I heard a teacher comment with a lot of sadness that the problem with today’s youth is that there are no heroes to inspire them. She had asked the 15 year olds in her class to write on their hero and most could not get beyond Sachin, Aishwarya Rai and Sania Mirza and some even wrote that they did not believe in following anyone and felt that their individuality was more important than being inspired by any hero. She was a little concerned that we no longer seem to have people who could inspire the youth by the strength of their character and moral rectitude.

Decline of heroism? Don't our youth have enough heroes to show the way?
I was quite surprised to hear this because with the spread of democracy, access and opportunity have opened up for everyone and one would imagine there should be more heroes buzzing all over the place waiting to be worshipped and emulated. For instance, we no longer live in an age when the competition to a Prince- hero pays the price for being equally good by being disqualified from competitions on grounds of gaps in bio-data (Mandatory field: Biological fathers name) or by having a vital part of his body amputated!

Or this very wide open door of opportunity has perhaps resulted in a shortening of the tenure of herohood today. For example before someone creates a record, there is someone around the next corner ready to break it! The exclusivity enjoyed by the Arjunas and the Herculeses ensured longevity of their fame while today’s heroes’ share of the limelight gets reduced to a few days.Is that why herohood is no longer a sought after career – except when it comes with the huge benefits of the Shah Rukh Khan and Aishwarya Rai variety?

The problem is not that there are no heroes anymore - there is plenty of heroic work going on quietly even in remote corners making a lot of difference to a lot of people’s lives. The problem is that they do not get publicity and recognition that could make them popular enough to act as inspiration for anyone who happens to be in their neighbourhood. Unlike the western media, our newspapers and television channels prefer to use their space on celebrity heroes rather than showcasing these unsung heroes of kindness, sacrifice and leadership. Perhaps the value of their work stands enhanced because of its obscurity. It is the community at large and specially the youth that lose out by not having role models to inspire them.


Roy Williams has written an interesting piece on the value of heores to a society:

"The saying, "The sun never sets on the British Empire" was true as recently as 1937 when tiny England did, in fact, still have possessions in each of the world's 24 time zones. It's widely known that the British explored, conquered and ruled much of the world for a number of years, but what isn't as widely known is what made them believe they could do it.

For the first 1000 years after Christ, Greece and Rome were the only nations telling stories of heroes and champions. England was just a dreary little island of rejects, castoffs, barbarians and losers. So who inspired tiny, foggy England to rise up and take over the world? ......Hoping to instill in his countrymen a sense of pride, a simple Welsh monk named Geoffrey assembled a complete history of England that gave his people a grand and glorious pedigree. Published in 1136, Geoffrey's "History of the Kings of Britain," was a detailed, written account of the deeds of the English people for each of the 17 centuries prior to 689 AD... and not a single word of it was true. Yet in creating Merlyn, Guinevere, Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table from the fabric of imagination, Geoffrey of Monmouth convinced a sad little island of rejects, castoffs, barbarians and losers to see themselves as a just and magnificent nation.
And not long after they began to see themselves that way in their minds, they began seeing themselves that way in the mirror.
Most people assume that legends, myths and stories of heroes are simply the byproducts of great civilizations, but I'm convinced that they are the cause of them. Throughout history, the mightiest civilizations have been the ones with stories of heroes; larger-than-life role models that inspired ordinary citizens to rise up and do amazing things."

So it would seem that if there were no heroes, one would need to invent them. And in our case, we have so many of the "real" ones, all we need to do is to turn the limelight on them.

"Agelessbonding eliminates the possibilities of a Middle Age and its blues."
- blogger Krishna Bhatt left this comment on my previous post.
Precisely the reason why this blog was started; and also to have a channel of communication that transcends the barriers of physical world which limits your interactions to a small group of people in your family and neighbourhood. I could never have been exposed to reactions from people as diverse as those who leave a comment here and broaden my perspective - I might never have discussed some of the things I write about here in the real world with a 18 year old like Shashi and I wonder if he would have been as forthcoming with his comments. Funny I used the word "real world" for this world is about as real for me as anything that happens around me everyday. Vaish and I were meeting every weekend at the French classes but our friendship deepened to the level of peers only after we exchanged blog addresses and got a peek into our reactions to men and matters. And she tells me that I am more twenty plus than most twenty pluses she knows. Same with Anita. Visithra, the kolam expert who is already a good friend , agrees. Well,as Siddhu says I guess I stopped growing sometime in my 20s - don't know if that is good are bad but as long as I am comfortable with it, it should not matter, right? and believe me, I am.Mohan and Samanth, who are Siddhu's friends are as much my equals now. It feels great when Mohan says that he feels the same way as me about the need for space.
As Mark twain observed: Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.. Another blogger friend Ravi agrees completely.Dubukku Renga, do you still want to call me "akka"? Beware, when you are 40, I might call you "anna", relatively speaking...and Mukundan, can we get rid of that "Madam"?
Middle age and old age are not for me, I intend to die young at 80!Or as Rashmi said,
"18 till I die". ( actually I'd rather be 29!).

P.S. Apparently this is my 300th post. A big thank you to those who take the trouble to read me and even bother to leave their reactions,which is what keeps this blog going. Thank you all!

Many months back I wrote a post on the legendary "poochandi" who is a character very familiar to kids in Tamilnadu.This terrible "P" word is the ultimate in threat to scare unruly little deviants into unquestioning obedience. You could say that for Tamil kids POO.CH.CHAN.DEE ,( uttered slowly and deliberately in a vicious undertone) is the equivalent of Gabbar Singh of Sholay. Remember?"Pachas Pachas Kos Door Gaon Me Jab Koi Bachcha Rota Hai To Maa Kehati Hai, So Ja Bete; Varna Gabbar Aa jayega."
Exactly what Tamil ammas said to their unruly kids with a remarkable rate of success. And it was not when the child opened his mouth to cry but when he refused to hit the bed or finish up his food or whatever. Poochandi never failed to deliver the goods - 100% rate of success.
Needless to say that generations of children in Tamil households have heard of him but he has never been seen! More the pity,for such a powerful charcter at least deserves the dignity of a scary face to go with his reputation!! But of course, it was left to one's own imagination and you could have your personalised poochandi depending on what you thought was scary enough.
My image of poochandi has been one who had matted hair, brownish, with an unkempt beard, red eyes and dressed in rags. Since he was only used to scare children, he was probably some kind of a cannibal who delighted on young human meat!
And imagine my delight when. thanks to Mathangi, I discovered my own Poochandi's image. It even has my name !!




Help yourself to your own personalised poochandi here

Thanks Mathangi for letting me confront my personal poochandi. It is a childhood dream come true....

Ms. Vyjayanthi Raman, a graduate in sociology runs a shelter for poor children – actually it is the home for these 20 children and is appropriately called “OUR HOME”. The shelter runs from a rented premises from which they have been asked to move out. Now they are looking for an alternate space and need about 25 lakhs.

Check out asha’s post on a day she spent with them at the circus and for some photographs of these beautiful children.

Small contributions from individuals will also go a long way to make up the sum. The contributions are eligible for Income Tax benefits.

You are welcome to visit the home , interact with the children and talk to Ms.Vyjayanthi .

Contacts for information:
Mrs. Vyjayanthi Raman
Res: 26630413
Mobile: 93413-14173
Mail: vyjayanthiraman@hotmail.com

You can make your contributions payable to "Helpline charitable trust" and Mail it to
Ms. Vyjayanthi Raman at:
"Our home"
708, 16th A main
38th Cross
Jayanagar,
4th T Block,
Bangalore - 560041

Or directly make a transfer to their ICICI Bank account 005301040477.
The trust can accept money from abroad if the person sending has an Indian passport. They can transfer money from any bank to ICICI a/c no 005301040477 Bangalore.

Along with this, they need to scan their passport [page with nationality] and send by email to vyjayanthiraman@hotmail.com. The money will be credited when she sends this copy to the bank.

Or you may contact Asha Mokashi


Please feel free to contact me for any further details. I will obtain them and forward them to you.

(Those of you who received a mail from me on this please do not be cross - I won't do it again!! I Promise!!!)

The details:

HELPLINE CHARITABLE TRUST (HCT)
PROJECT : SHELTER FOR 20 UNDER PREVILAGED CHILDREN

HCT was established in 1999, as a registered trust as per the prevailing laws in India.The trustees are Vyjayanthi Raman, V Krishnan Dr Srinath. Vyjayanthi Raman, is a graduate in sociology, was active in the government remand home & was a member of Karnataka Council for Women & Child Welfare. V Krishnan is a Chartered Accountant. Dr Srinath is a pediatrician. Apart from the trustees. Dr Saraswati, a gynecologist & Varadrajan a senior citizen are very active participants in the day-to-day activities of the trust.

Prime objective of the trust is to empower the impoverished children through education & vocational training.
HCT provides, shelter, food, medical care, education & a decent living ambience to the children to become responsible citizens with strong moral values.

• HCT admits both male & female children from the age of 3. There are currently 20 children.
• 3 destitute ladies, who are also in need, are responsible for day-to-day tasks.
• The children are sent to school & given additional coaching whenever needed.
• Senior citizens are encouraged to come & spend time with the children so as to give a family touch to their lives.
• A number of young volunteers from companies like Infosys, Oracle, Wipro take serious interest in the well-being & education of the children.
• Medical:Children are fully immunized. They are sent for check ups at regular intervals.
• Religion: Children from all faiths are freely admitted without any discrimination what so ever

Current requirement:
The activities of the trust since inception in 1999, is being carried out from leased premises. And now the landlord has asked them to shift and it is difficult to find an alternate premises on rental. As a long term solution, in the interest of the children, buying out a small but adequately sized shelter is the answer.
The trustees have identified a property not far from the present location, wherein the total cost comes to Rs 40 lacs, (see following slides for map & cost structure)
The trust presently has Rs 15 lacs which can be spared for this purpose,leaving a gap of Rs 25 lacs, which needs to be bridged

In the context of non availability of institutional funding & limited ability of the Trust, following options appear viable.
1. Direct grant to the trust by individuals/other trusts/companies or other organizations.
2. Buying of the property by another trust/organization/individual & letting the premises on long lease , say 25 years
3. Offering guarantee for the loan to any other organization, for loan to the Trust. Trust has the ability to repay @Rs 15000 per month (which is the rent, it is paying currently)

Other solutions are also welcome
• The trust has exemption under Income Tax act & contributions to the trust are eligible for deduction under section 80G, of Income Tax act.
• We interact closely with the Child Welfare Committee of the Govt of Karnataka and their inputs are taken with regard to maintenance of records etc
• The accounts of the trust are audited on a monthly basis by an independent professional firm.
• Regular updates are sent to the key donors & on request to anyone.
• Donors are encouraged to visit the premises & get a first hand feel of the activities and to interact with the children.

A film that you must watch , in the cinema. It has a story that is so relevant, a cast that is full of charm, energy and talent, a screen play that is perfect and Music that is so...so A.R. Rahman!
It is fun, true,and in the end leaves you feeling thatyou can make a difference and you must. Every now and then in the history of a nation, there come moments where a generation has a choice between the line of least resistance and leaving ones footprints in history. NOW is probably one such time. A Mahatma is not born every few years to lead you through the right path. We were lucky to have had one in recent history. And we could make ourselves worthy of preserving the freedom won with the blood of so many like Azad and Bhagat Singh and Bismil, Ashfaqullah Khan and so many other unknown shaheeds because of whom we are able to live and breathe the air of freedom today.
"Ae mere watan ke logo-n
zara aankh mein bhar lo paani
jo shaheed huay hain oonki
zara yaad karo qurbani ... "
Let us not make our cries of Vande Mataram for "One day mataram" (as T.N.Seshan said once). let us make it a cry for everyday and be proud of this country and more importantly make it worthy of pride.
Let us fight injustice and corruption fearlessly when and where we find them. Let us stand up for our rights. let us not be enslaved by our own systems. Let us act worthy of our freedom.
These were my thoughts and feelings after the flim.
It is clearly a "message" movie and the messages are not subtle either, they are pretty loud and clear. But hey, when a movie is made this well, who's complaining?
For a brilliant, professional review of the film ,go to my favorite film critic Baradwaj's blog @
http://brangan.easyjournal.com/entry.aspx?eid=2823614

In the Bhakthi litereature in India God is worshipped in many forms. The relationship is not always the standard one of reverence that a creation owes its creator but it has taken many forms like those between alter-egos like Nara and narayana, partners or lovers as in the case of Mira or Andal, friend, advisor, parent apart from the ultimate, the supreme, the final destination and salvation. But the most fascinating of all these relationships is the one where the bhaktha becomes the mother and treats God as a child. There are many beautiful songs in all our languages expressing adoration for Krishna, the baby. Some of my favorites are the well-known "thaye yashoda', "enna thavam seidanai","krishna nee begane baro", "chinnan chiru kiliye" and "Bhavayami Gopala Balam". They are beautiful not only for the description of the miracles performed by baby krishna's but for the basic emotion underlying the theme of the song.
In such a relationship, there is no request for any favours, not even the one which simply asks to become one with Him. There is no anguished cry about the sufferings in the material world. There is nothing to seek not even protection, shelter, refuge. There is only the simple love of the mother, in total adoration of the child and wonder at every little step it takes. An intense desire to satisfy its every need, to protect it and care for it.
This total effacement of the self and total devotion ,a complete need to give without expecting anything in return - Perhaps this is what makes these kind of songs stand out supreme among the Bhakthi songs. And perhaps this is one kind of Bhakthi that all mammals are capable of and can easily relate to.
Just listen to M.S.Subbalakshmi give voice to Annamacharya melting with maternal feeling (Just as Yasoda must have) watching little Krishna take his first steps:

Bhavayami Gopala Balam ... Mana Sevitham ,
Tat padam chintayeyam sada
kati ghatitha mekhala , khachita mani ghantika
Patala ninadena vibharaja manam
kutilapada ghatitha samakula chintitenam
chatula natanam samujala vilasam
niratakarakalita navaneetham
bramhadi ,suranikara bhavana shopitapadam
thiruvenkatachala sthitam anupamam harim
paramapurusham gopala balam

Anyone who has seen a child take his first unsteady steps can relate to the feelings and imagine what a delightful sight it must have been to watch the bejewelled Baby krishna walk unsteadily toward mama Yashoda with the butter in his hand spilling all the way!!
I can see why the whole of cosmos stopped to watch this sight!

Spaces are very important.

Spaces - their quietness, their whiteness, the freedom they give you to be what you are.

Spaces that let feel your breath and hear your heart beat.

Spaces when all the confusion of life and relationships smoothes out into neat understanding and acceptance. Making sense of it all, like the pauses in a sentence.

Spaces,comfortable and beautiful in their emptiness blending all the cacophony and all the varying shades into a quiet harmony.

Spaces where you meet yourself in an honest encounter and become who you are.

Spaces,short spans of time and moments for eternity.

Spaces, empty and serene - so destressing and so full of meaning.

Spaces without which you could lose yourself in the stampede and suffocation.

Spaes, that are "the breath of art" and of all life.

When we were in Mauritus, Valerie took us to her house.Her mom had this funny habit of adding extra bits of information in every sentence. For example when someone asked her how many children she had she would say :"I have 6 children. Didier, who is not here but lives in paris; Valerie, who is your friend and looks like you; Felicite who teaches at the school..." and so on...She was of french origin. So when I asked how long her family had lived in Mauritius, she said "About 100 years ago, a nun who got accidentally pregnant was sent away to this island. And that nun was my grandmother." Very entertaining but her responses always sounded like a paraphrase of her lifestory. She was that kind of a person too, very open, very warm and very frank. You felt that you had known her for a long time after just one meeting.

I suppose we reveal or betray more about ourselves through these extra bits of information that sneak into our conversations as an aside. It is like we keep them in reserve to be inserted at the appropriate moment - in order to make the right impression or as a cue for the conversation to develop in the direction we would like it to go. "The other day I told this to Mr.Shetty during our round of Golf- we are both members of the same club, you know." Very clever! In the right circles, this would have scored many many points.( I did that cleverly at the beginning of this post too...in case you hadn't noticed!!)

In many cases these also spring out of our insecurities,like this rich relative of ours who , whenever she had splurged on something obscenely expensive would always tell us how it was on offer at a discount which she could not let pass. As if she owed the universe an explanation for her expenses. Well actually, it was more to soften the shock that such enormous expense would have on us, the poorer relatives whose monthly income was equivalent of her one day expenses at times.

And then there is my elderly neighbour who told me this morning : "I got up around 5 for urination and that is when I noticed that the power was not there." I am not sure that the reason why he got up added much to the value of the coversation to me. But I guess he felt relieved(!!) after giving me the information!!

Three months ago, my maid disapperared for 3 days without notice. When she returned she was in bad shape , tired and miserable and in a state of shock. Sitting through her incoherent rants I got the gist of what had happened. Her husband had left her a few years ago for another woman leaving her to take care of a 15 year old son and a 12 year old daughter. She had to resort to housework and selling flowers despite coming from a family that was not too badly off. They hoped that the man would come to his senses one day and return but things got worse. They discovered that he was planning to sell off the land he owned and the son went to confront him as it was ancestral property and he felt he had a right to it too! The quarrel got nasty and the son drank poison in a fit of temper thinking that would shock his father into coming to senses. He was rushed to the hospital and his mother sent for. So she had rushed ina hurry and stayed with him in the hospital, running around, staying awake and crying hysterically for a foolish son and a callous husband. At least the son was saved and sent home with an intestine whose lining was completely corroded by the poison - a 18 year old!!
I gave her breakfast, murmured sympathetic words, gave her some cash and sent her home to rest.Life returned to "normal" the next day. Normal as is poverty, suffering and struggle - at least everyone was alive and no one was drinking poison.
Last week again she disappeared and I attributed it to Pongal or one of her pilgrimages to the hundred deities she believes in. She returned yesterday in the same state of shock, tired and worn out.
What now?
She spent the past 5 days in the hospital this time taking care of her husband , who had consumed poison, as the "other" woman had runaway with all the money he had!!
I asked her where was the need to take care of the man who had treated her and her children so badly.
Her response?
"If I ignore him and my responsibility, what is the difference between me and him amma. I won't be very upset if he had died but I didnt want to renege on my responsibility and set a bad example to my children. They have a bad father but let them see some goodness at least from their mother and learn what good life is."
!!!
She did not expect him to come back home but she was happy that she had done what she had to.
WOW! I had to admire this woman!!!
Is this what people mean when they talk about the greatness of Bhartiya Naari hood and how it has been at the foundation of Indian culture? I am not willing to get into the rights and wrongs of her approach or passive acceptance of abuse and its perpetuation.
To me her action makes sense completely as a human being and I think she acted with a lot of dignity.

When Vaish wrote about the things she'd miss about Bangalore in her post before leaving for the United States, I wondered what I'd miss about Bangalore if I were in her place and came up with this list:

The way the vegetable vendor or the greens (Soppu) seller who comes to the doorstep effortlessly calls me "akka" (sister).(Never mind he cheats me on the weight.)

The affection with which the old lady who sells flowers outside the temple gives me 6 inches of strung flowers free for my hair when I buy flowers for the deity.(This after complaining how expensive flowers have become and how she hardly makes any profit)

The anxiety with which a fellow driver on the street draws your attention with frantic honking to tell you your dupatta is caught in the door or one of the doors is not shut properly.

And then the way people listen carefully to you when you ask for directions, ask you to fill in the missing details and then tell you "sariyagi gothilla. sorry."

The way they would admit "gothilla" ( i don't know ) with humility rather than misguide you on anything.

The smell of avrekaalu and sampige flowers.

And of course i'd miss a part of my soul which I'd have left behind in this city if I'd ever have to leave it.

I always end up with tears in my eyes listening to O.S.Arun’s rendition of Subrahmanya Bharathi's “Chiinan chiru kiliye” especially when he struggles after “un kannil neer vazhindaal”, repeats the line as if unable to even bear the thought of his little one having tears in her eyes and then adds “ en nenjil udiram sottudadi” (if I see tears in your eyes, blood starts dripping from my heart). I know parents, especially fathers, share a special relationship with their daughters. But I have not had the privilege of knowing my father very closely having been born into a family where bringing up daughters was limited to ensuring they were fed and clothed properly and married off at the first opportunity. And I could not know it as a parent too as I do not have a daughter myself.
My own generation of parents take their job more seriously and handle the emotional requirements of their kids more sensitively – ok, at least we are trying. And as I look around I see the younger couples taking it even more seriously , especially the young fathers. I can well imagine most of them shedding tears of blood if their daughters were to shed so much as a tear drop.
Is the father- daughter relationship so intense because they know that they have limited time to pamper them? It must be pretty tough to love someone so wholly knowing that you would have to move to the background sooner or later. Of course it is the same with any child, boy or girl, but somehow it seems that the severing of the chord is more final in our Indian system where the girl becomes a guest in her own parents' house after her marriage. And hence perhaps the urgency to pamper the girl completely as long as she remains one’s daughter alone and not playing so many other roles?
Well, I can only speculate as I would never know. But looking at my pretty little neice getting her way with her father using her adorable wily ways I can say this much. The way huge tears stream forth from those big baby eyes at a minute's notice at the slightest pretext to get what she wants, her father could easily die of haemorrhage soon , if he was to have blood shed in his heart every time she has tears in her eyes!! The tears would flow profusely, as if an invisible dam burst forth and stop instantly the minute the demand is met and there would be stars in the eyes and no trace of the tears!!!But I can tell you it is the most heart breaking sight to see a little girl cry, even though you know it is a class act.

*********************************************

On a related note I am reminded a beautiful song written by Vairamuthu.
The girl is adopted ,the parents love her more than life but she is a turbulent and troubled child.
Movie: kannathil Muthamittal

oru dheyivam thandha poovae, kaNNil thedal yeNNa thaayae
vazhvu thodangum idam needanae, vaanam mudiyumidam needanae
kaatrai poala nee vandhayae, swasamaga nee nindrayae
maarbil oorum uyirae.

yenadhu sondham nee, yenadhu pagaiyum nee
kadhal malarum nee karuvil muLLum nee
cheLLa mazhaiyum nee, chiNNa idiyum nee
pirandha udalum nee, piriyum uyirum nee
maranam eenra jananamm nee.

yenadhu selvam nee, yenadhu varumai nee
izhaiththa kavidhai nee, Ezhuththu pizhaiyum nee
iraval veLicham nee, iravin kaNNir nee
yenadhu vaanam nee, izhandha siragum nee
naan thooki vaLLartha thuyaram nee


Both versions of the song - sung by Jayachandran and Chinmayi - are hauntingly melodious. And you can feel the intensity of the emotion and the sensitivity surrounding the relationship between the parents and a troubled child.
What can describe it more than the expression "iravin Kanneer nee" ( you are the tears shed in the night)? Tears shed in the privacy of the night because they cannot be shared with anyone else or hoped to be understood - but borne of so much pain that they must be shed and suffered silently, all alone known only to the darkness of the night.

Just finished reading “Two lives” by Vikram Seth. As with all books that deal with that pain filled period in recent history – the Nazi regime and the holocaust- it has taken me two days to pull myself together and talk. No,the book is not all about the holocaust – well of course, with all the press publicity, even those who haven’t read it know what the book is about. It is part memoir and part biography dealing with the lives of Seth’s grand uncle Shanthi and his wife Henny, a German Jew who escaped to England but whose sister and mother died in Auschwitz and Theriesenstadt .

Writing a biography limits a writer from using all the skills in a writer's repertoire but Seth emplys his skills in this book in piecing together the biographic material in an interesting and gripping fashion, except for the last part when it gets a bit tiresome. But that cannot be helped as he has to report that phase truly for us to know the man about whom he writes. Considering that he has had to recreate his aunt’s side of the story entirely from her correspondence with her circle of friends who remained in Post war Germany, there could have been many tedious repetitions and chaotic movements forward and backward. But Seth is a master story teller and the story unfolds without rough rides or tangles. It is almost like the story was waiting to be written – otherwise how can you account for his aunt keeping carbon copies of her letters to her friends during this entire period?

The book is about two people most unlikely to be united in a relationship. An Indian student whose fate took him at the age of 17 to Berlin to study dentistry and a German Jew who was apprehensive of him and told her mom not to take him in as a boarder - "Nimm den Schwarzen nicht [(Don't take the black man].' But as Fate would have it, he would be her companion for the rest of her life. Theirs was a not a “passionate romance but it was a deep and abiding concern.” A man who lost his right hand while serving in the medical corps in the war but with sheer persistence built up a successful dental practice. And a woman who had lost all her relations during the war. “Both Shanthi and Henny were in the broader sense exiled; each found in their fellow exile a home.” “Beset by life, isolated in the world, in each other they found a strong and sheltering harbour”. And in the rest of the book, Seth masterfully unfolds how they lived out their “fractured lives” for five decades together in absolute compatibility in spite of all the differences and inner scars. There is no need for a relationship to be perfect for people to be happy. “What is perfect? In a world with so much suffering, isolation and indifference it is a cause for gratitude if something is sufficiently good.”

Occasionally Seth treats us to his prose like this when he reflects on the historical facts or throws in an extra perspective on the course of events. Otherwise he stays in the background as the invisible third braid letting the events speak for themselves. Particularly poignant is his narration of what Henny’s sister Lola would have been through at the Auschwitz on the day of being gassed. He just states the information derived from sources recorded elsewhere by survivors without excessively dramatising any of it but the final effect of it all leaves you speechless and with tremendous pain at the extent of “man’s inhumanity to man”. Reading them in the history of the period touches you lesser than when you read about the actual details of the incidents happening to ordinary people.The horror gets multiplied manifold. But you also see how shared suffering unites people and brings out the best in human nature in the way some of the non Jewish friends try to help Henny’s sister during the Nazi reign of terror ; in the way Shanthi and Henny send gifts of food and other basic clothing items to their German friends suffering from complete scarcity of these in post- war Germany, even though they themselves were not very wealthy and things were rationed in England too. Perhaps it is all this goodness and kindness of the ordinary people that has kept the world going in spite of the many tragedies perpetrated by politicians and militia. Every person who has lived through these periods in history deserves to be looked upon as a hero, their ordinary lives as an epic saga.

Being a memoir, it allows one a glimpse of Seth's real personality - his attachment to his family, the values he looks up to in people etc. Particularly touching is the moment when he talks about his anger against anything German, including the language, after his research into the details of the holocaust. You feel closer to the author after the book.

“Two Lives” is not one of those books that comes to an end at the last page. It stays with you for a while as a feeling and leaves you with a lot of thoughts that need pondering. Two days after closing the book, his last few words are still ringing in my ears:
“..in the context of an evil century past and a still more dangerous one to come. May we not be as foolish as we are almost bound to be. If we cannot eschew hatred, at least we can eschew group hatred. May we see that we could have been born as each other. May we, in short, believe in human logic and perhaps, in due course, in love.”

He stood near the bed and took the frail hand in his. She opened her eyes and on seeing him there was a glimmer of light in those dull eyes and her lips lengthened into a smile. She asked him to sit by her side and gently pressed his fingers while asking him if he was happy in the new job.

Dear old Nani, always concerned about the happiness of others. His eyes brimmed with tears as he told her not to exert herself. The nurse came in to check the IV fluid.
He sank into a chair near the bed and his thoughts went back to the times when Nani was young and strong.
Nani who was his refuge whenever his parents punished him for his childhood pranks.
Nani who would kiss his bruises and make the pain go away.
Nani who told him stories from mythology.
Nani who undertook a severe fast when he was admitted to the hospital with a severe viral attack.
Nani who would save up on her pension to buy him books for his birthday.
Nani who wrote to him every week when he was in the hostel and homesick.
Nani who only knew how to give and to love and to help.

He heard footsteps and looked up. It was his uncle and aunt who held a cup of coffee for him.
“It costs us about 10,000 every month, the two nurses and the medications,” the uncle said..
This sounded bizarre to him. “It is your mother,dammit.” he wanted to scream.
His wife went one step further and said how she could not go to stay with her daughter as she was saddled with Nani.

He wanted to take them out so Nani would be spared of hearing these but it was too late. He could see the tears in her eyes. She had heard it all. She knew she was only a burden for them. But what could she do?
He wished he could take her to his house and take care of her as she had done to him in his childhood. But he worked 2000 km away and Nani could not be transported. He knew she had a very little of life left in her. He only wished people would be patient and be kind to her in her last days.
“It won’t be for long”, he told his mami.
“Even Dr Sharma said the same thing 6 months ago.” There was frustration in mami’s voice. And he hoped for a word of reproach from his uncle but there was only a passive nod in agreement..

He wondered if there was anything sacred for human beings anymore in this age of materialism. Even relationships are valued only as long as they are convenient and useful? In his profession he had seen poor mothers beg him to save the life of their children. He had been taught that if he could prolong the life of a person by a day it was still worth all the effort needed. But here he was not able to sit and take this anymore.

He told them to leave the room to allow her to rest. He sat next to her on the bed and stroked her hands and her cheeks and wiped her tears. He kissed her on the forehead and whispered into her ears, “I love you Nanima. You were the best part of my life.” She asked him to bend and kissed his forehead and feebly whispered ,”And you are of mine beta. I am proud of you.”
Tears streamed down his cheeks as he sat holding her hand and stroking her head as she fell asleep.

Then Dr. Amit Kumar got up, opened his emergency kit, found what he needed and added it in the IV fluid. He touched her feet and told her “Nanima, I wish I could kiss you and make the pain go away but this is all I can do to ease your pain.”
He came out and quickly took leave of his uncle and aunt, went down and sat sobbing in his car.

He knew they would call for him soon.

There is a beautiful poem from the sangam period in Tamil literature ( about 1 to 3rd century a.d) translated by A.K Ramanujam which goes like this:

"What she said:
dont they really have
in the land where he has gone
such things
as house sparrows

dense feathered, the colour of fading lilies,
pecking at grain drying on yards
playing with the scatter of the fine dust
of the street's manure
and living with their nestlings
in the angles of the penthouse

and miserable evenings,
and loneliness?"

The image is of a young girl perhaps in her late teens whose husband has left for distant shores to earn wealth looking at the house sparrows symbolising home and togetherness and yearning for companionship. "miserable evenings - and loneliness?"
Why is loneliness most miserable in the evenings?

Solitude is peacefulness.It is a means of enjoying the quiet and whatever it brings -it is satisfying and rejuvenating as you can even draw sustenance from it. It replenishes you after having devoted so much of energy for looking after the needs of others. Now is the time to set aside the cooking, cleaning etc and put one's feet up with a nice book, or whatever other hobby.
But as the afternoon grows into evening, and you watch school children bursting out like butterfiles from the giant yellow cocoons, and a little later adults returning from work - dragging their weary feet but smiling at the thought or sight of home.Birds suddenly become active in their hitherto lazy perches on trees, quickly take in one last breastful of air, flap their wings as a warm up and then they rise together like school children aroused by a whistle and quickly hop into empty slots on their flight patterns for their journey home;Cows and sheep cast a final glance about for any crisp grass for a quick evening snack and then amble back home with a contented look. Even the Sun is ready to go home.
It is then that the solitude grows heavier into one of loneliness. Evening is a time when you want the house to be filled again with family members and friends - doors are left open so people may walk in,kitchen warms up with the heat of fire and the smell of fresh food. A time for incessant chatter about the happenings of the day, laughter and play, happy meals together.It is the time that fills one's heart with gratitude for yet another day of joy and togetherness, sharing and caring.

Loneliness is a cruel thing to endure in the evening of the day; and also in the evening of one's life.

"In the dream where you show up to school naked, why do you never go swimming?"
That is the question on my blogger profile. I think it requires a special kind of brain to think up these questions. From where do they get these? My three best guesses are:1. from some drunken teenage party game 2. from a questionnaire at a psychiatrist's clinic or 3. from some translation software ( which usually gives you completely grammatical but totally meaningless equivalent for what you fed in).
Now for the answer I had a choice between fact number 1 that I would not have a swim suit and fact no.2 that I do not know how to swim. While I was seriously considering these choices, the minor detail that I would have shown up to school naked completely escaped me.Yes, NAKED!
Apparently it is very common for people to have dreams in which they find themselves naked. A doctor friend explained that this kind of a dream signified one’s fear of being exposed and that it is a reflection of one’s vulnerability or shamefulness. Well, if any of you have actually had such a dream (not of your favourite actress or model showing up naked and I am told that is "perfectly normal" for males between 13 -100 ) but you yourself show up naked, you know the reason now. You have some “ia”, “ism” or “yxis”.
Whatever this fear is, I not only do not have it but I do not even have the fear of having it because I cannot remember most of my dreams and I never remember to have noticed any details of anyone's attire in the dreams.
I think things happen with great clarity only in the dream sequences in films. Real life dreams are less colourful and more suggestive like photo negatives. Of course I do know some people who describe dreams to the last detail including the accessories and the brand of perfume used. I have a vague suspicion that these people just have a vivid imagination that fills up the details after they wake up.
Or I must be suffering from some kind of a dream blindness for I can never see faces or forms but just a vague impression of some incident occuring and I get a sense of the characters in the scene from the general drift of things.People flit in and out in cloudy caspery forms - wrong combination of people from all generations appear at all the wrong places with no sense of history or geography. It all sounds like the first day rehearsal for your college play where the script gets written after you start the rehearsal. With so much happening, the last thing I can be expected to notice is the colour coordination and the accessories of their costumes or even if they are wearing anything.Is this common or am I the exception? Do people really see dreams in great detail in technicolour complete with sound effects?
Anyways,next time any of you plan to show up in my dreams just walk in as you are as it would be a great shame to have all your finery wasted. However well dressed you are, my dreams are going to convert you into an image of the kind of bad light photographs that I take. So you can save all that trouble for those special people who can see all the details. As for my dreams dress code:strictly casual!

5 a.m on a november morning in Bangalore.
Breathtaking beauty of a black sky heightened by a crisp slice of moon and a few stray sleepy stars. Stillness of a morning still early for birds broken only by a distant bell. Winds,virgin untouched by the smells and sounds of the day carrying just a trace of their flirtations with the flower buds.Cold winds,not biting but playful, indulgent and gentle.Anger and betrayal,pride and arrogance and all the meanness of the world faraway and locked inside closed doors,buried under blankets.
You,cane chair on the balcony, hot tea.Peace.Heaven.
(For everything else there is mastercard!!)

I have always thought it was a major exaggeration when people said or wrote that they felt the ground under their feet shift leaving them stunned and shocked.
What could possibly happen to a person to create such an extreme reaction that you lose touch with your bearings and question the firmness on the earth you are standing on?
What could shake the foundations of your existence, and make you think that your whole perception of yourself so far is a lie and you are just an alien?
Happened to me when someone asked me if I was a kannadiga or an "outsider"in Bangalore. The categorisation seemed very clear. It did not matter that I had lived in this city for 26 years, considered it my home,spoke kannada better than some for whom it was the mother tongue and above all, loved the city. I own property and I have voting rights here. And yet,to be called an outsider in your home?! Now, that hurt, very very deeply. I did not know where I belonged anymore.
I completely understood what some of my friends who practice Islam had told me all along. How it felt to be treated like an outsider in your own home. Now I completely understand the alienation that the African Americans feel in the U.S.A. I can see why the suburbs of Paris are burning. This is where the seeds are sown.
What qualifies one to be an insider in any place?
When I salute the national flag or sing the national anthem or cheer the men in blue or say "vande mataram' from the pit of my stomach, and own an Indian passport, I feel that I belong here and that this IS my HOME - every inch of its territory. I refuse to be categorised as anything other than "Indian" despite the languages I know , where I live or what religion I practice. Bangalore, Mumbai or Kashmir is as much my home as anyone who has lived there for 500 years. My constitution guarantees me that and I refuse to let anyone take that away from me.
Next time someone asks me if I am an "outsider" I shall not dignify that with a reply or a reaction.
Vande Mataram!

________________________________________________
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake

Rabindranath Tagore.

58 years...and yet we are far from there!!!Miles to go to be free gurudev!

Is there anything called near faith?
Can you call it faith ( or belief or trust ) when it is a cocktail of belief and doubt in whatever proportions they are mixed? Even when a whole glass of faith is spiked with a hint of disbelief?
Faith has to be complete, absolute, total. There are no degrees or levels to faith - anything less than 100 percent is not faith at all.Come to think of it it is the same with all qualities that make a human being perfect - like sincerity, honesty, simplicity- it is hundred percent or none at all!
We often hear people claim to have lost faith in people, humanity, the system . probe further and they will tell you that they always had doubts . When you never had Faith how can you claim to have lost it? this is the trouble with us today, that we try things half heartedly and give up too easily and then blame the system. Contrast this with what true faith can do to you.My friend had put in her heart and soul into a project and getting the contract would have meant a lot to change her life as she had a lot of family responsibilities, an ailing mother, sisters in college a house loan to be paid off. On the day of the final bid she said that she knew god would show her the way and when she came back we heard that the contract had gone to a competitior who had used his contacts .I asked her if she still thought that God had shown her the way. She said "sure.He did not want me to have it. But i am sure He has other plans for me!!!!"
That is Faith!
Faith is the absolute trust that the little girl has when she gets on a bicycle for the first time and does not look back knowing that her father won't let go until he is sure she can manage the distance on her own. Faith is the absolute trust in laws of universe that makes us sleep peacefully after sunset knowing that the Sun will rise again in the east the next day. Faith is believing with all your heart, in what your senses say cannot be, in what you sometimes cannot even hear or see or touch. Faith is that spring under your feet that makes you leap for the star.

These are people you don’t know and god, you seriously hope that you will never have to know them. But these people affect you in ways that you wish you could catch them by the scruff of their neck and bang their foreheads against the nearest wall. (No, I just don't mean those scum who would stoop to levels worse than worms by bombing market squares, buses and trains and hope for martyrhood. No, those are fiends in human form they are not "people")

The people who top my hit (hate) list are :

-ones who pee on the roadside (in particular people who park their vehicles and do this, as if this is exactly why they came out driving. Guys, don’t you have a bathroom in your house or do you prefer to keep it as a show piece?)

-ones walking on footpaths with children letting the child walk on the side of vehicular traffic. (That is your OWN child isn’t it? Or did you just kidnap it and the ransom was refused?)

-ones who throw stones at street dogs without any provocation.

-Ones spitting on the roads, from buses and from autos. ( These I want to tie them to a pole in a public place and have everyone spit on them!)

-Qualis drivers using their horns more than their brakes and their brains. (These are already paying for their collective sins by having to drive on Bangalore roads many times every day. And yet they accumulate more bad Carma – I have no words for them!)

The list continues but these are the top 5.

You watch her lying in bed,face still beautiful at 73, the body shrunk to a skeleton after a thyroidectomy. She is in a lot of pain in spite of the hourly painkillers and you can see her rubbing her hip and legs but she does not whine about it. She has never complained in life - she has always demanded things from life and got them exactly the way she ordered. She is not about to make her exit leaving the memory of a shrivelled, suffering person. She is determined to face it by herself and if possible go with a smile. But Fate likes to humble you and force you to accede defeat. The pain becomes so intolerable that she finally says "can you give me something to end it all? I cannot bear to die so many times every second."
You love her but you can do nothing to take away the pain or share in it. All you can do is watch helplessly and cry. It seems right to accede to her request and help her go quickly. You know it in your heart and your mind.
It is against the law - that draconian system which makes laws to determine how people should die when it is conveniently silent about how people should live. There is no law punishing sons and daughters who fail to feed their parents or care for them but there is a law punishing those who help them ease their pain when all else has failed and purely motivated by love.You turn to religion for solace and guidance. It says it is her Karma and she has to go "through" it in order not to carry it over to another birth. Someone else says that it amounts to murder and warns of the sins of "brahmahathi".
So you wait and pray -pray for her to go, not to live, for there is no dignity in her life anymore. There is no law against wishing for someone's death. And finally when it comes it is all a relief and you have no tears left anymore and there is no loss to mourn.