Skylab then, Chandrayaan now!

The last couple of weeks have not been easy. The entire nation felt the pain- the Chandrayaan mission that came so close to crowning glory and yet so far. Next time, we will surely make it. While losing contact with the Lander Vikram is extremely disheartening, the comforting point is that at least, it is not a life and death situation.
Many moons ago (no pun intended), it was almost a life and death situation! The year was 1979- the US lost contact with the Space Station Skylab. The spacecraft was now hurtling towards the earth, on a certain collision course! It was a harrowing time, which will be recalled by those who lived through it. The more I read about losing contact with the Lander Vikram, those childhood images of Bombay (as it was called then)...come floating by, images of a different time and age.


The weeks leading to the touchdown of the Skylab were lively. Newspapers carried elaborate diagrams charting the course of the Skylab- where it would re-enter the earth's atmosphere, where it would break-up and where it would crash. Though every place on the planet was equally vulnerable, we were convinced it would strike our neighbourhood and no other! As school kids, we overheard adults involved in animated discussions and tried to piece it together. How could someone goof up and lose control to this extent- where the spacecraft would now crash over our head? It was like the tale of Bhasmasura or Frankenstein- a recipe for self-destruction! There were individual prayers, community gatherings, astrological predictions and astronomical calculations- nothing was left to chance! A sort of nervous excitement enveloped us, where anything in the sky, from a flying airplane to a dragonfly made us jump out of our skin!


A primary school kid's imagination runs riot. Science with its concepts like gravity was yet to pollute our flights of fantasy. We imagined Skylab's impact would resemble a game of marbles...a small marble striking a bigger one! Upon impact, the earth would be thrown into space, where it would do a few spins...before it came to rest at a different corner of the universe!  Alternatively, we liked to believe that it would compare to a stone flung into a full bucket of water. The collision in the ocean would spurt out a wall of water- so tall would be the waves at Juhu Beach!
Skylab took over our lives. If we constructed sentences in English class, it was all about doom, destruction and death. If we had to scare the life out of someone, we looked at the sky, screamed "Skylab" and pretended to run for cover! It worked a few times, until it became a standing joke, much like the boy who cried wolf! The film Sholay's iconic dialogue now had a new twist-"so ja bachcha nahi to Skylab aa jayega!" (“Baby, please sleep; if you don’t, Skylab will be here!”)
We pleaded with the Principal to declare a holiday until doomsday was over. Our fears were not unfounded. If we were to perish, it seemed reasonable that it should be at home, than at school. We wore the most sullen face, like inmates on a death roll. At the very least, we negotiated for a few more Games periods! The Principal was firm- it would be school as usual, regardless of doomsday. We felt gutted!


The fateful day was now close. Those were times when few homes had a TV. Our window to the world was a radio- hand-tuned to shortwave stations. One night, the news was out- the Skylab had finally crash-landed in the Indian Ocean off the coast of Australia. It was all over.
The sun rose the next morning with the same cheeriness. It was a day like any other. There was a stone-like silence in class- absolute disbelief it could be such an anti-climax. How we wished we could have established contact with Skylab and steered the crash to more familiar environs!
It would now be school as usual, the tedium of classes, homework, tests and exams. We sat in class solemnly, cupping our palms to the chin.
However, school kids do not take time to bounce back. At lunch break, it suddenly dawned upon us- life was not over yet! Now that Skylab had given us a new lease of life, we could look forward to many more games of marbles and 7-stones, football and Cricket! We flung the lunch-box away, let out a joyous yelp, picked up the Cricket bat and ran into the sun!
The Skylab then and the Chandrayaan now- they have filled our days with nail-biting excitement, regardless of whether they fully achieved their target. Who can complain now?

 

In search of happiness

Happiness is a slippery fellow! Give him the barest minimum, he readily accepts and comes home. But pamper him with a little excess of anything, he hesitates and runs away! It is a paradox, a conundrum that cannot be easily cracked.


Growing up, parents did not indulge the children as we do today. Spending was strict, both as a principle and the strain on the purse. Occasions to celebrate were marked and limited. Hence, it was with great fondness that we looked forward to incidents where the purse strings were loosened and indulgence was permitted. Sometimes, it was as simple as the purchase of an ice-cream cone. The rarity of the enjoyment created the magic. We savoured it, one lick at a time and competed with the sibling to prolong ones own cone for much longer than the other!  The impish delight to enjoy the last few licks, with extra zeal, while the other looked on, salivating silently, was a moment to cherish!
Contrast this with today's picture, where every weekend visit to the mall, is a time to binge. The refrigerator is stacked with ice-cream in buckets. Often, it goes unnoticed and has to be junked because it has remained much longer than the expiry date! It is a problem of plenty. We do enjoy the ice-cream even today. Except, that it has become common place and to that extent, the joy-quotient has plummeted by several notches.


There was a time when TV was black-and-white playing a single channel. Programs actually came to a close at night and it was only the next evening, you could watch TV again. Often, there was only one home with a TV and the entire neighbourhood gathered together to watch their favourite shows. The weekly round of "Chitrahaar",  soaps like "HumLog" and the mythlogical adaptations of 'Ramayan' were awaited with great excitement. The collective enjoyment made the happiness-index soar sky-high even if you watched only half the program because the power went off mid-way! Everyone watched the same programs and came fully prepared for lively and heated discussions at school the following day. Contrast this with today. We have lost track of the number of channels on TV. As far as movies, serials and Cricket go, everything is available simultaneously, just a twirl of the remote away. The endless choice and variety have spoilt us. We cannot recall that one film or that special Cricket innings, that left a mark for life! Discussions over TV programs cannot be conducted with the same gusto because everyone watches a different channel, a different program.  And the joy-score in all this?  It has taken a definite hit.


Today, it is easy to spot an eye-catching dress online and have it delivered home. Suddenly, you feel the urge to have a rasgulla, and in a few clicks of the mobile, it is on the dining table. It is all easy and affordable no doubt. We miss the point- the accessibility has made everything bland and ordinary. It has robbed us of that indescribable eagerness to look forward to a new dress, which was bought once a year during Diwali. Purchase of crackers was limited and just enough for everyone at home. But the happiness grew  many fold, when you  painstakingly separated the "100-wala" into individual elements so that you could prolong the enjoyment, one cracker at a time...the entire day.


Recall the excitement and trembling fingers with which you ripped open the envelope to read that fortnightly mail from home? Or hurrying to make that 5-minute trunk-call from a public phone booth, to a loved one, after 10 at night because it was cheaper? Often, even conversation was impossible, because the phone-line was poor; still, you longed to hear the ring of that distant voice! There was so much to say and so little time! And when someone returned home after a two-year "foreign trip", you scrutinized their face in total amazement, for their features had changed so unrecognizably, during the interim period! Now, social media has made it easy, in fact, too easy.  We can stalk someone on an hourly basis, regardless of where he is. The flip side is the loss; loss of that extra zing!


That said, what is the takeaway from this? We cannot go back to Stone Age in our quest for happiness. The older generation is also prone to exaggeration. The narration is often suspect, because with each retelling, they claim to have enjoyed even more! Conversation centered on "those days" leaves us feeling helpless since we can do nothing about it, stranded as we are, in today's time and age!
But one thing is clear- over indulgence sedates the mind so that it loses its keenness and its heightened ability to enjoy. The more we willingly limit our indulgence today, more the happiness, when such a special occasion automatically presents itself.
A mansion needs more than 2000 sq ft, multiple floors, a garden and a swimming pool. Happiness needs none of this; a 700 sq ft home is good enough. The choice is ours.

Rail sneham

"Rail sneham" is a term with a specific connotation. It refers to the spontaneous affection that two unrelated passengers experience on a long train journey. You knew nothing about the person seated in front of you in the train compartment. Back then, there was no internet. There was no facebook page to quickly verify a person's background or a twitter handle to peek into his political views. It was a blind-date, where you related to the person sitting on the opposite seat...as-is, totally, completely...with no baggage from his past. You also knew that the bond lasted till the journey ended and no more. It gave the luxury of anonymity that allowed you to bear your heart to an absolute stranger. It was often a cathartic experience, at the end of which, you felt lighter in the heart and totally energised.


Over the rattle of the rail, family trees were dissected, relatives and their motives were scrutinised openly and close-held secrets were spilt.  It was that easy. You volunteered to buy tea at the station and over each sip, more conversation flowed, and you got closer. At the next big railway junction, you often caught his hand and quarrelled to prevent him from paying for both meals! You exulted over his stories of success, shed tears when he spoke of a lost one...and agreed with him a hundred percent that corruption was the root cause of all evil! You stayed awake through the night...and spoke in bated breath, how he would get down the following day and would be gone forever. Such was rail-sneham- "manzil se behtar..yeh raahen"..that made journeys memorable, to the extent that even the destination did not matter! At times, addresses were exchanged, but rarely pursued. Rail-sneham was like a one-night stand, an emotional one at that, where you hugged the person close...for just that trip...and allowed him to move on...the moment he picked his luggage and stepped down from the train. It was also a proven template for life- that joy was in the journey, in extending that pleasantness to life's co-passengers who happen to share our coupe.
These train trips came with their share of stories, some more unusual than others.


Roorkee to Bombay (as it was known then) was a long train journey. Thirty-six hours if the stars lined up and the train was on time. Often, it took well over forty hours...spread over two nights. I recall that trip vividly. Settling down in the coach, I took an instant liking to the elderly gentleman on the opposite seat. "I am Arvind. You can call me Arvind kaka!" he introduced himself. "What do you do?" he asked me. "I am an Art Student," I said quickly. "Why are you at Roorkee?" he asked me, totally puzzled. "I was here to attend an Art Workshop by Vitankar." Kaka's eyes lit up. "You mean Vitankar saheb, that comic-book artist?" "Yes, he conducts a one month workshop where we learn to draw from nature," I explained.
That evening, as we shared "rewdi" at Meerut station, it was my turn to quiz Kaka. "I am a theatre artiste. I am part of a drama troupe. We stage one-act plays, social dramas and mythological adaptations all over Maharashtra,"  Kaka announced grandly. As the train meandered its way through Delhi and Kota, Ratlam and Vadodara, we took turns to buy the specialty at each station- a "gajak" here, a "petha" there, a handful of "chivda" and cups and cups of steaming "matka-chai"! "Unlike the cine-star, the theatre artiste has no fixed script. He has to improvise on the spot...instantly...to strike that chord with the audience. I have learnt that art over the years," Kaka reminisced sagely. I made Kaka recite his favorite  lines in Marathi and giggled as he became overly dramatic and disturbed passengers in the adjoining coupe. Kaka wanted me to draw a caricature for him. I dodged his request but agreed to paint his portrait once I qualified as a complete artist.


Kaka and I were on adjoining top-berths at night. Rocked by the rhythm of the rail, in the dim light of the coach, I lay on my side and faced kaka.  Kaka suddenly broke the silence, "Tomorrow, you will be on your way and I...mine. I know you will grow up to be a great artist, like Vitankar saheb!" I smiled gently, "I hope so. I will remember you Kaka." I did not sleep a wink.


The following morning, the train limped to a halt at Bombay Central. The journey was over. As we got down, my heart was heavy. It was not the usual lump in the throat that rail sneham brings in its wake. This was different. "I have a confession to make...Kaka. I hope you will forgive me. I am not an art student. I lied. I am just a first year engineering student!" I looked at Kaka straight in the eye. I knew I had broken his trust. If he lashed out at me, I was ready for it. After all, I had violated the cardinal rule of rail sneham- honesty. For a split second, Kaka's expression was inscrutable. The next instant, he threw his head back and laughed heartily. Placing his hand on my shoulder, and between spasms of uncontrollable laughter, Kaka managed to say,  "I knew that from the beginning! Of course, I knew you were not an Art Student! And now, let me tell you this.  It will make you feel better. Neither am I...a theatre artiste! I am also just another insurance agent!" With that, Kaka turned around..and walked away into the crowd.
I stood on the platform transfixed- dazed and deceived.

The Nakula-Sahadeva syndrome

Nakula and Sahadeva would not have had an easy life. Imagine...being born in a family of over-achievers where they have no special identity of their own. To be always compared with an Arjuna or a Bheema or a Yudhishthira and living under their shadow an entire life- how frustrating it would have been! Nakula and Sahadeva are your proverbial also-rans. They are those nameless and voiceless extras who stay in the background in every song-n-dance Bollywood sequence...while the hero hogs the limelight! A little, like the 12th man in Cricket who carries drinks and the towel onto the field so that the Master Blaster batsman can cool himself and wipe his sweat off! It is a life of ignominy where you never get your place in the sun!

If we think about Arjuna, we can easily reel out accomplishments by the dozen. He was a master archer who could pierce a revolving target by glancing at the water below; he was Drona's favourite student and Krishna too doted on him. Besides archery, he was skilled in dance and music. When it came to women, his conquests were many- Draupadi, Uloopi, Chitrangada and Subhadra to name a few!
Think about Bheema and we imagine a hunk- all muscle and who had the appetite of a wolf. We recall his mind-blowing escapades with Bakasura, Jarasandha and Keechaka.
Yudhishthira- and an idealist comes to mind...a Gandhian figure of sorts...who walked his way to heaven riding on his spotless character.
Now, let us think of Nakula and Sahadeva. What do we know about them? The mind is a complete blank. No single incident can we recall about them! We do not know what their skills were, how they looked or whom they married...apart from of course Draupadi who was anyway bequeathed to all the brothers. They appear to have spent an entire life...staying in the background without making any monumental contribution...while the likes of Arjuna painted the town red. Mythological dramas and screenplays make it worse. The superstar hero obviously bags Arjuna's role, and all we have is a nondescript actor who doubles up as the twins.

Over-achieving siblings are a nuisance. Achievements come easy for them- as if they are born with a mole in a special part of the anatomy! However, they make life uncomfortable for the rest of us. Sometimes, we wish they were born in the neighbour's house and would not collide with us so much! Left to ourselves, we would have been a star; it is just that the over-achieving sibling is like the sun...in whose glare, the stars are not visible to anyone! They have taken over the entire showcase...stacked it up with all their trophies and shields and cups. No, we are not jealous of their success. The problem is with those folks who come home and size up the Nakulas and Sahadevas with the same yardstick as Arjuna! The judgmental society is to blame; trying to paint us all with the same brush, and in the process, making us feel small and sheepish.

Nakula and Sahadeva did not suffer from any complex. We do not know any day when they sulked because their lives were ordinary. The irony is...it was Arjuna, the over-achiever, who required psychiatric treatment from Lord Krishna. At least the twins had each other for company to pour their heart out. We feel more for Shatrughna, that lonesome character in the Ramayana. Compared to his illustrious brothers, his was a very quiet life, bereft of significant achievement. Still, he shared the space...heroically with all of them.

These great epics have a lot to teach. It is with intent that they included these characters; silent characters who charm us through their sheer simplicity and ordinariness. The Mahabharata was also called "Jaya"- victory. The victory was not just for the good against the evil. It was also a victory for those silent sentinels, those nameless Nakulas and Sahadevas who provided their shoulders as a prop, so that the likes of Arjuna would appear even taller!

It is nice to be successful. However, it is more important to be nice. There is a place for everyone under the sun. Life is as much for the noisy river, which hurtles its way to the ocean, as for the pebble in the riverbed; the pebble which simply "is" and allows the river to wash itself over! An also-ran is not a pushover; he runs an honest race; it is just that he did not win. That is fine.
As they say, the squirrel and the mountain had a quarrel. The squirrel said, "Talents differ; all is well and wisely put. If I cannot carry forests on my back, neither can you crack a nut!"
I stand at the mountaintop and proclaim wholeheartedly, "I am Nakula and I am proud of it!" The mountains resound with the echo...and agree with me!

Life is a breadboard!

The Electronics Laboratory sessions at Engineering College were eventful. A motley set of equipment lay scattered on the table- a breadboard, a display-screen, a clump of wires and colourful beads comprising resistors, transistors and capacitors. The objective was simple- follow a set of instructions, create an electronic circuit on the breadboard and read the resultant output waveform on the display-screen. The breadboard had tiny holes into which you inserted  the resistors and capacitors and connected them up with wires. It was unnerving especially if you were doing it for the first time. You had to contend with multiple challenges- instructions which were unclear, the pressure of time and the overbearing presence of the professor who looked for the slightest error to give you a earful! It was often an exercise in futility, and there were days where the experiment completely failed despite your best effort. But you soldiered on.  If you managed to get the desired output waveform and successfully complete the lab...it was deemed nothing short of a miracle.


One late afternoon, a miracle did happen. The display-screen suddenly sprang to life...and registered this most beautiful waveform! It was a sight to behold- a rainbow of sorts for our thirsty eyes!
We were a team of three and had struggled the entire afternoon putting the pieces of the circuit together...till the breadboard resembled a wild jungle...with wires hanging all over!
We impatiently waited till the professor was at the table to evaluate our art-work. It was our crowning glory moment. The professor's expression was inscrutable- he looked at the waveform with interest and then looked at each of us with equal interest. He carefully removed one of the resistors from the breadboard, reaching out for it between the wild undergrowth of wires. "Watch my dears, the waveform output is still intact!" Our response was muted. "Yes, sir", we mumbled. In such a complicated circuitry, there could be some scope for redundancy, where loss of a body-part, needn't affect the overall health...or so we thought. What happened from this point onwards was nothing short of dramatic. The professor did quick work- removed a capacitor here, a resistor there and uprooted wires by the handful. Like dead pieces outside a chessboard, there was a now a growing heap of deadwood piling up outside the breadboard. "My dears, your waveform is still intact!" We knew something was wrong. Soon, the professor plunged his entire fist into the breadboard and exhumed whatever came in his grasp and exclaimed "My dears, your waveform has still not changed!". Eventually, in a manic rage, he had emptied the entire breadboard...of all its components. The waveform still smiled back at us...unaffected. The rest of the afternoon was not pleasant. The professor asked for the lab record-books and scrawled "Repeat the experiment" in red across the entire page. He was evidently angry.


The above incident, described in graphic detail is actually several decades old. To this day, I am baffled how the waveform output could be so precise especially when the breadboard was emptied out. There are plausible explanations no doubt, of the circuit being "shorted" or the display wires possibly connected back-to-back. I do not know. But I do know that this incident has taught some valuable lessons for life.
Often, we wonder about our contribution to this world, our role in the scheme of things and how it will shape the future. As the years roll by, these larger than life questions nag us. We worry, if by a quirk of fate, we move on today, would we have done enough for the future, for the family, for the society...so that they are better off...just that little bit, because we lived.
There are no easy answers.


It is here that the breadboard and the waveform come to our rescue. The waveform did not require the elaborate circuitry on the breadboard at all. So too with life. The cosmic laws will take care of the future on their own. In front of these mighty laws of time, space and causation, my puny existence and contribution amounts to nothing. Hence, I need not worry about the future. The future will unfold on its own, regardless of me. The flower will bloom of its own accord, given the right conditions and time. It does not need my effort to pry the petals open! This attitude frees me from unnecessarily carrying a load, a load about the future, which I needn't!


Ok! I agree! But if that is the case, do I need to struggle with the breadboard at all? Do I need to wire those elaborate connections? Can I simply eject out of the whole framework if anyway my contribution amounts to nothing?
No, I do need to wrestle with the breadboard and arrange those resistors and wires to the best of my ability. If I look back, those Electronic laboratory sessions were important. We experienced a whole gamut of emotion- of elation and dejection, of fear and futility....(often on the same day). The tapestry of emotion made our lives richer. Without them, our lives would have been meaningless and hollow. The diligence, the team-work, the common goal and the shared emotion...everything was essential and helped us emerge stronger and wiser. In the process, we had a whole lot of fun.
So too with life. I am placed today in a particular role, to wire up some circuit on some breadboard. The outcome just does not matter. I only have to be busy in the *process* of wiring the breadboard as diligently as I can.  It will give a structure to each day and make it that much more manageable. That alone is my lot. Ours is not to question why. Ours is but to do and die! So...let us be up and doing, with a heart for any fate. Still achieving, still pursuing, learn to labour and to wait!


P.S.
The reader may recall the last two lines: One from the poem "The Charge of the Light Brigade" by Alfred, Lord  Tennyson and the other from the poem "A Psalm of Life" by H.W Longfellow.

Pondering over..."Shri valli devasenaapatey"

Amongst the Sanskrit compositions of Papanasam Sivan, "Shri Valli Devasenaapate" set to Natabhairavi raga would rank right at the top. There are very few kritis in this raga and the first song which comes to mind is this. It is likely that Sivan composed this kriti inspired by the "singaravelan" shrine at the Kapaaleeshvara Temple. At this sannidhi, we see Kartikeya flanked by his consorts Valli and Devasena. To stand in front of the shrine in the gathering dusk, with this song on the lips and to watch the deepaaraadhana is an experience of a lifetime!

The kriti is simple and needs little elaboration. Still, we want to stay with this song for long. We see echoes of Adi Shankara's Subramanya Bhujanga stotram in the content and in the wording of this song. We will explore this kriti keeping this stotra in mind. We will now look at the kriti line by line.


"shri valli devasenapate shri subrahmanya namostute"


We bow down to Subrahmanya who is the Lord (pati) of Valli and Devasena.
Valli was the daughter of a tribal chieftain. The Bhujanga stotra refers to her as "pulindesha kanyaa", the daughter of pulinda-eesha. Apparently, there was a tribe called "pulinda" and Valli was the daughter (kanyaa) of the chief (eesha) of that tribe. The reader would be familiar with the story of Kartikeya courting Valli with Ganesha's help and eventually marrying her. In another verse, the bhujanga says that compared to other Gods, Kartikeya is most special because he gave himself as daanam (svaartha daanam) to Valli who was from a marginalized section of society. It says "antyajaanaam api" svaartha daaney. Such was his love for Valli.

Devasena came from the other side of the spectrum as it were. She was the daughter of Indra. She is also referenced in the Bhujanga.  Kaartikeya is called "devasenaa-adhinaatha" in a particular verse.


There is a pun in the wording "devasenaapate". Kartikeya was "devasena pati" (Devasena's Lord). He was also "deva senaapati", the army chief of the devas! Krishna in the Geeta says "senaaninaam aham skandah". Kartikeya, as Skanda.. is well known in mythology as the army chief (senaani) of the Devas. His stories of leading the army of Devas in conquests over the asuras like Shoorapadma are well known. Shankara in his Saundaralahari too highlights this warrior aspect of  Kartikeya- how he seeks the blessings of his mother, fresh from a battle with the asuras. The reader can look up the verse "raney jitvaa daityaan...".


Next, we come to the word "shri Subrahmanyam". We are reminded of Vishnu Sahasranama-"brahmanyam...sarva dharmagnyam" etc. One of the meanings of "brahma" is veda. The one who makes veda "valid" is brahmanyam. All the karmas mentioned in the veda, by giving the result for those karmas, He gives validity to the veda. Such a "karma phala daata", the one who gives the results for all our actions, is brahmanyam. And because He is an adept at this job, the prefix "su" is added to make it "Subrahmanyam".


To such a Kartikeya, we bow down (namostute). The bhujanga elaborates how we bow down to everything connected to Kartikeya. It says, we bow down to the peacock, to the shakti-weapon, to the goat, to the rooster, to the Sindhu desha where Kartikeya comes from...to everything connected to Kartikeya. The reader can look up the verse "namah kekine" etc. So total is our surrender to Kartikeya.


"devataa saarvabhauma jaya jaya"


Hail! Jaya..unto that Kartikeya who is the overlord "saarvabhauma" of all the devatas. On different occasions, Kartikeya has demonstrated this overlordship. He took offence when Lord Brahma did not sufficiently know the meaning of the "pranava" mantra. He instructed his own father, Lord Shiva. And he was the chief of Indra's army too.
Also, "bhoomasya bhaavah...bhaumah"- He is Lord of the earth and everything in it. Hence, "saarva bhauma".
"Bhauma", "bhooma" and "jaya-jaya" remind us immediately of the Bhujangam. It says "jaya-aananda bhooman… jaya-aananda dhaaman" etc. Kartikeya is the ultimate Truth, the bhooman, the ultimate abode "dhaaman" etc.
Here, we invoke Kartikeya, not only as a particular devata, but as nirgunam brahman, the substratum of the entire universe.


"dvishadbhuja kaartikeyaa ameyaa"


Hail! Victory!...jaya-jaya! unto that kartikeya who is "dvishadbhuja", with 12 hands. "dvishad"- two sets of 6, 12-handed kaartikeya. Here, we have to visualize kaartikeya with 6 heads and 12 hands. Immediately, we go to the bhujangam. It has an entire verse dedicated to the arms of Kartikeya. It says these are the hands which took on Brahmaaji Himself, the hands which took on Kaala, the hands which destroyed the asura in elephant form and the hands which are forever involved in protecting the entire world. The reader can look up this verse starting with "vidhau klipta dandaan" etc.


The 6-faces remind us of Kaartikeya's birth, how he was looked after by the Krittikas as a baby. Hence the name kaartikeya.


He is "ameya" immeasurable, not "countable" as 1-2-3 etc.
As nirgunam brahman, he is ameya because brahman is One and there is no second vastu. Hence, ameya, having counted 1, there is no second.
As sagunam brahma, manifest as the very universe too, not countable. Anything in the creation we take, it is ameya. The number of galaxies- ameya. The number of stars in a galaxy- ameya. The number of sand-grains on the beach- ameya, the number of water droplets in the ocean- ameya, the number of cells in a body- ameya. Anything in the universe is Him, He exists as all this, in ameya svarupa.


"maamava sadaa shiva kumaara"


Here, Papansanam Sivan...and hence every person singing this kriti prays for protection. "Protect me always" maamava sada… and who is Kartikeya? He is Shiva-kumaara, Shiva's son.
This line is entirely borrowed from the Bhujangam. It says "kumaaresha suno...sadaa raksha maam tvam". "Eesha suno" is Shiva's son, Shiva kumaara. And "sadaa Raksha maam tvam" is the same as "maamava sadaa".
It's as if Papanaasam Sivan has kept the Bhujangam in mind and composed this song. He borrows ideas and language verbatim from the Bhujangam.


"vimaani krita chitra mayura"


Here, we have a reference to Kaartikeya's vaahana, the mayura, the peacock. It says "chitra" mayura...wonderful, beautiful peacock.
It is not only chitra, but it is vichitra too! Kaartikeya is visualized as a serpent in many places. "Bhujangam" itself means a snake. Now, snake is seated on a peacock! Normally, the snake and the peacock are enemies. But in Kaartikeya, these two opposite aspects come together. Hence, chitram, vichitram!
Also, Kaartikeya has 2 peacocks. As a child, he had a peacock as a vahana, as a pet. Later, when he confronted Shoorapadma, the asura became his vaahana as a second peacock. Depending on whether the peacock faces the left or the right (in temple vigrahas), we know whether it refers to the pet-peacock or to Shoorapadma. Hence, chitram!


"shrita kaamita phala daayaka"


The one who fulfils the desires of the devotees (shrita) by giving them their heart's wishes (kaamita phala daayaka). The bhujangam says, the beauty is, all Gods can fulfil the desires of a devotee. That is no big deal! But Kaartikeya is the only one, who gives Himself to a devotee. That makes Kaartikeya...head and shoulders above all other Gods! It says, for this reason alone, "guhaad devam anyam na jaane na jaane"...there is no equal to Kaartikeya!


"hata shoora"


The one who killed Shoora, the asura Shoorapadman. The bhujangam nicely says...these asuras are not outside. They are inside me! If you do not kill them, what will I do? where will I go? "kim karomi kva yaami" the bhujangam asks.
Hence, we need Kaartikeya's help to conquer the "aasuri sampat" (to borrow Geeta's phrase), the Shoora asuras within us.


"karuna jaladhara"


whose compassion (karuna) is ocean-like (jaladhara). The bhujangam says whether it is "aadhi" (mental affliction) or "vyaadhi" (physical affliction), they are all taken care by kaartikeya. The beauty is, we do not even have to partake the prasada from Kartikeya, the bhujangam says. Even a mere look at the vibhuti from Kartikeya, immediately drives away all our problems (vilokya kshanaat dravantey). Such is his karuna...ocean like.


"jagad aadhara"


Papanasam Sivan ends the kriti invoking the nirgunam svarupa of Kaartikeya, how he is the substratum, the satta, the one which lends existence to the world. Hence "jagad aadhara".


The more we look at this kriti, the more we enjoy it. Natabhairavi is a majestic raaga. It's as if Kartikeya in all his grandeur is riding through every note of this song!
Natabhairavi reminds us of a number of allied ragas. We are reminded of Saaramati (mokshamu galadaa), of Naaga-gaandhaari (sarasija naabha sodari), of Jonpuri (eppo varuvaaro), of Amritavaahini (shri raama paadamaa), of Maarga-Hindolam (chandra shekaram).
It's as if...Natabhairavi with her unparalleled features...bestows to all these allied ragas...a little of herself!


And finally, this kriti is very dear to me!

The circle of fashion

Few things generate as much amusement as old photographs. As children, whenever we visited our ancestral home, we spent hours scrutinizing the pictures that crowded the entire wall. Everyone shared the picture space- grand-parents, grand-uncles, grand-aunts, father, uncle and the entire extended family. The photographs went back in time, some predating India's Independence by almost a decade. Elaborate turbans, overcoats, dhotis, nine-yard saris- these folks were clearly from a different planet! And there was a picture of my father in his school days- in shorts which came just below the knee,  a half-shirt with over-sized collars, studs on both ears, hair brushed back and tied in a pony-tail and ears sticking out like jug handles! It tickled us to no end. We were forthright in passing judgement on father and his dress sense. "You look like an absolute buffoon appa! Straight out of a circus! Whoever wears shorts which flops below the knee...with legs sticking out like thin pipes! And with that hair-do and ear-studs, you look like a girl! Didn't you have better fashion-sense then?" Father's response was quick. He insisted that was the fashion and joined the laughter!
This candid conversation set in the late-seventies was apt. By my time, fashion had changed. Boys did not wear ear-studs. The hair-do was different- it now covered the ears in full. We wore "bush" shirts and nylon shorts- shorts which came till the thigh and no more. And each time we walked with a swagger in those shorts and floppy, long hair, we pretended we exuded the style and élan of Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe!


The wheels of time rolled. A few decades later, my childhood photographs were subject to a similar scrutiny, this time by my children! "Why would you have wear shorts hugging your thighs appa? With such long hair covering your ears, you look like an unmanicured poodle! Woof-woof!" Sometimes, we are forced to eat crow!
Fashion had come a full circle. Now, in my children's generation, shorts extend till the knee and beyond. The pony-tail is cool. And today, if you had ear-studs (albeit in one ear), it would be a style-statement. It was as if my father's photograph would blend seamlessly with the current generation, while my childhood picture would invite ridicule! What irony!


The swinging sixties and right up to the late seventies were wild times. Bell bottoms were a rage. It was skin-tight till the knee, and below that, ballooned to monstrous proportions. We clashed with the tailor to have the cuff as wide as possible till he gave up. Any wider and you will trip over your own toes, he warned us! It is baffling how fashion can uniformly take over an entire country when there was no social media. The credit for the take-over has to be paid somewhere-  it has to go to the movies. Perhaps it was Elvis, perhaps it was John Travolta, we don't know, but through them, bell-bottoms came to India to our own Amitabh and Rajinikant. It captured the imagination of the masses.  In those bell-bottoms, we walked, rising to our full height, hands stuffed in pockets and hair aflutter and with the foot-cuffs flapping against each other. And alongside me, walked grandfather, wearing full-trousers of his time. Grandpa's trousers were a sight. I was frank and told him he looked like a radish, in pants which were overly baggy at the top and tapered to cling the ankle. Clearly, his trousers and my bell-bottoms were a study in contrasts. My disdain for grandpa's fashion tastes was short lived. A decade later, in college, I wore pants exactly like grandpa- baggy at the top and tapering at the ankle. The fashion pendulum had swung. I am sure, wherever he was, grandpa would have laughed uproariously and  thumbed me in the nose!


How did the bell-bottoms vanish? Like those dinosaurs which once strode the world like a veritable colossus, how did they meet sudden extinction? How did we wake up one day to find the whole world abandon those bell-bottoms and opt for a measly pair of blue jeans? And those safari-suits? From a school principal to a top business executive, any person of standing wore safari-suits in pastel shades. It looked elegant with a double collar, multiple pockets on the torso, a shoulder-flap with a button and matching colored pants. What fate did the safari-suits meet?


Fashion is fickle. The surest way to stay in fashion, is to wear the same styled clothes day after day. Sooner or later, fashion itself will dog your heels and ensure that you are in-step with the times! It's like boarding a Mumbai train where you simply stand and submit yourself to the flow. End of the day, fashion is about the ridiculous getting acceptance based on the sheer weight of numbers. In such a world, with sufficient following, even a head shaved vertically in half and a moustache worn only on one side would still be cool. We don't know.
Fashion is cyclic. You don't have to throw your old clothes away. I have kept my bell-bottoms intact- starched, pressed and set on the hanger. When I wake up tomorrow morning, the fashion-wheel would have turned a full circle. I am certain. There will be a spring in my steps as I wear my bell-bottoms...one more time..with the foot-flares flapping against each other. And to go with it, a "bush shirt" unbuttoned till the chest and a black belt fitted with gold rings. Say it with me...aloud, in a low baritone, the words trailing in a husky whisper, "Bell-bottoms ke din vaapas aa gaye hain! The bell-bottoms are back!"

Of lizards, tails and tales!

"Disgust and fear" - a twin-emotion which wells up the moment we mention "lizard". Think a little more, and the face contorts, the arms stiffen, the body gives a little twitch...and shivers go down the spine! It is instinctive, much like the feeling of a finger-nail scratching the blackboard! We cannot help it. It is a throwback to our past, down to that day when the lizard suddenly leaped and landed on the head! And the rest of the events which unfolded- a quick peek into the "panchaang" and the foreboding of certain death! The fear and disgust never went away.


We don't exactly know why we find lizards creepy. It's a feeling we hold for reptiles as a species, and for lizards in particular. May be, because they share the home-space with us in such an intimate way. Glance up and you see the lizard- in ones, in twos...and suddenly several of them- pale-pink, brown, jet-black and even spotted. A little head bobs out of the crack in the ceiling, a tail dangles out of the tube-light,  one is tantalizingly poised over the door-sill and another dashes at breakneck speed across the diagonal of the wall! Now, who is going to enter that bedroom, switch the lights off and spend a night there? Not me!


Driving out a lizard is an exercise in futility. You keep the windows and door wide open and a use a stick to prod the lizard out. As in any venture, there's exactly one person doing the ugly job. Directors are many. You hear an excited running commentary- on where the lizard now lurks, from various vantage points at ground-zero. The objective is simple- you tap the stick and coax the lizard out of the window. There is some success, no doubt. Over the background noise of shrieks and screams, you manage to shake the lizard out of his slumber...and lead him in the direction of the window. One more tap and he should be out! The mood is expectant and upbeat, but life is never so easy. Only two things happen with the next tap- he has now retraced his path back to his original home, or worse, found a new home, behind an old photo-frame. There are just too many obstacles out there- curtains, light-fixtures, wall-hangings, photo-frames and paintings. The process begins all over again. To your horror, since the window is now open, you have just let in one more friend into the room. After a point, it is terribly frustrating, numbed as you are, with a neck-ache. You have half a mind to swing the stick wildly and break everything in its wake, if that can take care of the lizard. Thankfully, discretion as they say, is a better part of foolhardiness! We miss the basic point- this is the lizard's home as much as ours!


Sometimes, you do get the lizard, at least a part of him! The stick lands on the lizard, smack on his tail. Faced with this existential crisis, the lizard gives the slip- neat and simple.....he ejects his tail out! Disgust is now magnified several fold- the lizard darts across sans tail.....while the tail comes tumbling down at you! May be, Mother lizard comforted her kid that day- "what blow came straight for the head, at least it went off....with just the crown!" or an equivalent lizardian-tail proverb! We don't know.


With monsoons, nature comes alive. Winged-termites swarm all over the tube-light. Lizards go "chip-chip-chip"- their calls exchanged across the room. For them, it is a veritable feast as they stalk and nab their prey. We fear that by the next morning, they would have grown to crocodile-like proportions and would have crowded us out of the room!
Lizards find homes you least expect. One had crawled his way up the water-tube...into the geyser. Switch the geyser on and he is there….his snout and fore-paws....clearly defined against the red of the geyser light! And refraction doing the trick to make him look like a giant....much like a T-Rex! Any takers for a bath with a lizard please? And the other time, when he stepped right into an open bottle of white shoe-polish! I told my sister to keep it closed! Just when I reached out for the bottle, he crawled out....all white and dripping....leaving a trail of white paw-marks all over the floor and up the wall!


The cosy confines of a lizard-free home is a fitting place for reflection! End of the day, lizards are very much a part of creation and our lives. They keep insects at bay. We look at them with disgust; perhaps, they will evaluate us the same way. The more keenly we observe, there is beauty even in a lizard. We admire the lizard's paws, much like a child's tiny fingers, his beady eyes, his mottled skin and his agility.
If not anything, we appreciate a lizard's presence of mind and his sense of humour in finding novel ways to outwit us!


.

Where have they all gone?

The balloon seller was a fixture each evening. He peddled his wares at the park and stopped by the neighboring houses. He walked around with a vertical-prop...the tops of which bulged with balloons- balloons of all shapes, sizes and colors! Children hung around him and followed him as if he were Pied-Piper! Such was his pull. Occasionally, parents yielded to the child's whims and bought may be... one balloon. Mostly, they took a different route out of the park so that the balloon-seller's bait wouldn't tempt the child and result in an evening of uncontrollable tantrums. It was not only balloons he sold.  He carried bows and arrows gilded in gold and even a miniature TV. The TV had a little knob. Twirl it...and your favorite movie-stars appeared on screen- now Amitabh, now Rajesh Khanna, now Hema Malini. You get it? The gadget was delicate. It worked a few times all right. But if the child gave a little more pressure to the knob, it cracked. You were now stuck with a non-functional TV which wouldn't scroll anymore. Parents threw a fit for wasting money on this silly purchase.  No worries! You sliced the TV belly...pulled out the picture-scroll and glanced at your favorite-stars...all at once!
Another favorite was the "magic-window" contraption- a red-colored paper with a glass at the center. Depending on how you folded the paper...once, twice...thrice...a different picture appeared on the glass! It was magic- enough to keep the child busy for at least that evening!
Sometimes, a different balloon seller came by...with a cylinder in toe. Out of the cylinder...hung balloons...taut...and straight. They were "gas" balloons- helium balloons. He didn't appear to have much success. Parents kept their children away as if he were a child-snatcher. Rumors were rife...that the gas balloons had so much "power"...that one child actually got airlifted...and was carried away into the clouds!!


It was not easy to get cotton-candy. We looked for him each day during the summer holidays. It was a delight when the candy-floss-wala came to the neighborhood. He carried a huge glass-cube. Neatly piled inside the cube...were candy-floss balls- pink in color and fluffy. No- you never got a full candy-floss ball. The candy-floss wala was a sculptor with magic in his fingers. He would pull out an "umbrella" mold and press the cotton-candy against it. What came out was a cotton-candy umbrella. He added a little crown, a stick to prop up the umbrella and with a flourish, handed it over to the child! If you paid a rupee more, he made a cotton-candy bird...with beak and crown, feathers and tail! His creations were limited...it was either the umbrella or the bird. For a child, it meant the whole world...as it dug into the cotton-candy with relish...and had its entire face...cheeks, jaws, ears...all smeared a deep pink!


The quiet of lazy, summer afternoons was broken with a twang. The sound was unmistakable. It went twang-twang-twang continuously. Part the curtains...and you a saw a strange man carrying a strange weapon....which looked like an oversized AK-47. (No AK-47s existed then, the comparison is for the current generation!) The rest of the afternoon had a familiar ring. Out of every home emerged old bedding rolls- bedding rolls which had become limp and thin since the cotton wasn't fluffy anymore. The AK-47 fluffed up the cotton....and gave these bedding rolls a new lease of life! As for swaccha-bharat, it didn't matter. The whole neighborhood was filled with a haze which hung for the rest of the day...wisps of cotton flying all over and an odious smell which went with it!


Entertainment was often on the footpath. It came looking for you, when you lost interest in life. One afternoon, the magician took over the entire footpath. It was not the old-Indian  rope trick, but something similar. He had a boy step into a basket and in full public view, had him disappear into thin-air! The trick took time. The magician was a master story-teller, and stretched his trick for a whole hour. It served multiple purposes- there was a gradual build-up to the excitement and the eventual denouement. Also, he waited till the audience swelled and spilt onto the road. Once you were a spectator, you were simply hooked. You had to wait till the boy disappeared and miraculously re-appeared to collect the entertainment-fee from a dumb-founded audience! It was an afternoon well spent; there was anyway nothing better to do.


Where have all these people gone? Where is the knife-sharpener-wala with his cycle-wheel which ejected sparks, where is that "bhaji-wala" who knocked each door with his grocery basket? Where is that monkey-man....who entertained us with his monkeys? Where is that cow which answered all our questions about the future with a nod of its head...so that we knew exactly how the future is going to pan out? Where is that man who led this cow....and created a racket with that drum which went boom-boom-boom? Where is that fiddle-wala who sold those coconut-shell fiddles which produced music in his hands and the moment he transferred it to us, the same fiddle croaked like a crow with sore-throat? Where is that man who sat by the roadside working on his toothpick...whose only occupation was to give elaborate directions to anyone who lost his way? "Somanathapura? Turn rightu…turn leftu…turn rightu…adhey!" Why did he lose his job...lose his job...to...GoogleMaps of all things?


Where have all these folks gone? Like the Neanderthal man, they have become extinct, rendered irrelevant with the passage of time. It was inevitable. But they live on...in our memories...memories of childhood.
I can feel it now...getting under the hood of the bioscope-wala…the black cloth draped over my head. As I strain my eyes...and get used to the darkness...I can see the characters slowly coming to life. It is a whole new world...fairy-tale-like and most beautiful, with song and dance and mindless revelry! I am there! Don't bring me back!

Ramana Maharishi painting in oils

Painted about a couple of months ago. About 3ft by 2.5 ft.
Bhagavan's picture is now in the living room.....just ahead as I type these lines.


It's as if....anytime we feel less than 100%....we just have to gaze at Maharishi's face. The expression...."prahasann iva".....just that hint of smile....and the eyes filled with compassion.
Is there any face....more serene...more beautiful?