The Mushroom as an Essential Ingredient of Magic!

It has been raining here quite a bit now and the ground has been sprouting all sorts of greens. Yesterday I saw a mushroom – entirely white in colour and as cute as a button. I plucked it to show my mother. When she saw it, she exclaimed, ’Bang-shaati’. I must explain here that in Assamese, the mushroom is called ‘bang-shaati’ or ‘bang- shota’, the word itself being a conjoint of ‘bang’ meaning ‘frog/toad’ and ‘shaati/shota’ meaning an ‘umbrella’. Therefore, the Assamese word for mushroom - ‘bang-shaati’ – literally means the umbrella of a frog. I tried to imagine a frog sheltering from the rain under the classic umbrella-like top of a mushroom, and surprisingly, that image came to my mind quite easily. As a kid, I remember how I used to collect mushrooms and play with them.

It is fun when you can recall buried-down remembrances from back when one is a kid; somehow the discovery of the tiny, delightful thoughts of a child who was you once, appeal instantly to the adult you are now. I discovered upon subsequent research that I was certainly not the only one who had fantasies about that cap-and-stem form. Tales involving the mushroom are rooted in myriad cultures and folktales.

The mushroom is sometimes called the toadstool – another reference to how the merry frog and the staid mushroom form an instant alliance, atleast in the mind. In German folklore and old fairy tales, toads are often depicted sitting on mushrooms and catching, with their tongues, the flies that are said to be drawn to that fleshy fungi. And surprisingly, it was just as easy for me to imagine a solemn frog planting its small behind on a mushroom to catch a breather, and catch some flies as well!

As I was searching for more tales, a long-forgotten wisp of an idea from childhood materialized suddenly. When I was a kid, I used to think that the mushroom was some kind of a house; of course, being small, it made logical sense to my kiddie mind that the people living in them must be tiny too!  And to my secret delight, I discovered that again I was not the only one who had the ‘mushroom-house’ idea. The mushroom has been frequently depicted in fairy tales as being an essential part of the gnomes’ identity. Gnomes wheel them around (I don’t know why!), live in them, use them as convenient props and otherwise, make a great fuss about this wonder of the fungi world. In the film ‘The Smurfs’ (2011), the legendary elf-like smurfs are shown living in their own wonder village with a clear, flowing stream and a charming wooden bridge over it, wild lavender blooming all around… and of course, houses made out of mushrooms with colourful yellow, red, orange tops! Other mythical creatures like fairies also conveniently rest under and perch upon wild mushrooms, when they are I guess, tired from all the fluttering around.

Thank God for mushrooms, frogs, gnomes, fairies and ....for imagination!

If a rhino could goose step

What would the unicorn be without its distinctive pointed horn? Probably just a horse or maybe, even a pony. Just as that large, spiraling horn gives the mythical unicorn its entire identity of invulnerability, purity and grace, so do the other individual oddities and bits in the animal kingdom lend their own touch of distinction and class to their holders. Just think – would anyone recognise a tiger if not for its singular black-and-yellow stripes, will kids ever draw pictures of elephants without their massive trunks; can you imagine a rattlesnake without the customary tchik-tchik of the rattle at the end of its tail? The answer to all these is ‘no’.

So imagine my surprise when I went to the city zoo last month and saw a horn-less rhino contentedly munching grass in its enclosure. It was a massive African White Rhino (the largest of all the rhinos) which naturally has not one, but two horns on its snout. The specimen I saw in the zoo however, was without its two traditional accessories. At first sight, I felt a strangeness cos it was the first rhino I’d seen without a horn. I experienced a funny feeling and later, I felt a bit sad too. Governments in Africa where the White Rhino is found, have undertaken de-horning of their rhino population in some measure in a bid to prevent them from being poached for their horns. Of course the humaneness of such an exercise is under scrutiny - to what extent, you may tamper with nature to protect it from man’s greed? Further, the rhino’s horn regenerates (the horn is solid keratin, the same stuff our hair and nails are made of) and so, de-horning does not serve as a lifelong safeguard.

To come back to our zoo rhino, I was so taken in by its strangeness that I ventured close to get a better look. The rhino must have already been de-horned when it was brought to our city zoo cos I don’t imagine such a procedure being undertaken here. There was a five-feet sturdy parapet all around the enclosure but I found a high mound of soil alongside where I could look down on the rhino. A few other people had also gathered around that spot. There was a man who lifted up his son on his shoulder so that he too, could get a closer view of the rhino. The kid asked, “Father, what is that?” His father replied, “Why son, that’s a rhino.” The kid was puzzled, “But where is its horn?” The father had no answer. As I climbed down from the mound, I honestly wished the rhino’s horns would grow back soon and it would reclaim its proud majesty.

A rhino’s horn grows back in typically, two to three years.

Quests Road-ful (& Hope-ful!)

Whether the 'the road' as a theme in cinema, qualifies as a genre or exists just as a story-telling frame is not clear. Cinema has found an expression in the road type of films – often-at-times a lone voice stained with wistfulness, fuelled by an idea but also at times, propelled by nothing more than an urge to keep on moving. The road movie places its characters on a moving plane, away from home and known quantities and into a journey which then, becomes the central theme of the story. The road movie also frequently explores other enduring motifs of man – the (often unexplainable) quest, the bringing together of unlikely characters, the visitations of loneliness and reflections, discovery of the self.   The road becomes a metaphor for a lot of realities – disenchantment, jettisoning of old ideologies, attainment of love/ fame/ other definite goals, or simply an escape from set patterns. Very often, the intent of such a journey becomes subservient to the realities of the road – a sort of in-between place where one has neither the comforting notion of a home left behind nor the aspirational idea of a final destination lying ahead. 

There have been stellar road films through the ages. Capra’s ‘It Happened One Night’ and Ford’s ‘The Grapes of Wrath’ are two obvious gems from the classical period; Wender’s ‘Paris, Texas’ and Lynch’s ‘The Straight Story’ are other stark gems where the road or rather, ‘that idea of a journey ‘ exists almost as a separate character in the story, full of a dramatic and visual beauty which might be quite epic.

N.B. Among the recent crop, 1 film which captivated me is ‘Against The Current’ (2009) where it is the Hudson River in New York State that does duty as the road. As 3 friends wind their way down the Hudson river to New York city with the lyrical and steady movement of the water as a constant companion, the film offers an even, hard look into the characters and their lives. The film also showcases the natural beauty of the Hudson Valley (called ‘America’s Rhine’ as a tribute to one of Europe’s most beautiful geographical regions), alongwith sweeping shots of ships using the waterways and the railroads by the riverside and over the Hudson. ATC is a languid and deep portrayal, much like the river Hudson itself. A great ‘Quest Road-ful’ movie!

A Wayward Self-expression

How many times have you heard individuals proclaiming proudly, “I believe in saying stuff straight in people’s face, not behind their backs. If I don’t like something which a person has said or done, I speak plainly in front of him.”? The obvious subliminal message behind such a statement is a supposed ‘clean conscience’ on the part of the speaker which evidently translates into outspokenness and a lack of deceitfulness. Beyond the obvious utility of such a self-advertised quality (I suppose, an honest chap would much rather let his actions do the talking and not resort to statements, the truth of which will only be borne out at a later time, but then, I have been wrong before), I ponder over this – just how important is it for us to let others know that we dislike their actions/ words?

A couple of days ago I made a new friendship. A very close friend introduced us; one of the first things my new friend said by way of self-disclosure was the oft-repeated statement about ‘saying stuff upfront’. I was tempted to ask her a few questions at this point, but I stopped myself cos I felt that it might be the wrong time. The rest of that meeting floated by in that cloud of pleasantries and discussion of shared experiences and likes/ dislikes, which always envelops first conversations.

Later I reflected on this widely-regarded ‘positive’ trait where one voices one’s displeasures and feelings in such an in-your-face manner. I suppose that in the society where I and many of my friends have been brought up, there is indeed an argument for speaking one’s mind. You see, we come from a cloistered environment where the parents’ and the teachers’ word was considered beyond reproach. When a parent or a teacher or an elder wanted you to do something, you just did it…without questioning.

When I was in Class 8 in school, we had a visiting dignitary from the University of Leeds; he was a mathematician who had even been awarded some honour by the Queen for his work and on this particular trip, prior to visiting us, he had spoken at many other institutions in India and Assam. He addressed us in the school auditorium and today, I can remember only 1 thing which he said. He said that everywhere he went in India he was surprised by the total awe in which he was regarded and the air of eminence with which his words were treated by academicians and students alike. Back home in his classroom in Leeds, he confided that his classes were peppered with far more questions and doubts but here in India, whatever he said was accepted without enquiry. He further disclosed that as a mathematician, he was always programmed to ask ‘Why’ and ‘Why not’ and that this spirit of a quest is essential for anyone in science.

So, coming from a background where we suppressed our queries in home and in school/ college, we always consider ourselves as being too believing or too lenient with our doubts, wrt others. Subsequently in the work-place and in later relationships, we tend to over-compensate by being unnecessary sceptical and vocal. A scientific bent of mind, a spirit of enquiry and elocutionary skills that in childhood, are expected to find application in studies and acquiring knowledge; we belatedly introduce to our professional and personal lives in excessive amounts to compensate for the previous inactivity. I know that I have, sometimes unconsciously and oftentimes with intent but I have wondered later, about the utter efficacy of it all.

• Surely, we will not like everything that a close friend or fellow-employee says or does, but does it mean that we have to have to give voice to such disquiet all the time? Or are there times when we can hold down such a spirit of outspokenness in the face of a more matured judgement which might dawn later?
• In the interest of fairness - where we are so quick to discuss and highlight the follies of others which vex us, are we in the same spirit, also agreeable to just as spontaneously praise and uphold  others when they affect us positively?
• Finally, is self-expression only a reaction to others? Surely, expression of the self if it is to yield any worth, should overstep a horizon beyond ‘what you do’ and ‘how that makes me feel’?

I need a great amount of help to resolve these posers for myself. 

The Beguiling Charm of the Delightfully Fatuous

All of us are children once; so this piece does not seek to portray the child as a monster, but to lend colour to a side in him which is seldom understood, much less studied. Children till the time that they develop an irritably rasping adult-child voice and shoot up suddenly leaving them with big misshapen knobs for knees and a disposition decidedly veering towards the testy, are generally regarded as lovable cherubs. Babies and young children attract a kind of affection, wonder and indulgence which I suppose, we accord to God in some measure.

There is another side to children though – and it is not pretty. One of the iconic (and most violent) films in the Western genre, ‘The Wild Bunch’ opens with a powerful scene. An outlaw gang rides into town past a bunch of children gathered around, observing something with smiling faces and twinkling eyes. The camera shows a couple of hapless scorpions whom the children have evidently trapped and thrown right in the midst of a squirming colony of red ants. We see snatches of this torturous diversion for the kids; the kids are all smiles and subsequently all fun having extracted from this macabre exercise, the kids pile straw on top of the squirming ants and scorpions, and set the insects on fire. This sequence shown as a motif I suspect, of the patina of mindless violence which pervades the movie, is also revealing of how children sometimes seek and derive a pleasure from means which are to say the least, extremely cruel and evil-hearted.

As a child, I was often subdued, meek and quite dull-minded. I stumbled and stuttered my way around adults and kids my own age; I guess, people who knew me a child would have called me ‘colourless’. It was this dullness and absolute uneasiness with most of the stuff in that life I suppose, which gave rise to an extremely violent and perverse streak in me. I was filled with the most blood-thirsty ideas of how to divert my mind, and animals invariably, were the easy targets. Animals and I confess, some of the people around me too – typically the servants and their children. If I saw an insect, I would chase it around till I cornered it and squashed it; if there was any pretty trinket which my younger sister possessed, I couldn’t wait to forcibly snatch it from her and hide it, even break the thing sometimes. As I grew up and learnt to observe others, I saw so many other children who had that same violent, senseless streak – anything pretty belonging to someone  else had to be defaced, any kid younger had to be bullied and any creature small enough had to be terrorized. And kids, as the opening of ‘The Wild Bunch’ suggests, may be most brutal when they are in a mob.

Acclaimed British write Rumer Godden, who possessed such unique insights into people, particularly children says “….children can turn into monsters”. However, classifying children as either strictly belonging to the harmless, lovable stereotype or conforming to the violent and cruel mould, may be wrong and what is more significant, reeks of a mindset extremely opinionated and unlearned. How then should we view and treat children? I found the answer in one of Godden’s stories. (A child is a layer cake, just like an adult but oftentimes with a shining purity which is rarely found elsewhere.) The story is titiled ‘Lily and the Sparrows’; a group of children thoughtlessly kick around a tiny peke dog who was the only companion of a dowdy, lonely spinster, till the poor creature is reduced to a dead, bloody mess. One of the children’s father apologises to the elderly lady saying, “They didn’t mean it. They didn’t know what they was doing. You mustn’t think that. Not bad kids really.” Later the old lady, distraught and extremely grief-struck at the renewed solitariness of her grey life, prays before God saying, “Father, forgive them for they don’t know what they do.”

In the sensitive, understanding words of the child’s father and in the old lady’s sympathetic prayer beseeching forgiveness, I curiously find redemption for the heartless antics of children and for the angry kid that was me so long ago.

[CPq has explored the theme of playful cruelty among children earlier in this piece about boys and house lizards]

‘Yogi-c’ Bear!

I had the opportunity last week to go to the city zoo. The Guwahati zoo is to say the least, quite large and juxtaposed against the heaving concrete mass of the city just outside its walls, acts as an oasis of green resplendence. I have seen pictures of zoos worldwide, especially in Europe and America where the facilities are immaculately designed and maintained, lawns are manicured, and the zoo enclosures are extremely animal- and viewer-friendly. I remember seeing a programme about a rhino in some zoo in America where the animal was barricaded within metal rods so designed to almost look and feel like bamboo stalks, while at the same time, being strong enough to restrain. It was an African White Rhino and his enclosure was spotlessly clean; even some of the foliage on a trellis beside his enclosure was amazingly life-like but artificial. The animal looked quite happy too. It is with some sense of regret mixed in part with no small measure of pride, that I say that our city zoo is unlike the other zoos I had just talked about. You see, the Guwahati zoo itself rests within a reserve forest which means that for a large part of your trekking within the premises, you do feel as if you are in a forest and not a man-made facility. The topography of the zoo is also quite unique; the terrain is undulating fringed by small hillocks on the northern side, ringed by bamboo thickets in places. The zoo also has natural water-bodies though I confess that they may definitely be better looked-after. The terrain slopes down from north to south with the lower southern side (the part untouched that is) somewhat marshy, where some of the water-loving animals are kept. As we entered through the shining new gate of the zoo, we were greeted by the loud (almost vulgar-sounding) hoo-hoos of the Hollock Gibbons, and therefrom started a magical 6 hours. I present before you here, the story of one particularly sage Himalayan Black Bear who blessed us with an unique visitation that hot sunny day. He sat on his haunches with all the utmost seriousness of a person contemplating the more subtle stuff in life; he looked so much like the ‘Laughing Buddha’ figurines sold and bought these days that it was decidedly uncanny. Lets call him ‘Yogi’.

About Love: Wille zum Leben or as Schopenhauer may say, “It’s 100% Natural!”

The next time you see Handsome Bob and Plain Jane holding hands and evidently in love, slowly recall the name of Arthur Schopenhauer before you inevitably silently mutter in surprise, “Why her?”. The logical next question is, ‘Who is Arthur Schopenhauer?’ He was one brainy dude, a philosopher actually, and rather a crusty one as history announces, but a thinker known for a perceptual clarity which has attracted and influenced many other thinkers.Now Schopenhauer or let’s call him Mr. S, says that when two people fall in love, the real purpose is…um, procreation and furtherance of the species.

Mr. S' work in ‘The World as Will and Representation’ proclaims that all human effort is designed towards furthering a will (or desires in common parlance), which tragically is destined to be unsatisfied. This discontentment later leads to pain and suffering. Here’s what Mr.S says about love.

• Mr. S calls love ‘wille zum leben’ or ‘will to live’. The romantic condition is by extension of this ‘will’, just as inevitable as feeling hungry or thirsty.
• Nature succeeds in pulling wool over lovers’ eyes by deceiving them into thinking that the love and companionship of their mates are essential for their lives’ happiness. When in fact as Mr. S says, it is not so…you’ll be unhappy with or without your loved one. Yes, love as Mr. S puts it, is nothing but Nature’s deception.
• Guys look for complementary physical features (mainly) like a sharp nose, nice eyebrows while girls typically look for ruggedness, strength and security. In other words, we search for the most ideal mate so that the offspring from such a union leads to a perfect specimen (imperfect love with perfect result, result here is a baby).
• Mr. S also has a comforting word for people who get dumped – your partner’s rejection is not necessarily a condemnation of you personally; it is just that he/ she has found a better mate who can produce a more perfect specimen. Gee, I don’t how rejected lovers are meant to construe this as comforting.
• Once the baby comes in, Nature’s agenda is fulfilled. The physical attraction now being thoroughly worn down, the two people formerly in love, are destined to spend an unhappy existence together or, just part ways.
• Since we look for complementary mates, short girls will fall in love with tall guys and yada-yada. Hence, the first question in this piece, ‘Why her?’

I feel a natural (that word again!) tendency to dismiss these basifications as hokum but I will not. Empirical evidence is just too strong for casually tossing out whatever Mr. S has to say. Further the interpretation of desires as the root of all disenchantment is a philosophy which has been expounded by far too many sources for it all to be just a single man’s ravings. There is a remarkable congruence between Mr. S’s words and the ascetic teachings of Hinduism and the core beliefs of Buddhism.

The remarkable thing about stuff in life is this – if you think long and deep enough, everything can be reduced to insipid, dull details. There is this wonderful moment in the film Local Hero (1983), when a knowledgeable scientific sort explains the phenomenon of the Aurora Borealis to a layman as ‘high energy protons spilling into the earth’s atmosphere..’ and the wonderstruck guy is just too amazed at the colourful display overheard. It is not important to the guy how the Aurora has been formed, perhaps what is important for him and for us too I guess, is just to be present there in that silvery moonlight when that display occurs. I feel the same way about love.