“Only the gentle are ever really strong….”

My friend Kaushik has a natural affinity towards animals, the physical manifestation of which can be unnerving at times. He knows almost no dread or obscure sense of ‘human’ regard for his appearance or the animal’s. I remember how I used to be put off by his easy attempts to pet stray dogs. I suppose I was more concerned about how the paws of such mangy mongrels might ruin my outfit, or leave stains upon my person. Kaushik’s love for animals however transcends such petty boundaries which we build around ‘expected behaviour’.

One recent incident further reflects this kindred feeling that Kaushik feels towards animals. He was recently driving his car along a highway with his mother. They were going to a family function outside the city. From a distance, he saw a crumpled heap ahead, of something which was obviously a road-kill.

He stopped the car and proceeded to get out of the car. His mother asked,” What do you think you’re doing?” Kaushik replied,” I’m going to see if I can help the animal.”

“Are you crazy? If you do that, the nearby people may think that you’ve hit the animal.”

“That may be so, but I’ve got to see to the animal.” Kaushik said as he stepped out.

The animal was in the middle of the road, and it took some time to get to it. It was a busy highway and cars and trucks were zipping by, a couple narrowly missing the stricken animal. With no apparent concern for his own safety, he stooped near the animal, saw that it was a goat kid and that it was beyond help. He picked up the bloodied mess, walked over to the roadside and laid it down gently. By that time, the kid was dead and a motley group of people had gathered around.

These people were all the while, watching the entire spectacle from a few shops by the roadside. One of them spoke up,” Well now, this kid has died and the owner has to get compensation. How much will you give?”

My friend blew his top cos he had seen these people mutely watching how the kid was suffering with no thought of perhaps, helping it or if nothing else, picking it up and moving it off the road so that it does not get bloodied any further by passing vehicles. He put up a spirited argument with the assembled throng, giving them such an earful about simple human concern and a sense of civility that shame-faced, a few gave their apologies and shuffled away. This is very amazing cos if you knew my friend, you’d know that he’s such a gentle soul that I’ve only seen him raising his voice, indeed getting into a confrontation maybe only 3 times in the 20-odd years that I’ve known him.

Kaushik told me later,” If there was any chance of saving that kid, I’d have driven him till I could get him help elsewhere” - which is just the truth cos again if you knew my friend, you’d know that he’d have done exactly that.

I know for a certainty that if it was I who was driving on that highway on that day, I’d just have sidestepped over the stricken kid and driven away. Oh sure, I’d have felt bad for a little time but I’d have recovered from the sad episode telling myself,” Ah Roon, but what could you’ve done? The animal must have already been dead.” This is why in the face of such rampant weakness and apathy, the strength and piety of one who thinks and acts differently is commendable and worthy of emulation.

[It was the Hollywood legend James Dean, himself an incandescent flame that burned all too briefly who said ‘Only the gentle are ever really strong’.]

Nature Ground Cover Inc. – over & above!

The carpet must be one of the oldest home decoration thingy that’s there – indeed the oldest one dates from BC and was found preserved in ice! Before nylon, polyester, acryclic and other synthetic blends came along, carpets were made from wool, hair, cotton, silk and even metal. And there have been amazingly elaborate and huge carpets woven by the hands of men. Perhaps the earliest idea of something like a carpet came to man from observing nature’s own ground cover.

A day-long trip outside the city drove home this point for me.

Carpet#1 – Simalu – The large crimson blooms of the ‘Simalu’ flower paint the sky red in the months Jan – Mar; as evident from the pic, they also do a good job of colouring the ground beneath a deep red. Interestingly the pods in the flower exude a cotton which has traditionally been used for filling pillows and cushions. It is said that when in full bloom, there are very few flowering trees than can compare with the simalu.

Carpet#2 – Looks like an indigenous cockscomb – The pic might give an impression that the plant has actually been cultivated as a crop cos the ground cover is so intense. Truth is, it grows wild but grows in such a close-cropped fashion as to be almost mistaken for a cultivated swatch. It was growing adjacent to a garden patch where garlic was being grown. The tall green stalks and up-thrust, featherlike spikes of tiny red blossoms of the plant do an effective job of carpeting the ground.

Carpet #3 – Indistinguishable pink moss-like plant – The pic was taken in a field which had been left fallow for the season. As my guide informed, this plant grows profusely for a very short time in fallow fields (it evidently needs the full heat of the wintry sun cos if you notice in the pic, it doesn’t grow under or near the harvested paddy stalks) before disappearing just as mysteriously as it arrived. 

What the Moon has to Offer

The Sun gets a lot of respect and love in man’s society and rightly so, cos it gives everyone life. But why should that make the Moon feel any lesser? The Sun and its personification as a God has its roots in many civilizations (ancient Egyptians worshipped the Sun God ‘Re’, the Hindu holy book ‘Rig Veda’ calls the sun the “God among the gods, the highest light”) . In contrast, the moon is not held in the same reverential light and is largely overlooked today. Certainly, the Moon too had its share of worshippers and its own symbolisms in ancient cultures; for instance, the Babylonians regarded the moon as the chief of the 2 luminaries (sun & moon). But what does the moon have to offer now?

It was a recent poem I read which set this wheel in motion. The poem was a beautiful collection of simple thoughts and vivid imagery. This poem titled ‘My rendezvous with Mr Moon’ brought back school memories where I loved simple, elegant poems like ‘Sea-Fever’ by John Masefield, ‘Stopping by woods on a Snowy Evening’ by Robert Frost, and so many others. In that dewy-eyed and simple-minded world, a poem did not require much effort to understand; there was no complicated use of metaphors and allegories. What you read was just what it was. This poem showcases a little conversation between the moon and what I think, is a hopeful young girl. In response to the earlier question of what the moon has to offer, it provides us hope, the coming of a new dawn and a perennial sense of refuge (just as the sun does, but the moon gives us all these in its characteristic mellow, silvery glow). I have reproduced the poem here, a graceful piece by a lady named Paromita Bordoloi. The moon speaks to the girl in a wonderfully sage, tender and understanding manner, much as a parent would speak to a child, I am sure. I read the lines as more of a story and that is what I think it is – a tale of love and wisdom.

My rendezvous with Mr Moon

I was getting a little impatient with Mr Moon                                                 

Since I remember, it forever hung in the old oak tree

With the same name engraved on its face

Last night I quietly climbed up the tree and released Mr Moon from the branches

Mr Moon was not very happy with my act

It was too used to hang in the same position; it became lazy

When I pointed out that it was becoming FAT too; it showed a little dissatisfaction with a small grunt

In silence it pulled its muffler closer and said in a grumpy voice, “It’s too cold you see.”

Now that Mr Moon was displaced from its home, it had to travel to find another.

I said with a little guilt, “Buddy, will you write to me?”

Mr Moon with the same old wise smile whispered to me, “Friend, I am illiterate.”

With my cynical eyes, I asked, “Then how come you have a name written on your face?”

Mr Moon sat beside me and laid its bald head on my shoulder, it said,

“It’s a secret that I have carried for centuries; actually I have no name engraved on my face,

Just that Mr Cupid plays a trick of enveloping the lovers’ eyes with their beloved’s name

And every time they see me, they saw their beloved’s name.”

Mr Moon was packing the last bunch of stars in its satchel,

I bade it goodbye with a kiss on its forehead.

Just before taking the reins of the Unicorn, Mr Moon revealed me a secret

“Mr Time was tired last night and while it was resting in one of the branches it told me that there will be a new name engraved in me the next time I meet you that will stay with you forever,

Mr Time was sorry that you had to wait so long.”

Thus saying, Mr Moon flew off on the unicorn to find the new name for me.

I smiled as I saw the empty branch and suddenly I found myself waiting for its return.

Princess Petunia!

The petunia is easily one of the most colourful garden flowers around. Months back when I was planning my winter garden, the petunia was on top of my ‘grow-well’ list. I saw all those wonderful pics of the flower on the net, and frankly I would become greedy seeing all those colours. I told myself, ‘I want this flower bad’ and bought close to 50 seedlings out which only about half have survived. But the ones that have survived and are now blooming and the colour they splash around, make all the effort worthwhile.

For me certainly, the petunia arrived late to the party. It started blooming in other people’s gardens in Jan itself but it made me wait till mid-Feb. And just like many good things that come late, the petunia is easily the show-stealer. Take a look for yourself. 

Where is the grass??!

Some time back I went to a party where they had impressive floral decorations. The halls were decked with bouquets of what looked like carnations and chrysanthemums, and other flowers I could not identify. On closer look, the flowers turned out to be perfectly formed… and fake. As I was squinted at one particularly gorgeous bunch, I saw a bee buzzing busily (see what I did here??!) around the flowers. Fake blossoms and a very real (and I suspect, really let down) bee. Well, that bee was not the only one who got fooled by perfect imitations of natural stuff. Take a look below!

A Year in Pursuit

Compulsive Pursuits Into Quaintness (CPiQ) was started with an initial intent to give vent to “personal” emotions, the kind we have on a daily basis in response to stuff happening around us.  Many intense emotions though very personal to us and quite heartfelt, are nonetheless not too relateable to someone on the outside. The phrase ‘putting oneself in someone else’s shoes’ has been done to death; it is difficult. And to boot, even impossible in the blogging world, where I guess, we search for amazing insights into life and living, not to understand why X is suddenly so happy and certainly, not into why that same X gets dejected at other times. 

I remember how pleasantly astonished I was to learn of a film legend treating a customer service guy with civility, warmth even. That tale though it happened to a person whom I met only once, stayed with me for a long time until I decided to post it as an integral feature of The Original Indian Tobogganist. So I intended CPiQ as a personal monologue (1^st post 'So Dark for April' reflects this) but later, I got inspired by the idea of penning my thoughts about external stuff - if I could relate to the simplicity around me even if second-hand and the profoundness that often accompanies such portraits, many others would too.

So, the last year has been amongst other things, an exploration into the death of an ageing rhino in a sanctuary, a friend rescuing an injured dove, the coolly-perceptive landscape of a cult film, simple but intensely powerful words of a bard weaver. These posts have been interspersed with personal features about my own life when I found a detail quaint, even funny. 

CPiQ is today a year-old baby (I do not count my first post as the beginning) – a baby seeking to precariously strike a balance between being meaningful and playing the fool, between seeing and understanding, and indeed, between pursuing and not pursuing. For in solemn pursuit, the joys of the road being travelled are often lost and the whole escapade turns purposeless. When Steve Tyler croons, “Life’s a journey, not a destination”, the year-old baby sings in complete accompaniment. A Very Happy 1^st Birthday, CPiQ!

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.