Automated options navigator!

If there is a barometer to measure frustration-levels, highest on the list will be the “automated options navigator” on the phone. All you want to do is to call your bank or the airlines with a particular query. The moment you hear "Our menu options have changed. Please listen carefully!", rest assured, you will spend the entire day on a wild goose chase. We have no idea who has had success navigating through this. If ever there is a modern day maze, this is one. At least, in a physical maze, you can scream for help, and alert some good Samaritan to pull you out. Here, there is none, you can scream your heart out.

The first problem with the navigator is that there are just too many options. You need a notepad just to jot down all the options before selecting one. As far as selection goes, it is like being in an exam with multiple choice questions, where all answers seem equally correct. You select an option to the best of your knowledge and hope for the best. Each option leads you to further options to be selected. That's when it dawns upon you that this is going nowhere. It is like a trick played in olden days, where someone would have scribbled on the margins of a library book- “Go to page 20”. When you go page 20, it will say- “Go to page 43”. At the end of this frantic turning of pages, you will get to a big, bold message “You idiot! Don’t you have anything better to do?” The navigator on the phone is a modern day version of this old trick.

Another version of this navigator trick is to raise your hope quotient. You will be greeted with the message – “You are now calling user 21”. At least, there is some light at the end of the tunnel. You bide your time. You move from 21 to 20 to 9 to 8...till it says...”you are calling user 1”. It is like playing the final over of a T-20 match. It does not get more exciting than this, the prospect to finally speak to someone and ask your blessed question. Just when your turn arrives, you hear a ring and at that opportune moment, nothing more happens! It is a complete blank or worse, the call gets disconnected. Sometimes, having waited on tenterhooks for over an hour, you hear “Our hours of office are from 9 am to 5 pm, Monday to Friday. Goodbye!” You jerk the phone a few times, but it will not help one bit. You shout and vent your frustration, but no one is listening. You have to start all over again. It is like playing Snake and Ladders where the snake has swallowed you from spot 97 and dumped you back to spot 3. Better luck the next time!

The navigator always has a voice that is cheery and enthusiastic. This is also part of the trick. Your mood is so terribly sullen as you go through this grind. At least, the voice can be a little sympathetic and soothing, to apply some balm to your jangled nerves. Instead, each time you start over, the tone of the voice never changes- like sprinkling salt on a festering wound. The navigator designer surely has an evil streak. We would be better off if he left us with silence as we struggle with these options. Instead, we are greeted with instrumental music- trumpet and drums. As each stanza ends and the trumpet fades away, we feel we will get to a human being. The stanza ends; the next one takes over. Even a 3 hour classical concert may end, but not this one. It plays till eternity, or yes, till you lose patience and disconnect the call.

I accidentally stumbled upon an exit strategy. Just do not select any option when the first set of options come up. Be bold and stay silent. It will repeat the options once, twice, thrice. If you have the courage to persist and stay still, it will say “transferring you to the operator”. That is exactly what you want! I have had great success with this technique. But of late, I find some devious mind has plugged this hole too. These days, it says “Sorry. You have not selected any option. Goodbye!”

Human beings are social beings. We need another human being to hear us. Another human being to say “I understand”. That is enough. Automation and Artificial Intelligence is all nice and fine. But it is a poor substitute. Spare us from this exercise in futility. Can we make it mandatory for this automated navigation menu to have an option like “give me a human being”? I bet 100% of the people will select this option. That tells the story.

When Gavaskar got back his "Gandiva"

Arjuna hid his famous bow, the “Gandiva”, atop a tree in the forest. He did not need it anymore. After all, he had to spend the rest of the exile incognito as a dance teacher in the kingdom of Viraata. The Gandiva was forgotten and gathered rust. When the kingdom of Viraata was suddenly attacked, someone had to stand up. Arjuna climbed the tree and got back his Gandiva. The twang of the bow was unmistakable and struck terror in the hearts of the enemy. Armed with the Gandiva, Arjuna was invincible and skittled the enemy in no time. Arjuna’s mojo was back...and how! 

Sunil Gavaskar had given up the “hook shot”. It was a flamboyant shot that he played well, but the shot involved a lot of risk. He no longer had the luxury to play the shot. As the opening batsman of India, it was his responsibility to give India a solid start. Gavaskar provided that start through a dour, defensive technique that saw him grind the bowlers to submission. The hook shot was forgotten and gathered dust for over a decade. 

In the winter of 1983, Clive Lloyd’s West Indies side toured India. Smarting from the recent World Cup loss to minnows India, West Indies had more than a point to prove. Malcolm Marshall was the most fearsome bowler in the world. With his brisk, angular run-up, Marshall resembled a steam-engine firing on all cylinders. Batsmen around the world were flattened by Marshall with a combination of pace, bounce and movement. In addition to Marshall, there was Holding, Davis and Daniel, all lightning quick bowlers in their own right. The batsmen had no freebies at all. 

In the First Test at Kanpur, Marshall was at his meanest best. He bowled a vicious bouncer to Gavaskar. The ball was so lethal, that it knocked Gavaskar’s bat from his hands and he ended up being tamely caught. It was an embarrassing dismissal, like an ace archer ending up with a broken bow. The great Gavaskar was humbled. India lost the Test Match badly. We wondered how Gavaskar would now respond. The stage was set. 

Like Arjuna, Gavaskar rummaged through his attic filled with all kinds of Cricket shots. He blew the dust off the hook shot that lay in a corner. He resolved to play the shot once more. At the Feroz Shah Kotla Ground, Delhi, the venue of the Second Test, Gavaskar unleashed the hook shot against Marshall’s bouncers. It was a different Gavaskar we saw that day. A veritable David versus Goliath saga unfolded as Gavaskar met fire with fire. He played without a helmet, but not once did he flinch even at the risk of being hit. He had the conquered fear demons. It rained fours and sixes and Gavaskar raced to one of his fastest hundreds. It was a momentous century that leveled his tally with the legendary Don Bradman. Marshall’s meteors had been tamed and how! This innings remains part of Cricketing folklore.  

Many decades have passed since that winter of 1983. I still have the red “flicker-book” that was released as part of the Test Series. Each page has almost the same picture, but with a little change, providing a lesson in persistence of vision. Twirl the pages of the flicker-book, and Gavaskar comes alive- his white floppy hat, his characteristic stance and playing the hook shot one more time, right in front of our eyes! Along with the shot, comes back a slice of our childhood that is entwined with Cricket. 

Sport is much like Art. It gives as much joy to the spectators, as it does to the sportsman. When we see the genius of a Maradona or a Gavaskar, it pumps enthusiasm into our veins. There is a spring in our steps, a song on our lips and the world is that much lighter to deal with. Cricket folklore is filled with such tales- of triumph and despair and the indomitable spirit of a sportsman. These songs may date to a dim and distant past. But in our hearts, they remain enshrined forever.

The disarming ease of English Poetry

English poetry has no entry barrier. Anyone from 4th grade onwards, with a working knowledge of English can write poetry. The school magazines are filled with poems. It is English poetry’s strength as well as its weakness. The problem is, to an untrained eye, the 4th grader’s output is indistinguishable from a poet of merit. It is a little like Modern Art that faces a similar crisis. Except for the discerning eye of the connoisseur, for the rest of us, my child’s scribble and the Master’s work look much the same. 

 In some sense, writing English poetry has a disarming ease. “I went to the market” is a simple sentence. “To the market went I” becomes a poem! Just a little change in the construct and you have a prospective poem. Once you have the first line in your poem, you simply hunt down all rhyming words from A to Z looking for the right fit. You now have a set to play with- “Buy, die, fie, guy, high, lie...”. You finally settle for “buy” since it is connected to the “market” in the first line. The second line is now ready to team up with the first. ”To the market went I; apples, oranges and a lot more to buy!” The third line will be a fresh line. The fourth will rhyme with the third. You get it? It is simply too easy and reams and reams of poetry can be written this way! 

 At least, English poetry with rhyme has a certain cadence. You can read it loudly and it sounds nice. “To the market went I” when read loudly has a tingling effect, regardless of the common-place meaning. However, modern poets don’t subscribe to rhyme any more. This is a bigger problem. At best, the poems look like prose except for the trailing ellipsis, those tiny three dots at the end of the line. Now, “I went to the market...” itself is a poem. You just need to replace the full-stop with an ellipsis. School magazines, personal diaries and facebook pages are filled with these new poems. A third brand of English poetry has also found its way. In this form of poetry, you do not have to write even a sentence. You stack up a few words right out of the dictionary. “Anguish, Angst, Anger” That’s it! Voila! The poem is ready and can serve as a poetic response to any of the current social ills. 

 We have reached a point where we have lost the norm to evaluate English Poetry. Anyway, no one wants to evaluate. When we flip through the school English textbooks, we continue to see only Wordsworth and Keats and Browning. We wonder why none of these modern poets can find a place in school textbooks. We may not have seen Bradman in Cricket. However, we can relate to greatness in sport today through a Virat Kohli. On the same lines, shouldn’t a modern exponent of English Poetry walk into the school textbooks? 

All Indian regional languages have a rich tradition of poetry. It is a heritage that has come down to us. When lines of poetry are read out to an audience in a regional language, there is an immediate response- a “wah wah” for each line. Some beautiful turn of the phrase, some deft expression, there is an inexplicable delicate nicety to the lines that evokes instant relish.In contrast, a reading of English Poetry has a somewhat muted appeal. Not that it falls totally flat, but it fails to stimulate the senses to the same extent. At times, we are drowned with archaic usage like “thy”, “thine” and “thou” in the poems. It is jarring to the modern ear and we just cannot go past this barrier. Also, the locales for traditional English poems have a distant setting- Scottish highlands with its vales and dales. Though human feeling is universal and transcends location, still, the particular aspect of the poem is lost on us. It is a little like a polar bear from the Siberian regions that has accidentally strayed into Chennai and that too in the sweltering heat of summer. There is just so much commonality possible for both the bear and us to make each other feel truly comfortable. 

 A controversial streak runs through the mind- May be, English has limited tools for writing appealing poetry, lines that can truly touch the heart. Perhaps, the synonyms are limited. Perhaps, the words are scattered in all shapes and sizes and cannot be easily fitted in an attractive poetic meter. May be, it lacks the ability to coin new compound-nouns, words that can leap out with a meaning far different from the individual nouns. Conversational English is simple. It serves the purpose. English Prose is just fine. It has a bigger canvas and the elaboration compensates for the peculiar problems faced by English Poetry. As a language of Science and Technology, we appreciate English’s brevity. As a computer programming language, English is more than adequate. Only Poetry...where art thou?

Madras Mail

The railway line between Mumbai and Chennai has been operational since 1871! Much water has flowed since then, including a change in the names of the cities. In these days of instant messaging, it baffles the mind to know that a train ran each day just to carry mail. My memory goes back to the second half of the previous century. The Madras Mail started from Bombay VT at the stroke of ten at night. It ran the whole of the next day, and reached Madras in the wee hours of the third morning. Each journey was momentous, and in recollection now, it assumes a fairy-tale fondness! 

 Air-conditioned, sound-proofed compartments were non-existent. We listened to the raw sounds of the rail, the rhythmic clatter, the engine hoot and the guard's whistle. Pressing the forehead to the window, we peered into the darkness of the night as the train hurried out of Bombay. Lulled by the train's gentle rocking, sleep overpowered us. In semi-sleep, we continued to monitor the train's progress- the round of tunnels through the Western Ghats, the lonesome "chikki" peddler marking the arrival of Lonavla and the change in the engine at Pune. 

 We woke up in time for breakfast at Solapur. Peddlers competed with each other to outshout the other with "coffee-coffee" and "chai-chai". The compartment was a foodie's delight- the air redolent with the confusing crisscross scents of steaming idli and bubbling sambar, sizzling poha and wholesome upma. Through the rest of the day, the train covered the entire Deccan Plateau. The flag-posts were fixed- lunch at Raichur and early dinner at Guntakal. The sun was a constant fixture; it scorched the earth showing little mercy. A furnace raged outside the train and within. A bottle of "cool-drinks" was elixir, that only a parched throat on that train can understand; none else! From time to time, little hamlets greeted us with a wave of hands from little children. The mind wondered wistfully, what if fate had willed otherwise, and we were born in one of these homes. Sometimes, rail-crossings resulted in a sudden halt in no man's land for aeons. It would take a wake-up call of a thundering train in the opposite direction, to shake the Mail from its stupor. We cross-checked with the "Railway Timetable" handbook and grumbled that the train was running late by a couple of hours. 

 A host of stations went by, there was "Hotgi" and "Kurduwadi", "Wadi" and "Raichur", "Yerraguntla" and "Adoni". The train thundered over the Krishna River and the Tungabhadra, both a kilometer in breadth, an expanse of sand with a ribbon of water in the summer months. A basketful of juicy guavas announced the arrival of Kondapuram. As the sun went down, the landscape cooled and huge boulders and rock formations marked Guntakal Junction. It was time for dinner- crisp dosas, a generous bite into "medhu vada" and piping hot coffee! 

 A sense of impatience marked the rest of the journey. We had sat too long and now wanted to reach Madras at the earliest. But the Madras Mail showed no urgency. It reached Cudappah before sleep time with peddlers pacing the platform with trays of cool rose-milk. By 2:00 am, it neared Renigunta with the twinkling lights of the Tirumala Hills in the distance. A flurry of poly-syllabic stations whizzed past after Arakkonam. The "holdalls" and blankets had to be packed up in a hurry even as we begged to be allowed to sleep for more time. As the train negotiated the bend at Basin Bridge and pulled into Madras Central, it was still dark. We would alight to a brand new world at Madras for a full two months. Bombay was some distant planet.

Of masks and men!

The way you wear the mask entirely depends on the personality type. It is not just the mask. It extends to any mandate- like the requirement to wear the helmet or the safety-belt in your car or follow the traffic rules. How well you adhere to the mandate depends on what you are made of.


The problem is "wear the mask" is an injunction. It is a rule stipulated by the powers-that-be. Mr defiant is a personality type- allergic to any rule. He openly flouts it. The entire humanity may be behind a mask; but he stands apart, walks with a swagger, unmasked and unabashed. There is no point arguing with Mr Defiant- he is armed with his peculiar logic and is well prepared. He has stepped out of home, after spitting on both palms, pumped up for a fight, and in taking him on, we needlessly fall into his trap. If you want to shame him, do it quietly- just ignore him!


Some personality types are exactly the opposite- not only do they welcome the mandate, but go overboard in following it. Open their wardrobe, and an entire riot of masks tumble out- plain-masks, colored-masks, floral-masks and yes, even gold-masks for special occasions! It is their latest accessory, like a scarf or a tie, that needs to be matched with the rest of the person. The mask is their new style statement- when they take the dog out for a walk, it looks equally prim and proper, behind its tiny mask!


There are some who wear the mask for face-value (no pun intended) and no more. The mask is safely tucked under the chin, resembling a full-blown beard they have suddenly sprouted! In some cases, the mask covers only the mouth, with the nose sticking over it, as if they care for protection, but only partially. And then, there are others who wear the mask in full, but the moment they need to talk, pull it down to the chin. Once the conversation is over, the mask is back in place! And then, there are others, who wear the mask, in full,  that too without a break, but there is a catch- the mask is like a pair of pyjamas- it dangles so loose, that leave alone a virus, you could let in an entire swarm of bees! What do you do when someone shows up with a sari-palloo or a knotted kerchief as a makeshift mask? It plays with the wind and flaps- now in place, and now- all open, with a free invitation for the elements to gatecrash into the mouth and nose?  How do you police this motley crowd?


There are certain personality types who pretend to comply only for the fear of being pulled up. Their singular aim is to somehow beat the system. These are the types who carry the two-wheeler helmet in the back-seat like a trophy. The moment a policeman is seen in the distance, the helmet is promptly on the head! So too with the safety-belt in the car-  stretched over the torso, like the proverbial sacred-thread only at the road-check point.  His brain has grown- enough to pick loopholes, but not enough to appreciate the need for safety, his own personal safety. We know how he will wear the mask.


Sometimes, we feel the urge to drive some sense into people, even at the cost of being unpopular. After all, a totally pacifist philosophy does not help. I accosted the first man who wore no mask. He simply retorted "get lost!" and jogged past me! The next attempt was an elderly gentleman. He had an immediate answer, "Beta! I have a breathing problem, oxygen ki kami hai! I cannot wear a mask!" If you have a problem in breathing, you should very well be staying at home, for it is exactly this co-morbidity condition that Corona preys on, I tried to reason. "That I will take care, you don't worry!", said the man, leaving me rooted at the spot!


End of the day, each one is a victim of his own personality. It will decide how the mask is worn, whether it is worn at all! It reminded me of an incident years ago. In the railway compartment, there was a man stretched over two seats of the berth, in a brazenly callous way, leaving the rest of us falling over the edge of the berth. After a point, it was simply impossible to adjust. "Why are you doing this?" we asked him point blank. His reply was swift, "What can I do? My body itself is like that!"
Compliance cannot be bought or enforced. All we can do is provide access to information. The education has to happen from within. And yes, we should definitely pray- "Lord, may people have some common sense. Sabko sanmati dey Bhagavan!"

Learning about eclipses

Eclipse is a complicated phenomenon. It is even more complicated to explain the concept of an eclipse to school kids. May be, children these days have access to better resources and perhaps more academically tuned. Back then, we were very raw. To be fair, Mr Lawrence tried his best. It was just that we did not get it.


That there were two types of eclipses was the easy part. We registered their names all right. The problem was recalling which one is solar and which one is lunar. Someone came between someone else. That's all we could decipher. When Mr Lawrence went around the class and questioned each student, he got all sorts of answers. There was no consensus whatsoever. Most students tended to agree with David's explanation for he was widely accepted as the brain of the class. But Sridhar's definition of solar-eclipse was exactly the opposite, which swayed some votes in his favor. In the end, there was a stalemate and a distinct possibility of a hung-parliament in class. As far as a few other students were concerned, this topic of eclipse was the last thing on their minds. They were in their own world- either dreaming away or busy sharpening their pencils or trying to retrieve a lost protractor from the compass box by tunneling their way under the benches! It was a mixed crowd.


Mr Lawrence was irked. He felt a more practical demonstration may clear the cobwebs from our minds. He asked for 3 balls- a football, a cricket-ball and a table-tennis ball! Like a dog that has dozed away...suddenly picks itself up and scampers around, Mr Lawrence's request was just the impetus needed to liven up the class. When was the last time a teacher asked for a ball during class hours? In a jiffy, all sorts of balls lay piled up on the table, resembling a fruit-vendor's cart! The selection was tough- only one football could be the sun, another cricket-ball the earth, and one table-tennis ball...could be the moon. The discarded balls and their owners were equally morose.


The whole class was now at the table...as we curiously observed the proceedings. Mr Lawrence placed the balls in a particular sequence and beamed with pride. "This is a solar eclipse! This is the sun....and the moon comes between the earth...and...." Before Mr Lawrence could complete the sentence, the balls were just as impatient as the rest of us. The table-tennis ball drifted away from its orbit and fell off the table-edge. More hands were pressed to restrain these balls. A seventh-grader's mind is simple. He relates to a football as a football and the necessity to think of these balls as astronomical objects is lost on him. At the end of this exercise, we picked up some additional points about an eclipse. It appeared some hidden hand could make the cricket ball and the table-tennis ball swap places, like we do in class.  As for the football, well, it seemed to stay as-is.


Mr Lawrence was not yet done. He felt he had more concepts to convey. Dinesh would be the sun- he was the football. He selected a mid-sized boy as the earth and a tiny-fellow as the moon! He made the tiny fellow go around mid-sized and kept questioning mid-size whether he still saw Dinesh! Of course, he always saw Dinesh. He was the football of the class! The answer did not please Mr Lawrence. As far as Dinesh was concerned, he claimed he still saw  tiny-fellow's legs through the mid-sized legs! The class was a riot! We finally understood what eclipses meant.
Sridhar had an elaborate argument with Mr Lawrence on a point too subtle for the rest of us. It had to do with why eclipses couldn't happen more often. After all, the moon was going around the earth all the time. Only Sridhar seemed to grasp Mr Lawrence regarding earth and moon flying on different planes....with a slanted notebook in hand signifying a plane...perhaps in landing mode.


The mid-term exams were over. Mr Lawrence came to class with a sheaf of answer-papers. His face had a pained expression as he shared some of the eclipse diagrams from the answer sheets with the rest of the class. The only common point in all the papers were three circles- standing for the sun, the moon and the earth. Mr Lawrence added a 4th circle to mark a 0 for the answer! In some papers, the circles were of the same size-  the student had forgotten to bring 3 separate coins of different denominations and was stuck with only a 25 paise coin. In another paper, the sun also got a chance to swap places. After all, it was at the center of the solar system. It could very well have the moon and the earth on either side! Sridhar tried to be over-smart by drawing the sun as a huge semi-circle spanning the whole page...with the earth and moon as tiny dots because of their relative sizes in space.
Mr Lawrence called out Mehernosh. He was still busy sharpening the pencil that had turned to a tiny stub.  Mr Lawrence held him by the ear till his ear and face turned red. Mehernosh had labeled the sun as "Dinesh" and had added "football" in brackets for clarity!

Shantanu, Kapoor and sons!

The Mahabharata is a complicated story. There is a main storyline which we are all fairly familiar with. The devil is in the details. The problem starts with the lineage. Every adaptation of the story begins from King Shantanu and his son Bheeshma.
The central characters are of course the Pandavas and the Kauravas. The problem is connecting these dots. How does the lineage travel from Shantanu to the Pandavas? Bheeshma took the oath to be a bachelor all his life. We remember this point. It is here that the family-tree gets confusing. Most people are completely blank  when asked this question. It is as if, they have never thought about it. If the person is a little more informed, he throws a few names- Satyavati, Vichitravirya, Amba, Ambalika, Dhritarashtra and Pandu. Still, he cannot piece the puzzle together. The more he tries, the more he ties himself in knots. As far as the listener is concerned, he is now even more muddled than before. He wishes he had not started the topic at all. Finally, we give up with words of wisdom- why worry about these non-essential details? We should never try to trace the source of a river...or a sage- “nadi-moolam and rishi moolam”! They may have had a past, but we do not care. All we care about is the present! With these parting words, we extricate ourselves from this topic.


If you thought this lineage is tough to understand, wait till you get to the Kapoors. Like Shantanu, the lineage starts with Prithviraj Kapoor. He is the patriarch. That part is clear. We are also sure about the present generation- Ranbir and Kareena Kapoor. The trouble is in connecting these two with the patriarch. We are suddenly faced with too many pieces in this jigsaw puzzle. Somehow, you have to fit all of them correctly. We have Raj Kapoor, Shammi Kapoor, Shashi Kapoor, Randhir Kapoor and Rishi Kapoor. And some other Kapoors we have heard of- Rajiv Kapoor, Karan Kapoor and Kunal Kapoor. And the women- Karishma Kapoor and Kareena Kapoor. And yes, Ranbir Kapoor. Without consulting your favorite computer search engine, if you try to trace this family tree, you will go nowhere. Suddenly, the mind completely shuts down. It cannot recall whether Rishi Kapoor was Raj’s son or sibling! Many a mighty film connoisseur has had mud on his face when faced with this most elementary question. The more we struggle, the more exasperated we get. It is as if this whole world is filled with only Kapoors. We’ve drawn an elaborate family tree on paper, with several corrections and end up with Ranbir as Prithviraj’s father! And each time, we’ve forgotten one Kapoor, and in trying to fit him, the tree has to be redrawn once more. Seeing us tied in knots, someone has a bright suggestion- What about Tushar Kapoor and Anil Kapoor? We react sharply at the person- “Silly! They do not even belong to this family tree! Don’t think I have such a poor Kapoor memory!” 

Lineages are tough for the human mind. It is not designed to make sense out of them. It brings back the scars of childhood and that blank moment in the History exam when it could not recall whether Aurangzeb was Babur’s son or father! We prefer English History for one simple reason. At least, King George V was after King George III. We wish all naming conventions were that easy!

Thoughts on Tyagaraja's kriti "Chakkani raja"

One hour into the concert, the moment the musician sings the first phrase of Kharaharapriya raga, our face immediately lights up! We know this is going to be the main piece of the concert. The first kriti that comes to mind is Tyagaraja's "Chakkani raja". And when our hunch proves right and he starts the kriti, we break into a big smile! We wait with bated breath for the neraval centered on "kantiki sundara". In the darkness of the auditorium, as the musician explores this phrase in multifarious ways, it is as if the mind rests; it rests on the beauty of the phrase, the beauty of Rama's face and the beauty of Kharaharapriya's grace. When it comes to recorded concerts, how many times have we replayed that neraval by Madurai Mani, who lets his imagination loose as only he can.
In this essay, we look into this song to see what it conveys and how it has become such a favorite with musicians and rasikas alike.


This kriti is addressed by Tyagaraja to his own mind. The word "O manasaa" comes towards the end of the Pallavi. The song is a conversation between Tyagaraja and his mind. Each of the stanzas has a built-in "when you have something so beautiful, why are you drifting off to something else?"- that question is seen in each of the stanzas. In the Pallavi, is the main question- when you have such a beautiful (chakkani) raja-maarga, a royal path in front of you, O mind, why are you drifting off into wayside gullies (sandulu) that lead nowhere? He does not disclose what the raaja-maarga is. He keeps the suspense going and reveals it only in the charanam. We will also analyze the raaja-maarga only towards the end of the essay. He has not mentioned what the way-side gullies (sandulu) are- but we can infer from the context, which will see later.
The pallavi is built in such a way, it is as if we are travelling on the raaja-maarga. We are seated on a chariot hooked to horses...and slowly picking up speed. First, the horse takes a few gentle paces, then a friendly trot and eventually breaks into a gallop. The raaja-maarga is smooth and even- not one jerk in this joy-ride . As the sangatis of the Pallavi are unraveled, starting with the simple ones and expanding into the ones with more complexity, we experience the rhythm of this ride.


The anupallavi also starts with the same refrain- "when you have this, why are you doing something else?" In most Tyagaraja kritis, he takes two examples and drives home his point. The Pallavi had the first example- the royal path versus a wayside alley. In the anupallavi, he gives another example- milk versus toddy. He says, when you have wholesome, nutritious, creamy (meegada) milk (paalu) which can nourish you, why would you go after toddy, which is exactly the opposite- something detrimental (cheeyanu) to your health? To rhyme with chakkani, he uses "chikkani" here to qualify the wholesome nature of milk. Interestingly, the word used for toddy is ganga-saagaram, perhaps a jargon in Tyagaraja's time. Adi Shankara uses a similar example in a verse where he says people are so obtuse that they gravitate towards flour-water (jaley-paishte) and mistake it to be milk (ksheeram).


In the charanam, the secret of the raaja-maarga is revealed. It is the dhyaanam on Rama's rupa and his naama-japa. The Pallavi starts with the famous line "kantiki sundaramagu roopamey". It refers to Rama's beautiful form which is a feast to our eyes (kantiki). The sundara word here takes us to the sundara-kaanda where Hanuman starts Rama's description with the line- "raamah kamala-patraakshah sarva-bhoota manorathah". Rama's eyes are like a lotus-petal's and the beauty of his form enamors all beings. It is as if Tyagaraja keeps this line in mind and starts the Charanam.
Next he says, Shiva is forever engrossed in Rama's naama-japa. He nicely ties "kantiki" with "mukkanti" (the three-eyed one- i.e. Lord Shiva). Rama nama is enjoyed the most by Lord Shiva- this is an idea seen in multiple kritis of Tyagaraja. In the famous kriti extolling Rama-nama (inta saukhya maniney), Tyagaraja says the same..."shankaruniki thelusu"....Lord Shiva understands the beauty of Rama nama. We can remind ourselves of Vishnu Sahasranama too, where prompted by Parvati, Shiva answers that Rama-nama is equivalent to all the 1000 names of Lord Vishnu.


By bringing Rama and Shiva together, he also ties it with the name of the raga. Rama is khara-hara: when he took on Khara and Dushana and 16000 rakshasas and vanquished them. It is as if the raga is hara-priya- favorite to Lord Shiva as well as to Rama- khara-hara-priya.
In the Charanam also, Tyagaraja asks the same question- O mind! when you have Rama, whose form is so alluring and whose name is so beautiful, so much so, that even Lord Shiva is doing his nama-japa….when such a Rama has come to your home (intiney), why are you going down...wayside gullies and not on this royal path?
The home can be taken as Tyagaraja's home, where we know he had a Rama vigraha. It can also be Tyagaraja's heart ("hrdayaagara"), taking the cue from his other compositions. With this, the kriti comes to a close.


The question is- what is "the raaja-maarga" and what are the gullies, sandulu? Can it be taken as Rama worship versus anya-devata worship such that Rama-worship alone would qualify as raaja-maarga? We cannot take such a reading because Tyagaraja himself has composed kritis on Lord Shiva (Shambho Mahadeva), on Devi and on other Gods too.
Hence, we can broadly take, raaja-maarga as life centered on God while sandulu can be taken as a materialistic life. As we see in the Upanishad, "ayam lokah naasti para iti maani"- the one who takes this world as an end in itself, he goes nowhere. This is definitely a cul-de-sac, a road to nowhere, the sandulu that Tyagaraja wants us to avoid.


The next question is...can we then take a religious life as "the" raaja-maarga? Compared to an irreligious life, a religious life is a relatively broader road with scope to progress. So it is a relative raaja-maarga. But even here, there are gradations. As Krishna says, if we use God as an "accomplice" to get out of our problems (aarta bhakti) or to accomplish something (arthaarthi bhakti) in this world, it is fine, but it is also a "sandulu" in a way. However, a person who holds onto God as an end in itself, he is on the raaja-maarga compared to the other two.


Further, even as a bhakta, there is a division- the one who worships god with a form (saguna bhakti) and the one who worships god as formless (nirguna bhakti). Is Tyagaraja then saying that saguna-bhakti is "the raaja maarga"? The answer would be yes, but we have to quickly add what Krishna mentioned in the Geeta. Krishna says that for most of us, we identify so much with our body, that in such a state, we will only appreciate God also with a body, with a form (dehavadbhir-avaapyatey). Hence, saguna bhakti is what Krishna also votes for...for majority of the people. However, he adds, if there is a devotee, who has that mental maturity to reduce his body-identification, for that devotee, nirguna bhakti is the best and that devotee certainly gains the Highest- "tey praapnuvanti maam eva".


Hence, for Ramana Maharishi, "the raaja-maarga" is Self-enquiry. As he says "maanasam tu kim, maarganey krite, naiva maanasam, maarga aarjavaat". The straightest path "maarga aarjavaat" is the one of Self Enquiry- to question the reality of the mind (maanasam tu kim?) and arrive at the Self as the basis of oneself and the world at large. This is the raaja-maarga for such a person.


To summarize, Tyagaraja's raaja-maarga can mean different things depending on where we stand. Ultimately, it depends on us. If we are irreligious, religious life is raaja-maarga. If we are already in religion, god as an end is raaja-maarga. If our body identification is intense, saguna bhakti is our raaja-maarga. If we have already traveled all these roads and our mind is prepared, shastra-vichaara, self-enquiry is the raaja-maarga. Though in most compositions, Tyagaraja's saguna bhakti is seen, we do see examples of the nirguna in rare compositions like "paramaarthmudu".


Utlimately, chakkani-raaja maarga...is our travel- a subjective travel...so that one day we will own up our Self as the aatma raama, the aananda ramanaa.

Thoughts on Tygaraja's kriti "nagumomu ganaleni" set to Abheri raga

One of Tyagaraja's most famous kritis is "nagumomu ganaleni". It is a favorite with both vocalists and instrumentalists. We are reminded of masterly renditions by Semmangudi and an altogether novel interpretation of the same song by Balamuralikrishna. Instrumentalists from Mandolin Srinivas to the violin wizard Kunnakudi loved to perform this piece. The song has a theatrical feel to it as it builds up tempo...reaches a crescendo and thereafter, comes down in cascades of notes. It is a favorite at all marriage functions where nadaswaram vidvans latch onto this kriti with great gusto. We know all this.


In this essay, we look at the kriti to understand Tyagaraja's frame of mind when he composed this piece. The main theme behind this song is one of anguish. Tyagaraja is pained that he cannot see Rama's charming face ("nagu" - beautiful, "momu" - face)  anymore and accuses Rama of indifference. He says that he pines to see Rama's smiling face but Rama, not understanding Tyagaraja's plight (naajaali thelisi), chooses to stay away. For emphasis, he words this as a question to Rama, addressing him as "Hey Raghuvara! Don't you understand my plight, and still, you choose to stay away?" Tyagaraja deliberately chooses to address Rama as Raghuvara and almost mocks him with that epithet. Rama is supposedly the best in the Raghu clan "Raghu-vara", a clan which had an unbroken chain of illustrious kings. We know about Dileep, Raghu, Aja and Dasharatha...all ancestors of Rama, and each a glowing pendant in that necklace. King Dileep had such a noble heart that he was willing trade places with a cow so that the lion could eat him instead of the cow. Rama belongs to this clan and yet, shows least empathy for Tyagaraja. He almost admonishes Rama through this address as "Raghuvara". The Pallavi ends with this.


In the anupallavi, Tyagaraja takes certain possibilities on why Rama could be indifferent towards him and dismisses those reasons too. He says...it is likely that Rama may be busy. He is a chakaravarti with so many people and things to attend to, that it is possible that he may miss Tyagaraja's earnest call. But Rama will be surrounded by attendants, whose job would be to remind him on what he needs to do. Tyagaraja questions...ok...Rama may be preoccupied...but what about these attendants? Have they forgotten their duty? He also explicitly says that it is unlikely that these attendants will be partial and leaves the sentence open. It is for us to interpret the rest. By taking the Rama's attendants also out of the picture, the needle of accusation is squarely on Rama. Yes, the attendants did remind, yes, the attendants did convey Tyagaraja crying himself hoarse, but Rama still chose to be indifferent. Interestingly, Tyagaraja starts the anupallavi with the phrase "nagaraaja dhara", the one who lifted the mountain. Tyagaraja never bothers about chronology. For him, every manifestation is Rama alone. Krishna lifted "nagaraaja"...the king of mountains and thereby, saved entire Gokulam. He could save the whole of Gokulam through one act of grace, and now, when Tyagaraja explicitly asks for his grace, Rama does not oblige him. "Nagaraaja dhara" can also mean the Lord as kurma avatara, where he helped the Devas by carrying the entire mountain on his back, but interpreting it as "govardhana giri dhara" fits the context more appropriately. The anupallavi ends with this.


The charanam starts with "khaga-raaja". The anupallavi began with "naga-raaja" and here, it is "khaga-raaja" creating a nice alliteration. "Khaga-raaja" is the king of birds, i.e. Garuda. It is also appropriate to start the "charanam" with Garuda who is often called "periya tiruvadi", "holy feet". It is as if the charanam should start with charana (feet)! Here, he questions Rama (in his form as Vishnu), whether Garuda does not obey his orders, perhaps? He enquires whether Garuda says that the distance from the sky "gagana"...i.e. Vaikunta..to the earth is too far...bahu dooram? Though Tyagaraja leaves it as an open question, here too, the implicit assumption is the same. It is unlikely that Garuda would have complained. After all, when the elephant Gajendra was in pain and crying for help, it was Garuda who immediately swung into action. Again, the tone is one of accusation. Tyagaraja says...definitely Garuda would not have said that. It is Rama and his stone-like heart, that is the only reason why he chooses to stay away from Tyagaraja.


Though all the previous lines in this song are one of accusation, Tyagaraja does not end the song in the same vein. He implores Rama even more. He calls him "jagamele paramatma", the Lord of the whole universe and says, other than Him, to whom can he cry his heart out ("moralida") (like Gajendra did)? He pleads with  Rama to shun his indifference and forthwith come and bless him! The song ends on this note.
Tyagaraja's songs are his personal conversations with Rama.  Nagumomu-ganaleni is an earnest cry by Tyagaraja asking Rama to give up his indifference "upeksha" and immediately come and bless him with the vision of his beautiful face.


This song can be looked in a philosophical way too. There is a verse in the Upanishad which says- "satyasyaa pihitam mukham". We are not able to see the Lord's face "satyasya mukham" because it is covered- "pihitam". In the context of the Upanishad, the Lord has been already defined as "Truth" (satya), the One Truth that fills the entire universe "ishaavaasyam idam sarvam". It is this all pervading Being, which is here referred as "satya" and the Upanishad says...that that Being's face is covered! How can....that...which is all pervading...its face be covered...we will ask. The Upanishad itself answers..."hiranmayena paatrena"....covered with a golden-lid. The intent here is to say...that our eyes and mind are so extroverted (conveyed through the word "gold"), that we successfully miss to see that which is everywhere! It is as if, we cover our eyes with the lucre of gold and all else and fail to see the face of that Being which is everywhere! This is the "nagumomu" that we miss.


After all, he is "sahasra sheersha purushah"...with a 1000 heads...and "vishvatomukhah" "with faces everywhere". All the faces we see, whether a human's or an animal's or an insect's....they are His faces. That being the case, how can we miss to see this "nagumomu"? If we are still successfully missing, it means, we lack the divya-chakshu, the "divine eye of wisdom" to appreciate all faces as His beautiful faces.
Hence, we pray for his grace, so that we can finally gain this "eye of wisdom". Tyagaraja's cry of anguish can be taken as this cry for grace. The indifference that Tyagaraja ascribed to Rama previously, is owned up here, as our indifference, our inability to see the obvious.
The Upanishad continues..."yat te roopam kalyaanatamam tat tey pashyaami"...I pray for that grace so that I can "see" (pashyaami) i.e. appreciate the Truth which is all mangala "kalyaanatamam". And further says...that Truth is everywhere, in "that sun" (asau purushah) and then, slowly adds..."soham asmi"....in me too!
Thus, the Upanishad begins by saying Truth's face is covered and I am unable to see it...just like Tyagaraja says and then concludes by saying...how can I miss that Truth...when it is all around...in the sun up there...as well as in me!?

The darkest Corona cloud has a silver lining

Gandhiji will be proud of us! In these Corona times, our life-style has been stripped to the bare-minimum. Each home is self-sufficient when it comes to managing the chores. In the absence of domestic-help, we willingly put out the garbage, clean the toilets and tidy-up the home. There are no cooks to lend a helping hand. We cook something simple and healthy each day.
Our lives are rid of all ostentation. The hair untidily curls up- it has been weeks since the last haircut. The clothes are worn un-ironed. There is a distaste to even reach out to the fancy-wear in the closet. Grooming takes a back seat, make-up kits lay untouched and designer slippers gather dust. Maintaining basic hygiene is enough. Our prayers are genuinely all encompassing. Sitting in the quiet of our homes, we pray for the affected in the slums of Dharavi as for our dear one in America. Both are equally important for our well-being. Who would have thought such a change possible even a couple of months ago?

The whole world is detoxifying itself. The aerial photographs of Mumbai's Marine Drive and Chennai's Marina Beach look like picture-postcards- spic and span and unbelievably beautiful. It is a throwback to the movies from the 1950s with that odd car plying on the road. It is as if we are living in those times. The haze of traffic-smog has lifted. When we hit the pillow each night, the incessant whirr of the traffic is replaced by a different set of sounds- the chirp of the cricket, the occasional hoot of the owl, the sounds of silence...all of which were non-existent for years! We see nature healing in front of our eyes.

No trips to the mall, no weekend party at a resort, no binging at a restaurant, no aimless loitering and no mindless shopping. They say, misery loves company. We have the whole world for company! It is no longer a misery! Each day we follow a disciplined routine and bring that day to a close. Weekdays and weekends, holidays and festival days blend into each other seamlessly. It is as if, in time, there is a continuum of sorts, where only that day has to be lived. We are reminded of Alexander Pope's lines- "Blest who can unconcernedly find hours, days and years slide soft away; in health of body, peace of mind, quiet by day." We can empathize with the lines so much more now.

A flood of social media posts - a friend on an Alaskan cruise, a relative in Paris and a classmate hiking in the Alps.  It was as if the whole world was enjoying out there, bubbly and effervescent, while we alone languished at home. It provoked us to embark on copycat trips to match them to an extent- at least a trip to the nearest hill-station and more importantly, to post those pictures. Suddenly, we are spared from all such compulsion. We know the entire world is at home. In one swish, the Corona brush has painted both the prince and the pauper, the party-animal and the loner in the same colour. Who can complain now? Even if they complain, they complain together!

It has been over 40 days of quarantine; in fact, we have lost count. However, these days are proof that we can adjust and live life in more Spartan ways than imagined. It has opened our eyes that so little is actually required for living. It is more fulfilling to tighten our belt, than allow the belly to expand continuously, so that no belt can match it! Strangely, it required the Corona crisis to instill this value of quiet contentment, the ability to say- "this is enough" from the heart.

When the Corona crisis is over, there will be a sudden spurt of exuberant activity. All the bottled emotion will explode in wild celebration. So let it be. Once that initial euphoria subsides, we will settle down to a more measured and meaningful lifestyle.
Adversity introduces a man to himself, Einstein said. In one stroke, Corona has introduced the entire world to itself. Even the darkest Corona cloud has a silver lining!

We cannot wait for that day

The poet Bharati wrote an iconic poem celebrating the dawn of India’s freedom. The poem is permeated with that tumultuous joy experienced after years of struggle. The irony is...he wrote it entirely out of imagination, for Bharati passed away in 1921. In his mind’s eye, India had already attained freedom and he gave voice to it...in words that were portentous.

In some ways, in these Corona times, we are going through a similar freedom struggle. It is not a struggle restricted to one country. It is as if, mankind as a whole, is struggling for freedom. This is a movement like no other, a do-or-die battle against an oppressor who can scarcely be seen, but still threatens our very existence. Like the freedom fighters of yore, chained in the dark dungeons of Andaman, we sit in our quarantined homes, and like Bharati, imagine that day, when we will get our freedom back. We cannot wait for that day.

 Sometimes, we understand the value of something dear, only when we lose it. It is as if ordinarily, we take things for granted and there is a certain casualness in our dealings. A loss is like a kick in the back. The Corona crisis is one such kick. We needed it. What would we not do to get back those good, old, carefree pre-Corona days?

That moment, when we retrieve something, which we assumed was lost and gone, is like no other. A person who suddenly gets back his lost cell-phone understands that special feeling. The one who goes through the throes of viraha-taapa, experiences that heightened emotion upon meeting his beloved once more. So too with Corona. These dark days will pass away. The sun will shine once more...and every pore and cell of ours, will be alive and awake to that moment. We cannot wait for that day.

Pictures at the end of World War II flash before our eyes- those black and white photographs of soldiers flashing the victory-sign and coming home to a rousing welcome from one and all. The entire town is lined up on the streets to greet the heroes. Those are historic images.
The heroes at the front-line of this Corona war are our doctors and nurses and paramedics. They put their lives on the line so that we may live. When this war is over, we will line up all along our roads and cheer these heroes. Our prayers will go out to the numberless soldiers we lost in this battle. Their sacrifice was not in vain. They will live in our hearts forever. In a way, we helped in the war too, by staying out of harm’s way and not complicating the situation more. That quiet pride shall be ours. We cannot wait for that day.

The corona war is over. The TV no longer displays those dismal corona numbers. The masks and hazmat suits are gone. No more hotspots, quarantine and lockdown. No more social distancing. No more national borders, no more barbed-wire fences, for we have won this war together, as one global family. Near and dear ones stranded across continents are finally back; we melt into their arms. We throng the malls and theatres, markets and streets and stadium, filled with joie-de-vivre, the joy of life! There is a new spring in our steps, cheer on our face and a song on our lips.
But this time round, we will grab life with both hands and play the second innings with more responsibility. We understand our debt to the environment, to our caregivers and domestic help,  and to the wellbeing of other life-forms. We let our quarantined wild animals back into the deep jungles. We know what it means to be in quarantine. We appreciate the need to simplify our lives and avoid the excesses that led to this malaise.
Once a year, mankind as a whole shall come together to celebrate this day, as one global festival. Generations to come will be regaled with our stories, stories of tears and triumph and of the indomitable human spirit. As Bharati says, “Ananda sutantiram adaindhu vittom” ”We have gained our freedom back! Come! Let us sing and dance!” We cannot  wait for that day. That day is today.

Summa iru- just be!

"dil dhoodhta hai...phir wahi...fursat ke raat-din"- is a song that is amongst our favorites. In the hustle and bustle of our jet-set life, we often caught ourselves humming this line and wistfully wondering- if only....if only...we could find some leisure...some escape from this never-ending rat-race. "To what end is all this? To what end?" we questioned. Someone answered our prayers.


We took time off and went for an annual holiday to a hill-station or to a beach getaway. But it could not be for long. A corner of our mind was forever racked with guilt that while we enjoyed, others worked. We had to stay current and on "top of things" and not rendered irrelevant and dispensable when we got back to work from vacation. So, we took that occasional "important call" lounging in the hotel-room though it was holiday-time. Someone took care of this aspect too- not only do we have leisure, so does everyone...in fact, the entire world, freeing us up from even that guilt-trip!


The impossible is now a reality. The city that never sleeps has actually slept. May be, it needed that sleep. May be, it was unnecessarily awake and wearing itself down.
We were certain that the 6:38 local-train had to be taken each morning, else, the world would come tumbling down. Now, both the local-train and the commuter are fast-asleep,  happily...in their respective sheds. We grew up...fed with the belief that corporate culture was akin to riding a lion- "sher ki savaari hai". It may be tough riding it, but getting down...is never an option. We wonder what happened now. The rider is standing on the ground, and as for the lion he was scared of...it is nowhere to be seen. We dashed across continents to attend those critical meetings- meetings where our physical presence was a make-break to the deal. Suddenly, deals can wait, meetings can be postponed and even if we had to attend them, our virtual, on-line presence is more than adequate! Deadlines that constantly hovered over our heads like the Sword of Damocles, where are those swords now? At least, at this moment, when I glance up, all I can see is the bare ceiling...or better, the blue of the sky!
It is as if...an entire edifice of power and pelf and pomp was totally built-up, more imagination and less a necessity. That edifice has come crashing down. Three weeks of home quarantine has burst the bubble. It is a humbling experience, but a necessary one.


The irony is, now, we have leisure, but miss the madding crowds. It is as if, we asked for leisure, but not so much of it that we should swim in it! We forever miss the missing! It is like the parable where the fisherwoman cannot sleep without the fishing-basket beside her. So too, we have got used to the smells and sounds of our urban rat-hole. There is no remedy for this madness. "Akele mein mela, mele mein akela"..."to find joy of a fun-fair in oneself, in one's quarantined life....and likewise, in the commotion of the fun-fair, to find that inner-leisure"- this is the only message relevant for all times. Storms may rage one day, another day, the silence may be deafening, through all that, we hold on to that inner fulcrum.


Our spiritual tradition has several pithy aphorisms. These are like the Japanese Haiku- just a little suggestion, which conveys more than volumes of verbiage. One of them is "summa iru" in Tamil- "just be". In these quarantined times, we understand the import of this aphorism, the joy of doing nothing, the joy of stillness, the joy of simply being.


The Corona days will end. Decades later, with the grandchildren at our knees, it will be a favorite conversation piece. "You mean to say...for a slightly complicated case of cold and cough, you had to close the whole world for a few months? What age were you in grandpa? Stone-Age? And what did the whole world do for two months sitting at home?" Gazing into those innocent eyes filled with absolute wonder, we will answer, "Nothing! We did nothing! We just were!"

What goes around comes around

"Yaanaikkum adi sarukkum" - "even the elephant can slip" is a popular proverb in Tamil. It denotes that even the strong and the mighty can topple over and be brought to their knees. It is just a matter of time. Needless to say, in these Corona times, this proverb pricks us...as if it were meant for us- the human-species as a whole.


We prided ourselves as the roof and crown of all creation. But uneasy lies the head that wears the crown. Scepter and crown must tumble down...and what a tumble it has been! Till now, we called the shots- ruled the world with impunity and quarantined hapless animals for food and fun. The shoe is now on the other foot. The hunter has become the hunted. Humankind lies chained and quarantined in continent after continent. And that too, by a nemesis, who is too tiny to be even seen. It is your proverbial David and Goliath story.


Locked down, there is now a lot of time at hand. We leaf through our favorite childhood comics. We settle down with the "Jataka Tales, Elephant Stories". Through its rich illustrations, it tells the tale of the Buddha, as Bodhisattva, who took birth in different lifeforms, and once as a wise, white elephant. A man loses his way in the thick jungle and is racked with fear. This compassionate elephant comes to the man's rescue. It provides him with food and shelter for the night and eventually takes the man by the arm and shows him the route out of the forest. In his city, he befriends an ivory sculptor and realizes he could be rich if only he could get an elephant's tusk.
He retraces his way to the forest, meets the elephant and explains his predicament. The elephant is too nice and allows the man to saw off his tusks in half. The man is back in the city with the prized possession. He now leads a cushy life. Greed gets the better of the man. He mulls over...if only he had sawed off the tusks till the end, he could be even richer! Unabashed, he returns to the elephant and makes a repeat request. The elephant relents. This time, he yanks off the tusks from their root. Without the slightest sympathy for the elephant which doubles up in pain, he abandons it and clasping the booty to his chest...tries to make a hasty exit from the forest. Karma eventually catches up. The ground under the man's feet gives way, the subterranean flames engulf the man and he meets his end.
The story is gory in some sense, but has a hard hitting message. It is not the story of one ungrateful forester, as the title of the story reads;  this is our story, the story of humankind as a whole.


For too long, we ravaged nature with abandon and bulldozed our way mercilessly...often at the cost of all other lifeforms. What goes around, comes around. It is now payback time. Our cellphones are filled with little videos of deer roaming the city streets, civet cats crossing the road, peacocks dancing on roof-tops and even mountains revealing themselves over and above the city-dust behind which they hid themselves all these years. Ironically, we watch all this squinting our eyes behind our facemasks, sequestered in our homes.


You and I may howl and protest that we did not wrong nature in any way. Why are we paying a price? Being part of the same ecosystem makes us equally culpable. It is like school. When the offenders are too many, the teacher has no time to mete out individual punishment. She takes a ruler, goes around the class and gives a whack to everyone! We are all taking the same mass-beating today! Not all is lost. Nature is not vengeful. It is just. It hits back hard so that we may learn. Learn we must. It is as if Nature is speaking to us in Amitabh Bachchan's baritone- "ab tak tum bolte rahe aur mein sunta raha. Aaj mein boloonga aur tum sunoge!" "Till now, you kept talking and I listened. Today, I will talk and you will listen!"

The crow in my mother's home

It is one o'clock in the afternoon in the month of May at Chennai. The curtains are drawn, the interiors dark and the fan whirls violently. Through the parting in the curtain, all you see is a dazzle. It is "katri", the fiercest part of the Chennai summer when no man or beast or even a leaf can stir.

However, we are wrong. The stillness of the afternoon is punctured by a raucous caw- once, twice and a few more times in quick succession. It is earnest, demanding- sufficient to wake up the entire household. Gingerly, I open the kitchen door leading to the service-room balcony, and the crow is there- sitting on the little ledge. I look at him; he looks back at me. It is a curious stare- as though he is sizing me up. He is used to seeing my mother and glares at me with distrust. Seeing no progress in the proceedings, he expresses his intent once more with a rasping set of caws. He needs his lunch...and now!

I unpack the half-eaten sandwich from my morning Shatabdhi train-ride. With the bread in hand, I stretch out to feed him. An unfamiliar hand with unfamiliar food- with a sudden flutter, he hurriedly shifts to the clothesline a meter away. From the new vantage point, he scrutinizes my face suspiciously and then at the bread slice. I back off. He alights onto the ledge with the sandwich at his feet. One sniff and he stops. The disappointment is writ on his face. He lets out a back-to-back volley of caws. As if, this stale bread-slice is not what he ordered for lunch. Not to be browbeaten by a crow, I slam the balcony door and move away.

Crows are persistent creatures. They can pester us with the same tenacity as your four-year old, till you eventually give-up and yield to their tantrums. That is their game plan. From the service veranda, he now flies to the main balcony and makes his demand once more. Shooing off a crow is as wasteful as a swish of the hand against a squealing mosquito by the ear. Within minutes, they are back and irritate us even more.

My mum is now awake. The moment she enters the kitchen, he spots her and swiftly flies back to the ledge. Mother takes a ball of fresh rice, mixes it with curd, a dash of salt and tops it with another sumptuous dollop of curd. As my mum extends her hand onto the ledge, he simply waits...a centimeter away. Total trust and not one flutter. He sniffs; watches the curd dripping off the rice-ball in tiny rivulets and he is satisfied.
"Yes, he comes thrice a day, for breakfast, lunch and tea. He does not like your bread and your dry roti. He is also a Tamilian, and like the rest of us, he needs curd-rice for all meals. When we go on vacation, he suffers. Who will feed him?" mother trails away.

In no time, the crow has cleaned up the curd-rice. A few stains of white curd glint on his jet-black beak. He looks at me and again at my mum. The next minute, he picks the sandwich by the beak and nonchalantly throws it off the edge of the ledge, cranes his neck and watches it tumbling down. He has made his point. He lets out a final caw of delight and flies away. He will be back for his next meal.

Crows are scavengers, with no choosy tastes- so we think. However, my mother is certain. This crow is definitely our ancestor, a total foodie, known for his "long tongue" and over-refined sense of taste. A man of exacting demands- one grain of salt less or more, he would throw a fit and bring down the entire house. Each time he scooped up curd-rice from the banana-leaf, the overflowing relish was registered in his eyes. And when he licked off the last trickling droplets of buttermilk from his palm, it was as if, he was in the seventh-heaven! This crow has to be him. My mother is so sure.

From BC to AC

As with any topic, there are always people at both ends of the spectrum. The Corona crisis is no exception. At one end are the staunch believers, who latch onto every bit of detail and take preparation and precaution to an extreme. At the other end are the equally vehement non-believers who assert that there is a greater probability of being knocked down while walking on a footpath than being struck by Corona. In this tug-of-war, much like the proverbial eternal tussle between the Devas and Asuras, it is tough to find a meeting point. In fact, the believers want no meeting point, for it dilutes their message of social distancing.

Another problem peculiar to the Corona crisis is that we cannot have divergent opinions co-exist in the spirit of tolerance, as we do with any sticky-topic. Here, the believers have no choice but to convert the non-believers into believers, else the survival of both is in question. There is no possibility of walking away from a non-believer with a “you can go to hell” taunt. Here, the worry is, together they may land up in the same place! Hence the need to deal with this crisis with utmost sensitivity. We have to take everyone together, even the ones we detest most! For sure, at the end of the crisis, we will be filled with the milk of human-kindness. 

It is easy for social media to remind us that we need to wash our hands for 30 seconds and as often as possible. The messaging cannot be faulted. However, there are practical problems. Consider a place like Chennai that is plagued with water scarcity for most part of the year. At the rate people are washing their hands these days, the lakes will be bone-dry in less than a month and Corona may still be around. Moreover, we are not even mentioning the word “Kaveri water”. Our country is too complicated to implement any simplistic, over-the-top solution.

When we scour the neighborhood, all we see are masked men and women. That is the need of the hour all right. We wave at someone with all enthusiasm, and find absolutely no response. We get offended. Once the form comes to close quarters, we peer into those puzzled eyes and find it is someone entirely different! In this new guise, everyone looks alike- as if we suddenly landed in Kishkinda inhabited by a bunch of Vaanaras minus the tail. Another problem with the mask is the necessity to speak with it. Of course, in Corona times, we do not expect anyone to speak, but sometimes, there is a need. We cannot make head or tail of what anyone is talking. It is as though they are mumbling through a tunnel or resembling a sound bite with its speed altered. There is no point trying to decipher. We know the topic is about Corona; we simply nod and move on.  

“Don’t touch your face”- any negative messaging such as this, is doomed to fail. The unruly schoolboy in us immediately surfaces. “Don’t copy, don’t drink water, don’t go to the toilet, don’t talk”- the more we hear this, the more the body fidgets to do exactly that. That is how we are wired. We cannot help it. It is only when we have mehndi in both hands, that the nose twitches or the eyes feel scratchy. We just have to scratch. In Corona times, I cannot scratch my face; you cannot scratch for me- we feel so terribly paralyzed.  

Fashion is sure to be altered during these Corona times. Jeans will soon be out of vogue. We envisage that Kathakali skirts will replace them, for both men and women- skirts that are bulbous enough to ensure that no one comes too close for comfort. We look forward to the next innovation or desi-jugaad to ensure that we can mount two-wheelers and cars and still have the Kathakali skirts on!

As far as Bollywood is concerned, they are sure to latch onto the Corona topic. We look forward to blockbusters like “Corona Pyar Hai” (CPH) with situations surrounding the Corona scare. Songs such as “Hum tum ek kamre mein bandh ho” will need a novel re-interpretation to fit in with the new social distancing norms. The censor board can fold up. These folks can pack up their bags and opt for an alternate career since no one is coming anywhere close to anyone! We miss Ajit in these times. He would have had a field day and packed the movie with apt one-liners. “Mona darling, tum naa rona, naa rona, naam hai mera Coronaa!!” 
Corona is sure to alter the world irrevocably- how we were in BC- Before Corona and how we are in AC- After Corona! 

"Quarantime"

One of the earliest accounts of a quarantined life is the story related to King Parikshit. He was cursed to die of a snake-bite in 7 days. He quarantined himself for the period to try and escape from his imminent death. Parikshit's actions as documented in the Mahabharata and the Bhagavata Purana make interesting reading.

We learn valuable lessons on how the king spent his quarantined time. He focused all his attention on only two fronts: to seclude himself in a palace built atop a tower so that there would be only a single point of entry and to learn the Eternal Truth of life from the sage Shuka. On the 7th day, a snake converted itself into a tiny worm and entered a fruit. The sentries did not suspect the fruit. The king bit into the fruit- the snake struck him and he died. But by then, King Parikshit had successfully discovered the Truth of life and had made the best possible use of his quarantined existence.

 

 Today, faced with a  Corona call to quarantine ourselves, we get vexed. It is as if time hangs heavy and we know not what to do. May be, we lack King Parikshit's maturity to pursue such a lofty goal. But we can definitely do better.

As the author of the Panchatantra  says- "kaavya shastra vinodena, kaalo gacchati dhimataam" - the wise spend their time revelling in the beauty of literary works and enriching their scientific knowledge. Our shelves are filled with books we intended to read some day, but never got the time. Now is a golden opportunity to curl up the entire afternoon with one such favourite book.

 

In the rut of everyday life, many of our hobbies have gathered rust. They fell by the wayside. Now is the time to pick up that paint-brush, that knitting needle, that old violin, that guitar languishing in the garage. Now is the time to pick up the phone and make those phone calls we planned to, but never did- to a long lost friend, to that second-cousin, to that distant aunt...and hear their forgotten voices once more. 
If not anything, we can simply look out of the window. "What is this life if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare, no time to stand beneath the boughs and stare as long as sheep and cows"- the poet William Henry Davies asks. We simply watch the day going past...the redness of the early morning, the blazing afternoon sun, the tranquility of the twilight hour, the gathering darkness and the twinkle of the multitudinous stars. The crow caws, the pigeon flits across, the butterfly flirts amongst the bushes and a monkey stealthily climbs the water-pipe. It is all alive and happening out there. Our eyes miss the obvious.

 

We often complained that life is too stereotypical and boring- the same dull faces, the same old food, the same old homework, the same old news as a yesteryear advertisement said. Someone heard our call and has changed the tempo! It's as if we were walking on the treadmill for too long at a languid pace. Through the Corona storm, someone cranked up the speed by several notches! We lurch this way and that, but for sure, we will have to get used to the new pace, the new norm. We complained that the movie was too boring. Someone heard our call and jerked the movie-plot after the intermission. It looked like a comic film till this point, but now, suddenly, has the tell-tale signs of a horror film! We learn to enjoy this too, sitting at the edge of the seat and biting our nails in feverish excitement. "Picture to ab baaki hai!"

As Manna Dey sings from the classic  film "Anand"- Zindagi...kaisi hai paheli..haay...kabhi to hasaaye...kabhi yeh rulaaye".

In these exacting times, we appreciate the eternal mystery of life, that makes the gurgle of laughter possible on one day, and on another day, makes us wail in helplessness.

Such is life.

One Universal Body...in Corona times

Adversity is a great teacher. Years ago, it took a tsunami to tell us how inextricably connected we are. An earthquake thousands of kilometers away, and of all places, one fateful morning, in Chennai, we woke up to giant waves sweeping over our Marina Beach. It was simply unbelievable. We read about the Butterfly Effect then- how a miniscule flutter in some corner of the globe leaves its indelible impact everywhere. It is as if the world is one giant tapestry- tug at the end of a single thread and you can unravel the entire fabric threadbare!


The Corona virus conveys this reality, albeit in a deadly way. It does not matter where we are: The Bondi Beach in Australia, T-Nagar in Chennai or the Bay Area in California. It is as if...we are in this crisis together regardless of race, religion, color, economic affluence or the lack of it. It is a humbling experience, a leveler and a reality check for everyone.


In our tradition, we have the vision of the universe as one organic whole. The way-side pebble to the giant mountain, the tender sapling to the Redwood Tree, the dewdrop to the ocean, the microbe to the blue-whale, the star to the galaxy, the amoeba to the human being...all of us exist as different cells, as varied body parts of this "live" Universal Being. Wordsworth expresses the same when he says- To see a World in a Grain of Sand, And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand, And Eternity in an hour. It is as if, the body-parts may vary- in shape, size and function, but all of us exist in the Being, for the Being, and as the Being.


We are aware how our being reacts to indigestion. The stomach triggers off a violent response at both ends...we suffer a bout of vomiting or the toxin is simply purged off. Global upheavals like what we are facing are much like this. It is as if the Universal Body is crying and recalibrating itself after some such indigestion. We have no choice but to rest and nurse this sick body back to health. In doing so, all the steps are important- identifying the pathogen which led to this condition, and while we suffer, we follow First-Aid, immediate medical treatment as well as a long term recuperation plan. Now is the time to pause and mother this Global Body.


Sometimes, during mealtime, the teeth bite the tongue accidently. The whole body winces in pain. But never for a moment do the hands attempt to knock the teeth off for its carelessness. The entire body comes to instant rescue. The eyes well up with tears and the hands come together to massage the affected area with tenderness. The reaction is one of complete care with no attempt at fault finding.
This phenomenon caused by the Corona virus is similar-  as if we have inadvertently bitten our tongue and a lot more. The planet is in pain. As different organs of the same body, we come together to soothe the body politic in the same spirit of empathy. We live and die together, as one global family- jeena marna sabke sung.


A small stone thrown in the middle of a pond...results in increasing concentric rings of ripples...that wash up to the shore. It is as if every droplet of the entire pond tingles with that impulse. If we cannot do anything meaningful to help the planet from this Corona wave, at least we can fill the world with our sincere thoughts for universal well being. Positive thoughts are like the little stone- they appear too tiny to have any value at all. We are mistaken. When such thoughts are flung into the world at large, these positive thoughts travel till the edges of the globe and touch each being and wrap them up with a cloak of compassion and love. We pray with an expanded heart- may all "bipeds" enjoy happiness..."shanno astu dvipadey"- from the bat and the penguin to the chimp and man. May that wellness be felt even by quadrupeds "shan  chatushpadey"- from the dog and the tiger to the cow.
The Corona virus has taught us an important lesson- wellness and development in pockets is a recipe for disaster. It is like pampering the heart and keeping it healthy while allowing pus to fester in the toe. Our sense of belonging has to cover the entire creation to the minutest detail. We can forget this message at our own peril.

Dealing with the certainty of uncertainty

If the last few weeks are any indication, it is going to be a long haul in the fight against the Corona virus. Initially, it looked like someone else's problem, and if at all we empathized with it, it was with the casual objectivity reserved for a stray piece of news in the newspaper. Not anymore. It has reached our doorstep, sending us into a panic overdrive. Media, both social and the non-social, paints a depressing picture and we wake up to pictures of empty roads and vacant malls, more health check queues and more masked citizens. In living memory, we do not recall any disease that assumed such pandemic proportions so much so that there is no safe zone anywhere on this planet. Will we win the war against this virus? What price will we pay? How long will this uncertainty continue? There are no easy answers.


Like Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle that postulates an element of uncertainty at the level of the microcosm, so too, uncertainty has always riddled the macrocosm. It is our lot. Mankind has had to battle with uncertainty- be it in the form of drought and famine, or the unsettling times caused by diseases like plague and war. While the advances in Science have given us a semblance of control, it appears as if we have only substituted one set of triggers with another. Corona virus is just the latest trigger. We can never solve all the problems out there and then find the requisite mental composure. The emotional strength to deal with uncertainty has to be found in and through all the problems that buffet me and the world at large.


Once in Persia, reigned a king, who upon a signet ring, carved a maxim strange and wise. It gave him wisdom at a glance, fit for any change and chance. Solemn words and these were they- "Even this will pass away!" This is a powerful technique to fortify ourselves. If we look at our past, our fears have been mostly unfounded. Be it the fear of exams or the fear when we boarded a plane, nothing untoward happened and we are still around, safe and sound to read this article! The most traumatic time which seemed unsurmountable then, is now a memory. Even this Corona virus will pass away!

"Subhashitas" offer excellent, common-place verses to strengthen ourselves through auto-suggestion. One of them goes as follows- "Let the sky fall (patatu nabhah), let the mountains explode, let the ocean swell and engulf us, let the whole world topple over, so what?" It ends with the question "kaa haani"...so what? It is as if we thumb the nose at the world at large, regardless of the challenges it throws at us. Through deliberate auto-suggestion, we pump our self-confidence to deal with the situation. As they say, the tough get going when the going gets tough!

For a world which functions with such order, be it the planetary order, or the physiological order or psychological order, there has to be a Higher Principle which maintains the order. We surrender to that Ordainer and thereby relieve our self of the needless pressure to set the world right! We relax and allow the Higher Principle to work its way. Ours is not to question why, ours is but to do and die. We do our bit in the scheme of things sincerely, just like a tiny cog in the wheel of life.


The Lord appeared before the devotee who suffered from Elephantiasis. "I am pleased with your penance. What boon do you seek?" The devotee replied- "Can you move the elephantiasis from the left foot to the right foot so that it is a little easier for me?" This conversation hits it on the nail. We are never going to be completely free from all problems. That is wishful thinking. We pray to increase our level of endurance to accept challenges and find a manageable solution.

Even nursery rhymes offer words of wisdom. "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream; merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream!" We learn to take life not too seriously so that it chokes us. We relate to it with a certain space and objectivity, and through that, find that necessary cushion.

Finally, few can say it better than Shakespeare. From the green-room we came, to the green-room we will go; and while on stage, just put up a good show! "All the world's a stage and men and women merely players! Glad till the dancing stops, and the lilt of the music ends.
Laugh till the game is played; and be you merry, my friends!"