Happy Rama Navami !

Rama Navami brings fond memories of childhood.

Setting up the photo of Lord Rama flanked by Seeta, Lakshmana and Hanuman.

Adorning it with flowers.

Lighting the lamp.

Placing the naivedya of Kosambri and Paanakam to be

offered to God and later partaken by us.

Singing bhajans with parents and sisters.

Looking into Sudhir Phadake’s Geet Ramayan book and

singing songs highlighting the key events in the Ramayana.

My dad always insisted on singing one particular song – the

one in which Rama consoles Bharatha and convinces him to

rule Ayodhya for the 14 years of the vanavaas.

This song is placed in the situation where Bharata 

reaches Rama in the forest and begs him to go back 

to Ayodhya, lamenting over the gross injustice done to 

Him by Kaikeyi and Dasharatha. Rama, in his answer,

consoles Bharata with these words on the ephemeral 

nature of this world and its happenings.

My translation does no justice to the beauty of the Marathi 

(not Sanskrit) poetry…and although it seems like a fatalistic 

take, the poetry is much more than that..it consoles the 

listener to not lose heart but bear the troubles that are 

beyond his control with a stoic attitude…

दैवजात दुःखें भरतां दोष ना कुणाचा

पराधीन आहे जगतीं पुत्र मानवाचा

दोष ना कुणाचा

The living are born to grief, Bharata. It is no one’s fault.

The mortal, son of man, is bound to fate. No one is to blame

जिवासवें जन्मे मृत्यू, जोड जन्मजात

दिसे भासतें तें सारें विश्व नाशवंत

काय शोक करिसी वेड्या, स्वप्निंच्या फळांचा ?

पराधीन आहे जगतीं पुत्र मानवाचा

दोष ना कुणाचा

By birth we are bound to life and death. This world that we 

see and sense is perishable

O crazy one, why do you grieve for the fruits of this dream 

world?

The mortal, son of man, is bound to fate, no one is to blame

जरामरण यांतुन सुटला कोण प्राणिजात ?

दुःखमुक्त जगला का रे कुणी जीवनांत ?

वर्धमान तें तें चाले मार्ग रे क्षयाचा

पराधीन आहे जगतीं पुत्र मानवाचा

दोष ना कुणाचा

Which living being escaped the cycle of ageing and death?

Did anyone live this life free of sorrow?

Every thing in the present is moving towards a gradual 

annihilation

The mortal, son of man, is bound to fate.

No one is to blame

I didn’t realize it then, but I do now – this song is actually

almost a summary of the philosophical outlook on life that

Sanatana Dharma teaches. Perhaps my dad was particular

about singing this song to draw courage and faith from those

tenets. But whether he intended it or not, in the process, he

ensured that those words sowed the seeds of the same faith

and courage in the innocent minds of his young daughters.


We also learned that there can be great joy in chanting His

Name and surrendering to Him..joy that is so much beyond

that which wealth can provide.

This is the message of Sage Valmiki to Lava and Kusha when 

he sends them to sing the Ramayana in the court of Lord 

Rama.

रघुराजाच्या नगरीं जाउन

गा बाळांनो, श्रीरामायण

Travel to the city of King Raghu,

Sing, lads, the chronicle of Rama.

मुनिजन-पूनित सदनांमधुनी

नराधिपांच्या निवासस्थानी

उपमार्गांतुन, राजपथांतुनि

मुक्त दरवळो, तुमचें गायन

In the houses blessed by sages, on the estates of noble people,

On the byways and highways, may your singing freely 

reverberate.

नच स्वीकारा धना कांचना

नको दान रे, नको दक्षिणा

काय धनाचें मूल्य मुनिजनां ?

अवघ्या आशा श्रीरामार्पण

Do not accept money or gold,

Neither donation nor remuneration.

What is the value of wealth to ascetics?

Offer all desires to Shri Rama!

Of all the things they gave us, indeed, the best gift my

parents gave us 6 daughters is the mindset of living a life 

firmly grounded in devotion to God. Through the way they 

lived – and continue to live – in the spirit of “Simple living, 

high thinking, and prayerful doing” they taught us that we 

must perform our duty in the best possible way and yet, 

surrender ourself to His Will.

And every Rama Navami is an occasion to renew that

unspoken pledge to continue on the path that our parents -

aptly named Rama Iyengar and Seetha Lakshmi - showed us!

Happy Rama Navami !

Commemorating One Year of Anu's Words

“Only 1 person feels Anu writes well”

Had I been Sagarika Ghose, this would have been the headline I’d have used for this blog post.

Fortunately, I’m not her. I have no agenda to further, no TRPs to gain, no individual to bash.

Even more fortunately, my audience is made up of wise people who are here by choice to hear what I have to say without being swayed by sensational headlines.

By the way, what the headline says is not entirely false; but it isn’t the entire truth, either, as you will discover later in this post.

On a relaxed Wednesday afternoon, 11^th March, 2015 to be precise, the first blogpost on Anu's Words went live.

At that time, I had no real sense of what the blog would do to the world. I knew nothing of who made up that world; I had no inkling of how it would respond. The response came in bits and spurts and it was encouraging enough to spur me to continue writing. 

Thinking more about the blog, I realized that I wanted it to serve as a source of positivity to help readers on their life journeys. So the next few posts were along the lines of giving out advice such as How to become resilient and The joy of giving.

Exactly a month after my first blog post, on a whim, I penned my first post that was a spontaneous sharing of a personal experience with a semblance of self-disclosure.

To my vast surprise, it was quite a hit with readers and made me realize that perhaps, some messages get across better when you talk of your experience and let readers draw their own conclusions rather than preaching something to them. 

Some blog posts were an experiment – writing about my learning from a simple day out, hosting a friend’s first piece of writing and giving words to eccentric thoughts. 

And then, again on a whim, I decided to put down my travel experiences in the northern part of our country as a series of blog posts titled Yaatra 2015, in 5 parts, with my nephew Shreeharsha too pitching in with a post on the journey to Haridwar and Rishikesh. Although I never considered myself a travelogue writer, I realized that these posts too touched a chord with readers, generous dollops of philosophy and spirituality notwithstanding.

Over these 25 posts in the last one year, I’ve come to realize that there cannot be one formula to ensure people love your writing. Another big realization is that sometimes, the fact that they like you means they are open to enjoying whatever you write – whether it is about current social situations

or your intensely personal experiences.

As the blog neared its first anniversary, I found myself wanting to know more about my readers’ opinions. Of course, I did have a general idea from the comments some left on the blog itself and others shared with me on Facebook and WhatsApp. But there were specific queries I had and so, I created a questionnaire to get feedback. I sent this to around 60 people who were reading my blog for more than 6 months.

I don’t know the statistical implications, but I was thrilled that about 50% of them responded. I used a Google form for the survey and the results showed up as neat pie charts summarizing the data collected. Maybe there is a way to integrate that with the blog but being tech un-savvy, I had no idea of how to do that. A cursory Google search showed that I would have to enter the data into an Excel sheet and create the pie/other chart myself – an action for which I have no inclination and therefore, no time. 

So, I took the easy way out of using screenshots of the pie charts directly from the survey results which, for all practical purposes, effectively conveys my findings.

Getting back to that headline “Only 1 person feels Anu writes well”…here’s the entire infographic …and you can judge for yourself why I said the headline is neither entirely true nor entirely false. 

However, jokes apart, it is immensely overwhelming and humbling to know that close to half of my readers like my perspective on things and close to a quarter of them find my blog inspiring. Now, I feel like I have to be even more careful about what I say because of the value that people attach to it.

I’ve always had a suspicion that Facebook has so much of an information overload, that the chances of people really noticing you are very slim unless you are a celebrity. My survey kind of corroborates this view with more people saying they find out about new posts on my blog through WhatsApp. 

Of course this, again, is a Sagarika-esque kind of conclusion because I’ve not analyzed if I have more friends on WhatsApp than on Facebook.

About half of my readers appear to visit the blog on the day I publish a new post (which is also the day when I send out alerts) 

This gives me a nice feeling because to me, it sounds like they’re saying, “Hey, you are important to me.” What bigger motivator do I need! 

But I’m making a mental note that I mustn’t get carried away with this conclusion and start bombarding my readers with too many posts  

– because, a whopping 96.8% readers also felt that the current frequency of posts – about one every fortnight – is just right. OK, I got that.

My alerts to new blog posts invariably ask the recipient to read AND share…but it looks like not many are doing the latter. 

Only a quarter of readers share the posts with family and friends. The remaining are sharing occasionally or not at all. Now, this could be because of two reasons – either, they don’t feel like sharing it or they don’t realize they could share it.

Eternal optimist that I am, I’d like to assume it’s the latter factor at play in most cases and therefore, request those people to please share the blog posts because it’s just another way of spreading some positivity to your family, friends and colleagues.  

Anyway, there is no monetary angle involved so, I’m guessing that most people won’t really take offense. At the very worst, they won’t read it and that shouldn’t really matter to you.

But I’m also a realist and this means I must say that if anyone out there feels like not sharing the posts, I’d like to know the specific reason so that if it is something that can be corrected, I’d get to work on it.

In the survey questionnaire, I slipped in what may have seemed like a red herring by asking how enthusiastic the readers would be if I had to write a book. The answers to that have been most illuminating…. and satisfying. 

A quarter of my readers are ready to pre-book a copy and about half of them say they will definitely buy it. Thankfully, no one chose the option of “What makes you think your book will sell?” And I’m going to use that as a sign from the universe that I must write the dream book that has been in the pipeline for the past 3 years.  

When I started blogging, I never knew what my style of writing was called; in fact, I didn’t even think I have a style of writing. Some reader called a certain piece a wonderful example of “reflexive writing” and I had to google the meaning of it. 

Even now, I’m not sure if there is a definite style I have – all I know is that what I write is a reflection of who I am. And that’s good enough for me – and, possibly, for you too, dear readers. And yet, because it is important to grow, I am also taking Ben Yagoda’s advice.

I take this opportunity to thank all of you dear readers – those who participated in the survey, and the several others who are more recent followers of Anu’s Words. The fact that you read and interact with me and the love and encouragement you offer has made blogging one of the greatest joys in my life, leading me on to experiences that I would never have had otherwise. 

Thank you, once again, and I look forward to continuing this relationship through all the years and new blog posts yet to come.

They Don’t Make Them Like This Anymore

I’m lucky to belong to a generation of women who share the following experiences

Our parents gave us access to education that empowered us and encouraged us to be independent. At the same time, they also taught us that “विध्या विनयेन शोभते” (Vidya Vinayena Shobhate) which means knowledge is graced by humility.

Growing up, we had role models in our mothers, grandmothers and aunts. We learned practically what it means to respect elders and take joy in caring for the good of everyone.

The most common refrain that was used to train us into the right mannerisms, attitudes and behaviours was, “What will your future in-laws’ say!” We may have resented it then. But now, we know that by drilling that into us, our parents taught us a vital skill of fitting into the family we got married into.

We went into marriage knowing that it is a union of not just two people but of two families. We also had the unspoken status of being brand ambassadors of our parents’ upbringing. This unique combination gave us the patience to work hard at winning the new family over and forging strong bonds over a period of time.

We learned that there can be joy in the journey of discovering someone whom you knew nothing of before he became your life partner.

Our upbringing was such that we know being a life partner means more about being willing to shoulder responsibilities than asking for your rights.

Whether we are working outside the house or not, our husbands know we are capable of managing things without their active involvement. This means we sometimes end up being taken for granted. But thanks to the way we’ve been brought up, we are strong enough to cope with that, and never lose sight of our ultimate goal – a bright future for the entire family.

If you are a strong woman like this, kudos!

If you are a guy who has a woman like this in your life, treasure her every day ....they don’t make them like this anymore!

Visit to Thirunaangur: A Slice of Bharatiyata

2016 is turning out to be quite an eventful year for me in terms of journeys. A fortnight ago, I was in Goa to meet my friends. On the 9^th of February, I’m already embarking on another trip. Just last month, we’ve bought a new SUV and this has impelled us to fulfill what has been my husband’s longstanding desire - a visit to Thirunaangur in Tamil Nadu for the auspicious occasion of the 11 Garuda Sevai Utsavam. 

Garuda - the vehicle of the Lord

We pick up two of our relatives and leave at 7.00 am. The sun is not fully up but Bangalore’s traffic is. 

It takes us a while to crawl out of the city; chanting the Vishnu Sahasranaamam keeps us busy and frustration at bay. 

But once we’re on the National Highway to Salem, there’s nothing to stop the SUV from touching the speed it’s designed for – except for the toll plazas where we pay up for the luxury of a well-maintained and motorable road.

By 10.15 am, we take a small break at Salem at a spot in the middle of ragi fields to replenish ourselves with idli and coffee. 

Then, on to Aatur where the National Highway ends and so does the comfort of the drive. The car stereo is playing a duet with the lady singing “Nee pogaadha oorukke poiyaana vazhi sollurey.” She’s accusing her paramour of giving her wrong directions to a place he hasn’t ever visited. Tamil love duets are not just melodious – they’re prophetic too. Or so it seems to us as we get directed to an avoidable route that is as bad as only a road with tarred patches can be. After an hour or so, we reach Vadalur, where the backbreaking ordeal ends; we travel onwards to Sethiyathope and Seerkazhi which is the town closest to Thirunaangur. By then, it’s already 2.45 pm, much past everyone’s usual lunch time and we hurriedly tuck in to chapatti with tomato gojju and the staple curd rice. 

About 30 minutes later, we arrive in Thirunaangur that is just beginning to bustle with the activity of vehicles small and big pouring out devotees young and old, rich and poor, men, women and children driven to seek the Lord’s blessings on this auspicious occasion. 

We find a parking spot and get busy asking for the Agrahaaram, armed with just the names of two persons who we expect will provide us shelter and food during our stay. The village folk look curiously at us – which one of the four Agrahaarams do our would-be benefactors inhabit? But they don’t see any cause for worry because they’re okay with putting us up, too. Amazingly hospitable, I’d say, to offer to house and feed 4 people whom you’ve known only since the past 5 minutes. 

A couple of SOS calls to a few relatives who have previously been to Thirunaangur give us a few more details. We realize we are in the right Agrahaaram and only need to locate the right house. Luckily for us, a passing maami knows the ladies we mentioned and directs us to their home. We reach there, and I find there’s a post office right opposite – a fact that our informant in Bangalore had forgotten to mention. Unless, of course, it was a new development in the last two years. But there is no time to fret over this. I am overwhelmed by the warm welcome we receive as if we were long expected guests although the hosts haven’t ever seen us, let alone known we were coming.

We refuse the offer of lunch but gladly acquiesce to piping hot and strong kaapi that comes in a sturdy tumbler and dabra. We’re told the proceedings have already begun at the Thirumani Maada temple and that if we rush, we may be just in time to catch at least a part of it. Our host stops a passing rickshaw, bargains with the driver and sends us on our way.

Jostling for a view of the Lord

The temple area is teeming with devotees and we manage to push ourselves into the crowd seeking a vantage position to witness the happenings. 

Lord in the palanquin

Each deity arrives in a multicoloured palanquin and the garland that adorns Him is offered to Thirumangai Azhwaar, the poet saint who has sung paasurams (prayers) in their praise and invited the deities to participate in this utsavam.

Thirumangai Azhwar and Kumudavalli Nachiyaar

Suddenly, I realize my husband is not next to me but I am too absorbed in the goings on to bother. A little while later, I get a text message from him, asking me to come into the temple. I push my way through the devotees and slip out from under a restraining rope on their advice, only to be stopped at the temple door by some officials. But praise to the Lord - or, maybe it is Male Chauvinism ki Jai triggered by my ability to paint an image of a demanding husband summoning me from within. Whatever the reason, I’m allowed inside, where I stand in a queue to reach the sanctum sanctorum for darshan of the Lord and catch up with my lord, too!

 8 of the 11 deities have already been welcomed and established in the designated spots. We move out of the temple to witness the welcoming of the remaining 3 deities. As time passes, the crowd is growing bigger but despite the jostling that happens whenever a deity is on the move, we manage to stay firmly in place and soak in the divine atmosphere.

Someone asks me a question and I share information that I’ve only recently gained from overhearing another conversation. To another question, I honestly admit I don’t know. There are people who talk compulsively of temple events they’ve visited in other places. Some women amaze me with their ability to admire each other’s jewelry in the middle of looking beseechingly at the Lord and praying to Him with overt emotion. I notice these things and tell 

myself to remember them for writing a blog. And smile to myself as I realize – to each her own obsession. And yet, here we all are, united by a common desire for His grace. And He, the Benevolent One, is ready to bestow it on us, unconditionally, regardless of whether we have done anything at all to earn it.

By around 6.45 pm, we head back to our designated “home” and sit on the outer porch, discussing our experience and socializing with other people who have similarly made this their home for the day. I also take time to flip through the images I’ve captured on my phone. A maami sitting next to me looks longingly at them and asks, “Oh, you managed to take pictures even in the crowd?” I take her phone number and share the pictures with her on WhatsApp.

By around 7.30 pm, we are ushered in for dinner, which is an astonishing display of teamwork with clear division of labour. The women have done the cooking and the men serve it skillfully, coaxing us to take a second helping of a varied menu ranging from Kancheepuram idli, two types of sewai and dosa to halwa, tayir saadam and at least four other dishes, the names of which I’ve forgotten. All I remember is that the food was delicious and served with a warmth and affection that is rare amongst strangers. My offer of helping to serve the next batch of people is dismissed with a smile and a gently firm “No, we will do it ourselves.” I hang around though and make do with helping to clean up the floor after the plantain leaves have been removed.

As we relax post-dinner, in a place liberally sprinkled with maamis, I find my attention drawn by 3 in particular. It is their speaking crisp, unaccented English while being clad in the traditional madisaar that actually has got me interested. Politely, professing genuine curiosity, I ask them about this unique combo. I learn they are from Poona, Coimbatore and Mumbai respectively and that they have all been working women who have retired a few years ago. Participating together in such temple-centric events is their way of catching up on some “me-time” away from the otherwise steady family responsibilities they shoulder. Their cheerful disposition and family values, willingness to make time to participate in our traditional religious practices and strong sense of faith provide me with a paradigm of what to look forward to after I retire.

We are told to rest until about 2 am, when the procession of the 11 deities borne on their respective Garudas will reach our “home.” At 1.45 am, we hear the sound of fireworks going off and the nadaswaram that heralds the start of the procession and get into position outside the house to receive the Lord. 

Each of the 11 deities on His Garuda arrives borne on a platform carried by10-12 youths.

  He stops in front of each house in the Agrahaaram to receive offerings and bless all those who have gathered there.

 I manage to click a few pictures despite the throng.

The last deity departs by around 3.30 am; some of us trudge back to sleep while others bathe in preparation for an imminent temple visit.

After a fitful sleep under an open sky on the terrace of an unfamiliar home, I wake by 6.30 am to a village that is still and astonishingly calm in comparison to the excitement of a few hours ago. 

After a refreshing bath and cup of kaapi, we pay another visit to the temple but the exhaustion after the hectic activity of the past few days means it will open – if at all – much later in the day.

Our two host maamis have obviously not slept a wink and yet, at 9.00 am, we’re fed a multiple-course meal that is delectable. I firmly believe it is not just their culinary skills but their goodness of heart that has made the food so tasty and satiating. I say as much to them as we thank them for their remarkable hospitality. They offer to pack idlis for our return journey but we don't take them up on it. They insist we carry a bottle of buttermilk at least for the journey and we accept. 

Nothing we say or do can ever repay the kindness and warmth they have shown us, but as a token of our gratitude, we try to contribute a small amount of money into the family hundial. They flatly refuse to accept it; what they have done is their service to the Lord, they say. My husband too refuses to back down. Finally, when they see he’s not relenting either, they offer a small compromise – they will accept it as a donation for the annual temple Brahmotsavam against a valid receipt. Left with no alternative, we agree.

We exchange phone numbers. They give us directions for our return journey. They ask us to come again next year. Soon, we’re back in our SUV and after brief prayers at the Thadalan temple in Seerkazhi and the Govindarajar sannidhi in the famous Nataraja temple in Chidambaram, we head back home to Bangalore.

A speaker I heard recently described the uniqueness of Indian culture. He spoke of the concept of “Vasudaiva Kutumbakam” – the idea that the entire world is my family and how it is based on the idea that everything and everyone is inter-related. He spoke of how Bharatiya thought is “Sarvasamaaveshak” and yet, “Ekaatma”. That is, it includes all of existence and yet, understands that this diversity is only apparent; within, all of us are One.

During the 8-hour journey back home from Tirunaangur, I realize my experiences there have indeed been a striking, live example of what that eminent speaker sought to convey.

When time stood still

Green fields

A very mild mist across the seemingly unending forest cover

Sloping, tiled- roofed houses scattered here and there

Wind that smells mildly of the sea and fish

No traffic

A silence that I can actually hear    

                                                                                                

As I sense and experience all this, I’m struck by the thought of how much I have missed it all for close to two decades. Almost immediately comes the blinding realization that nothing much seems to have changed in what I consider my native place.

Goa

The land I was born in. One I lived in for the first 24 years of my life before I had to move to Bangalore.

23^rd January, 2016, at this time of the day, I was in a state of excited anticipation. I was to leave Bangalore that night for Goa to catch up with my friends whom I’d left behind 19 years ago.

THEN

  I’d gotten back in touch with them a few months ago thanks to WhatsApp and was already familiar with the high of reconnecting. So, what would meeting them in person be like? We left college as young guns, unaware of what the future held in store for us but filled with the bravado of youth. The years that flew by saw us take our different journeys on the highway of life but what kind of a toll would it have taken on each one? What would we have in common to talk about? These were the thoughts running through my head that day.

By 24^th afternoon, I had forgotten I’d ever had these questions.

 It was like I had never left these people who assembled at the Sharada Classic at Margao. We laughed observing each other’s idiosyncrasies that hadn’t changed in all these years. We noted new behavior and laughed over it, too.  Of course, we swapped stories of all that had happened over the years of leaving college. Expressed satisfaction that each of us was doing well in whatever we had chosen to do. And, when someone (no, very surprisingly, not me!) suggested we talk of the life lessons we had learned over the years, everyone did so without the slightest hesitation. We used technology to connect with two of our classmates who couldn’t make it to the meet. And took loads of pictures to send to those living in another time zone. 

NOW

Later in the day and the next day, I met a few of my school friends. People I hadn’t seen in about 23 to 25 years. My memories of them were even older and blurred. But that didn’t stop us from re-connecting with an ease that only comes with familiarity that has developed during our youth.

Everyone I met told me, “You haven’t changed at all.”

Which cannot be entirely true.

I know of the graying hair and adipose tissue that greets me when I look into the mirror every morning. I realize the difference in my thoughts and behavior as compared to the times when I was younger.

But maybe because they are looking at me after so long and maybe because these are not the things they are looking at, they feel I haven’t changed.

I told them, “Goa hasn’t changed much at all, thank God.”

They don’t entirely agree.

There are Dominoes Pizza and KFC outlets now. Lots of Russians setting up home in the state. Trees are being cut to widen roads. The signature coconut tree of Goa may no longer be a tree.

As I leave Goa after spending two days there, I wonder, “What, then, is the yardstick that we use to decide if something has changed?”

I find the answer as I ponder over my response to Goa in 2016.

Things do change. But whether we perceive them as changed depends on us. If the emotions they evoke in us have not changed, we are left with the feeling that nothing has changed. 

Meeting PM Modi

Exactly a week ago, our Prime Minister Narendra Modi was in Bangalore to inaugurate the 21st INCOFYRA (International Conference For Yoga Research and Application) hosted by S-VYASA. Thanks to my association with DISHA, I was fortunate enough to receive a pass to attend the inaugural session, entry to which was by invitation only. This blog post is about my experience of participating in this event and my subsequent take home learning.

The inauguration was to begin at 3.30 pm and we had been warned to take our seats well in advance, within 1.30 pm. I left home at 10.45 am and traveled with three other DISHA members, reaching the venue within the specified time.

When I had heard that entry to the event was by invitation only, I’d imagined a compact group of a few hundred people in a sedate hall. I had even joked with my family and friends about getting a selfie with the PM. Nothing had prepared me for the festive atmosphere that marks a local fair or a public rally. As we waited near the entrance of S-VYASA to catch up with others from Team DISHA and receive our passes, it seemed like a never-ending stream of humanity was winding its way to the venue.

Passing through multiple security checks of our IDs, passes and belongings, we reached the actual place where the inaugural session was to happen and scrambled to find seats. Forget a selfie, I couldn’t even see the stage from where I was seated and had to rely on the display screen to see what was happening.

I was told there were about 8,000 people present against the expected 5,000. Earlier, waiting outside the gate, I had noticed that most of the attendees did not look like the typical conference crowd. The massive crowd and the subsequent events confirmed my hunch….most of the people – much like me – were there not for the conference, but for PM Modi. 

And this, I guess, sums up the magic of the man.

Every time a helicopter was heard whirring overhead, the crowd rose in excitement, chanting “Modi, Modi.” The excitement was palpable and no one was immune from it. In fact, one of the police officials who made quite a few attempts to tell us to sit down gave up after a while in exasperation. The bhajans, the Veda mantras, the conference theme song and its explanation, the commentary from the anchor – all was lost on the crowd that was only waiting to see and hear the PM.

Finally, he arrived to tumultuous cheers that took a while to subside. Other dignitaries spoke but we barely registered what they said because everyone was waiting to hear Modiji speak. Even during the address by the CM of Karnataka, chants of “Modi, Modi” rent the air.

Finally, after releasing a souvenir to mark the conference, the PM stepped up to speak and we were all ears. He began in English, spoke about the importance of yoga and how countries all over the world had adopted it. 

Midway, he cut to Hindi, speaking of his previous visits to SYASA, and reminisced about one of the founders Lakshmi Amma and the love she showered on everyone. The claps were the loudest when he expressed the hope that the hospital at SVYASA would not only heal the ailments of the ill but also be like a river of love in memory of Lakshmi Amma. 

Overall, he emphasized that yoga was now not only India’s heritage but belonged to the whole world and pointed out that we need  knowledgeable and trained yoga experts.

As the PM was completing his speech, people started moving out, again driving home the fact that they had come to see and hear him alone. Not many had the patience to listen to the vote of thanks, either.

We waited for a while to let the surging crowds move and then began our return journey. In the time it took me to reach home, PM Modi had flown back to Delhi and wrapped up a meeting with NSA Ajit Doval to discuss the Pathankot siege.

When he was speaking at SVYASA, I remember thinking that there was nothing extraordinary about the speech nor was it particularly moving. In fact, I felt he appeared a little tired or preoccupied. I had a fleeting thought – what did he say in that 25-minute speech that most of us didn’t know already? 

I also realized that I had probably known this before I asked for a pass to attend the event. Why, then, did I choose to attend, traveling about 70 kms, skipping lunch, and giving up the one day of rest I get after a hard week’s labour? Probably for the same reason as most of the crowd that day – to behold and hear in  real life a man of whom I’ve heard so much that he’s actually grown larger than life. A man who for some reason awakens a strange hope in many of us, that all is not lost.

Come to think of it, the undistinguished speech itself was something to learn from. That real life is often drudge and grind, far from the heroism of rhetoric. The latter holds strong appeal, but the former is what shapes our reality. How long are we going to look for inspiration in our PM’s speeches? A motivating talk may conjure up an image of a bright future, but what is its value if we are only fleetingly moved?

The future he envisions is a dream that most Indians bought into when they voted the BJP to power. Whether that stays a dream or becomes reality depends on how many of us get down to the unglamorous task of staying self-motivated and doing what we can in our individual capacity. A system, a society, is made up of individuals and each one of us is key to its functioning. 

PM Modi may be someone to look up to for pointing out the path ahead but ultimately, whether our country gets there or not depends on how long and how far each one of us is prepared to walk.