The Last Confession

This is a write up by a school boy, interesting piece of imagination. The style is nice, very personal narrative style and with a lot of passion.........

The Last Confession
April 30, 1945
Preface- He took his wife inside a room in the bunker and told the guard inside to go out and lock the door. Once they went, he slowly bolted the door, turned to her and said, “Eva dear, you know it’s time for me to go. You know I cannot stand defeat. What remains is whether you want to come.”
Wiping the tears from her eyes with the end of her sleeves, she whispered “you know I won’t leave you alone” she choked with tears and said, “I’ll come with you”.
“Okay then, eat these capsules, they’ll present you swift and painless death”. As he said, he himself started putting some in his mouth. Five minutes later she, being physically weaker succumbed to the cyanide. Not able to bear the loss, his trembling hands put a nearby revolver to his temple.
The shot rang out clearly all through the bunker.

Story-
He woke up. He didn’t know where he was. Where was Eva? Everything above him was black. Amazingly, everything below was blue. The light seemed to emanate from below. It was like an alien world, as if the earth had toppled upside down! Suddenly, a chain of memories ran inside his mind like a movie but it seemed to be running backwards. He was surrounded by some important leaders all looking solemn. Suddenly, he was placing a gun to his head, he was drinking and talking gaily to some people who seemed to look like his subordinates, he was walking somewhere and there were thin mangled bodies of children, women and man lying like a trash pile, he remembered himself speaking, “We need to disinfect our country of these Jews!”, he remembered people calling him ‘Fuhrer’, some others were calling him, ‘Addy’. Suddenly, as if hit by a flash of lightning he sat up and remembered- he was the Great Dictator from Germany- Adolf Hitler. However, he remembered himself committing suicide. Then why was he still conscious? As these questions churned his head, he knew they could be answered in only one way- through time. He didn’t know how long he had to wait, or for whom to wait. But he just knew that he had to just wait… and hope… hope for someone to come along.

2 years, 9 months later…
“Addy, O Addy”, a tired, elderly voice broke the silence he had become accustomed to for the past couple of years. As he searched frantically for the source of the melodious voice, he saw that it was coming from a man of around 60. He was wearing a dhoti (a white piece of cloth used by Indians to cover the lower part of their body). He wasn’t wearing a shirt but was instead robed in a white cloth which covered his torso. All this coupled with his cane, thin rimmed spectacles and self contented smile made him look like a person who knew where he was and the reason for his presence.
Hitler ran up to him, grabbed him roughly by his shoulders and asked him, “Who are you? What is this place? Who am I?”
Hearing this, the old the old man just smiled looking at Hitler’s desperation and confusion. He was looking more like a child which had lost its parents in a crowd than a man who had once ruled an entire country. “Relax, my boy” he said. “We have all the time in this world. Let’s start with the first question. I am…”
“Never mind who you are, old man!” Hitler cut him short, “Tell me where I am”.
“So be it!” said Gandhi, not the least ruffled by Hitler’s impatience, “You are right now in a transient state between life and death”.
“What?” Hitler again interrupted, “Do you know who you are kidding with? If this is the place for people who die, then it should be crammed by now. The Jews themselves would fill this place!”
“Listen carefully to my words” the old man spoke, “Don’t miss out on half my words. I was telling that this is between life and death. Not everyone comes here. It is only for those with conflicting ideas that changed the world who meet. This is so as, there are as few misunderstandings as possible when you go back to continue your cycle of life and death. Now I hope you’ve understood”.
“I’ve understood all that” came the pompous reply from Hitler and then in a mocking tone asked, “But tell me, who are you to have made as big a difference as I have?”
“I am a person who while alive, helped my India which had been under the British rule for almost 300 earn independence through pure non-violence and truth a couple of years after your death. I encouraged people to speak the truth alone and to be non-violent. I was one who made people look at Muslims, Christians, Hindus, Jews as one and the same. I was Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi.” As he said this, his voice gained in strength and even he looked pleased with himself. Finally, coming back to his usual soft tone and bent posture while supporting himself on the cane, he added “Gandhi to you”.
After looking at this with fascination, Hitler regained his composure and asked, “So are you going to try convincing me that my views opposing the Jews and my violence in WW II was wrong? You may tell all you want, but I know I am right” he finished with a smug smile.
Gandhi closed his eyes, took a deep breath and asked in a soft, gentle but firm tone, “My boy, why do you ever need to kill when you can solve disputes peacefully? Why do you need to raise your hand to unnecessarily take human lives when your mouth can be used as effectively?” he asked.
“Do you have an inkling of the number of Germans who died in the First World War? And to add to the humiliation, do you know the humiliation Germany was made to undergo even after the war due to the Treaty of Versailles? After all this suffering, what is wrong in retaliating and trying to recover our losses?” As he said this his eyes became moist and he seemed to have gone into a world of his own. His speech was becoming so animated, so passionate that he was beginning to resemble Adolf Hitler of the old- the Fuhrer who had swayed a whole nation with his oratory and tactics”.
To this, Gandhi retorted, “Even you saw the losses India suffered, but still we continued our non-violent protests didn’t we?” One could see that the discussion was heating up and there would be no relaxations from either side. It was as if, all noises in the world had been stopped so that one would not miss out on even a single word being spoken by these stalwarts.
“So what?” Hitler almost spat. “Just because a bunch of Indians died in their non-violent protests does not force me and my nation to be non-violent while fully knowing its implications, does it?”
“But Addy…” Gandhi spoke, as if calling Hitler by his family name would calm Hitler down. “Addy… if you had protested peacefully, the war wouldn’t have even started. The Treaty of Versailles would not even have mentioned you! Your Polish attack, which ignited the war wouldn’t have even taken place. And Germany would have never suffered the losses it is witnessing now.”
“Mr.Gandhi, let me tell you this. If you try to go further into the past to try to prove that Germany was the first to be violent, I can go even further behind and find out the cause for her violence. So at least now, I hope you understand that there was no wrong in us(Germany) using violence.” Hitler finished with a tone of finality, convinced with himself.
A silence followed which was broken by Gandhi’s voice, “Who achieved his purpose?”
This took Hitler off guard. “Huh?” was all he could muster.
“You heard me, who achieved what he had set out to do? You or me? Germany or India?” he asked. Hitler stood transfixed. It seemed as if the realization that he had failed to lead Germany to victory was just sinking into him. Right from the moment he had shot himself, he had never given thought to the fact that Germany had lost and that too, badly. “Answer me!” Gandhi’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
Finally a soft sound emanated from his lips, “You…”.
“Don’t you see then Addy, that non-violence achieved its purpose of securing India independence. The worst violence you could muster, ironically, led to your downfall. Now do you understand the power of Ahimsa(non- violence)?
Hitler slowly nodded, realization trickling in, initially in drops but now it was flowing in torrents. For some time both these titans were silent. It was complete and absolute silence not broken even by the rustling of the trees, namely because there were not trees! As the hush was descending Gandhi again broke the silence, “Now, do you understand why you were wrong in sending so many people to die? Do you now begin to realize how wrong you were in killing those innocent Jews, handicaps, cripples?”
“Sir” Hitler spoke but his voice seemed to have a tinge of respect to Gandhi, “I now understand by beliefs regarding violence to achieve victory in a struggle were a fallacy. But I don’t understand why my killing of the crippled and the Jews was wrong”. As he said the word ‘Jew’ there was such a condescending and disparaging tone in his voice that Gandhi just closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Hitler continued, “It’s because of our principle- u berleben des passendsten- Survival of the Fittest. So, if someone is stronger than the other, then he can kill the weakling and establish his supremacy. The same is observed in animals also, the fastest deer runs off while the slow and the crippled are eaten by the predators.” As he spoke, it was evident that Hitler was coming back into his element after the jarring he had received from the old man. “Similarly,” he continued, “If we, the Germans are the strongest, what is wrong in us killing them?” Hitler knew that he had to convince Gandhi so that the old man did not have any room for doubt. However, after he had spoken, he knew that his statements had not convinced Gandhi as much as he had been by Gandhi one statement. He didn’t know why or how, but he felt his conviction slipping away just by looking at the tender, smiling face of Gandhi. But he did not show this to Gandhi and kept himself as aloof and passionate as he had looked.
As he looked expectantly at Gandhi, the old man looked at Hitler through the top of his spectacles and with a seriousness which had not been present before, spoke, “Let me clarify to you the meaning of ‘Survival of the Fittest’. It’s just a phenomena where the fitter one survives because it is… fitter. However, this in no way implies that it tries to establish its supremacy by deliberately killing the weaker beings for no reason. But, Addy, my boy, that unfortunately is exactly what you were doing. Understand that Survival of the Fittest is not like a wrestling bout to see who emerges the winner. Everyone minds his own business including your deer which cared about itself and ran away from the lion. The one who is not able to cope with the rigours of making a living, perishes. Now that is Survival of the Fittest.
As Gandhi finished, Hitler looked defeated, confused and dazed. However, he still continued with a strained voice- one which had lost its passion and conviction put forth his last remaining point, “but these people (the handicaps, crippled and the Jews) were a burden to society right? We, the fit Germans would risk our lives at the war front only for those to live right? If they don’t fight or even take part in the nation’s struggle, why should they live?”
Immediately came Gandhi’s reply, “Is fighting the only yardstick to measure a person’s worth to society? I’m sure many of these ‘burdens’ would have been extremely adept in other fields like arts, business, planning or any other field! So why didn’t you use them in these areas rather than killing them? And let me tell you one more thing, when India achieved independence, I made sure that everyone, regardless of age, sex, caste, creed or handicaps took part in the struggle. And that is why India has achieved independence!” As Gandhi finished, Hitler remained mute. He had nothing to say, but he had everything to assimilate. For the first time in his life, he had feelings of remorse for his deeds. Why hadn’t anybody told this to him earlier? But then, he thought, ‘I had never really listened to anybody, did I?’ He felt sorry, ashamed, guilty and he had nobody to lean on for support when he needed it. Even in his life, he remembered, when people wanted to be close to him, he had always tried to avoid getting close to anybody. Then he remembered that Gandhi was still watching him. ‘Such a great soul, but still he was so humble, so gentle, so unlike me.’ As Hitler thought, his respect for Gandhi multiplied. Finally, all these emotions of guilt, confusion, shame, admiration which had been building up finally burst off like a balloon on seeing the old man and Hitler just knelt in front of the Gandhi, and started sobbing like a child. As Gandhi touched him gently, he felt himself unworthy enough to be touched by this great soul. He slowly looked up at the understanding face and asked, “What will happen to me now? What will happen to you?” The words were stuttered and were spoken while he was unsuccessfully trying to stifle his sobs.
“Nothing much” Gandhi replied, “Now that both of us have come to a conclusion, we just vanish to continue our cycle of life and death.”
“But will I remember in my next birth that I was Hitler?”
“No” said Gandhi, “You won’t remember anything regarding you person, deeds or anything which was given to you by others.”
“What do you mean?” asked Hitler, in complete humility.
“Your deeds, your image, have all been built about you only because of what others think of you. You won’t remember such things when you are born again. But you will have these ideals of non-violence and egalitarianism embedded in you because these were some of the very few things which you came to realize through yourself”.
“But even these matters were taught only by you right?” asked Hitler.
“No, I never taught you anything. I just put forth these points and you were the one who realized the truth in them after weighing them with your ideals. So, you realized these yourself. This self-realization occurs only when you assimilate and analyze what people tell rather than following them blindly.” As he finished, Gandhi felt he was losing himself. He felt like closing his eyes and never opening them again. So was Hitler. Both felt like they were passing off into eternal bliss. Their outer bodies started fading off and both knew that this was it- they were finally entering the mysterious world of the dead, only to be born again. Moments later, both these stalwarts had gone. After being accustomed to the battle of words between the two, the silence seemed deafening. The area had regained its pristine stillness and was waiting for the next people…

A tree of ripe fruits........

In that dense forest, innumerable trees grew, rather thrived. The competition for light and water and space being so high that it seemed that each one intimidated the other by its sheer size. Some of them fruit bearing, out of which the fruits of some were edible while the others were abhorrent. The animals and birds jumping all over in all the tress; but there was one tree which was distinctly unique, as many birds made it their home.

The reason being the fruits in it. Rich ripe fruits, helping the winged species to thrive and breed. The tree inherently a bit sad when some of its ripe fruits were targeted, while it was imagining a life to be spent with its off springs, the fruits, especially the ripe ones. But little did it realise that a tree which yields ripe fruits is always a target not just for birds but the human species as well. It is probably a way to energise and motivate the tree to bear more fruits and in the process become an incon which gives for the betterment of others.

Just so, in our case, when we lose something - an object dear to us or somebody dear to us, can it be looked at as a way of the higher power pushing us to learn to give, and help us in the process of ripening spiritually? Is the higher power, sculpting us to be something better by taking us through the acid test? Are we in a way chosen from the crowd? If so, why would I not be ready to lose? After all, do I really lose anything, for I dont think I own any thing now nor did I own anything in the past and never shall in the future. Probably am just a temporary caretaker so what is wrong if the rightful owner takes things back?

Two poems that impressed me........

Some poems have left a lasting impression in me. "Leisure" and "The Solitary Reaper" are two such poems. Some how I have felt these yearnings in me but never can ever be so articulate, so if this interests you please do read.

Leisure

WHAT is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

There are different expressions and metaphors here where the poet says that we neither have the time to enjoy even small events of beauty or be at leisure over an extended period of time. This brings to my mind a discourse titled "life and inner leisure by Swami Dayananda Saraswathy".

The Solitary Reaper

BEHOLD her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.


No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.


Will no one tell me what she sings?—
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?


Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;—
I listen'd, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

History.

Many people define History, as the story of the victor as told by himself or herself, or by others on his or her behalf.

But to know the full story, we need to get a glimpse into the other side as well, and mostly it is not possible. However, there is one such story, which as indians, we should be aware of. The uncensored version of the statement in court made by Nathuram Godse, which has recently been put on web. The Marathi play "Me Nathuram Godse Boltoy" was banned by the Maharashtra government some years ago, probably at the behest of their masters.

Nevertheless, if you have the patience and interest, go to

http://www.nathuramgodse.com/

Further just to arouse some interest in you, is the quote from the Judge who handled this case, Justice Khosla:

Justice Khosla after retirement. in a pen picture of the Court scene as it then passed before his mind's eye has said:

"The highlight of the appeal before us was the discourse delivered by Nathuram Godse in his defense. He spoke for several hour' s, discussing,, in the first instance, the facts of the case and then the motive which had prompted him to take Mahatma Gandhi's life ...... "The audience was visibly and audibly moved. There was a deep silence when he ceased speaking. Many women were in tears and men coughing and searching for their handkerchiefs. The silence was accentuated and made deeper by the sound of an occasional subdued sniff or a muffled cough...

"I have however, no doubt that had the audience of that day been constituted into a jury and entrusted with the task of deciding Godse's appeal, they would have brought in a verdict of `not guilty' by an overwhelming majority."

Nathuram had displayed the same ability while arguing his case before Shri Atma Charan, the Judge of the Special Court, Red Fort, Delhi.

Laxmi Mittal on TATAs......................

Most of you know Lakshmi Mittal is one of the most>successful business men in the world as well as one of the richest (top 5).

A piece of interesting News on Tata Steel as expressed by Lakshmi Mittal

Quote:Following is a note written by Lakshmi Mittal after his visit to TISCO recently: I visited Jamshedpur over the weekend to see for myself an India that is fast disappearing despite all the wolf-cries of people like Narayanamurthy and his like. It is one thing to talk and quite another to do and I am delighted to tell you that Ratan Tata has kept alive the legacy of perhaps India's finest industrialist J.N. Tata. Something that some people doubted when Ratan took over the House of the Tata's but in hindsight, the best thing to have happened to the Tata's is unquestionably Ratan. I was amazed to see the extent of corporate philanthropy and this is no exaggeration. For the breed that talks about corporate social responsibility and talks about the role of corporate India, a visit to Jamshedpur is a must. Go there and see the amount of money they pump into keeping the town going; see the smiling faces of workers in a region known for industrial unrest; see the standard of living in a city that is almost isolated from the mess in the rest of the country. This is not meant to be a puff piece. I have nothing to do with Tata Steel, but I strongly believe the message of hope and the message of goodness that they are spreading is worth sharing. The fact that you do have companies in India which look at workers as human beings and who do not blow their software trumpet of having changed lives. In fact, I asked Mr. Muthuraman, the managing director, as to why he was so quiet about all they had done and all he could offer in return was a smile wrapped in humility, which said it all. They have done so much more since I last visited Jamshedpur, which was in 1992. The town has obviously got busier but the values thankfully h haven't changed. The food is still as amazing as it always was and I gorged, as I would normally do. I visited the plant and the last time I did that was with Russi Mody. But the plant this time was gleaming and far from what it used to be. Greener and cleaner and a tribute to environment management. You could have been in the mountains. Such was the quality of air I inhaled! There was no belching smoke; no tired faces and so many more women workers, even on the shop floor. This is true gender equality and not the kind that is often espoused at seminars organised by angry activists. I met so many old friends. Most of them have aged but not grown old. There was a spring in the air which came from a certain calmness which has always been the hallmark of Jamshedpur and something I savoured for a full two days in between receiving messages of how boring and decrepit the lack lustre Fashion Week was. Jam shedji Nusserwanji Tata had created an edifice that is today a robust company and it is not about profits and about valuation. It is not about who becomes a millionaire and who doesn't. It is about getting the job done with dignity and respect keeping the age-old values intact and this is what I learnt. I jokingly asked someone as to whether they ever thought of joining an Infosys or a Wipro and pat came the reply: "We are not interested in becoming crorepatis but in making others crorepatis." Which is exactly what the Tata's have done for years in and around Jamshedpur. Very few people know that Jamshedpur has been selected as a UN Global Compact City, edging out the other nominee from India, Bangalore. Selected because of the quality of life, because of the conditions of sanitation and roads and welfare. If this is not a tribute to industrial India, then what is? Today, India needs several Jamshedpurs but it also needs this Jamshedpur to be given its fair due, its recognition. am tired of campus visits being publicised to the Infosys and the Wipro's of the world. Modern India is being built in Jamshedpur as we speak. An India built on the strength of core convictions and nothing was more apparent about that than the experiment with truth and reality that Tata Steel is conducting at Pipla. Forty-eight tribal girls (yes, tribal girls who these corrupt and evil politicians only talk about but do nothing for) are being educated through a residential program over nine months. I went to visit them and I spoke to them in a language that they have just learnt: Bengali. Eight weeks ago, they could only speak in Sainthali, their local dialect. But today, they are brimming with a confidence that will bring tears to your eyes. It did to mine. One of them has just been selected to represent Jharkand in the state archery competition. They have their own women's football team and what's more they are now fond of education. It is a passion and not a burden. This was possible because I guess people like Ratan Tata and Muthuraman haven't sold their souls to some business management drivel, which tells us that we must only do business and nothing else. The fact that not one Tata executive has been touched by the Naxalites in that area talks about the social respect that the Tata's have earned. The Tata's do not need this piece to be praised and lauded. My intent is to share the larger picture that we so often miss in the haze of the slime and sleaze that politics imparts. My submissions to those who use phrases such as "feel-good" and " India Shining" is first visit Jamshedpur to understand what it all means. See Tata Steel in action to know what companies can do if they wish to. And what corporate India needs to do. Murli Manohar Joshi would be better off seeing what Tata Steel has done by creating the Xavier Institute of Tribal Education rather than by proffering excuses for the imbroglio in the IIMs. This is where the Advanis and Vajpayees need to pay homage. Not to all the Sai Babas and the Hugging saints that they are so busy with. India is changing inspite of them and they need to realise that. I couldn't have spent a more humane and wonderful weekend. Jamshedpur is an eye-opener and a role model, which should be made mandatory for replication. I saw corporate India actually participate in basic nation-building, for when these tribal girls go back to their villages, they will return with knowledge that will truly be life-altering. Corporate India can do it but most of the time is willing to shy away. For those corporate leaders who are happier winning awards and being interviewed on their choice of clothes, my advise is visit Tata Steel, spend some days at Jamshedpur and see a nation's transformation. That is true service and true nationalism. Tata Steel will celebrate 100 years of existence in 2007. It won't be just a milestone in this company's history. It will be a milestone, to my mind of corporate transparency and generosity in this country. It is indeed fitting that Ratan Tata today heads a group which has people who are committed to nation-building than just building influence and power. JRD must be smiling wherever he is. And so must Jamshedji Nusserwanji!

Unquote:

Patriotic fervour...................shouldn't you be proud?????????

The Buddha, Adi Sankara, St. Thomas, and many other great saints walked this land, taught various philosophies, but uniformly preached, brotherhood and love for god. The land of great epics, fantastic mythologies, upanishads, vedas.........what else, oh yes, the Ramayana, Mahabaratha and ofcourse the famous Bhagavad Gita..........so many god men thereafter, who have been revered not just by people of this country but from far and wide.

A time when the principle of Dharma ruled, more than the man made laws, rules and regulations. A period when life was definitely better off. Definitely a period, of which people would have been proud of, and today's generation, may be yearns for it.

These were probably a bit far off in the time line for our generation.

Let us get to a time which is more closer to our horizons.

People who fought for independence, people who industrialised this nation, people who fought against some of the despicable practices in the society, should we not be proud of the Tatas, Birlas, Rammohan Roys, Bharathis.......Then we also had the Jinnahs, Gandhis and Nehrus and the British. British ruled over us, enslaved us (which we let them do as well and then were whimpering) but instilled a strict sense of discipline in general walks of life. Not that we didn't have it before, but earlier it was dictated by a different system which had its own flop sides as well. The British, ensured that some of the indians remained an underprivileged lot, but they brought science into this country, and also taught politics to the otherwise lay Indians, introduced the constitution, law, railways alongwith Jallianwala Bagh. But the trains ran on time and you didnt have to bribe a government official for your ration card!

So we may not be completely proud of this period as it had its shades of grey as well, but still took us forward.

Then let us get a bit closer, zooming into the last 30-40 years. I recently read a book by Thomas Friedman. In that book, he compares the politicians of the US and China. Most of the top politicians in China, are either from a Science or Engineering background while in the US most of them are lawyers. That is the reason he states that the quality of the next generation in the US oriented towards Science or engineering is so dismal as against China, or even India.

The Indians being oriented towards science or engineering, please don't mistakenly attribute it to the background of our politicans. Friedman would have given up writing if he had read the CVs of our politicians.

Politicians in this country, not all, but most of them based on which we can have it as a generic theory - are corrupt, uneducated, or even close to being illiterate. But some of the uneducated ones had commonsense and have done great good for the country like the Kamarajs, but that is a rarity. What you see today is a state which subsidises liquor, in the interest of the health of its public (please dont search for logic here!), gives everything at close to free of cost, in the name of support, but then what would motivate the beneficiaries to ever contribute to this society.

Early morning, when I go for a walk, the one thing which stands as an eyesore is the rampant tea shops in the city of chennai. A bunch of idle fellows, with the choicest of filthy language, squatting in front of the tea shops or a nearby house and talking loudly, disturbing the otherwise pleasant morning. The ladies who unfortunately married these worms, have to slog as domestic helps, while these enjoy the cheap, bottled liquor from the government outlets.

Am absolutely proud of this, are you not?

Merit - Screw it. Everything has to be caste based in this secular nation. Don't worry, you did read it correctly, just a juxtaposition of oxymorons but that is what our country is. The Singh & Singh Co., have been wreaking destruction on the student masses for their own political gain. A political party which has been in the forefront of this country's freedom struggle doesn't have an indigenous leader, while another is like a flock of sheep, raided by a lion, chaotic and disoriented. But when you ask these so called leaders about what they do to improve primary education, it is as good as shouting this same question into the Grand Canyon! There you will hear an echo probably but here, nothing. I was reading in one of the leading national dailies, that some girl students who were studying in the government run schools in chennai, have quit, as the toilets are completely unusable leading to infections.

Are you still not proud of being a citizen of this holy land? If not, then either my language is bad or you didn't understand a wee bit of this crap.

OK, let us look at ourselves - the CITIZENS of this glorious land. Public Convenience - is meant to be kept clean, so relieve yourself and enjoy nature on the road side. So what is the argument the mobile sprinklers offer - biodegradable!!!!!!!!!!! Pavements are not meant for walking, they are for shops, or hawkers. Hesitant they start, and after a few months, make a rightful claim, and what do you have when the government (if at all it acts) acts, a fantastic stay order from an authority which spends most of its time, doling them out. DAMINI, the movie which created a stir in its time, echoed this frustration, when the protagonist shouts his throat out to the judge - "what do you have to offer, dates, and dates and dates and ...........dates".

More than anything else, recently the USS Nimitz anchored off the chennai port, and the sailors of Nimitz, were seen doing community service, cleaning up the garbage in some places in chennai. Wow! chennaiites - Great to feel about oneself, we need a bunch of sailors to get off a warship and clean our mess. Take a walk along the marina beach in the morning, you will never see sand, you may speckles of sand amidst plastic and rubbish.

Are you still not proud of yourself? Holy cow, you are extremely indifferent then.

Come on, this is the software hub of the world, IT of the world is dependent on this subcontinent, why are you still not proud or is it that am such a deep rooted pessimist. I know your question - so what the hell have you been doing? Well, I pay my taxes, sincerely follow the signals and rules, renew my license, insurance and passports on time, and do what the government tells me to do and never deliberately violate others' rights. Whenever i have issues, i dont resort to violence, take it up with the authorities but nothing happens after that, and hey i do cast my vote, but i don't have much choice there, and most important i have stopped blaming the government because they are not supposed to do anything! I have also realised recently that in democracy you have the liberty to choose your tyrant while no other system offers this luxury.!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am still proud, cos, despite all these challenges thrown, the country is still surviving and doing well. The meritorious crowd survives somewhere, and succeed and help in sustaining this land. In your body exist parasites, bacteria and virus, but the person is alive with all these, maybe at some stage, you are afflicted and then die, but as of now, my country is living, but there is enough infection to kill it, what i dont know is the age upto which it will live or its tenacity to bear, resist and fight. I will share another article about TATAs and that is written by none other than Laxmi Mittal their competitor. I may not have many reasons to be proud of the administration or the lack of it, or the political system but am proud of some Indians, for sure.

Are you proud?

Tradition....

A very religious man, of conventions and traditions, that was what he was lately, as years rolled on. He was not like this when young. He had studied medicine, been a famous doctor, had a good practise and made lot of money. His wife a beautiful lady, now with a face more kindly looking , more modest, not in any hurry to impress others with her beauty as was her wont during her younger days. Theirs was an arranged marriage, but neither of them had any regrets whatsoever, they had a good life, good family , and procreated one son, a brilliant sharp minded lad, who was becoming an engineer. The father had traveled far and wide, been to the US many times. He had stayed away from family for months, when he was specializing in his studies, he used to commute between the US and his native place about 4-5 times a year. Every stay of his in the US was for about 4-6 weeks. He learnt the advanced technologies of his field and was one of the few world renowned brain surgeons.

He looked very smart in his younger days. He was given to enjoying the fun and frivolity of life as they came, but never did he run after them. He didn’t take to drugs or liquor, but he enjoyed the company of his colleagues , both male and female, going out for parties, hiking, Christmas eves etc. Kate was one of his best friends. A brilliant young doctor from Florida, she had come to the same university as he was, for improving her proficiency and she was one of the select few students to be admitted to that course, where he was a part time teacher. They were not so young to be differentiated as student and teacher, but that was the position they had. A blonde young girl, of very good attractive features. He a smart young occidental lad, who had just married but had to leave his wife behind to pursue his studies. His wife stayed with her parents to complete her collegiate education. Their friendship was not one which demanded. At the same time, she was aware of his marital status and background and she was in no hurry for marriage, not until she finished her education and specialization in her field of medicine. They had a very special attraction to each other, a blind one probably. She appreciated his expertise in the subject , sense of quick wit and humour. She was staying in the hostel and alone, while he was alone too during his stay there. It happened during one of the weekends, when he was invited to her place for dinner. Everything was to be blamed, the ambience, the weather, the music in the room and the smell of good food, and the fine French wine. He was about to leave, while she held his hand for a second and looked into his eyes. Her eyes blue, and soft, he had never seen her from such close quarters. The time span extended from just the second, and things went out of control, which led them to a blissful night.

The next morning was bright and sunny, the flowers white, just outside the window, and a small sparrow perched on the sill calling for her mate. They both apologized for the erratic night, but then they didn’t give a second thought later and they left for their classes. Three weeks later she left, bidding him farewell and he returned back to his native place to practice medicine. They never met again and those days were not one of email communication. It was history which faded into the depths of the cranial cavities never to be seen again.

He knew how the gray matter worked, and what could go wrong if he touched the wrong part of the brain with his scalpel during a surgery. Yet he never understood emotions, or how they originated, and what made the human mind so complex. But all set and done, he was the only Indian in the world’s most famous panel of brain surgeons. He had performed about 300 operations during his 2 year stay in the US while also studying. He still had a few good friends left in the US. These had happened 23 years ago. His son was 24 now. He was surprised at how time flew. His wife enjoyed the company of the society’s elite , the wife of judges, police chiefs, ministers. Their party was always a congregation of the town’s “Who is who”.

That day she came back excited after a party. It was five days since their son had left for the US for his masters. She came in hurriedly and he was reclining in a couch reading the evening’s newspaper. She desperately wanted to share the gossip from the party.

“Why are you so tense” he asked.
“You will be too, if you know what I know.”
“So will I be told….?” He asked
“I don’t know how to tell you. It is about the daughter of Mrs. Grewal, the police chief’s wife.”
“What happened?”
“Mrs. Grewal’s daughter is in love.”
”And you think that is important news…..” he asked quizzically.
“No, not that but the fact that she is in love with her cousin, who is blood related. Isn’t that incest? A sin? And she is proud to share it with us as a news. And the tragedy is they have found a way to make this work.”

Now he was intrigued, he sat up, folding the newspaper…
“How…”
“Oh. They are going to give their son in adoption to one of their relatives, so that they are not related in anyway and the marriage can still happen”.
“Wow… that is interesting. But giving him in adoption, how does that remove the blood relationship or lineage or whatever it is??”
“It seems that is what the pundits have told them and it is supposed to be in line with the scriptures or traditional practice , who knows and I don’t care, I couldn’t tolerate what she said, such nauseating ideas and justifications. Couldn’t she or the boy find any one else in this whole world to fall in love and marry. She studied abroad, she could have married a boy from there, than going through this shameful act.” She was panting now.

“I agree with you, this is absolutely unheard of, and worse is the way to make this work. Why can’t they talk to them and explain it, and avoid this marriage.”
“I suggested that, and you know Mrs. Grewal gave me a look which could have turned me to ashes, as if I was the person committing the mistake and she was right. I don’t plan to attend the marriage and neither do I plan to make this friendship work. I am through with her. A family of no values, no culture , tradition….. I am going mad thinking of this.”

It was five months after this happened. Mrs. Grewal and her husband came to visit them and extended an invitation for the wedding. Though tense and burning inside, she was an epitome of outward calmness, while he had a cool discussion. Mr. Grewal explained how they were helpless, and finally they had to go through this process of ‘adoptive marriage’ to make things work.

‘But Mr.Grewal does it change any of the fact that they are brothers and sisters, though not immediate but still….?” He queried surprised.

‘I know sir, but there is no point in talking to them any more, they are firm, and after having waited for 4 months if things wont change, I don’t want to be a cause for their unhappiness in the immediate future. So saying he gave the invitation card and left.

“These people can’t convince their own children, and yield so readily. What a shame?” he said as he was reading the card.
“You still are curious to read the invitation card!!” she scorned at him.

The marriage was a week later. On the day of the marriage, as is the case everywhere, they attended, even though they didn’t prefer to. It was to be seen rubbing shoulders with the elite members who had come to attend the function. It was an assemblage of the society’s rich and famous. It was a short visit, for less than an hour, and they left home.

As soon as they arrived, there was a telegram. It was from the US. Their son was getting married within two days. The girl was American.

The mother was furious, confused, exasperated, everything. Within minutes she felt that the world was crumbling down and the floor below her feet slipping. So was he, unable to react, as the momentum of the matter was not fully in. He was the first to recover.

”Ok, what is there to be upset about this, anyway. He has liked a girl there and he is getting married. So what?. You said that it was OK with Mrs. Grewal’s daughter, so why not with our son.?”

She took some time to come back to her senses, and said, I just didn’t expect this. I thought our son would be as religious and traditional as we are.

Just because the boy is marrying a girl of his choice doesn’t mean he is not religious. Further she is a computer engineer and from a good family, at least that’s what he says, so why bother. We will talk to him tonight OK, now relax.

That evening, he called up his son, and spoke

“Appa, hope you have read my message by now. She is my colleague, studying with me, and both of us have thought it out well. We are confident of landing good jobs. We have been contacted by some of the leading firms, and in a matter of 3-4 months, we will be well settled. She and I are the toppers from the University, she is very beautiful, blue eyed, I will send you her foto later appa.” It was one continuous non-stop litany.

“See my son, we were a bit disturbed when we read the telegram, but later mother and I have thought it out, and we have no issues with this. But our request is, as soon as you get married, please come down with the bride, so that we can complete some of our family traditions. Is that OK?” he said. His wife was standing next to him, listening to the conversation over the speaker phone, and she added

“What do you mean asking him if it is OK. He should come. That is it. No more arguments.” She said

“Ok amma, no problems we will come don’t worry. We are planning to get married exactly a month from now. I showed her your photographs, and she said that you were very cute amma. OK got to go now, bye”.

The line clicked and went dead.

On the day of the marriage, the telephone line between the US and the parents’ house was busy, talking to their son and their new daughter-in-law. After about an hour, it was decided that they will come to India in a weeks time to complete the traditional practices of the family, which involved, going to some of the temples of their family deities, and completing other rituals at home.

The great day came and they drove to the airport. All the relations had come. There were about 50 of them at home, very close relatives and friends. The flight was on time, and the father met his son and his daughter in law at the airport. She was dressed in a sari, and he was very surprised. Though a corner of his heart ached, at the non-Indian bride, sari was a consolation to satisfy his slight depression. They drove back home. All introductions were over, a grand lunch was organized in honor of the newly wed. Most of the family members went to sleep, while the parents were talking to the son and his wife. Discussions were about future plans, career, place where they were planning to settle in the US etc.

The plan was chalked out for the trip to the temples, which was to start the next day. A ‘thaali’ was already in the house, a short marriage ceremony in the traditional style to be performed to satisfy the locals here. Then they would visit two other temples. Everything was to be completed in a week. The girl then started talking about her parents, her father was an engineer while her mother managed the household. She excused herself to get her family photos to show. Her mother went through each photograph as she was explaining things. Being an American certain things didn’t seem unconventional.

She said “You know, actually he is not my biological father” as she was speaking to her mother-in-law.
“What do you mean not your biological father?” she said surprised and a bit aghast.
At this the father sat up leaning towards the center of discussion very much interested. A loud silence fell over the room, where they sat. The son was not a wee bit worried as it didn’t matter to him .

“I was not born out of the marriage between my mother and my foster father”. She said
“I don’t know who my father is actually, and my mother didn’t have any background or photograph of him. But she was deeply in love with him it seems , and I am a product of that love. But this is known to my foster father and my brothers and sisters. Why do you look shocked and surprised?” she asked looking at the mother and slowly turning to the father-in-law.

The album was slowly slipping out of the mother’s hands, and the father caught it, before it fell down. The mother didn’t know how to react or respond. She was non-plussed. This was the second shock. Adding to her misery was the fact that her son was very cool and indifferent. On the other hand he was whispering something to his wife and they were laughing.

The father slowly looked at the album and the photographs. His face turned ashen grey. Never in his wild dreams he thought he would see this , nor did he imagine anything like this to happen .

The mother was Kate Mcallister. His friend of younger days, with whom he had spent a night. But yet he was not sure if this girl was his offspring. She had the exact blue eyes of her mother. Was there a shade of oriental features in her? He didn’t know. But knowing kate well, and the age of his daughter-in-law, it was not impossible that this was his daughter. The daughter whom he never knew existed, none in his family knew of that single instance. So was he going to reveal it? But to what avail even if he did?

Further life was not a movie, where there is a background score or a blurted dialogue to show that people who meet are consanguines. They are humans who meet, and emotions take over. He had seen the brain in all its complexities and solved them when they failed, but never did he understand the invisible tricks it weaved on people. It had just finished one in his immediate family. A very unique situation, much worse than the Grewal’s. There they knew that the boy and girl were cousins, not immediate brother and sisters as in this case. They had gone through the formality of adoption, which he couldn’t think of , as that meant he had to dust some skeletons from his past.

The best decision, was to live with certain facts and let them remain a secret. The rest of the evening and life he spent thinking on how certain things happened, and why certain things never happened? Why couldn’t his son recognize the girl as his sister? Does it not happen normally even if they have not seen, just like in the movies? Cursing the Grewals was so easy for him and his wife, now he couldn’t even grumble loudly about things in his own backyard. The more he ruminated the fact that his daughter was married to his son, the more unbearable it became. But the fact remained that, when they met there was no way they could know of their common ancestry and there was no way he was going to reveal it now, as it was too late. The best thing he decided was to let certain facts die with him, a peaceful death.

What is happiness?

Somebody who has been reading the void's typed scribbles, wanted to know the void's interpretation of what is happiness or rather true happiness. The Void's word is obviously not the final word and it should not be, but here it is again from a hotel room adding to the scribbles.

We need to be aware that the definitions are extremely subjective.

Happiness is a state of mind while a happy person is what the void would call as, a person who is temporarily in a favourable disposition to a given situation.

Sometimes we confuse pleasure with happiness. Pleasure is dependent on an object external to us.

Is a life without worry a happy life - well you could say so. As long as you dont have anything negative, by which the Void means, an event or stimulus which makes you sad like the death of a beloved one, or the loss of what you value most and if you have enough money, and the resources to lead your life you will not have the negative vibes that have been mentioned above, but still not necessary that you may be happy. Some people start using the word "bored" at such a stage.

Is running behind your dreams filled with activity going to keep you happy - it keeps you busy, your ego inflated and deflated according to the rhythms of what has been achieved and lost so you may be like the pendulum which swings from one end to another, and assuming that no external agency acts on this pendulum, at some point of time it comes to rest. Action may not bring happiness, but a happy person will need action, but remember this state need not be for ever because he is enjoying the pleasures of his or her action.

Now if i want to associate that state of rest of the pendulum to happiness, then this is what i prefer to call it "bliss" - where the mind is with itself, not dependent on any external source, the state which every religion describes as "I am".

In a worldly sense, if your talents and expectations are exactly balanced then you will not be unhappy.

But the fundamental question the void has, why should somebody want to get lost in the semantics of happiness and sadness. What if we learnt and understood life as a given and our body mind complex as a mere tool in the whole process. It is not a resigned state where you give up and remain a loser, but an extremely active state of a fully observant mind where you do everything with the fullest energy and joy and be true to what you have to do in a given role, then that process by itself is blissful, and a by-product of that process will be a happy human being.

The English exam....

As always, the best part of the year in his life was the summer vacations. As a child, to be away from the hustle bustle of school, having to get up early, doing your homeworks, memorizing the lessons……..was the toughest and painstaking activity in his life. Anything which will keep him away from all these agonizing moments was a godsend and the summer vacations was just right for that and fast approaching..

The school was to close within a week. Normally he would have his holidays for atleast two months which would be spent in playing, playing and playing. Even food was not a priority. His exams were finished, and the results were to be declared before the vacation. He as ever, never cared for it, not because he was audacious, but he just never knew the importance of the exams, to him it was just another day but with slightly more reading at home and writing at school to be done. But one thing interesting happened in this year’s ritual of exams.

The first exam was always English and this was his favourite subject, the reason was the book had lots of stories which he loved to read. His teacher was a tall slim lady, with a very casual attitude which was less didactic and more friendly to the kids. But one thing with which she always used to make her presence felt was a wooden foot ruler, which she used to rotate as she walked. It was used not for drawing lines as she was only an English teacher, but she was innovative to find various other uses and one of them was to wrap the naughty kids on their knuckles, and every sensible child was afraid of that but not this kid. She used to teach the Christmas songs for the school carol with her wooden guitar and had a voice which was not very melodious but still nice to hear. She loved this boy for the mix of sharpness, and quick wit and at the same time his restlessness to get going, never minding the fact that teachers have to cater to the other kids too.

During the English exams, on the first day, in the morning , one of the questions asked them to quote a poetry from memory, but a child as he was, mistook it to be an oral session. He waited thinking that one of the teachers would come and ask him to recite and since nobody came to him to check his recitation, he folded his papers , submitted and coolly walked off, finishing everything but that question. And he went home, caring the least about what he had done, eager to have his lunch, and come back for the second paper in English which was a grammar session. His boots were always muddied however well it was polished, he just couldn’t help dirtying himself. His mother , a very tough lady, and who also looked tough, not in size but very expressive, for her the first thing was to check the question paper, before providing lunch. So much was her anxiety that she probably felt that she was examined and not the child. Maybe , because she used to be the catalyst to make this fellow sit and read, impatient as he was always. When she found that he had missed to quote from memory, she was aghast. The face, conveying the highest level of disappointment, and at the same time pitiful as she looked at the boy and asked “why did you not answer the quote from memory question?”

This frail 8 year old was emphatic in saying ‘No amma this is not to be written but just oral, maybe they will ask me in the afternoon, don’t worry’….. in his soft kiddish voice with innocence all over his face. After all he was a child, who didn’t understand why exams were even conducted, leave alone understanding what it meant to quote.

She asked “ Did Chandran paul answer it? What about Govindan? Did he write?
The kid said “I don’t know, I didn’t talk to them”

OK Just wait, I will go downstairs and check with Suganti” and so saying she went one floor below to the neighbour’s house.
The girl staying one floor below, Suganti was the kid’s class mate and she said
‘No auntie, we are supposed to write and I wrote it, I didn’t miss anything”.

This only added to the mother’s fury and disappointment. She also knew that her son had always performed better than this girl, and a kid doesn’t know if these checks are being done out of mistrust or anxiety. And sure enough he was confused, but that attitude of never to care, helped him.

She always used to mix the rice with curd for lunch and the small child would squat on the floor with his mother in the kitchen floor.. The red oxide coated floor, with pock marks here and there was rough but still the time with the mother when the whole atmosphere is silent, people either napping or at office, no vendors crying their throats out in the afternoon heat, it was just he and his mother. He would extend his hands and the mother would place rolls of the curdrice on his small palm and he would gulp it in no time. The best days of lunch were those when they had ‘sambar’ with drumsticks. She used to peel the drum sticks and mix the soft inner portion of the vegetable in his curd rice and he would love that

Today it was not just the food, but along came , words of reprimand , telling him to pay attention and bursts of questions “How can you be so inattentive? Should you not check with your teacher?” She never remembered that she was talking to a child, she was addressing her own concern, not understanding that, children are like that. Do we ever teach our children to pay attention to the beauties of life, the colors of dead leaves, the beauty of the setting sun, the twinkling of stars in a dark night the small things which make him a human, which teach him to be a human throughout his life not just physiologically, but psychologically as well, a complete human?

After lunch , the mother accompanied the child back to the school as it was within the quarters, a stone’s throw from the house. The corridor was crowded, kids moving here and there, so anxious, some of them reading , looking at those probably important things which they could forget, their faces so desperate as if their whole life depended on just one question or its answer, their small innocent minds, slowly getting to know the feel of corruption, competition , comparison, envy and jealousy as they begin to prepare their steps to enter the world which is filled with this filth , by and large.. And all parents teach the same thing – to compare yourself with a child in studies is not wrong, but a child doesn’t stop with that, he compares in every aspect. When that sense of comparison with another child or his living, affects or intrudes into the parents’ capability, that is taboo, which only adds to the confusion in the mind of that innocent child. To establish their attributes more strongly to prove to the society , that they are living upto the image which is acceptable to the society, and live that life of pseudo-security, and in a numb way pass it to the next generation.

And as she entered the building, the English teacher came out of the staff room. This child, completely indifferent, pitying his mother’s ignorance that it is not to be written but just an oral recitation was laughing to himself. Soon he was to realize that he was wrong. The English teacher came rushing out with an answer paper in her hand, and pulling the mother to one side, was murmuring something , in an extremely anxious tone. Her eyes wide open, her words spilling out faster than her mind could probably think, and the mother nodding her head, and adding something more….then they decided that the child could join the party. And here was this child, in his loose grey half pants and wrinkled white shirt, with just a pencil, rubber and pad, never reading or anxious, wondering at others. Calling him closer, the teacher gave a soft hit on his head with her knuckles. This came as a surprise to him. He starts thinking … “What do these people think? My mother asks me something, I answer her, she doesn’t understand the question, then she comes to school and talks to my teacher and after a while they call me just to give this knock? Why is this happening, of all people to me ?”

This is what happens when expectations run high. A small drop in performance, lets your spirit to such abysmal depths and you go down like a deflated balloon. Here it was the expectation and trust the teacher and the mother had in the child. The anxiety writ large on their faces when things didn’t happen their way. It seems, the English teacher who happened to be the supervisor in that hall where the kid wrote his exam in the morning, had been closely following him. It was a large room, the old fans with their whirring noise, small tables and chairs with their cute , yellow, light blue and green colors, as they wrote the exams. There was this lady attendant, a short dusky lady of about 5 feet, who moved around with a plastic tumbler of water if the kids or the teachers needed, and as she walked, her bare feet always scuffing the ground making that weird noise which left some of the kids with goosepimples on their skin.

As the kid was writing his answers, the teacher found that this was the only boy who would get a full hundred marks in a language exam. He was her favourite student. She was so thrilled that the first thing she did after the exam was to correct his sheet immediately. The teacher becomes a child for a moment here, her curiosity, gets the better of her, and this child begins to value the other child’s paper. Lo and behold, she finds that the answer to the question to quote from memory is not there. She must have probably read the paper again and again, to confirm if she had not missed it, but sure it was never there. Now her mood swings wildly…..from curiosity , to happiness as she was correcting it and then to disappointment on not finding it and then anger, as her expectations are not met, the transition steps are not so clearly defined in the mood swings unless time is spent on introspection. She hurriedly finished her meals and as soon as she saw the child and his mother, she gave vent to her emotions. The mother quickly, agreeing with the teacher, added her words of anger and disappointment, and they both parted ways, and the kid was asked to go to the class for his afternoon exams. The mother went home, and she looked happy and contented, but what had happened to bring about that change? The child never knew, but he was to know the reason very soon. In the meantime, the school bell rings in the distance, cutting sharply into the quietness of the summer afternoon, sending all the kids scattering back to their class rooms, and an ominous silence prevails again in the building.

In the afternoon , as he was writing his grammar paper, the English teacher walks in, tall and her face sweating in that humid afternoon in the poorly ventilated class room. As she was approaching the kid, he just looked up. He was really frightened, the teacher with her strong steady steps thudding as she came closer, with that look which could probably have burnt him to ashes, and she sat beside the boy for a moment and said….

“Look, I am giving you the morning’s paper again. Answer the quote from memory question here. Do this first and you can answer the grammar paper after that. Do you understand?”

The child was totally confused, never had this ever happened in his life, but again that didn’t matter, for he had the whole English book by heart, so what was it to just write a small poetry of 8 lines. It must have been two or three minutes, after the teacher gave him the morning’s paper and went to the back of the hall to wait. In his unique tone tinged with urgency there was a voice in that silent room that afternoon “miss…miss….miss”as he called the teacher. She looked back . Thinking that he was going to ask for something else, with her morning’s anger and disappointment not yet gone, she came hurriedly to him and almost shouting …

“Now what?”

“I finished the quote from memory miss”, the soft innocence speaking out as the thin tender hands extend to give the paper back.

She read through the paper, and that look on the teacher’s face is one which nobody can forget. It was like a lotus bud which was rapidly blooming into full glory , as if ready to meet the sun, displaying all her colors and splendor in the otherwise dirty pond and finally beaming.

She read through the answer, not a punctuation was missed, not a hyphen. It was as if she was reading the text book. Her face beaming with joy and wonder at this kid, who could be the most notorious and yet produce an answer sheet in English which scored a full hundred. Every child has its toy to fascinate itself. At that moment her toy was the child’s English paper, fascinated and deeply impressed, she gave a slight peck on this boy’s cheek, who was nonplussed and never understood anything of what was happening and went back to her room leaving the boy to continue with his work. She died to the morning only in the afternoon and hence lived with her conflicts and desperation for a short time in that afternoon.

But to the kid, nothing mattered, it was just another question to be answered which he did with the same ease and nonchalance as he did with any other question or subject. He didn’t care about the grades and never compared himself with others. Till then, he was dying to everything, which sustained the innocence which was his essential nature and thus he really lived. But not for long , as that was the time when he learnt to compare, and learnt all the aspects of life which corrupted the young mind – to compare, to be ambitious and to fight, and in the process losing touch with that beautiful flower of innocence, which was never to come back again. Never to be a human with that humaneness but just another assemblage of organs with the spirit of life to fight and survive. Sure enough he grew up, with all those qualities taking strong root in him and growing to be a well manured tree, all those traits which he acquired, were well fertilized and maintained by the system of society and family and lost those which was never to be lost. He will grow up to be a successful man in his career, but is that success in life?

The Reality of Time!

The evening bell rang, signaling the end of the day’s classes in school. He now had to go for his tuition class. His parents had put him into that extra class to make sure he did well in academics. For some reason, it was his last priority; he thought he wasn’t cutout for studies, least of all physics or math, or anything in science. His interest was in things which were supposedly abstract. Though science tried to touch upon them, he was convinced that science, at least as much as he knew of it, was not going to clear things up for him.

He sat on his cycle, and started the ride to his evening class, a muddy road lined with tall palm trees. Yonder lay a burial ground and every day as he crossed that route to his class, he would see at least one funeral procession. He became so used to it, that never did it fail to fascinate him. Some people laughing, others seriously talking something or the other, the priestly person, blowing the conch and clanging the bell, as if informing the world of the person’s departure, or probably informing the folks high up to make sure they were ready to receive this latest consignment, but it all happened so religiously. He would stand with this cycle, watching the procession pass, as the sound of the bell slowly faded………….interestingly he would think of Doppler’s effect as the sound faded away. Such a simple concept that it took somebody to observe it and be more explicit about such a basic concept.

As he reached the class, his physics teacher was waiting for him. There was no other student that day. The topic was about velocity, distance and time.

The three formulae associating, velocity, distance, and time, the physics teacher so lucidly explained and as he was elaborating and insisting that time was of utmost importance to understand these concepts, this boy’s mind began its quest.

“Sir got a doubt”!

“What is it”? Asked the teacher.

“What is time”? He asked after about one hour of the lesson.

The teacher was fuming.

“I have been croaking my throat for one hour and now you ask me what time is”? Yelled the teacher.

“Sir, sorry but please tell me what is time. All that you told me was about time and not time per se, so please explain” the boy quietly said.

Now the teacher held back for a minute, and realized that the kid had a point. Like in every physics class, he had explained that velocity is the distance traveled in a given time, and acceleration is the rate of change of velocity, each term was explained in terms of another term, but never was time which was the fundamental, explained, and now the boy got to it, so steadfast. His face gave the feeling that he didn’t care about anything else unless definition of time was clarified.

“OK, let me try” said the teacher and went on “the interval between two events is time”.

“So sir, does it mean that time itself is dependent on the second event and doesn’t exist by itself?”

The teacher was completely caught off guard. He didn’t know how to handle this, in his heart of heart he was happy that these questions weren’t raised in the class in front of so many others. He thought this boy to be so disinterested but now he realized that the seemingly callous boy was not what he seemed to be.

“Yes, I think so, but then you have the clock time, it is not dependent on any event” replied the teacher, a feeling of happiness that he could outwit the boy.

His head still looking at the cracked cemented floor, the boy smiled and said
“Is it so? But the clock has its two arms, and unless the arm moves from one point to another, you still cannot measure time, so don’t you feel there is a dependence on something else to measure time, even within the clock”?

“Sir, all along I heard you in the class, stressing the importance of the concept of time to define all the other concepts. Tell me something, what if there is no second event for a given first event. Does it mean that time ceases? Going back to what you said about the definition of time…….as the interval between two events……….. even mentally when I have a thought, and then another thought, between the two thoughts you say is the interval called time, am I right?” asked the boy.

“Yes….” He replied but he wasn’t sure any more regarding the direction of the conversation or the next question.

“So it implies that at some point of time, if there is no thought in a person, time ceases to exist for him isn’t it? If so is it OK to state that with no time existing, space also ceases to exist for him?

“Now why would you say space ceases to exist” asked the teacher, the roles were slightly getting reversed apparently.

“I think so because, if there is no time, then there is no movement, which means the second doesn’t exist, and space comes into existence only when the here and there exist, and with time gone, there is no here and consequently no there, so what is left?” asked the boy

“So what is left………..” asked the teacher his voice becoming a hoarse whisper.

The evening twilight slowly giving way to darkness and they could see the ghostly form of the tall trees dancing in the distance.

“Sorry sir; am not sure, that’s why am asking you, since you could explain time, I wanted to know from you about the concept of no-time” the boy said.

It was a very embarrassing position for the teacher, but at the same time, the boy’s question seemed to be valid, and he was a good teacher, and he respected the boy.

“Son, I don’t think I can answer the question of yours. Its not physics anymore we are talking about I think” he said.

The boy so young, innocent looking but the eyes could look through you, so penetrating yet soft, yearning to learn and touch the depths of void which very few minds dare to explore.

“Sir, shall I take leave?” he asked.

“OK boy, see you in school tomorrow” said the teacher.

He packed his bag and started pedaling, along the same route he had passed sometime ago, by now the funeral procession had reached the destination and he could see the pyre burning in glory, consuming every bit of the body fed into it. He stopped the cycle, resting one leg on the ground; while he relaxed in the cross bar of his cycle, observing the birds, flying back, the flames leaping into the sky, as if making a last ditch effort to deliver the body to the heavens up there. In his mind it ranted on,

“If there is no second, then is there no time and hence no space? If so then time and space are not real, as they don’t have an independent existence, so if that is the case what is left, there is no here and no there, and hence no distance or time, either mental or physical, what is that state, what is it that gives validity to these………..can I ever experience it, or to experience it, should I cease, if so can I articulate the experience after it…………” questions which never had an answer yet………

Reflections in twilight....

He was traveling in another country on a business trip to meet with some of the heads of business to sort out certain issues. The running around from one factory to another due to the tightly scheduled meetings in that crazy traffic was maddening. But that particular drive for one hour to a factory away from the city to a far flung suburb was different. He had been mouthing “thank you” to quite a few people, all of them the who’s who in that country in those two or three days. Sitting in the back of the car, that drive of more than an hour raised a question, one which he felt was very important.

The road was not too bad, some pot holes, small ditches, making the drive a bit bumpy, but to over come these inconveniences, was the sight of the vast expanse of water extending on both side, seemingly endless. Extending up to the limits of human vision, and ending in the horizon was a treat to watch. Rain water had collected in an otherwise dry area, which was a brick making area, and had transformed the place into one of richness. He wound down the glass, the silence inside the car broken by the whir of the powered window, slowly as the gush of the wind disturbed the stillness inside.

Have I ever been thankful? Do I understand the meaning of thankfulness? What does it mean to be thankful? Do I really or have I really thanked anybody ever? The sunset not visible as the sky was terribly overcast, the lights of the city in the far distance seemed like the twinkle of stars. The placid lake disturbed by the wind causing ripples on the surface and the oar of a small fishing boat as it penetrated the surface. It was a means of livelihood for the people there and it was seasonal.

Not much of traffic, an occasional cycle rickshaw would pass with its bell ringing, the puller really having sweated his life out for the day, his eyes tired and shoulders drooping, sweat dripping down, but he continued seemingly oblivious to this. You never knew if he earned enough to feed himself and his family.

What was it to be thankful? His brother had taught him what death was, which he would not have known otherwise, his wife who gave up her career for him and never demanding, the neighbouring girl in trichy where he once lived who showed what it was to be unconditional, his other brother who helped him to understand how spineless this guy in the car was when he needed help long back in life, this other girl who flew the skies with her feet on the ground, very down to earth, who showed what spontaneity meant, his kids who exposed the violence in him.

To all these people whose company and association he enjoyed collectively and in private and who helped him to understand himself, had he ever been thankful? Not as a protocol and mere verbiage but an unsaid and honest sense of thankfulness. He was not sure. He knew one thing though, that he had been a hypocrite, could not express his softer feelings, lest he be considered a weakling. The car slowly heading into a bridge and the span of water extending for maybe four or five kilometers, the on coming headlights trying to pierce the resistive darkness of the imminent nightfall.

This reverie interrupted by his colleague.

“Sir, will this factory be passed?” His decisions were of utmost significance for the business and the job endowed him with lot of power, but he never let it get into his head, at least till then.
“I don’t think so, I will recommend a holiday probably, unless they change” and he kept quiet. His posture probably conveyed his reluctance to talk and the other person didn’t pursue the discussion further. The chimneys of the brick kilns stood defiantly in the lake, in anticipation of the dry season, when they would be active. Now they were quite and ready to be consumed by the darkness. There was so much of life in that surrounding stillness. A group of people clapping, singing and enjoying a boat ride. A young couple sitting on the bank enjoying nature’s romance.

When am I thankful? A mere shake of the hands and the extension of the lips would mean nothing, rather it is a stressful act, if I don’t want to do it. Is thankfulness devoid of humility? He had addressed a group of workers that afternoon in another factory. That factory had had a lot of problems and he had recommended a pull out earlier, later it was a conditional approval and things were supposed to have improved. He had visited the factory and while speaking to them, he felt thankful. He could realize the difference. Standing in front of nothing less than one thousand workers, most of them living below poverty line, his job had given him an opportunity to change things for them and it had. The conditions in the factory were better, payment regularity had improved and the feedback from the workers was in conformance to what he had seen. They were happy and he felt that upsurge, definitely not one of personal pride, but a deep sense of satisfaction, and there was a flash of thankfulness to his organization, which let him do something for a fellow human being, a sense of wholesomeness, no fragmentation, a sense of total integration from within.

The car passed through what seemed to be a market place, people selling flowers, cyclists riding with scant regard to rules, roadside hawkers busy, the petromax lights throwing light into the otherwise dark road.

Crossing his right leg over his left and leaning back, closing the windows, listening to the hum of the car’s aircon, he realized he had not been thankful generally, except to the organizations he worked for, as he enjoyed what he did and the opportunity they gave him. He had been selfish.

To thank a driver with the same intensity as you would thank a boss, to thank life for having brought him in touch with such nice people as much as to thank death which takes you to the tomorrow, His wife who had literally given up what was close to her, his brother who made him stronger by teaching him to die and yet be alive and the other who made him aware of his weakness, the two women who showed what friendship is all about, his kids who exposed the dark side in him. The very act of acknowledging their contribution was by itself an act of thanking. It is not something which can be expressed in words; it cannot be repaid or settled for life is not a statement of accounts.

Thinking about this, his eyes still closed, he again had the same feeling as he felt in the factory. It was effortless, a feeling that seemed to make him burst, an outcome of understanding what he was. As he opened his eyes, the dark sky with an occasional star, the dim moonlight reflected on the rippled water, the immensity of that moment and the sense of insignificance he felt after that introspection, that understanding, unbiased and honest, when he realized that he owed a lot to the spirit of life, to a stray dog or a beggar, or a small plant and the fact that he was endowed with the capability and free will to do so, made him understand what it was to be thankful. Not to hold but let go, not to bind or be bound but to set free, to be aware of the unmoving center, like the center of the hub in a wheel which is always at rest even as the periphery moves, acknowledging all happenings and to be aware of himself in all his interactions and relationships just as a mirror reflected the fact without warranting an interpretation, from that center would arise thankfulness, humility and love.

There was no need to verbalize for it was that drive, that expanse of water, and that stunning stillness which showed him who he was. He was thankful to the settling darkness which ironically reflected him so clearly. It is probably not a one time response, to lead a thankful life is a life of prayer, one of meditation with all senses open and alert, of love and holism. Thanking all of life in all its diverse forms and not begging; is what he felt at that moment as being really a life of gratitude.

As he arrived at the hotel and stepped out of the car, he genuinely thanked the driver, for he was a part of the exposure in the dark.

The Void

Folks this is not about me THE VOID but something similar............
in case somebody wanted to write to me, please do so to sthiagarajan@levi.com

A highly energetic person, very ambitious about career. The desire to achieve and work being so strong that sometimes, the basic objective of life itself wasn’t clear to him, but still he was successful in his job. He had a great assignment, which once in a while took him to great places in the beautiful land of Bavaria. The country famous for its beer and beer drinkers, and the efficiency of the work force there. The city is a commercial, manufacturing, and transportation center situated in a vineyard area. It is a major railroad junction and a river port and is served by an international airport. Principal manufactures of the area include motor vehicles, printed materials, electrical and photographic equipment, precision instruments, machinery, textiles, beverages, chemicals, and metal and wood products. The place he visited so often in that part of Germany, stuttgart was a place of great activity during the war years. But now it was quiet, the focus more on a peaceful existence. The same factories which produced the killing machines during the war years were now put to more productive use for mankind .

He was a small cog in the wheel, yet an important one. Like every other assignment, he went this time as well, for just a fortnight. The company gave him a nice apartment to stay in, a cozy two room flat, the balcony on the backside opening out to a lawn, and trees, swaying gently, the leaves yellowing slowly with the onset of winter. As you stood there you could listen to the birds, and the noise of the vehicles raging on the road in the front as the chill breeze hit your bones. The metallic clangs of the tram as it occasionally passed the house………otherwise it was silent, a cold silence at that time of the year. Yet he liked it to be away from the onerous routine back at home. It wasn’t that he didn’t like things back at home, but it is human to stay away from monotony for a while, and once variety becomes a painful repetition you get back to your old way of life till the wheel comes a full circle.

He had a nice friendly colleague in that office, and enjoyed his company at work and outside, be it going for a dinner or just for a casual talk. It was just being together during work and at times after work as well. There was nothing as a motive in that interaction, just a natural relationship when you are in an organization working with others, the only difference was that there weren’t many other people to interact with in this specific assignment. They had an opportunity to go for a drive on one week end, in the German Autobahn, meet with his family, do some casual sightseeing, and get back. Nothing more, and after another week of work, he got back home.

The weather back home being humid, where chaos is a way of life, and anything orderly would confuse people, even people at home, the demands and the apathy……despite he being a part of it was nevertheless; a slight setback. Though he wasn’t new to any of this, always something better overwhelms you with its awesomeness and anything at the other end of the spectrum could take you to depressive depths. Unless you are strong enough, you would succumb to either or both of them. Added to all this was some other nag. He knew what it was. For some unknown reason, he felt that he was missing him, his colleague in the other country. Honestly with no other reason to be attracted, here he was, still missing him and very stupidly felt guilty about it.

So when nothing really attracts you, why would you miss somebody? Being impressed with a particular behaviour is not something which will make you miss him or her. You may want to emulate, you may be appreciative of it, but will you miss the person or should you? And is there a reason to be guilty about it?

So what is it to miss somebody or something? A sense where everything seems so familiar in your immediate surrounding where you are now, yet not so maddening and you feel out of place in your own environs. What is the validity to this, if at all there is one? Is the verbalization “I miss” an insult to the beauty or the goodness you enjoyed? A captive victim would nurture hopes of escape, a torture victim would nurture hopes of easeful respite but when you say you miss and you lose your ultimate sanctuary for however short a period, then what are you hoping for at that moment?

What causes that emptiness or temporary void? Is it a yearning internally to retain that beauty of a relationship or interaction of the past? It doesn’t cause an eternal sorrow as there is nothing which doesn’t level out over time. We generally say we miss what we don’t have. We never miss what we have. Is that lack of “missingness” due to a sense of insouciance or lack of appreciation. When we miss, there is a certain freshness, eagerness, a painful waiting for the meeting to happen again or to go through the same experience, and to re-live that goodness, but once we get to be successful in achieving that desire, we don’t feel that pang or pain. There is a certain richness, and a kind of softness like fresh snow to that feeling, no bias no hatred, but a willingness to yield and compromise with that person or event or relationship. The same sense of openness doesn’t exist with the near and dear, regardless of it being a human or an inanimate object or even the nature around us. Distance heals, distance in terms of time and space but distance also seems to hurt like the invisible depression in space created by the heavier objects which tend to hold or pull the smaller ones around them. In physics it is gravity, in human relationships, is it synonymous with “the missing”? – the pleasantly painful pull…..

The pain seems to be more beautiful at times and pleasurable that we cherish and live in it. Sometimes a feeling of guilt comes in when you miss a person. The cause for this resting deep probably in a set of lopsided values. It is not wrong to miss or feel the absence of a person, or is it? Every experience has a certain beauty in it. The long felt desire to recapture the past moments of beauty creates the pain as is the case with anything where psychological effort comes into play. In that process to recapture you miss out the present. Neither the pleasure of the past satisfies you as we can never reach it, and it remains a mirage, and the effort to regain it, takes you away from the present beauty, so what is left is a void which gets filled with frustration. This probably takes us away from our immediate surrounding in all its forms so what is left is a sense of loneliness………….We probably miss ourselves when we say we miss. To be aware of ourselves and our interactions in the present is probably to not miss.

When would I not miss? Only when am full, complete. When can I be complete or full? Only when am aware of myself and the present and that means not to live in the dead past, which means not to miss the past. A seemingly ridiculous juxtaposition, when the past is gone, it is so obvious that you can’t miss it anymore, you can only miss the present or the future, so why do we miss the past? So is there an effort required not to miss or is it just to be your natural self in the now, oblivious to the dead? Do we have to spend any energy to be at ease? When we get to meet the same person again, would we talk about the past and live in a regurgitated pool or in the current freshness?

When we are not the same psychologically at different times of a given day, how can we tacitly assume that the other person whom we supposedly “miss” is going to let us enjoy the same experience always, or what is the guarantee that an exactly similar interaction will provide us the same experience. Is that not a bit presumptive? It is a rich feeling to feel the void, live it, see it getting filled and emptied and filled again as a continuous cycle rather than just retain the emptiness, for nature fills all gaps in her own way.

Thoughts in vain............

This was written by Vishnu after his X board exams...........seems that human turmoil never changes, rather gets more complicated, i didnt feel any better after my board exams......and nothing seems to have changed after approximately 30 years...........

Unquote:
My name is S. Vishnu Vardhan. I Study In Class Ten. I have written my exams. My holidays have started. I am now in Trichy. I am just lying down. Now I am in Semmangudi. I am looking up at the dark sky overcast with clouds. It is about to overflow. The trees are swaying. I can feel the air touching my face. My hair is rustling. I feel as if chains are being cut off from me by nature. It was forged over a long time. After two months they will come back. I knew it. Would I ever be free from it? I thought to myself. Maybe yes. Who knows? Suddenly I felt goose bumps on my skin. I looked up. That is, I tried to. Immediately a huge shower came cutting out my vision. I ran quickly inside. I could see the rain. I went to the terrace. I saw only the gloomy sky and the green fields all around. I could see the lilies in the pond struggling to keep themselves afloat. I saw the shingles of the roofs of the houses dripping with water. In the distance I could see the lone cow grazing in the fields, without a care in the world, not afraid of getting a cold. I wanted to be like it. But I was a human, having specific responsibilities and a specific role and I had to fulfill it, but why? In order to live? Or to eat? Who knows…………. I have to do so I do.
I went down. I saw that the water was running in small streams across the muddy road. Where would it join? Maybe the stream or maybe it would be drunk by the cow. I decided to leave it. I suddenly woke up to a harsh reality. I had to call up my parents for my board exam marks. What would their reactions be? What would they tell me? Would they be happy? Who knows? Anyway I did the best I could do, so what happens if the results are low? All these thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone at the other end. “Hello” I heard the voice at the other end.

Race of a race

When we as a RACE (noun), RACE (verb) do we CARE (verb) for the rest of the race?............not so funny when we realise that the two words are anagrams yet so different............just my thoughts below..

So exhausted was he after that grueling marathon race. Extreme level of physical fitness, and the discipline and rigor of his practice ensured that he completed the race, though not in any of the prize winning positions. He came from a small village, started his life running through the streets and lanes, on the cement pavement along the gutters, in through the open fields, under the vast expanse of the sky and on the green carpets in the fields. His drive to be a runner, nobody including him, knows from where it came, but it pushed him hard to be a good runner. He had won prizes in his school days, which helped him to get into a college through the channel for sports people and finally he ended up representing his nation in the long distance run. It has always been a race for him in life, ironically against his own race.

Sitting under the shade of the cool canopy, sipping a glass of water, his eyes closed as beads of sweat trickled down on that hot evening, he was pondering if he would ever be able to run another marathon again as age was winning him in its race. Slow and steady with no sense of acceleration but it went past him , giving an ironical smile. And that was one race he knew he could never win, despite his speed and practice. He was all along oblivious to the cacophony around him in the ground.

The wet white cloth covering his face, he lay stretched in the grass, as the thought ran through him.

This is a sport where I run, and try to win. But when I race against my kindred from my race as a sport I enjoy the challenge, and most importantly I race against myself as well, stepping up the bar. But why is the race of life so maddening?...........slowly this went through his mind, as the sweat beads were trickling down, and the sun’s rays touched him, scorching the skin, but the rays were in no hurry, at a constant speed they reached down, as if knowing for sure what they wanted to achieve.

As if in sharp contrast to his thoughts, where the thought of his race, right from birth, runs a race, not sure of why, not even aware of the mysterious force pushing them into this race, and in spite of not being a willing partaker, the momentum catches on so infectiously, that by the time he realizes, he is already running. Not a moment thereafter to ever look at life’s trivialities, nature’s eloquence in its silence, to look at anything in nature as it is,………. devoid of his self-constructed prisms through which life is always viewed…………resulting in a sense of insecurity, making him run faster. But the faster he runs, the winning point seems to move farther at the same speed , evading his stretched legs, not a second to stop and look at the world around. A small hesitation means, loss of his position in the puzzle, resulting in more of insecurity and fear driving him deeper and deeper into this mad neurotic spiral. Ultimately not aware of why he is even here, in this race, he still continues with the mad rush. All in the so called spirit of competition and need to survive, the race continues. Will there ever be a point of elation at the end? He is not sure.

After all, all this mad dog race is, for him to survive, and survive he does, for he wants to enjoy life, find a certain fulfillment, a point where he can be with himself…….but the very process which he adopts or rather is forced to adopt by that mysterious whip, drives him to a diametrically opposite situation, it is like the mirage in the desert, the more he runs, the more it moves away from him………..is there ever an end to this madness? Will the race among the members of the race ever end, where all can walk with each other in complete harmony, where one can be at peace with oneself without destroying the other, with complete understanding of the other and of his own self.

What is it that I want to achieve and will my present way of life ever achieve that? The wet cloth on his face was beginning to dry up, and he was shaken out of his stream of thoughts by the setting sun………………..will he rise up a different man to be one of a kind?