The "Pak" Divide

I put up a photograph on Facebook, featuring the outcome of one of my culinary expeditions during this Navaratri. The caption reads: “Mysore Pak for the festival.. with paraphernalia also included...I'm being extra cautious at a time when asking for proof appears to be the flavor of the season.”

Having shot that missile, I go into virtual hibernation because there’s too much happening in the real world. A phone call from a honcho whom I have offered to help with some writing; preparing ‘muruku’ and the day’s ‘sundal;’ welcoming guests; serving them the snacks and seeing them off after the customary ‘taamboolam.’

Around midnight, when I finally log back onto Facebook, I notice that my wall has begun to resemble Arnab Goswami’s Newshour.

Some people are making polite noises by ‘liking’ or ‘loving’ the picture, others are more volubly passionate in their expression. One Mysore Pak fan – obviously a puritan – comments that the sweet needed to be more porous and offers a tip on how to get the texture right. He gets seconded by someone (one of my closest friends – Brutus!) and the latter’s husband joins the party to express an opinion opposing hers.

He is promptly chastised by the puritan, who brings in the great “Pak Divide” – a conflict that has held the citizens of two neighboring states in its vice-like grip for ages before it had to cede space to the more pressing Cauvery issue. Because, of course, we don’t have the equivalent of a Marie Antoinette to tell people without water to make Mysore Pak instead. The only one with a tenuous link to Mysore royalty defected to the other side. Over the years, she drew our water too, away and whether it is the ravages of time, or retribution for trespassing holy fault lines, she now lies ailing in secrecy.

Sigh.Talking of Arnab, I have unknowingly taken on a quality of his panelists and digressed from the issue on hand. Let’s re-orient our mental compass and get back to the Pak debate.

On my wall, one guy steps in with a comment that, with ‘surgical’ precision, reveals the drift of my caption’s intention and rescues the discussion from paradropping into a culinary debate.

Today, much longer, after my expedition and public acceptance of the event, the picture continues to attract attention. I cannot help but think of how similar the situation is to the current debate that initially inspired my caption.

Some people take things as presented and say it’s perfect the way it is. Some others try to point out their opinion of how it should have been done. Some people want to know how it is done. For some people, the doer’s claim of having done it and the body of proof provided is not good enough – they still ask, did you really do it?

And, perhaps most important of all …wait, I need to spell out a disclaimer here. No offence intended to Nandhini, a close and dear relative who I know didn’t mean her comment to imply what I’m going to say it did….just that in an Arnabesque way, I’m using her comment to drive home a vital point of the larger issue here.

And perhaps most important of all, the one sounding unbelieving – despite the doer providing proof – is not an outsider, but an insider, who, one expects, would have known better than to doubt the doer’s capabilities.

It’s not as if such expeditions haven’t been undertaken before – they have. It’s not that the efforts have passed unnoticed – they have. But there have been two major features that set this episode apart.

First, the obvious one – the event has been made public on a social platform that engages far more persons than those who are only at the receiving end. The second, and more astounding one – this time around, there has been a drastic veering off the standard track in such a way that the product itself is a different one. To the ones watching from afar, it looks like the same old stuff, but those with a ringside view and sampling opportunity, know it’s a distinctive development.

The Mysore Pak is not actually Mysore Pak.

It’s a related sweet called ‘7 Cups’ because it is made by mixing 3 cups of sugar with 1 cup each of gram flour (besan), milk, coconut and ghee. Faced with a power cut that prevented grinding of the grated coconut, I changed tack to come up with a leaner and meaner product. Discarding the 1 cup of coconut and correspondingly, half a cup each of sugar and ghee, this confection-without-a-name was successfully planned, executed and publicized to great fanfare.

The bottom line – about 12 people (equally distributed on both sides of the "Pak" divide) who consumed the product have heaped praise on the one preparing it and that’s good enough – for now. Will there be more such daring expeditions? Maybe – at a time of the doer’s choosing. 

Will the experience gained from making the expedition public this time, cause a change in recipe? Maybe, maybe not – it will depend on the flavor of that season !

The Song of Life

Hauling his bag and gasping for breath, he rushed into the restaurant. Luckily, the wall clock read 10.50 am and he relaxed as he took his time setting up his synthesizer and tuning the mike to get just the right note for a day of mellow music. He’d been told that several group bookings had been made for today by patrons celebrating birthdays and wedding anniversaries. He was ready with his stock of golden romantic songs and a few swinging new numbers that were always a hit with the restaurant’s usual crowd.

As he settled down to begin the live performance, he rifled through the pockets of his coat for his phone to switch it off. Once or twice he’d forgotten to do it and those were precisely the occasions when some pesky telecaller had rung to offer him a club membership he couldn’t afford. Now, as his fingers searched frantically, he couldn’t locate the phone in his coat or in his bag. A quick mental retracing of his actions before leaving home made him realize he’d forgotten it on the bed at home. That was good in a way – at least he didn’t have to bother about it ringing midway through his performance. Besides, there were hardly any calls he received ever since he’d fallen on hard times.

As the restaurant started getting filled, he began crooning soft numbers, keeping to his list of chosen songs. As each of the birthday groups came in, he sang the “Happy Birthday” song in the person’s name and then went on to sing some specific song they wanted. Some of the celebrators left the choice to him and he put his heart and soul into singing what he thought best suited their age or situation.

As he sang, watching the people talking and eating, he wondered about them. That couple who looked admiringly into each other’s eyes…would they make a loving life together? That man who sat with his teenage son, neither talking much, both seemingly lost in their own thoughts – were they here because the woman of the house was away and there was no one to cook at home? That lady and her daughter celebrating the kid’s birthday were here with other adults but the father seemed to be missing…what could have kept a dad away on such an important occasion? Did that married couple celebrating their 15th wedding anniversary seem to be a bit subdued or was that just the way some people were?

Whatever, surveying these people celebrating with their loved ones, he prayed they stay happy and laughing that way forever.

He reached home after a complimentary dinner at the restaurant. It had been a long and tiring day but he felt strangely satisfied.

Fishing out his phone from under the blanket, he checked to see if there were any calls he had missed. No, there had been no calls today. Nothing, except for an email from TimesJobs. Although he always automatically deleted those messages, today he clicked to read. It read,

On your birthday,

We wish you a great career ahead

Hey Sujay,
On your special day, we wish you lots of happiness and prosperity all round the year. On this special occasion, you surely would want to know how your stars are placed for the coming year and what actions you should take to make the best out of the available opportunities? To know more…………….

Price and Value

They enter the shop warily, as if intimidated by the glow of the gold and diamonds shining from the showcases. Quite obviously, they are not the jewelry-buying types. The shop owner asks what they want and one of them takes the lead in requesting to be shown a small idol of Ganesha made of Panchaloha. The owner directs his assistant to bring out a few samples which are displayed to the group. 

Each of the three men pick up one or the other idol, look at it this way and that and swing it in their hand to feel its weight. One of the men is middle-aged and his appearance and mannerisms make him appear a little slow on the uptake. The other two are elderly men – perhaps his dad and uncle – and seem to be indulgent of their younger companion. The shop owner and assistant watch them alertly, careful to keep track of who is handling which idol and to make sure no piece disappears.

After about 15 minutes of looking at around 8 different idols, enquiring about their price time and again, and exchanging lengthy opinions over each of those, the men still haven’t made up their mind. The shop owner is getting impatient although there are no other customers in the shop except the one writing this piece.

Then, the middle-aged man asks for the price of two pieces he has narrowed down on. With a condescending look on his face, the shop owner again quotes the price of one as Rs. 1000/- and the other as Rs. 1400/- One of the elderly men asks the younger guy if he has enough to pay for the idol and offers to help out if there is a shortage. The younger man says he will manage and go to the ATM nearby if necessary.

The shop owner watches these discussions impatiently. Then, in a tone that the well-heeled reserve for those hard up, he suggests they purchase the less expensive one because it’s almost the same size as the other, with the only difference being in the weight.

Almost as if that statement helped him decide, the younger man, in a firm voice, says he has decided to go with the one costing Rs. 1400/- As the shop owner is packing it up, he asks if they will be using it for the pooja on Ganesh Chathurthi. The guy looks straight at him and says, “Yes, it is our custom that first, we will do pooja for it and then, give it in daan (donation) to someone.”

Panchloha Ganesha idol cost: Rs. 1400/-

The look on the shop owner’s face: Priceless

Rewards Galore

Today begins as just another routine day. Walking into the lab to the chorus of a cheery “Good Morning, Ma’am.” Explaining the principle and procedure of the day’s experiment. Supervising the students and ensuring they do things right. Sitting down to correct test papers.

A student comes up to my table to hesitatingly say, “Ma’am..that thing you told us in class the other day..” I brace myself to give an answer to some question about intellectual property rights in relation to natural products because that is what last class has been about. As usual, I have given some extra, out of syllabus information about the ethics of patent battles over gene technology, and told the students to read up about Angelina Jolie’s double mastectomy, the BRCA1 gene and Myriad Genetics (see- the teacher in me just won’t give up…now, I’m hoping someone else who reads this article will also have enough leads in case they want to also read up on this topic!)

Coming back to my student…she is saying, “Ma’am, remember you told us that if we get angry or irritated with our parents, we should not say anything immediately but keep quiet for few minutes and then, after cooling down, analyze if they are correct or not? Ma’am, I followed your advice ever since that day and my mother got very surprised and asked if something is wrong with me.....I told her that one of my teachers advised this and so, I’m trying to follow it. You know Ma’am, she was so happy … and she told me to go and fall at your feet.”

And, suddenly, just like that, a mundane day gets transformed into a beautiful, anything-but-routine day.

Now, it’s VERY obvious that besides out-of-syllabus-but-still-in-subject topics, I also push the boundaries on what’s really not in any subject of what the Rajiv Gandhi University of Health Sciences of Karnataka deems fit for Pharmacy students to study ;-)

Quite a few times, I find the monster of self-doubt raising its ugly head when I give out such gyaan in class. I wonder if these things that I spend time and energy on are of any use to anyone and examine my motives in continuing to do so. But every once in a while, a student comes up like this, when I least expect it, and says something that decimates that ugly monster and leaves me with a strangely fulfilling sense of quiet content at having gone with my instinct.

I have recently completed a 2-year M. S. in Counseling and Psychotherapy course by distance education. The results have been declared in February itself and I have obtained 62% - a score that seems very low to my “academic-conditioned” brain. But out of a conviction born out of observing the life circumstances of my passed-out students, I have not fretted too much over it because frankly, marks do not quantify the expertise or skill a person has – more so in a subject like counseling.

About 6 hours after that conversation with my student, I reach home to find a letter delivered from the institution through which I had done my counseling course. It congratulates me for having got the 10th Rank in the University and asks me to fill out a form and send copies of my marks cards and photos at the earliest.

I’m elated at this turn of events and rush with the letter into my pooja room to bow at His feet. After all, isn’t it His Grace that has blessed me to have the best of both worlds!

And then, I hurry - uncharacteristically - to announce this latter event to all my family, friends and well-wishers - after all, it's their blessings, goodwill and wishes too that are my biggest strength !!

Of Krishna and Prayers

“Gundu mallige, shaavantige, roja hoovu,” calls out the flower vendor who passes by my house every morning. I pause in the middle of preparing my sweet offering for Krishna Jayanthi and hurry out to purchase some jasmine flowers from him. As he measures and hands over the length of flower I have requested, he says, “Wait, I will give you some roses too.” I reflexively say I don’t need them because I already have a few at home. He smiles at me and says ever so sweetly, “Madam, take them as a gift from me for Krishna’s pooja.”

I finish preparing my sweet and savouries and reach my in-laws place by the late afternoon. I’ve been very busy the past few days and this means there has been no time to prepare the usual number of items I do every Janmaashthami. I console myself with the thought that I will try to make up for it next time. Time flies as my mother in law and I work together to get everything ready for the final pooja to be offered to Krishna and dinner that will follow.

Once the ritualistic worship begins, I find my mind begin to center on my usual prayer asking Krishna to bless me with Jnana, Bhakti and Vairagya. I remember a story I once heard narrated in a satsang. Arjuna wanted to know how Krishna answers prayers and so, Krishna took him in invisible form to a village. There was a rich merchant who was praying to Krishna asking for more wealth. Krishna said, “Tathastu,” and he was blessed with even greater wealth. A little distance away, there was a poor milkman who was eking out a living by selling milk from the sole cow he owned who was tethered to a post outside the house. This milkman was praying to Krishna saying, “Teach me to surrender to you and grant me liberation.” Krishna said, “Tathastu,” and the cow outside the house fell down dead.

Arjuna was shocked and angry at Krishna’s actions and demanded to know why He gave wealth to an already rich man and took away the only source of livelihood of the poor milkman. Krishna smilingly explained, “I give everyone what they ask for. The rich man wanted only wealth; I gave it to him. The milkman wanted Me – so, I took away that which was the final obstacle preventing him from surrendering to and attaining Me!”

Even as I remember this story, I look at the flowers adorning the idols and pictures of Krishna. And for just a few moments, the handful of roses offered by my flower vendor seem to glow a bit brighter and Krishna seems to send a radiant smile my way.

Where are the incredible minds?

Yesterday, I attended a Management Development Program at a college. It was to host speakers on topics such as Mentoring, Psychometric Counseling, Administrative Techniques and Health and Happiness. I had enthusiastically registered for this program – which is far far away from the pharmaceutical field I currently inhabit professionally – in the hope of learning something new in a field I hope to someday inhabit professionally.

At the end of that program, I was left with a sense of being let down. Intellectually unsatisfied. Like I went expecting a banquet and was fed crumbs of stale food (only figuratively though, because the food at the event was quite good). There was not one thing spoken of that I did not already know. Not one way of handling the topics that made me sit up and say, “Aha! This is something I need to learn!”  The speakers’ handling of their topics was superficial to say the least. It was as if they were unwilling to delve deeper to convey something of real value.

For example, with speakers who come highly recommended as faculty from an institute like NIMHANS, I don’t expect a presentation that just lays out the general outline of a topic in a cursory manner, giving me information that is just off the internet. What a rich experience such a person must be privy to in the course of her practice! Why not use snippets from there to enrich your presentation?

If you are a speaker from a prestigious company like WIPRO, of course you need to be careful about not revealing certain confidential information. But must that make your presentation seem like you’re heading towards a certain crux point and then, just deflect without making it?

To be honest, even at the cost of sounding like I have a superiority complex, I must confess that I felt I would have done a far superior job of getting vital information across even though these are topics outside my area of expertise all these years.

Even as I pondered over this, I wondered why so many of the other faculty members attending seemed to be over the moon with even this basic information. Maybe it is the fact that we don’t demand quality from the speakers at conferences that lets the speakers get by with so little effort.

Why has the teaching profession grown so intellectually weak? Maybe it has to do with the fact that many in this profession are in it because they had no other option…but it is infinitely sad to think that a profession that is supposed to shape up our future generation is mostly filled with mediocre stuff. An Arjuna was possible because of his innate talent and hard work, but didn’t the deft guiding hand of Dronacharya play an equally important role? Would Swami Vivekananda have achieved his total potential if not for a guide like Sri Ramakrishna Paramahansa?

And then, just as I was feeling so despondent, today morning, I read an article in the Indian Express. The piece was about Pullela Gopichand. Unless you are an Indian who has been living under a rock since the past 48 hours, you know who this guy is and the glory he helped P. V. Sindhu achieve.

The article says Gopichand was starved of inputs, strategy and knowledge from his coach which caused him to lose out in the Sydney 2000 Olympics. This realization may have made him temporarily bitter, but it later drove him to provide the same to his athletes along with what could prove to be the deciding factor that determines who will win – an incredible mind off court.

This last bit – an incredible mind – is something that is becoming increasingly rare. But still, that there are people like Gopichand is a big source of hope and relief for people like me because it means I’m not being wrong or egoistic in seeking to gain or impart excellence.

Happy Independence Day 2016!

The sun shines faintly, playing peek-a-boo with the cloud cover that threatens to engulf it. A cool breeze blows as I hurry across the campus quadrangle, past the students and staff already lined up, to reach the college office. We’ve been free for 69 years, but as of now, there appears to be no freedom from practices like marking your biometric attendance at the Independence Day celebrations. 

A few minutes later, the guests for the event – the President and Secretary of the Trust running the Vivekananda Group of Institutions – arrive. They are welcomed and led to their designated position near the flag pole by the NCC Cadets. Just one small tug on the rope and the tricolor unfurls to shower flower petals on the map of India recreated below. 

As the National Flag flies proudly in the sky, there is a smattering of applause that is drowned out as the strident voices singing the National Anthem reach a crescendo. As the entire campus reverberates to the chant of “Bharat Mata ki Jai,” I find an inexplicable divine peace in this routine chant even as my eyes grow slightly moist.

The NCC Cadets go through their routine as do the children of the School Band. They’ve been practicing hard the past few days, forcing faint-voiced teachers like me even on the fourth floor to take short breaks in between a lecture. Their efforts lend fruit – the entire routine goes off as planned and it is then time to troop into the auditorium for the small cultural program. 

I head to the front of the auditorium to join three of my students who are to sing a patriotic song. After everyone settles down, the program begins. Tiny tots come up and make a valiant effort to give a speech in which they say a few sentences about the significance of the occasion. Older kids and college students present group songs, dances and a skit. The skit ends with a soulful rendition of the National Anthem by Lata Mangeshkar and spontaneously, without any instruction whatsoever, the entire auditorium stands as one. The performances are not master-class; but they serve the important purpose of anchoring these kids to their country and their culture and imbue them with gratitude for the sacrifices of those who got us freedom.

The guests speak, narrating their experiences of a pre-Independent India. The Secretary was in Class 2 and the President was studying his B.Sc. Honours in Chemistry when our country gained freedom from the British. They exhort the younger generation to cultivate the right values that will help lead the country further.


Quoting the famous Kannada poet Sri. D. V. Gundappa (fondly called DVG), the President makes a strong appeal to everyone to try and serve society in whatever small way they can without looking for any reward in return. He also talks of the need for teachers to be role models to cultivate values in their students. I smile inwardly at a thought many people call typical of “idealistic me.” Perhaps, the day this advice is taken to heart by each and every person serving in an educational institution, that will be the day when biometric attendance systems will grow redundant.

About two hours after I entered the campus, I am on my way out – back to the routine of an unhurried day at home on a holiday. But those two hours, spent in the company of my fellow-Indians, dwelling on the many privileges we enjoy in a free India, will keep my patriotic batteries charged until the next such events – Gandhi Jayanti and later, Republic Day – when the entire sequence will repeat.

I’ve been attending Independence Day celebrations since the past 16 years. Maybe it is the “mahaul” that prevails in the media discourse today; or perhaps it is just a feature of growing older and understanding what really counts in life – whatever the reason, I feel the urge to crystallize this memory of what this day is like for posterity.

Or maybe, it is to give myself yet another reason to feel fortunate to be born in this blessed land and serve in this noble profession that gives me an opportunity to contribute to creating sons and daughters who will serve Bharat Mata.