On reincarnation and past lives!

“Paranormal” phenomena defy conventional logic.  The inexplicability teases the human mind. Among the paranormal, the topic on “reincarnation” is a favorite. Movies over the years have fed us with enough material. Way back in 1958, the film Madhumati revolved around this theme. Even now, when we listen to the haunting songs and watch the black-and-white visuals, we are irresistibly drawn to this mysterious subject. Decades later, during my childhood, the plot of the blockbuster film “Karz”, was centered on “reincarnation”. The protagonist remembered and played the same chilling tune on the guitar, from an earlier life, to track down his past-life assassin!

When we ponder over this subject, a shiver runs down the spine and the forearms are pocked with goosebumps. The fear factor gets magnified especially when the topic is discussed at night, and the lights are out. If there is a light drizzle, the spooky effect is more! And if it is night and rainy, coupled with the wail of the wind, the impact is still greater!

There was one such occasion. It was night and rainy and windy. We were in Kumbhakonam. My aunt narrated the story of one Mr. Seturaman who lived in the same town. As aunt pedalled the swing in the outer veranda, with each creak of the swing, Mr. Seturaman’s eerie story came to light. With my palms cupped to my cheek, I listened to her unblinkingly!

Mr. Seturaman was an ordinary man. However, from time to time, he went into a “trance”. During such bouts, he remembered a past life. In the dim and distant past, he was part of the Chola empire. In the trance, a voice from the past ordered him to visit such-and-such temple that bore a particular inscription. Propelled by the voice, he visited the temple and deciphered the inscription. Before we dismiss these anecdotes as fictitious, Mr. Seturaman has apparently chronicled these details in a book. As per historians, it fills several gaps in the Chola history, hitherto unknown.

I could not sleep that night. A thousand questions assailed the mind. How could Mr. Seturaman remember his past life? If he could remember his past life, could I? It sent me on a brooding trail. Soon, there were ghoulish faces peering through the windows, voices speaking from the walls and background music from a bygone era.

In the morning, I asked aunt, “Is Mr. Seturaman real?” Aunt said, “Yes, sometimes, he comes home for coffee!” I did not want to meet Mr. Seturaman at all. He might be dressed in an odd way, wearing a crown, carrying a sword, and speaking in archaic Tamil! Who would want to meet him? “No! No! He looks just like us, with a shirt and veshti!” aunt assured. There was an added worry. What if this man looks at me, and remembers me as an enemy of his, in some past life, and runs after me, brandishing a sword in hand! That was a possibility, isn’t it? After all, most movie plots are based on eking out revenge and baying for blood.

The more I pondered over this topic, the more certain I was- “Yes, I also had a past that I can now remember.” Sister asked, “What past life? You remembered you were eating rasgulla and drinking rose-milk even then?” Sister was just being insensitive. “No silly! I recalled I was also in the Chola empire! I feel I can also read temple inscriptions now.”

“Do you know to read Tamil?” sister asked. “No! I don’t!” I replied. “Then, how will you read the temple inscriptions?” was her pertinent question. “In my past life, I knew…no?” It was getting too confusing- juxtaposing the present limitations, with prowess in a previous life.

“In fact, when I think hard about my past life, I remember…” I tried to explain. Sister cut me, “Yes, I know exactly what you were, in the past life! A donkey! If you think hard, you will remember how to hee-haw also!” The absurdity of the comment killed the profundity of the entire topic! Mr. Seturaman, reincarnation, Chola empire, skeletons from the past…everything was wiped off in one stroke. All I wanted to do now, was get back in kind, at sister!

The beauty of childhood- the profound and the ridiculous co-exist, and flow in and out, with such ease!

But sometimes, even now, at the dead of night, I recall…images from a dim and distant past…the jingling of anklets…dwijaavanti raga in the background…and…and…never mind!

P.S: If you need a spooky song to go with this article, here is one:

(42) Aami je tomar - 720p Bhool Bhulaiya Shreya Ghoshal - YouTube

Who will foot the bill?

These days, parties are ‘dime a dozen’. It could be any event- a birthday, an anniversary, or a workplace related celebration. Everyone is gung-ho- “Boss! This event calls for a mega party! Let’s meet at so-and-so restaurant for dinner! We work hard and we party even harder!” The comment is met with peals of laughter and a round of whistles! It is party time!

The dinner party is about to come to a close. That’s when the group starts thinning out. Someone shakes your hand and says, “Nice party yaar! I am sorry, I need to leave now.” Soon, more people exit, some so unobtrusively, that you fail to observe. You suddenly notice you are the last man standing! Who is going to foot the astronomical bill? You wonder if you can try the same trick- shake the waiter’s hand warmly, with a compliment- “nice party yaar” and walk off! By now, the restaurant owner has his eye firmly fixed on you. You have no wriggle room whatsoever.

To avoid this debacle, you learn to act proactively. You make an early exit from the next party with the same tag line- “Nice party yaar!” You would like to pay, but how much is the question. If you are a teetotaler, you become strangely calculative! You stick out a 50 rupee note. The host of the party is confused, “What is this for?” You answer, “It is for my lemon juice!” For you, it is a matter of principle- for the gallons and gallons of alcohol consumed at the party, obviously, you cannot split the bill equally, especially when all you have consumed is “nimbu sherbet”. The party-host is unable to respond to your 50-rupee offer, “No no! I will pay for it!” he stumbles. You make a quick getaway. Your conscience is clear- you tried to pay, he rejected the offer, and the matter is closed for all time to come!

In some parties, someone takes ownership for the entire party. Well before the dinner is over, he makes a secret pact with the bearer. “Ensure that you hand the bill only to me!” When the bill reaches him, the dinner table erupts in protest, “No! You cannot do this! Allow us to pay also!” But our man fends off all mutiny in the ranks, with an ostentatious wave of the hand, “No! The pleasure is entirely mine! Allow me! Please!”

Sometimes, there is a counterweight in the gang, that is just as heavy as our gracious friend. He yanks the bill towards his side, insisting he will pay. A tug of war ensues between the two. It morphs into a mock fight that shows no sign of abating. The restaurant owner is a worried man- “Let anyone pay. Let both pay. I don’t care! I don’t want them toppling the glassware and crockery in this one-upmanship battle!” A third person trying to restrain them will complicate the equation. He will be mistaken for an intruder and the two will gang up and punch him. It is better to wait and allow them to exhaust their excess adrenalin.

In some dinners, the trick is to get your wallet out first. You peruse through the wallet, as though you are about to pay. The act is enacted in full public glare, till it evokes disapproval, “Hold on! You cannot pay for all of us!” At this point, you can keep your wallet back, and feel relieved. You need to only show “intent”, -that done, this technique ensures you can avoid paying forever!

A person coming to India from the US faces a peculiar problem. At the end of the dinner, everyone sits silent. They are staring at him, waiting for him to make the next move. It is assumed, by default, he must pay for everyone. Any semblance of protest is met with- “Come on dude! You earn in American dollars, not like us, poor Indians! This is pocket change for you!” To his horror, he looks at the bill- even after the rupee-to-dollar conversion, it is more than he has ever paid!

Some parties leave no scope for ambiguity. Right at the beginning, it is made clear- This is a “Dutch party”. Everyone pays equally. At the end of the dinner, there is an elaborate collection drive. One person takes the onus of collecting the cash, that comes to him in different denominations. The lending and borrowing exercise stretches endlessly, till he is totally exasperated- “Ok! Let me pay in full. We will settle the money between us later”.

You know later will never come! You can feel light and easy, and head home!

 

Salami slicing on a train!

Today’s Chair-Car trains are classy and swanky. Compared to the earlier “individual window” provision for a seat, coaches of the present day have windows spanning 2 seats. The window is as though stretched to cinemascope proportions. However, it is now a shared resource.

The moment you grab the window seat, you hoist the sunshade. The late afternoon sun streams through the window. As the train picks up speed, it is a pleasure to leave the teeming metropolis behind.

Just when the mind eases into a reverie, lulled by the images of a pastoral landscape, it is jolted by an unexpected interruption. The man from the adjoining seat pulls the sunshade down and shut off your vision completely. He makes a frontal attack, “Why did you pull up the sunshade? It is so bright outside!” You answer, “I wanted to look out of the window. I purchased a window seat just for that purpose!” He stares at you incredulously, on the verge of questioning- “At your age, you want to look out of the window? Are you a 5 year-old kid? Haven’t you looked enough?” However, he uses a different argument- “Anyway, it will be dark in an hour.” “That’s exactly why I want to look out now!” you counter him.

Not to be outdone, he says, “I get a headache when it is so bright and sunny”.  It is a tense standoff. Eventually, you arrive at a compromise- the sunshade is pulled down three-quarters. Both the parties are equally disgruntled. He mumbles that the sun is in his eyes. And as far as for you are concerned, all you can see is the adjoining track and a few pebbles, while the expanse of the sky and the distant hills are out of sight.

Curiously, you peer through the gap between the seats. Our man is watching some memes and reels on his mobile. You suddenly realize- "That’s exactly why he wanted the sunshade pulled down! It has nothing to do with his head or his ache. He wanted to watch his blessed mobile without the glare of the sun!" It irks you. What’s worse, he plays his mobile audibly. Every few seconds, his entire frame rocks, as he laughs uproariously.

The mind goes into a spiral- "Why can’t he reduce the volume? Why does he play for the entire world? What if everyone in the compartment did this- how cacophonous and noisy it will be?" You toy with the idea to combat his decibel level with something louder and eminently abstruse- perhaps Todi raaga alapana blasted at full volume!

One part of your mind pleads with you, “Leave him alone. After all, it is just a 5-hour train journey. Why can’t you put up with him?” The other half is cantankerous and itching for a fight- “No! It is a matter of principle- bad public behavior must not be condoned. It must be exposed then and there, for the well-being of society at large!”

The more you focus on him, the more he provokes you. Why does he laugh so much, that too every few seconds? What’s so funny? Eventually, you accost him, “Sir, can you use your earphones? The sound is disturbing other people!”

Surprisingly, no one else is disturbed, and the adjoining seats stare at you, as though you are the troublemaker. The offender looks back and grudgingly lowers the volume by a couple of notches.

All is quiet. 15 minutes elapse. You suddenly realize it is just as noisy as before, perhaps noisier. Without your notice, our man has slowly but surely cranked up the volume, back to the original level. You didn’t even realize it. This is exactly what “salami slicing” is all about. You grab land in such small portions; no one notices, and soon, a huge swathe of land is usurped.

You decide to use the same “salami slicing” trick. With your hand on the sunshade, you pull up the shade, one centimeter at a time. You must be careful- it has to be deft and unobtrusive. You can now see the meadows in the foreground and a hint of the distant hills. Some more centimeters, and the whole sky will be visible. By the time our man has completed watching his memes, the sunshade has been pulled up entirely!

Suddenly, he looks up and then back, his eyes bulging- as though, he has been caught napping and tricked. You avoid eye-contact. As the sun goes down, the hills are rosier. So is your face, now lit with a wry smile. It is a smile that arises from an impish delight- that you stumped him and paid him back in the same coin! And yes, salami slicing works on a train!

 

Essay on Diwali

“Teacher, will you cut marks if I write 600 words instead of 400?” Sridhar asked. The class looked up, unable to digest the oddity of the situation. Here, we were- barely able to write 50 words, and Sridhar had an opposite issue- a problem of plenty.

The week before Diwali was the mid-term school examination. The English paper had a predictable question- “Write a 400-word essay on Diwali”. It carried 20 marks.  20 marks was a lot of moolah- You could not treat it carelessly.

Miss Fernandes, the English teacher, smiled back at Sridhar. Her response was cryptic, “Yes, I will deduct marks if you overstretch to 600 words. But if it is slightly over 400, you need not worry.” Sridhar wore a sad-puppy face. He lamented, “I have already written 650 words. How can I reduce it to 400 now?”

The class chuckled at the teacher’s answer. Serves him right! In fact, for every word over 400, one mark should be deducted, so that Sridhar’s net tally would read in the negative! That would be just punishment for acting over-smart!

The rest of the class was struggling. How do you write 400 words on Diwali? What is there to write? Miss Fernandes had laid out the basic structure for any essay. She drilled the point ad nauseam. Any essay should have 3 parts- “introduction”, “body” and “conclusion”. While this break-up was simplistic, how do you generate content for each part?

You wrote the first few sentences quickly. For “introduction”, “Diwali is the festival of lights” was perfect. For “body”, “We bursted many crackers” was fine. For “conclusion”, “Diwali is my most favorite festival” nicely closed the topic.

You counted the words and found it was exactly 16! How do you inflate this to 400? It was impossible, as though asked to stretch chewing-gum in your mouth, to the end of the universe. To rub salt to the festering wound, here was Sridhar swallowing supplement papers by the dozen, writing 600 words, 1000 words, perhaps an entire Mahabharata on Diwali! Life was unfair.

Biting the end of the pen, you stared out of the window for inspiration. Suddenly, you remembered a brilliant point. “Diwali shows the victory of good over evil”. It sounded bombastic and philosophical. You felt 20 marks could be awarded for just that one sentence. Quickly, you made corrections and counted again, hoping the word-count would have grown by leaps and bounds to 400. No luck. The count read a measly 24.

You chewed more of the pen-head and stared out of the window. A sentence came to mind that gelled with any festival- “We wore new clothes, visited relatives and friends, and ate many tasty sweets like jaangri and baadusha!”

The clock was ticking in the examination hall. What more do you write? You tore your hair in desperation. May be, “we woke up at 4 am and did Ganga Snaanam”? It sounded silly. Moreover, it was doubtful if Miss Fernandes would comprehend such intricate detail.

Suddenly, an idea flashed- how about an enumeration of crackers? That would add weight to the essay. “We bursted many crackers- sparklers, Electric bomb, Laxmi bomb, atom bomb, snake-pellets, bufferfly, telephone, floor-chakra, hand-chakra, flowerpot, colored-match, rocket etc. etc.”

Only 10 more minutes left. What to write? A brainwave struck- “My neighbor got a ‘10,000-wala cracker’. The serial-cracker made noise like this- pat-pat-pat-dum pat-pat-pat-dum…” Carefully, you added enough “pat-pat-dum” so that the essay ended exactly at the 400^th word. Three-fourths of the full-scape paper was packed with the “pat-pat-dum” sound effects!

Between the last “pat” and “dum”, you added a few blank spaces intentionally. It recreated the atmosphere- how the serial-cracker exploded in a steady burst, but one lonesome cracker-finger was an outlier…and suddenly burst, minutes after all else was exhausted! You were delighted you could write 400 words and handed over the answer paper. Miss Fernandes would surely award full marks.

Back home, sister asked, “How was your English exam?” Confidently, I replied, “I aced it! Guess what? I wrote 400 words on Diwali”. “What did you write?” was the next question. “I wrote- we bursted so many crackers…” Sister interrupted, “Bursted is not even a word. It should be burst”. “Silly! I wrote bursted because it was about last Diwali!” Sister was insistent- “In the past also, it must be burst. The past tense of burst is burst”.  You wondered- why is sister so obsessed about English grammar? However, it seemed prudent to agree with sister and end the conversation- “Ok! Ok! I guess Miss Fernandes will deduct half-mark for my silly mistake! I will certainly score 19-and-a-half out of 20 for my essay!”