saw about 25 devotees, singing bhajans. The God child  , now a God teenager was playing the tabala. The walls had many framed photos of saints and Gods. The glasses of all the photos, were covered in sacred ash,[ vibhuti] and vermilion, [kum kum] all of which were  supposedly, mysteriously to have appeared by itself,  from the photos.

 After the bhajan, the teenager went into a room, and  closed the door. People who wanted to see him in private, could go in one by one, to seek an interview. It was my turn. For all the questions I asked, his answers started with the words, “ Swami says……” The answers he gave were vague, and so, could be interpreted in any way the devotee felt at that moment.

I met him a few months later, along with a friend. This friend had made payments for a house, the completion of which, was inordinately delayed.   He wanted the Swami’s blessing and advice.

I keenly observed the conversation between my friend and God teenager.

My friend said, “ Swami , I am planning to purchase this house, but it is not getting completed.”

 The God teenager said, “ Swami says, there may be minor problems.”

My friends asks, ”What type of problems, Swami?”

The God teenager replies, “ Swami says there will be, some minor cracks on the wall.”

My friend in a worried voice blurts, “ But swami I have given the builder Rs. 500000.”

Suddenly there is pin drop silence. And I could see the God teenager’s eyes widen in surprise at the big sum, and hear the God teenager, taking an involuntary gasp.

The God teenager says, “ Swami says, you have to give Rs. 35000, to a  non-profit organization for your problems to be solved.”

 I interrupt, and ask “ Swami should he give the amount to WWF [World Wildlife Fund] or CRY [Child Rights and You]?”

The God teenager looks at me and says, “ Swami says, your friend can give it to me.”

I once again  butt in and ask, “ In whose name should he issue the cheque Swami?"

The God teenager, walks into my trap by saying, “ Swami says, you have to give Rs. 35000, to me as cash.”In a jiffy, the God teenager stood exposed in his true colors; As a confidence trickster, who used gullible people to earn money.

We took leave of, the God teenager, expressing our inability to cough up such huge amount, in such short notice.

The God teenager‘s father, was the master mind behind the whole set up. He had promoted his son as a God child, to each and every person he had met, putting together  stories of miracles, that had never happened.

Steadily he wanted to build a huge following and an empire for his son by exploiting  the innocent public, which wanted a shortcut solution to all their problems.

The society is full of them. Exploiting the faith of the mass with their charisma, and proclaiming themselves as the middle men between the Creator and the created. Claiming to have occult powers, and duping the devotees, with slight of the hand, which they call miracles.

HOSTS FOR THE GHOSTS

All of us have heard of ghost stories, while growing up.  We have played with the Ouija board, in fear and anticipation. We have always wondered whether the coin moved by itself or whether it was the other person moving it.

I have heard of many ghost stories, from friends. Some of them were very interesting.

The first story I heard was from my colleague, in a pharma company. When he was a teenager, he used to go to his grandmother’s house in Nellore, in Andhra Pradesh, for his summer holidays. In that house he used to sleep in one of the many rooms. Once late in the night he saw a female spirit standing in the corner of the room. It slowly walked towards him, and went into his body. He felt very pleasant and ecstatic. This happened every night, throughout the summer holidays.  Since it was a good experience, he did not tell his grandma, about it. But the spirit was not to be found from the next summer onwards.

The next narration came from another colleague from a different pharma company. I had gone for joint work with him in Pune in Maharashtra. While we were talking one day about ghosts, he told me his experience.

He had gone for a business tour, for three days, to one of the distant places. Work did not go as per plan and there was delay. He could return home only by 3AM. The entire colony was quiet, in the silence of pre dawn. As he opened the main gate of the compound wall, he saw an old man sitting on the cement bench, of their garden.  As he approached the old man, he could recognize him as the elderly tenant living one floor above his house. He wished him, and asked him, why he was sitting out in the open, in the cold morning. The old man replied,” I could not fall asleep, so I thought I could be here.” He requested my colleague to help him go to the first floor. He held the old man’s arm and led him to his house. The old man thanked him. My friend, said, “ That’s OK, uncle,” and came down to his house, and rang the door bell. His mother opened the door to let him in. As he was very tired, he fell on the bed and was out like a light. He woke up at 11 AM, brushed his teeth and had steaming tea. As soon as he finished the tea, his mother told him, “ Do you know that the old uncle who stays upstairs; he died in his sleep, on the same day you left on tour.”  My friend was shocked. It the same old man who was sitting outside , in the morning. Within minutes, he developed high fever, and took a week to come back to normal heath.

The next tale was told by a young guy, who worked in a printing press. When he first came to Chennai, he lived in a colony that was far away from the city. There were just a few houses, and the place was sparsely populated. He was in the habit of sleeping outside the house, on a cot, as the house did not offer much ventilation. One late night as he came home after a night show movie, he had to cross a lonely spot.  He saw a young girl, standing there. She requested him to accompany her across the lonely stretch, as she felt afraid. She waked in silence with him. He being young, his hormones were peaking, and he wondered whether he could use her. She smiled, and he took it as a go- ahead signal. As they reached his house, he sat on his cot, which was already outside the house. There was no one around, and the seclusion was just right. She too sat on the cot, and as they embraced, he felt a very uneasy burning sensation all over his body. He was not new to these types of affairs, and he knew something was wrong. Her embrace tightened so much that he felt suffocated. By instinct, he used all his strength to push her off and without looking back ran into his house.  A few days later as he enquired with his young friends who lived in the colony, he came to know that the girl he met was in fact the spirit of a scorned girl. She was let down by her boy friend, after they had planned to elope. Ridiculed by relatives, on being found out, she had resorted to suicide. Her unfulfilled desires made her accost innocent young men, who fell a prey to her charm, and they suffered either physical or emotional ailments.

The last and the most interesting account: An elderly man, around 55 years of age, was staying in an adjoining room, in Salem. He was from Kadappa, once again from Andhra Pradesh. He had an elder brother, and both of them had a remarkable resemblance.  When this man was about 16 years old, he had to go for tuitions, in math, his weak subject. The teacher’s house was at a distance from his home. On the way, was a huge banyan tree. The village folklore said that the tree was home for the ghosts. The  boys, who went for tuition, used to hold hands while crossing the tree.

On that particular day, my friend chanced to come across a group of village elders, who were busy discussing some juicy gossip. He lost track of time, as he was engrossed in listening to the exciting scandal. Before he knew, it was late evening, and darkness had fallen. He realized that he was late for tuition. As he walked very fast, he came to the banyan tree. Now he was alone, but had to cross the abode of ghosts. He decided to close his eyes, take a deep breath, dash across the banyan tree, and open his eyes only when he had crossed it. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes tight, and ran across, right into the open arms of a female, who had come out of hiding, from behind the tree. She hugged him tight, and passionately kissed him.  My friend convinced it was a female spirit, screamed and fainted with fright.

When he regained consciousness, he was in his home, his head on his mother’s lap. He opened his eyes and sobbed hysterically as he told his mother about the Mohini ghost.  [ In our country we refer to the dissatisfied female spirits as Mohini, the name synonymous with “ one who attracts sensually. “].He had raging fever for a week. When he became normal, his elder brother disclosed the truth.

The banyan tree was the meeting place for the elder brother and his girl friend. The tree offered privacy as the village folks who believed that, it was haunted, never came near it. The girl mistaking the younger brother for the elder one, had given my innocent unsuspecting friend an amorous hug. 

All of the people who told me such tales, were to my knowledge, honest. They did not lie or fabricate stories. However, the doubt lingers, in me; were the ghosts real, or was I taken for a ride?

“ GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD.”

Recently I had visited a temple in Andhra Pradesh. I had taken my camera and took as many snaps as possible to capture the essence of the pilgrim place. As I was going through the snaps, I was amazed at the job opportunities these types of places provide for the locals.

 As we came out railway station, the place was teeming with auto-rickshaws, cabs and vans. As the station is eight kilometers from the temple, passengers have to get dropped in the main town. The fare depends on the number of people traveling.  This was income for the drivers and the vehicle owners.

Then the lodge we went to stay, was new, with AC and geysers for hot water.  This was income for the lodge owner and their employees.

We had tea and breakfast, lunch and dinner in different hotels. This was income for the hotel owners and their employees. Vans to supply milk for these hotels.

There were trinket vendors, tender coconut peddlers, soda stalls, flower hawkers, fancy item stores, and outlets ,that sold religious materials.

Then there were the photographers, who gave instant two minute prints.  Guys were selling mementos, and books extolling the virtues of the temple and the deities.

In some lodges, which did not have geysers, hot water was provided by the young boys, in plastic pots, for the tenants for  bathing. 

Public toilets and bathing rooms, for a small sum, were available for devotees who were too poor to afford a room.

There were many shops selling religious articles.

Inside the temple there were counters for devotees to make payments for any type of religious activity they wished to perform. Payments ranged from Rs. 200000 to Rs.100, depending on the affordability, and the type of service.

Counters were also issuing Prasad, [ eatable sweets, particular to the temple], for a sum.  

The temple also provided free meals, and hundreds of devotees, were fed lunch and dinner. This meant employment for cooks, and cleaners.

So much of employment, business opportunities, income for thousands of people residing in that area.

And the source of such income was faith. Faith in Gods, in saints, in religion, in rituals. Religion was meant to be the first step towards spirituality. Religion was needed to tell men about the existence of God in a visual form, as stone or metal images, in a audio format, as chants, prayers and songs, bells and drums, and as smell in flowers used for worship and incense sticks lit in temples. As taste in Prasad, and as touch in the basil leaves, and saffron rice, kumkum and vibhuti we receive from the priests.

But mankind stayed in the first step ,and  never   used the inquiring mind to go from the obvious to the subtle. He was trained and conditioned never to enquire, about the n^th dimension.  Even with the faults, religion has a place in society. After all it serves the purpose of “ Give us this day our daily bread.”

   

    

ALWAYS IN CONTROL

In some Indian films, we have a typical Eloping scene, normally towards the climax. The entire village will be chasing the teenage pair, brandishing sickles and swords. The pair will run for their lives, and towards the end of ends, will dash and manage to just board a moving train, while the avengers watch helplessly, as the victorious pair speed away towards their newfound  freedom, to live happily ever after. Ha ha, very funny.

Now let me share some of the Elope stories, of real life, which I have seen from time to time.

This girl in my neighborhood was going to college. Those days were the landline days.  Very few people had phones, in 1977. We had one in our house. She used to make calls from our house, making it obvious, during the call, that she was talking to a girl.

She daily used to go to Special Classes, in her college. These classes used to start as early as 8 AM. But she was actually going to meet her boy friend. She bunked classes, and since her attendance had dropped dangerously, the college authorities sent a letter to her dad. She did not know this.

Next day as she left for her Special class , her father stopped her and asked her, “ Where are you going dear?” She replied, “To special classes dad. “ Her dad said, ”Wait, I will also come with you.” He went into the house to get dressed.

She moved very fast, went in grabbed what little gold jewelry she could and by the time her father came out, she had disappeared.

Her dad went to the police and with their help tracked the pair down, after 2 days, in a lodge in a small town in Tamilnad. She was dragged home, and forced into a” hush hush marriage” with one of her relatives within few months. Her boy friend disappeared, as he was only a college student and did not have any income to sustain their love. Now, she must have come to terms with the realties of life, after bearing two children through the arranged marriage. Her present husband still does not know that he is married to such an adventurous woman.

Let us move two more years. In 1979, while I was working as a representative in Salem, I met this young dashing guy. He was a medical representative. He took me to his home. It was a very small house, with no amenities.  It had tiled roof, and the walls were cemented, without a coat of white wash. His wife  welcomed us and made us some tea to drink.  His was a sad story. Son of a very rich industrialist, he was born with,  a silver spoon in his mouth. As fate would have it he fell in love with this girl, now his wife. She came from a very poor family.

When  this boy stated his love to his dad,  his dad became furious. His dad not only was rich, but was adamant, status conscious, and vengeful by nature. His dad decided to set henchmen to kill the girl. When this guy came to know of his dad’s plan, he eloped with the girl to Salem, with what little money he could manage to lay his hands on. Fearing death at his dad’s hands, the young couple lived in anonymity, poverty and insecurity.

Same year, I meet this guy in the bus stand. He has a dirty  shirt and a dhothi, and is barefooted. He sees me drinking tea and smoking  a cigarette and requests me to get him a tea and cigarette in faultless English. I am surprised, that such a filthy person could speak so well. I get him what he wants. While savoring his tea, he tells me his sad story.  A college student, he too fell in love, got his girl pregnant and had to get married in a hurry in a local temple. When he took his wife home, predictably his dad, threw them out into the streets. He left his wife with one of her friends, and somehow had to get a job to survive.

I met him a few years later, to know that his wife had married someone else, with a good income, as the earlier marriage with him had no witnesses and nor was placed on record.  Now a forced bachelor and a spurned lover, he had returned to stay with his accepting dad, as a prodigal son.

Now we are in 1989. Same story. Rich boy, poor girl. Father villain. Dad throws son out of the home. Son is on the streets. He somehow manages to get a job with a meager  income, gets married to the girl of his choice, and lives on a shoe string budget. Sad part of the story is, the dad is a famous script writer for Tamil films, and has written lots of dialogues supporting the teenagers in love, of course on screen only. Off screen he is just one more mindless dad.

I have not kept in touch with any of these run away couples. I do not know whether they are successful now or not.  

Their decision to get married before they became financially secure, and independent  was a great mistake, no doubt. But what turned the marriages into such suffering was the obstinate parent. It takes no money to fall in love. Emotions alone are enough. But to get married and stay wedded,  requires financial stability. As parents we get our children whatever they like, be it a shirt, or a bag, or a skirt or a watch. We satisfy our children’s likes, for all inanimate things. But we deny their love for an animate person, who is waiting with love affection and faith to make our children happy for life.

All the marriages mentioned above, would have succeeded in the first instance with the love and support of the parents.  But why should parents have this inborn hostility towards the spouse of their children beats comprehension. Maybe we love our   children as long as they decide on minor issues and obey our wishes on major decisions of their life. Running someone’s life could be  the greatest source of joy for the ones wanting to be always in control.

  

GOODBYE TO NATURAL LIVING

In 1972, my paternal grandfather’s younger brother celebrated his 60^th birthday, in our village. My dad and I went to our village. That was the first time I had gone to my village, after I had become a teenager. I had visited the place as a small child and so did not any memories of it at all.

We boarded a local train from Madras, and got down at Mayiladuthurai junction. Form the station we took a local bus and at 4 PM, reached Keeranoor, our village. As I got down from the bus, I could smell the paddy growing in fields. The afternoon sun had turned the paddy crop into a brilliant green, and with the slow breeze, the crops swayed, as green undulating waves.

I was enthralled. I was a city born child, and had seen only roads, traffic, buildings and crowd.  Here it was so silent, except for the sounds of the sparrow and the crow. As my dad and I walked to our village through the paddy fields, I soaked in all the calmness, the smell, the pure air, and the greenery. It was so uplifting. I wished I could stay in this wonderful place for a week. My father readily agreed.

We arrived at our relatives place. It was an old typical tiled house. 

We were welcomed with warmth. My father proudly introduced me to all our relatives. We had hot freshly brewed coffee. Evening came and all the relatives, were participating in stringing mango leaves with young coconut leaves  made into festoon. 

These were tied from pillar to pillar. The floors were decorated with traditional designs made with white wet rice flour, and dark saffron lines made of ground burnt clay. 

There was no electricity in our village, and we had the light from petromax lamps. 

There were at least 60 relatives and friends, in the house that night.  After an amazing delicious dinner, all of us went to sleep as early as 8PM. With no electricity there was no reason to stay awake. All of us were give a mat, a pillow and a blanket to sleep.

We lay down in a raised common area near the entrance, where people generally sat and talked with the neighbors during the day time.

Within a few minutes of lying down, a swarm of mosquitoes descended on me. They droned near my ears, and bit my face. I did not know what to do.  I covered myself completely from head to feet with the thick blanket. Within a few minutes of doing this I was drenched in sweat, due to the hot humid weather. 

So I took the blanket off. Then the mosquitoes attacked me once again. My relatives who were always in the village were snoring in deep sleep. And here I was alternating between the mosquitoes and sweating. The entire night went off, like this, and I could not get a wink of sleep. It was in the wee hours of the morning, I finally dozed off, as the mosquitoes flew back to the paddy fields, and left me in peace.

Within minutes, the women folk, of the house shook me awake, for they had to sprinkle the front yard with water, and make traditional designs, with dry rice flour.

My village at that time did not have toilets. We men folk had to go to the open fields for answering natures’ call. I was given a small brass pot with water and six of us went to the fields. That was the first time I participated in group defecation. It was very embarrassing for me. But the village men were not bothered about exposing. For them it was a daily activity. 

Then went the village pond for bathing. As I stepped waist deep inside the pond, small fishes came and started biting my feet, legs and things. I wriggled and squealed, as my relatives launched at my plight. They told me that the fish were actually helping in cleaning my legs. I had a perfunctory bath and ran out of the pond as quickly as I could.

 The ceremony went off very well, and by 11 AM, I had a really grand tasty  lunch. It was 12.30 PM. I told my dad that I wanted to leave for Madras immediately. He tried to stop me, but I was adamant. I could not survive one more sleepless night fighting with the mosquitoes, or  defecating in public or bathing with the fishes.

I took an afternoon train, and reached home by 8PM. I had a good bath, in privacy. I  had a simple dinner prepared by mom, and switched on the fan at full speed and fell flat on the cozy bed, and as I sank into deep undisturbed sleep, murmured to myself, “ Goodbye to natural living, welcome to modern life style.” 

SELF-IMPOSED EXILE

My dad moved from his village to Calcutta in 1945. His elder brother was already there, with his family. They had three daughters.

My parents were yet to have children. My parents and my dad’s elder brother’s family lived in the same house; all the seven of them. Those days it was common to live as joint families.

By the time my two elder sisters and I were born, my dad’s elder brother with his family had moved to Delhi.

So in Calcutta we lived as 5 members; my parents and three children.

Time went by and when I married, the trend of living away from parents was just setting in. So me, my wife and only son lived in a house and my parents lived separately.

Some more time went by. My son married. Now he stays separately with his wife. A lot of individuality, lots of private space, lots of independence for all of us.    

Let us now look at the financial implications.

Three houses and three rentals. Three electricity bills. Three cooking and three maids to maintain the houses.

So far we have over the years bought 6 refrigerators, 6 TVs, 5 music systems, 3 DVD players, 4 cooking gas stoves.

Had all of stayed together we could have bought, at least 4 houses in Chennai. 

Why did this happen? Because, our tolerance levels are very low. We do not  treat family members with consideration. Each of us feel that the most important person is I.

Living together is very demanding. It is possible only when all of  us, place others before ourselves. Be genuine and caring, maintain a respectable distance, from each other, and be kind towards each other.

Until this attitude comes, all of us will continue to be poor, despite of the fact that we can be much better off; Emotionally and financially. We should realize that living as joint family, means so much security, for children who come from school, for elders in the house, for the people who have been enfeebled by sickness or old age. There are little chances of depression setting in. We learn to share with each other. And we have the comfort of having someone in each age group, right from a toddler, to a senior citizen. And finally not having to spend time all alone bereft of company, in a self-imposed exile.   

SOMETHING TO CROW ABOUT

With growing age, my digestion is somewhat  compromised. Since I can eat easy to digest food only, I was safely sticking to carbohydrates and fruits. Then I got low back pain. With exercise, and medication, my condition improved. But it set me thinking, “ Are my muscles weakening because my protein intake is very low?” I am a vegetarian, and in this diet the protein intake is quite low.

So I decided to take at least one boiled egg every day. My family is hardcore vegetarian. So eggs are not welcome at all. So I had to buy a separate vessel for boiling the egg.  I read in the net that the white of the egg is rich in proteins and the yellow is a rich source of cholesterol. I wanted the amino acids but did not want the cholesterol. So I decided to take the white and discard the yellow.

After having eaten the white I did not know what to do with the yellow. How to dispose it?

I live on the fifth floor.  After having eaten the white, I silently went to balcony, and looked out for people below. There was one. I dropped the ball of yellow. Little was I to know that what is considered waste by me, can be a delicious food for some other creature. As the ball hit the open space below many crows swept on it and within minutes it was eaten by the crows, which were vying with each other for the tasty snack. I was surprised, because in our custom we first offer cooked rice to the crows every day.

The women place cooked rice of the balcony and call out to the crows to eat the offering. But to eat the rice only a few crows would come, whereas for the egg yolk there was tough competition.  

Customs apart, even birds and animals eat only what they like with eagerness. I have attached a video of the crows. I thought I should share this with you guys. Hope you like it. At least today I have something to crow about.  

DHIYO YONAH PRACHODAYAATH.

My  dad  was a good man. He was innocent, and carefree. He was studious, and was a double  graduate in commerce and  also in chemistry. His handwriting was clean and legible. He had passed  his Higher, in shorthand and typewriting.  But he was also an adamant man, not always for the right cause.

I as a student was constantly running away from mathematics. It was a subject, which I dreaded in any form, be it math, geometry, or algebra.

When I had completed my Matriculation, I had to join a one year course, then known as PUC; Pre University Course. I took commerce, logic and math. So I had to struggle for one more year with trigonometry and calculus

Then I had to do my graduation.  I wanted to  do English literature, as it was a language  I loved. My father was dead against this. He asked me, “ What are you going to become, a boring English lecturer, is it?”

My other choice was to join an Arts college, and learn painting, sketching  and sculpting. This too my dad forbade, by saying, “ You want to grow a  beard, hang a cross bag, and go knocking door to door to sell your paintings, is  it?”

He also adamantly refused to finance any of my interests. He wanted me to do BSC math. Because he was fascinated with math. Had I listened to him, I would have retired doing BSC math.

So he forced me take economics. There too until my second year, math chased me in the form of statistics.

Finally in the third year of my graduation, I could  exorcise myself from  all forms of math. Since I was not interested in economics, I had gone college, just to enjoy myself. I bunked classes, went to movies and generally roamed about Chennai aimlessly with college mates.

The final exams neared and we had 45 days of study holidays. I did not know a single word of economics. My friend who was good in studies helped me. He got me all the text books needed just to pass the course.

I started studying with the sole aim of clearing all the papers. Another friend from some other college with totally different subject joined me in my studies.

We studied daily for 22 hours. We slept from 4 AM to 6 AM., just for 2 hours a day for 45 days. Both of us cleared all papers. I just managed to get only bare minimum pass mark of 35% in one paper. I managed to get a 45% in the final exams and passed in third class.

Then I joined a consumer company as a salesman, and sold biscuits. Nothing of what I had studied for 15 years was of  use for the job which I did. 15 years wasted in learning things which I would never put to use. So poorly structured is our educational system, that it does nothing that is valuable to our life. But this system has been marketed so well, that the institutions make money , by giving us useless information. Then we have to thank people like my dad, who make their children do things in which they are least interested.  

God created man and gave him mind and intelligence. Man created education and never put to use the intellect given  by Nature .

Our fore fathers knew this pit fall of human beings.  And in their daily prayer to the almighty beseeched it to” inspire the intellect,”  in the words of the sage Vishwamitra- Dhiyo yonah prachodayaath.  

SUPER MA

The four main South Indian languages are Telugu, Kannada, Malayalam and Tamizh. The first three languages have their base as Sanskrit. The alphabets of Sanskrit are present in these languages, and many Sanskrit words are a part of these languages. The script alone is different.

Tamizh alone is singular. It does not have all the alphabets of Sanskrit, and there in a Tamizh word for every Sanskrit word. Tamizh, is a language that does not depend on Sanskrit fro survival.

 So while other languages have Ka, Kha, Ga and Gha, Tamizh has only Ka. And this Ka is pronounced both as Ka and Ga.  There is no Kha and Gha in Tamizh.

Similarly  in Tamizh  there are no Tha and Dha. The alphabet Ta is pronounced both as Ta and Da. We also do not have Chha and Jha. The alphabet  Cha takes the place of Sa Cha and ja. The pronunciation of alphabets and words are contextual in Tamizh.

For example the word nama Shivaya, can be pronounced as Sivaya, Shivaya, chivaya. However, there is no confusion among the locals. We understand what the other person is saying.

We have  a la and La [said with the tongue folded on the roof of the mouth ]

So Puli will mean tiger, but PuLi will mean tamarind.

We also have the unique Zha, which is pronounced like a hybrid between Ya and Za.

Recently there has been a slow modernization of Tamizh.  So now the younger generation  have standardized , la, La and  Zha  as la.  So we have to not only understand the alphabets, but also the words in the right context. 

Spoken English has found its way into all languages. Today no one can speak a sentence in Tamizh with at least one or two words of English substituting the local language.

All scientific inventions,   like fan, bulb, switch, bus car auto, iron, mixer, computer, train, key-board and many  more hundreds of English  words are a part of Tamizh.

Figure is an equivalent of a girl.

Tension is now a Tamizh word.

Torture is the equivalent of generating tension in Tamizh.

Matter, means many things depends on how it is used. It means matter as in English, or making out, or no problem, or what is your problem, and so on….

 The best way to describe any good thing is with the most popular and most used word in Tamizh- “SUPER,” thanks to  the Super Star Rajanikanth. It describes any thing good in animate, or inanimate.

There are people who resist such changes. I too feel sad. Earlier I used to get irritated when someone mispronounced a word and took efforts to correct them. But in TV as well as in movie songs people are now taking the wrong word for granted. Why no one corrects the singers, I do not understand. Maybe they themselves do not know, or maybe they do not care. Or maybe everything is beyond repair.  But there is nothing one can do. There are only two choices. Either resist or change. I opt for the latter, because anyway everything keeps changing.

OUTSIDE THE INSTITUTION

During those days we did not have a Pre-KG, LKG or UKG. Children went to school only in the first standard. By then they were 6 years old and picked up immunity. There were very few incidences of sickness. I do not remember falling ill at all, except for once in my 4^th standard. We did not drink mineral water, drank from the taps, ate everywhere but never took ill.

It was the first day in school for me.  It was a convent. My father took me the Mother Superior. Her name was Florita. She was a  tall fair woman, with a kind voice. She looked at me and said “Sit down , my child.” She was talking to my dad and after some time, when the interview was over; my father took me to my class. It was a long room with eight windows on each length side, and two windows on the breadth side.

The entrance divided the room into two halves. There were two black boards, back to back in the centre of the room. This arrangement divided the hall into two sections. There were two sisters, who taught the same lessons for both sections of first standard, simultaneously. I was seated on the right hand section. The sister who taught us was very strict and I was afraid of her, right from the first day. So I did not feel like going to school. A week after I attended the school, I told my dad about this fear. My father did not take my complaint lightly. Next day he addressed my fear to the Mother superior, and she completely understood my plight. Without wasting time, she shifted me to the other section, where the teacher was friendly. 

The school had high standards of education, but boys were allowed to study only until 5^th standard. After that, we had to shift to some other school. I was not good in my studies, and managed to come 18^th in a class of 30 students. However, my dad made no comparisons.

For 6^th standard, I was shifted to a local boys school. The standard here was so low, that I stood first in the quarterly exams. This school had two floors and an open terrace with a wide parapet wall. All  the students from 1^st standard to eleventh used to have lunch there. In sixth standard, when I was having my lunch with my class-mate, he challenged me to walk on the parapet wall.  Very unaware of the danger of falling from the third floor, I coolly got up on the parapet wall and walked a few steps. This was very much unexpected, and there was stunned silence as, the senior students grabbed me and pulled me down to safety. I could not understand the reason for the commotion, as I stood bewildered. I was immediately paraded before the shocked principal, who without delay locked the terrace, and from that day all of us had to eat on the play ground.

My parents were horrified, and advised me not to do such crazy feat once again. It never happened again, as we took over one more activity; Fighting physically after lunch. During one such fights, one boy slammed his sharp shoe into my shin, wounded me and I bled for a very long time that day until evening.

As this school had low standard, I too lowered my bar and by the end of 7^th standard, once again managed to slip from the first rank to 20^th rank in a class of 25 students.  

Generally, for me school was a place to go. I never understood that the purpose of going to school was to learn.

So when I turned a trainer, I never got upset with some of the candidates, who sat through the training, without putting their mind to the classes. I saw myself in them, and tried my level best to get them to like me. For I believe that only if you like someone you will listen to them. After the first few days the candidates listened and the results were encouraging.

And I simplified the classes, and gave them the barest minimum knowledge, they need to know for a successful career. I announced the tea breaks, and lunch breaks on dot, and dismissed them each day sharp by 6 PM, unlike my co-trainers, who kept them beyond endurance. Therefore, I earned their liking, for they were interacting with a person who valued their personal time, as much his own. I might not have been a good student, but I knew students. Because I know that the most interesting place in a students life is outside the institution.    

FULL CIRCLE - NOT ONCE BUT TWICE

I was born in 1954 in Calcutta. I had two elder sisters. In our custom, when the child is a year old, we shave the head of the child, in our family temple, pray to the presiding deity  and pierce  the ears of the child, and put earrings. My parents had their roots in their native village in Tamilnadu, but as they had shifted to Calcutta, their perspective regarding such customs had slightly changed, due to exposure to different Bengali and Hindi culture. 

They did not totally deviate from this custom. They had my head shaved, but did not pierce my ears, as being a male I would never need to wear ear rings.

In 1983, my son was born. When he was a year old, I too followed the altered custom set by my parents. I too had his head shaved, but spared his ears from being pierced.

Later in one such ceremony of another child, I watched the helpless child scream in pain and fear as all the relatives pinned it down to help the jeweler   pierced its ears. It could not understand what was going on, and with its eyes streaming with tears, looked yearningly at its parents to rescue it from the     terrible plight.  The parents: willing victims of customs, were also crying helplessly. Of course the child recovered within minutes, after the ceremony was over and went about playing as though nothing had happened.

18 years later, in 2001, when my son joined college, it was the fashion for young men to wear a single ear stud on the left ear. So he told me to take him to the jewelers, to have his pierce with a shot gun.

I had vehemently opposed any sort of ear piercing for children to my wife and her family members. They were unquestioningly rooted in traditions.  Now I did not know what to do. Here my son was wanting to be fashionable, and I knew my wife and family would make fun of me, if I changed my stance.

So to avoid any unnecessary embarrassment, both my son and I, went on a Sunday, stealthily to the jeweler, and had his left ear pierced with a shot gun, which drove a single white stone stud into his ear lobe.  My grown up son held my hand while this happened, and winced in pain as the stud sank into place. A single drop of tear escaped his eyes. My heart sank as I watched his pain. When we came out he said ,”Thanks pa.”

We both returned home with fear of reprisal from my wife. Surprisingly she appreciated the cute ear stud, which made our handsome son quiet dashing in looks.   

Life had come a full circle. I had to eat my words, in utter humility.

As I saw the ear stud adding to my son’s charm, I wondered, ”Should I follow his example?” But I did not have the guts to do it, as I feared total opposition from my conservative wife. As the desire lay dormant in my heart, I knew it would find expression at the opportune moment.

Four years later, in 2005, my son graduated, and went to Mumbai for his employment. He cut his long hair short, removed his ear stud, to look suitable in an official environment.

 Few weeks later I had to go to Delhi  for 3 weeks,  for my official work.  I considered piercing my ear so that I could continuously wear the stud, for 3 weeks, so that the ear hole would not close. And I could do it without my wife’s disapproval. But I was 51 years old.  Would it be appropriate, at my age, I needed to know. So I called my son, and asked him for guidance. He said, “ Dad go ahead, do it. If you postpone it you will be growing older only. Do not worry, if you do not like it, you can always discard it.”

So I went ahead and my left ear had this shiny cute earring. Boy, it did look good. When I came back to Chennai, my wife told me, “ You are not wearing that hideous thing , when we go out together. “ I felt that was reasonable.

  So I used to wear it after office hours as I spent 2 hours in the gym, and when I went to movies or the bar with my friends. I was a mild freak by nature. This part of me was obvious when I was with my pals. When with family I was predictably serious and boring.

 The organization I was with closed down, and I had to move on. One of my l colleagues, who shared my wave length, presented me with a ear stud, with a small white stone. I treasure it, because it gives me a lot of solace to think that, there are some people who are alike me.

So, life has come a full circle once more. One never knows when we have to own ideas, which we had disowned, and when we have to disown all the concepts we held dear to our hearts.

Life changes, we change, and so do our perspectives.I am still a freak. What next? Should I go for a body tattoo? Let us see.

 

ALL IS WELL ONLY IF IT ENDS WELL

I my long tenure as a training manager I have come across many students, from different walks of life. Some of them have wasted opportunities, and have just been a me too, happy to exist without any progress. While some have really withstood many hardships in life and have struggled to reach the same place,  to which the others students have come casually. Some of the life stories have been heart wrenching, when I came to know that what is taken for granted by those who are blessed, has been a path of determined struggle for the less fortunate.

Here is the story of many unsung heroes.

This boy is from Madurai, a famous temple town in Tamilnadu. Born to poor parents, he lost his father when he was three, and his mother when he was eight. His grandmother was not able to feed him, and so she left him in a orphanage hostel in Kodaikanal, a hill station near Madurai.  He studied there, and he was so young that he did not even know the way back to his grandmother’s house, till he reached his 10^th standard. Only then one of his uncles came to take him home for summer holidays. Determined to finish his studies, he went on to join college. To pay the fee, he used to load grain bags on the lorry transports. He used to be paid a certain amount for each bag loaded on. This work used to done throughout the  night and  with the wages earned, he paid his fee. He also worked as an assistant to cooks during marriages, and other ceremonies, and in the process had become an excellent cook himself. Now he is employed as a Medical representative, and is taking care of his old grandmother. He has no bad habits, and his only aim in life is to come up as much as possible. Commendable.

Then there is the other boy from Erode, near Coimbatore. His parents were very poor, and they used to manufacture potato, banana, and yam chips in their house, from morning till afternoon, and his father used to sell the same, in a push cart in the busy street corners, from evening till late night. In such conditions, the boy had completed his post graduation, and now well employed is taking care of his parents. His father due to failing health does not sell chips anymore. Praiseworthy.

Another boy from Salem. The second of three children, all male, his father was an agriculturist and a very hard worker. To educate the boys he used to take up any labor which came his way, whether it was loading bags, ;or doing construction work. This boy used to augment the family income by working as a weaver in the looms, during the summer holidays. A very ambitious boy, he showed tremendous growth in sales, and simultaneously wrote his exams for the sub inspectors post and today he is a SI. Admirable.

And there have been many candidates, who inspite of being born and educated in English medium in Chennai, have neither learnt to speak or spell any language properly. They as such failures, with no skill whatsoever, and have no clue of what a career means. These are the candidates of concern, that in 2014, while there are so many opportunities for professional courses, and good income, they continue to exist as a person in would in 1950s. Lamentable.

    

PARADOX OF LIFE

It was in 1985, I joined a pharma company as a product and a training executive. It was a small south Indian company. There was not much work, and most days had little activity. I was in-charge of preparing Visual Aid. The ideas were generated by an elderly consultant, and I did the follow up. Then the company used to screen print the pages. I had to go to a printing press and decide the base color of pages, the color of the letters. Once this process was completed, we stuck appropriate photographs in space left empty for it. Later the different pages were compiled in a given sequence, and spiral bound on hard board, and protected by a plastic sheet. The book was ready to be used. The representatives of the company used this book to detail the products to the doctors, who in turn prescribed the medicines, to patients.

 Slowly the screen printing was replaced by single color offset printing. It was a new field. I had to learn new techniques. The artist had artworks prepared on white boards, and had a trace paper flap, covered by a  color paper flap.

Now we needed to know the color code of printing, that is cyan yellow magenta and black. If we needed a brand name in red, we had to mark over the trace paper, the percentage of red as yellow 100 and magenta 100. All colors were converted to mathematical percentages, and over a period of time I could convert any color to it nearest percentages.

To create the page, I was involved in all steps. Idea generation, model sourcing, photography of models to depict the idea, copy write, color coding, positive making, plate making,  printing, lamination, gold foiling, and finally spiraling. I was very much satisfied, with the know how, and with the way my career was going.

Slowly the single color printing was replaced by the four color machines, which were more efficient. Then it was upgraded to a computer controlled printing machine. Positive making was skipped to direct plate making.

Then the art work was generated directly on the computer. We did not need to shoot photos anymore, as we could download visuals directly from the net. Negative photography was replaced by digital photos.  Artists, laid to rest their paint, brushes and spray guns. Work which used to take weeks to complete, could be done within days, thanks to technology.

All the knowledge I had gained so far, were now outdated, once again thanks to technology. Artist lost their income to the younger tech savvy generations. Professional photographers  changed their profession, as there was no demand anymore. Screen printing totally died somewhere on the way.

The latest tech, being detailing with the help of a Tab.

I shifted totally to  training. All changes in 30 years. All in a small life time.

As my friend used to  say,” You either lose to competition or technology.”

We lose our young age in learning a trade.   Once, we get employed, we do not get the time to catch up changing technology, and one day are caught in a cross road, where what we know is useless, and we cannot proceed because we are outdated. Then of course there is inflation, alimony, disease, treatment cost , old age, debility, helplessness and thankfully death. Quiet a paradox. 

I have 2 quotes, both of them from 2 different types of people.

 One who is not able to fight the change.....

“It's hard to fight when the fight ain't fair.” ― Taylor Swift

And the other who still has strength and age on his side....

 “When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not yet ready. The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back. A week is more than enough time for us to decide whether or not to accept our destiny.” ― Paulo Coelho,