A Newton Moment

We all know the story of Sir Isaac Newton resting under an apple tree when a merry fruit goes boink and lands on his head; a happy incident culminating in what is now known as Newton’s Laws of Gravity. I can appreciate now basis my own experience a couple of evenings ago, about how falling fruits tend to get people’s minds working on overdrive, leading to observations galore.

It was the evening of Maha Shivratri (literally meaning ‘the great night of Shiva’) – a Hindu festival celebrated annually in reverence of Lord Shiva, the Hindu God of Transformation or Destruction. This year Shivratri was celebrated on 20th Feb.  I was out strolling that particular evening with a friend through one of the leafier avenues of the city when we hear a loud thunk and see what appears to be a robust, round-shaped thingy lying on the ground. I pick it up, my friend remarks that it is a bael fruit (or wood apple, a type of marmelos). The skin of this fruit is green and speckled with yellow marks and a few indentations from the fall. I keep the fruit cos it gives off a nice rosy, citrusy aroma and bring it back from our walk, not ascribing any other thought to it other than perhaps, keeping it in my room for its rich aroma. I had never eaten the fruit raw though I had tasted its drink a few times.

I had just reached the lane in front of our house when I see my brother Sunny outside and give the bael to him, when things start happening quickly. You see, the bael is considered the favourite fruit of Lord Shiva, and its leaves are an integral part of Shivratri rituals, as per The Holy Book of Shiva, the Shiv Purana. Devotees offer the fruit to the Lord that day, partaking of a bit of the offering as a Divinely-invested gift (prasad) of Shiva. On any other day, the bael falling onto my path would have been a simple good fortune to taste free fruit, but on that day which was ‘the great night of Shiva’, it was positively receiving Divine Benediction – a feat for which the Lord himself intervened. 

A few neighbours gathered around Sunny, all agog with the now-famous story of how the Bael transported itself by some Divine will, down for its devotees. The bael was smashed on the ground just like a coconut, and its aromatic, pulpy fruit bits instantly consumed as prasad by the eager throng. I too tasted the raw fruit for the first time. The bael never even reached the house; so much for my plans of using it as a room freshener!

This story is a typical tale of how we seek and receive assurances (purely symbolic, I mean) from the external environment. A fruit, an animal, a happy coincidence – everything is grist to our assurance-seeking nature. I have earlier explored this theme in one of my previous posts When Keys get Stuck. That evening though, I was just basking in the glow of being “one of God’s favoured”, the "deliverer of Divine Prasad". You understand I am sure, that I was just living up my own Newton Moment.

Overcoming a C1-C2 Complication With A Heart like Tiffany’s

The older brother holds his younger brother’s hand as he lies upon a stretcher, covered in a loose blue robe just before he is about to be wheeled into the OT for a surgery which might enable him to move upright again, or might even paralyse him from the waist down, if it failed. As the duo were waiting for the OT crew to usher them in, the younger brother his head immovably strapped to a hideous neck collar, asks his brother with tears in his eyes, “Dada, why did this happen to me?” The older brother looks down at the tear-stained face of his sibling, ineffectually tries to wipe out the moisture from his own and not knowing what to do, just clutches his brother’s hand tighter. That younger brother was my brother Sunny and that fateful day, I was dearly holding onto his hand. Due to God’s grace, the operation was successful and post-surgery, Sunny is now perfectly well.

Sunny had a road accident in May 2005 right after his Class X exams, and fractured his C1 and C2 cervical vertebrae which as our orthopaedic surgeon proclaimed, are the 2 uppermost bones in the spine. The skull rests on the ring-shaped C1 which serves as the base, and the C2 forms the pivot upon which the C1 rests. So, my brother was in danger of his skull hanging loose from the spine (C1 fracture), as also the added risk of not being able to move his head around (C2 fracture) even if he overcame the first danger.

We admitted Sunny into intensive care in a Guwahati medical facility for some days. Due to the injury, Sunny’s head was supported by a neck collar and since he could not move his head, he had to perpetually stare at the ceiling above. The doctors were non-committal and running a battery of tests, and we waited for advice.  Resting Sunny on his side for a few minutes each day for wiping clean his bed sores was a complicated task involving atleast 3 people, and required careful manipulation of his upper body so that his head did not move more than it had to. This typically took around 15 – 20 minutes each time. Family came to see Sunny at the facility, and concerned members, grown people at that, broke down outside with fear and sadness, after visiting Sunny in ICU. My brother however, was the one with a smile on his face almost all the time, through the daily injections and the frequent saline solution infusions, and even bantering with the medical personnel who attended to him. Finally we were informed that Sunny had to be operated to walk again and move around normally, a surgical procedure for which our case was referred to AIIMS, Delhi.

Flying Sunny to Delhi presented another challenge; since he had to lie on his stretcher throughout, 3 seats had to be unhinged from the airplane floor, and the stretcher had to be fitted there. Apparently out of all the flights flying out of Guwahati, Indian Airlines was the only one who could do it. This was Sunny’s first flight and he spent it tied to the airplane floor for a flight time of 3 hours. We spent close to a fortnight in AIIMS before Sunny could be operated upon, and another fortnight post-surgery. Throughout this entire period of close to 2 months, the only moment of vulnerability when Sunny expressed his fears and cried, was when we were waiting to be taken into the OT. As we were waiting outside, we were told that one family member could escort Sunny to within the OT, and I went along with him holding his right hand with my left.

Pals playing "Mustache Mafiosi"
with Sunny (middle)

It has been more than half a decade since then. Even now family members reminisce about the strength and inner courage that Sunny showed when others around him were sobbing openly. It is a source of secret pride for me that my brother, all of 16 years then and with his whole young life ahead of him, never subjected himself and others to frustration and fear. I know all too well, the helplessness that sometimes creeps in and the all-too-normal reaction of bitterness and proclivity to blame God and Man for the present misery.

Sunny is now a Masters student and imbued with a joie de vivre which is infectious. He is living upto his name now and I am sure, will for all days.

(The title has been adapted from a line in the film ‘Auntie Mame’ and for me, invokes the core of a person shining with radiance and a flinty character, both qualities synonymous with the diamond of which Tiffany's is a major designer.)

Looking at God’s Garden

Nature's Bouquet: Dianthus radiant in the centre,
Phlox in the top left & right ,
Petunia smiling shyly in bottom left

Winter for me as for many others I suspect, is a season associated with late mornings, snug quilts, piping bowls of hot soup and outings to the countryside. This winter however, has been different. The season has acquired a different meaning for me now – it is now also the season for chrysanthemums, dahlias, petunias, marigolds, dianthus, pansies and so many other pretty flower varieties that thrive in our short winter.

During my trips to florists to buy (mostly) roses and gladiolus, I had always admired the sunny faces of the blooms, the hint of fragrance in the air and the natural cheerfulness which a nice bouquet almost always induces.  Looking at them, I asked myself ‘How difficult will it be to grow my own flowers?’ Starting from January last year, I tried my hand at growing flowers and got my answer. Growing flowers is not an easy task but when the flowers bloom (for all too short a time, it always seems), one is rewarded.

Below are some pics of my winter blooms.

Kabira in the market place, Wishes welfare for All.

Kabir the weaver (or Kabira), was born in India in the 1400s. He also came to be known as a great saint and poet, his thoughts holding sway over millions even today. Folk songs in Sindhi and Punjabi carrying within their words the magic of Kabir’s thoughts, have seeped into contemporary Indian oral traditions. Till just the other day, I did not realize that some of the widely-used truisms in Hindi vernacular have come all the way from Kabir’s mouth e.g., “Kal kare so Aaj Kar, Aaj kare so Ab” (“Tommorow’s work do Today, Today’s work do Now”). As is only natural, the language of the people finds expression in Bollywood – the recent fountain of film songs steeped in Sufi spirit of ‘Love’ and ‘Longing’ and ‘Complete Devotion’ are reminiscent of some of the teachings of this extraordinary person.

Kabir who is regarded by Hindus as a Vaishnava Bhakat (Vishnu’s Disciple), by Muslims as a Pir (Saint/ Guide/ Teacher) and by Sikhs as a Bhagat (God’s Disciple), was it is said, almost illiterate. Raised by Muslim parents, he was never formally educated. The only word he could ever write was ‘Rama’ (the name of the 7th re-incarnation of Hindu God, Vishnu who is considered as the embodiment of mercy and goodness). Thus, Kabir’s lyrics are simple and based on colloquial language and nuances, and stems from his keen observation of mundane and everyday things.

Breaking away from religious dogmas and ritualistic allegiances and a casteist society, Kabir propagated a Divine union through love, devotion and an awareness-filled life. Kabir’s poetry is expressed in the form of songs and couplets (‘Dohas’). The spiritual depth Kabir expresses in just 2 lines is extraordinary, communicating universal truths about life as it is supposed to be lived (I think). I am reproducing 3 dohas below for a preliminary understanding of what Kabir says.

Jab tu aaya Jagat mein, Log hanse tu Roye,

Aise karni Na Kari, Pache hanse Sab Koye.

(When You were born in this world, Everyone laughed while You Cried,

Conduct NOT yourself in manner such, That they Laugh too when you are gone.)

Akath kahaani Prem ki, Kuch kahi na Jaaye

Goonge keri Sarkara, Baithe Muskae.

(Inexpressible is the story of Love, Not revealed by Words,

Like the Dumb eating sweet-meats, Only smiles, the Sweetness He cannot Tell.)

Jyon nainon mein Putli, Tyon Maalik ghat Maahin,

Murakh log na Jaanhin, Bahaar Dhudhan Jahin

(Like the Pupil in the Eyes, The Lord resides Inside

The Ignorant not knowing this, Searches for Him outside.)

If you would like to hear how good Kabir’s words sound in the golden voice of the great Sufi singer Abida Parveen, I highly recommend the album “Kabir by Abida”. The songs are just like Gulzar says in one of the introductions in the album, ‘twin intoxication – getting drunk on the verses of Kabir and then again on the voice and rendition by Abida’.

It is said that people spend a long time in searching for the meaning for their existence, and a dissonance between a life lived and a life sought, creates tumult in the mind. Kabir the weaver and his words I am convinced, have been teaching us for centuries on how to limit this dissonance. I find his teachings intrinsically true and simple to understand but as with most things true and simple, difficult to practise.   So every day I Learn Kabir’s teachings only to Unlearn them later but the next morning, I try to pick up the thread again…

A Short Tale of Love & Devotion

Real-life pics of Hachiko

A man brings in a two-month old puppy. Showered with love and care, the puppy grows – and the bond between man and dog develops. Each morning the man leaves for the city to work; the dog accompanies his master to the local railway station every morning to see him off and then again, comes in the evening when the master returns, welcoming his master by the station turnstile and walking home alongwith him. The familiar sight of the man and his dog setting out for the station in the morning and returning home together at night, warms people’s hearts. One day the man suffers a stroke at work and dies; the dog dutifully waits for him by the station at 4 o’ clock in the evening. And does so for the next 9 years and 10 months till it breathes its last on the streets.

The story of ‘Hachiko – the Akita’ is a magnificent tale of the boundless love and loyalty that exists, inspiring books and 2 movies. Hachiko’s story inspired a nation through the turmoil and vicissitudes of a war. For how much time did man and dog actually live together, I hear you say? 18 months.

Wiki's Stub on Hachiko

Short piece on the real-life Hachiko

Who says barter is dead?

Barter very much alive at Jonbeel Mela!

Barter is trade without using money. We all barter sometimes; my uncle regularly barters with his 3-year old son during the kid’s meal-time, and the exchange rate is “you-eat-your-food-now-and-later-I’ll-take-you-for-a-car-ride.” In Assam, an annual mela (fair) founded entirely on this barter concept by the erstwhile Ahom kings perhaps in the 15^th century is still going strong today. This fair called the Jonbeel Mela is held every winter at a historic place known as Dayang Belguri in Morigaon, around 32 kms away from Guwahati. The name Jonbeel comes from 2 Assamese morphemes – ‘jon’ meaning moon and ‘beel’ meaning wetland – because this fair is held beside the eponymous beel which is shaped like a crescent moon.

This fair is a 3-day event commencing when the tribes from nearby hills come down to this place in the plains to barter their goods with the local populace. The hill people like the Tiwas, Karbi, Khasi and Jaintia trade in their indigenous items like ginger, wild honey, turmeric, etc. for the traditional pitha, sira, akhoi, muri (local Assamese delicacies made of rice flour, puffed rice, etc. which are conventionally prepared in this season). In the olden days when trade and commerce was intermittent and scarce, I suppose that this fair must have played a more than symbolic role in the sustenance of the people. In todays age, the Jonbeel Mela must be upheld as a showcase of the cultural landscape that exists in the region, and the simple joys that people engage in, adding gaiety and colour to their lives.

My mother tells me that when she was a small girl living in a place called Jagiroad very close to Jonbeel, she used to go to the mela every year. The local kids used to call the hill tribal traders ‘mama’(uncle) and ‘mami’ (aunt), and it was a grand opportunity for the young ones and the old too I suspect, to partake of fresh-tasting food items from the hills and have fun. The mela is interspersed with colourful activities like communal fishing on the beel, performance of various tribal music and dance forms, cock-fighting, and descendants of the erstwhile Rajas mingling with the people to conduct a puja, collecting taxes and finally, arranging a grand communal feast on the banks of the beel.

The Jonbeel Mela seeks to serve as a living bridge among the various tribes and communities scattered in the region, and this noble ideal together with the alter-purpose of serving as a cultural showcase, has to be appreciated and carried forward.

Every January the hill people still come down to mingle with the people from the plains. Every winter the Jonbeel comes alive with joy and songs. And yes, the young ones still call their hill neighbours mama and mami.

For more info and colourful pics of the Jonbeel Mela, you may visit the following 2 links. 

Link #1

Link #2 

About the Common House Lizard & how it brings out the worst in little boys

The house lizard in my younger days was a ready source of amusement and convenient prop for naughty tricks. Lizards were always to be found in plenty in all the houses we have lived in till now. The earliest instance of a predator stalking its prey that I have seen must have been the lizard sneaking up on its prey (bugs, flies, moths, etc.) with all the finesse and stealth of a natural little hunter. As I remember though, the lizard was seen as something of a pest in our society. This must have something to do with its ‘detachable’ tail falling down upon unsuspecting people and people’s food, and sometimes even the whole lizard spiraling down onto least-prepared human presence. To top it, the lizard was also viewed with suspicion – it was rumoured that killing a lizard would bring bad luck, and of course, we all shared in the uneasy though misplaced idea that a lizard coming into contact with your food would poison it.

So all in all, the lizard was fair game for me and my friends when we were little. To be sure we could not kill it but we could conjure up all sorts of devilish mischief designed to leave it half, but not fully dead. The simplest trick was this.

Step 1: Get hold of a broom with a long handle, and search out the house walls for prime lizzy specimens. Note: Lizards are found in plenty under tube lights and bulb holders where they wait patiently for the moths to show up for the ‘grand illumination’.

Step 2: After target acquisition, creep up on the lizzies with your broom and give that section of the wall a god ol’ sweep.

Step 3: “All fall down” and now the lizzies are at your mercy. Take hold of a tong (I used my mother’s old forceps) to pin down the lizard’s tail. Watch the lizard squirm and struggle, until it sheds its tail to flee.

Step 4: Long after the lizard’s gone, watch the still-squirming tail with fascination as it writhes in its own dance of detachment. (Taking the tail to show to your mother at this point, may not be the best way of attracting parental approval, as I found out painfully on one occasion).

An older cousin brother had his own novel idea for tormenting the lizard. He used a long stick, applied the top end with some lime (calcium hydroxide which is a white chemical used in preparing 'paan'), and raise it up to the wall where lizards would be seen. He did not have to wait long before an unsuspecting lizard crept close to the white end and thinking it to be a moth/ bug, tried to bite it. Lime can cause skin irritation and skin burning and the poor lizard after his attempt, would writhe in agony from the burn, fall down on the ground or just plain disappear from the scene as fast as it could run. We never did find out if the lizard would die from such a nasty trick.

Another fav trick was collecting lizard’s eggs (tiny white round replicas). Lizard laid eggs in plenty, and we would gather up the pretty, fragile-looking things with their soft shells and hide them away. Again after placing them in a hidden spot only to forget about them in the burst of other childish activities, we never did find out if the eggs ever hatched.

In our present house, lizards are rare and we hardly hear the loud ‘tik-tik’ as the lizards call out to each other in the night. Perhaps too many lizards have already provided game for mischievous, unmindful boys like my younger self. As I recollect my own pranks I feel sad somehow that I could not or did not care about nor understand how I was hurting a small creature.