Yudhisthira and me

The war at Kurukshetra. They say it is a mythical war. 

What if Kurukshetra is nothing but our inner self? 

Peter Brooks Mahabharata is a very short 5 and half hour dramatised version of a spectacularly big epic. Shorn of all distractions of costume, glittering sets and excess verbiage, the succinct words have a way of penetrating deeply.

I first saw this version of Mahabharata nearly two decades ago, and I remember it for very different reasons. Perfect choice of actors, minimalistic sets, and terrific screen play. 

I watched Peter Brooks version over 2 days, completely mesmerised and taken in by the sheer magnitude of the lessons embedded in the poem.

The entire poem comes together in the last frame. When all are dead, Yudhisthira finds himself alone with his dog searching for the gates to heaven. When he is taken in, he is appalled to find Duryodhana and his brothers in heaven, and asks to be united with his brothers and wife. He is then taken to a dark and dingy place where he is informed that he will find his family. He is horrified. He prefers neither heaven nor hell; chooses to sit outside. 

At the point, Vyasa tells him that there is no hell or heaven, and that it "this" was his last "illusion." 

Isn't the war of Kurukshetra a war that we fight every single moment of our lives. We are not "all good". We are not "all bad". That, at every turn, we are confronted with situations that call for actions. Some motivated and some not. 

 And when our actions do not have any ulterior motive, we experience harmony in ourselves.  And when they are, we experience discord, disharmony within ourselves by way of fear, anger, jealousy. 

Yudhisthira is but a metaphor for you and me. The war that will be waged within us and the lessons that will come to us from various actions, and the choices we make.  

To do and not be attached to the results. 
To see and not be attached to what we see.

FG

Slow motion death

I am not quite sure where to begin. 

Someone I knew died recently. A friend's wife. I knew both. The husband first and through him, his wife. She had just turned 40. Young with 2 children, aged 12 and 8.

I remember feeling shocked, when he called a couple of years ago to say his wife had cancer.  I recall not being able to react; what to say in response. The same thing happened when I visited them, and he said with his typical matter of fact manner accompanied by a smile, "this had to happen; her mother too had cancer." 

Those early days, I met them every now and then.  And as time went by, the visits became less frequent, and around occasions, Once in a while though, I went by casually, as if everything was just fine. 

What made me not want to ask the nitty gritty questions? Her state of mind. His state of mind. Their financial situation. How were they coping as a couple. How were the children coping? Did they want any specific help? Did they want me to take the kids out occasionally? Did she want to simply chat? Did she have any desires that I could have helped with? How were they looking at the future? 

Denial is a funny state of being.  

What was I afraid of? More importantly, why was I afraid? May be, I didn't want to offend them by asking such questions or even remind them of their situation. May be. Or may be that if I did not ask them, the situation would go away; disappear. And everything would be just fine. 

I ask myself if I was deluding myself. May be that's the real answer. May be I was just running away. The occasional visits ended with a swishy "bye, see you, catch you later" happy that she was doing "good."   

One day, I stopped running. Again, do not know when or what made me but I stopped. This time, we talked. She walked, she spoke, I listened and listened some more. 

She has had a relapse. The second one came and went in a breeze. She had never looked better. The third one came on quick and fast. A certain finality had crept in. A certain acceptance. And also a definite resolve to fight. 

Sadly, by the time, I stopped running, it was more than a bit late. 

There were so many things that I thought she should do, could do, should attempt but now it all came down to clutching straws in the wind. A little bit here and little bit there. Oh, and some just slipped away in between. 

Just the way she did one fine morning, leaving me staring at the straws. So many thoughts remain with no beginning and no end. 

It taught me a lesson - that I should look in the eye and ask without hesitation. Whether sharing some pain will help; whether crying will lighten the overburdened heart. 

I learnt the lesson through cancer. I hope to be useful and reach out more. To be there. To actually see. See beyond the facade. To not be afraid of rejection. To everyone around me.  

I hope to never ever feel that I am clutching straws in the wind again. 




   

Taking the first giant step

Ammu had her first solo travel without her parents at the age of 6. To Wayanad along with her Montessori school classmates, principal and teachers. Her teachers had a rule. Parents weren't allowed to call. The children would call us a pre-determined time. 

Was there anxiety? Well, it was to be the first time that Ammu would spend a night without either of us. Would she be fine? She never stayed over at her friend's house nor with her aunts, She always insisted on coming back with us, or getting her friends to stay over. 

Travel was not a concern. Ammu is a travel veteran. She has been on the road with the two of us ever since she was 90 days old. One hell of a travel companion. She even knew the pit stops and relieved there on cue. Ammu in the car seat besides me at the back was a constant as we travelled every other week.    

I hadn't heard her voice the whole day, and then late evening, I heard her voice. Wow, it felt nice. Ammu's opening line was "Ma, I didn't think of you the whole day." Hmmm.... She then told me how she had come outside the hotel to call as it would be expensive to call from there. What a lovely way to communicate the concept of frugality to young children. I have been a life long admirer of the school principal Bharati and her teacher Jayashree. Kind, compassionate, and amazing teachers and human beings. 

It was brief call. Others had to call their parents too. So, she couldn't speak for long. She ended by telling me to ask Chandru to call her later as he wasn't home when she called. Ammu has taken the first adult step. Of being on her own, with her friends.

Ammu came back with very many stories. Of standing in Papanashi river in her swimsuit; near the place accha stood in order to pray to departed souls and wash away their sins. Of how the natural tank in Edakkal Caves did not have clean and flowing water like the last time that she was there with us. 

Visiting her best friends' grandparent's house in a place called Ambalavayal in Wayanad, and how all she saw was pepper. She described it as a wallpaper of pepper. Not totally off the mark because all trees had pepper vines growing on them.

She bought a wooden curd/butter churner (not sure what it is called...) for me and showed it to me proudly. When I asked her, what else she got for me, she fixed me a look and said, "I did not buy anything for me--only for you." Ahem.

Even as a little girl, she had a certain calmness and an assuredness about her. It's funny when you feel happy and sad at the same time. I am sure she will travel more in the days to come without us, and will acquire her own perspectives, and not be saddled with my petty prejudices.

FG

Discussion with Narayan Desai--Hindu-Muslim Conflict Part 2

Discussions with ND continues....he is calm and composed. We are confused; not him.

3. Is there anyway that we can overcome this? What can we youth do?

Yes, you can. Keep your mind and heart open. Welcome Muslims into your life and homes. Invite them. They may not come the first time; call them. May not come. Call again. Keep at it. Keep the channels of communication open. You will see that there is so much misconceptions that we carry about each other.

The minute we start to see this, our fears dissolve. Get them together for your festivals. Play together....not necessarily competitive sport as it may lead to aggression in the beginning. But anything small....

Politicians play on fear---they use it to manipulate.

4. Why are all terrorists Muslims?

Indira Gandhi was killed by a Sikh. Rajiv Gandhi was killed by LTTE cadre. They were not muslims. We have witnessed several killings not done by the muslims. Yes, in Bombay, the killings were done by the Muslims. It is the act of the weak. This is how the weak responds to the strong.

Then there is this story that we have been fed for years. Hindus are weak and cannot fight but Muslims are strong and are fighters. We then tend to magnify this and say if this is what Hindus do, imagine what Muslims can do.

Forget everything...you don't have to like a mussalman; you may not relate to anything but you can surely look at him as a human being? As a person and relate to him like that? What stops us from seeing them as people?

5. But the system drives it one way. You cannot mention a muslim as a friend in a visa application as it will get rejected.

If you let the system muscle you, do you call it freedom? You are not free then. You must stand up as an individual. For yourself.

6. How do you look at the globalisation of Islam with Muslims from India aligning with the cause of Palestine? Where do you think all this is going?

Yes, that is happening. There are reasons for it. You cannot only blame the muslims for this. Christians are equally responsible. When words such as crusade is used by the American president to describe violence by a few individuals, it indicates the coming together of the Christian world against Islam. Such statements can only cause trouble.

FG

Discussion with Narayan Desai--Hindu-Muslim Conflict Part 1

We were a motley bunch of city breds visiting Vedchi as guests of Narayan Desai. It was 4.30 pm and we all assembled in the community hall to hear his views on Hindu-Muslim conflict.

Strange, why we never considered Hindu-Christian conflict?

We tossed him many questions. And this is what he had to say.

1. What is relgion?
Religion (dharm) is that which brings people together. Irreligion (adharm) is that which separates people.

So, now we are in the grips of irreligious feelings. Now I know why we feel the way we do.

2. Muslims are being appeased by the Indian government.
Sure they are being appeased by the government. Look closely and see in what ways they are being appeased. By giving them subsidy for Haj. But do they have subsides for anything else? The politicians make sure that they do not get anything significant but they make a lot of noise about it. The facts are different. Go for facts and not what politicians tell you.

This tactic was deployed by the British and our politicians (irrespective of party) have simply taken up from where British left. Our history has been coloured to ensure that the divide between Hindus and Muslims remain. Did you know that there was no history of communal riots prior to the British? There were occasional fights between muslims and hindus but never communal fights, where people of one religion revenged another because of the act of an individual.

Like the Babri Masjid demolition. Carrying out an act 400 years later. Politicians want to highlight this and it has been documented thus in history. But how about the land gifted by Babar to build temple of Kashi? We don't want to highlight this. We are fed information which will keep us apart.

contd in part 2

Narayan Desai, a Gandhian

I had never heard of Narayan Desai. Learnt of him from my colleague and friend Nachiketa Desai, his son. 

A Gandhian, Narayan Desai spent his childhood with Mahatma Gandhi as his father Mahadev Desai was Mahatma Gandhi's personal assistant/diarist, and who for 25 years captured everything that happened until his death on Aug 15, 1942 in the Aga Khan Palace jail where he was imprisioned along with MK Gandhi and Kasturba Gandhi and others. 

I was going to meet a Gandhian. And someone who had actually spent time with MK Gandhi. I am thrilled and excited. Note that at no point in time did ND, that's how I called Nachiketa, made it seem like a big thing or overwhelming.  Imagine, father and grand father, both with close contact with Gandhi. 

I am blown by the fact that there are hundreds of dairies, some hand written and others, typed, that remain unknown to us. Conversations between the giants of those times. Anecdotes of those times. Setting up Sampoorna Kranthi Vidyalaya (Institute for Total Revolution) to impart training on non violence and the Gandhian way of life. Writer of a 4-volume biography of Mahatma Gandhi in Gujarati. 

Frankly, I think ND is wasting his life working as an assistant editor in a technology media company. He should be translating or even digitising all those precious content. 

I am not sure what I was expecting to see or even encounter.  For sure, the ashram and the state it was in was not quite what I had in mind. The 10-acre property was, for lack of a better word, rather unkept.  It seemed like a microcosm of a rural village in the hinterland of India with no access to electricity and modern amenities.  It somehow appeared frozen in time. 

We are supposed to bathe and be in the prayer hall by 5.30am for the morning prayer to nature-sunrise. I was glad that there was hot water, though one had to haul the bucket of water by one self. Everything was barely enough. The first class begins at around 6.15 am, post the prayer session. 

Narayan Desai himself wakes up at 3.30am every day, and bathes in cold water. Breakfast at 7am, Lunch at 12.30 and dinner at 7 pm with classes all day. he reads and writes in between. Retires at 9.30pm.

Sampoorna Kranti, the call of Jayaprakash Narayan, stands for grassroots level transformation of the people, and through them, the Nation. Clearly, Narayan Desai lives it. I also clearly see the challenges and why Nachiketa does not live it. More than anything else, I could see that despite the lofty goals, somehow a very important element of being a thinking, sentient being also means to carry elements of different aspirations, and I felt that this was ignored or dismissed as being irrelevant. 

Is living simply and frugal living one and the same? I didn't think so. 

The story of the village of Vedchi, on the outskirts of Surat on the Bombay Ahmedabad expressway, too is uninteresting bit of history. It witnessed the Bardoli movement. Remnants of the movement tell the story of Adivasis who live with dignity and pride, having been provided basic education. The village, however, stands isolated for reasons better known to politicians, business men, officers, bureaucrats...

We could/should have been a nation with far less disparity, in terms of income, class, creed, religion. Where did we go wrong? How did we go wrong? Can't figure out how we messed it all up so badly.

The answer perhaps lies in a statement of Narayan Desai in response to a question on why we responded the way we did despite being educated. "Because we are educated the way we are." 

May be. May be it is time we relooked at the word education and figured out what it is that we are telling our future generation. Are we subliminally teaching them to discriminate? Are these inherently woven into the very structure of the system meant to deliver education?

But it's not just the place that is frozen in time but people and their thoughts and attitude too seem frozen in time. Shouldn't we look at incubating those ideals in a new vocabulary, perhaps.  I don't know. 

Mixed feelings. Indeed there is so much to learn. Clearly, we need people from that era to teach us. I for one am glad that I had the opportunity to meet someone like Narayan Desai.

FG

Journey to Surat

Ammu and I are traveling to a village called Vedchi near Surat.  The village itself is located a little over an hour's journey from Surat. We are in Mumbai, having flown from Bangalore the previous day. We did not have train reservation and so hoped into the ladies general compartment. 

Ammu is 8, and by now a seasoned traveler and a terrific travel mate. As expected, the lower berth was full and so the two of us clambered to the top berth, backpack and all. 

The lower berth had Gujarati women of sizeable proportion and engaged in their favourite pass time - eating. The journey was to take a little over 4 hours; we thought we were better off on top. But shortly we were joined by other women. And there we were sandwiched between two other women. The women to my right had a 3 year old son as well. And oh, the train was packed. More like squeeze packed. 

In less than the time it took us to reach Surat, I took the decision that I would oppose Ammu tooth and nail if she ever chose to marry a North Indian boy. Yeah, I am prejudiced that way. She was free to marry anyone, of any faith provided he was a South Indian. No compromises on that one. This is what prejudice does. Makes you take random decisions.   

Well, not quite random actually. My backpack is hauled and dropped to the ground. No prizes for guessing who does that. By the way, you can't outshout Gujarati people - women and children included. They take the cake and bakery for the volume of racket they create when merely having a conversation. And when compartment is squeeze packed, and they are arguing as well, wisdom teaches you to look away and stay quiet. 

After being tossed around a bit, a kind, well endowed lady decided to use the backpack as a foot rest. Fortunately, Ammu was having none of my meditative approach. She said Amma, you speak Hindi. Tell them to not trample it. Ammu doesn't know the difference between Hindi and Gujarati. 

Four hours can seem dreadfully long sometimes. We managed to retrieve the bag, get down without touching any of those women who refused to move as their destination was Ahmedabad! We were not done yet. At Surat station, another wave of women awaited us. With some dexterity and heaving, the two of us managed to jump out of the train.  

Phase 1: Successful. Now to Gandhi Ashram. 

FG