Gurupournima Series: Part 1: Obedience to the Guru: Daasharathi

July 24, 2021 is the day of Gurupournima . This is the special day in the life of all saadhakaas (spiritual aspirants) to honor their Guru or Acharyar. To do this in the most effective way, it is critical to develop in ourselves the qualities of a shisya or disciple. As a buildup to that, by the Guru’s grace, I will be putting up one blog post every day from today till July 24. I pray that the Guru tattva blesses us all to be able to understand, imbibe and practice these qualities in our life to be able to make maximum spiritual progress.

Quality 1: Obedience to the Guru

Atthuzhai, a newly-wed young girl, came to her father Periya Nambi in tears. “My mother-in-law taunted me today because you did not send a servant maid as part of my dowry.”

The stoic Periya Nambi replied, “I have no solution for this. Ask your Acharyar.”

So Atthuzhai approached Swami Ramanujar. He instructed his shisya Daasharathi to accompany her to her home and to stay there as the bride’s maid, doing all the necessary tasks. Daasharathi dutifully followed his Guru’s instructions and performed all the work entrusted to him earnestly with sincerity.

One day, someone in Atthuzhai’s house was reciting the scriptural texts in an erroneous manner. With great humility, Daasharathi demonstrated the correct manner of recitation. Everyone who heard him was shocked to realize that he was such a learned person! Until that moment, everyone in that house had thought him to be just a nondescript person sent from Swami Ramanujar’s matham as Atthuzhai’s servant!

Atthuzhai’s mother-in-law was extremely repentant and went to Swami Ramanujar to apologize and requested him to call back Daasharathi to the matham.

Image courtesy: http://www.mudaliandan.com/images/dasarathi/Mudali%20Vaibhav%202014%20-%2023%20copy.jpg

Points to ponder

Daasharathi, was Swami Ramanujar’s nephew (sister’s son) and his first disciple (so he was also called Mudaliaandaan).

Against this background of Daasharathi, let us put ourselves into his shoes.

Can we try to imagine the feelings that may be invoked in a person who has to move from such a ‘prestigious’ position to working as a servant in someone’s house?

What was the quality that made Daasharathi able to happily render service in Atthuzhai’s house?

What was the quality that prevented him from indulging in a display of his actual calibre to Atthuzhai’s family?

When I heard this story first, it taught me how intense one’s Gurubhakti has to be to allow one to blindly obey the Guru’s instructions and to do it in the most effective way possible without letting one’s ego interfere in the process. Indeed, this is the definite pathway to destruction of our ahambhaav or sense of ego.

Image courtesy: http://www.mudaliandan.com/images/dasarathi/Mudali%20Vaibhav%202014%20-%2023%20copy.jpg

Reading this anecdote, it is not surprising that Mudaliaandaan was so dear to Swami Ramanujar. In the Srivaishnava Sampradaayam, the Acharyars carry a ‘Tridandam’ made up of three small wooden sticks to symbolize the Tattvatrayam (three components of the Vishistaadvaita philosophy) – chit (sentient beings), achit (insentient matter) and Eashwara (Brahman or the Supreme God). Swami Ramanujar always called Mudaliaandaan as his Tridandam!

So impeccable and blemish-less was the service of Mudaliaandaan to his Acharyar that he is considered as the paadukaa (lotus feet) of Swami Ramanuja’s paadukaas!

Here is what the humble Mudaliaandaan said about his Acharyar,

"Oru malaiyil ninru, oru malaiyil thaavum simha shareeraththil janthukkaL pole bhaashyakaarar samsaaralanganam paNNa avarOdundaana kudalthudakkaale naam udhdheerdaraavuthomenru muthaliyaandaruLi-ch-cheytha paasuram"

Rough translation: “When a lion leaps from a mountain to another, all the creatures that live on his body go with him. Even so, when Swami Ramanujacharyar transcended this world, all of us who are associated with him benefit from this as well.”

Let us pray for divine grace to develop such intense obedience and Gurubhakti like Mudaliaandaan!

To know more about Mudaliaandaan, read here:

http://www.mudaliandan.com/dasarathi.php

https://anudinam.org/2016/10/19/guru-parampara-series-bhaghavadh-ramanujacharya-part-6/

Saved By The Grace of Krishna

I chanced on a wonderful story narrated by AnuSatheesh on Twitter, and thought, “What better way to get back to blogging than by sharing this story with my readers?” So, here goes….

There was once a poor farmer who had somehow acquired a habit of chanting “Krishna, Krishna” at all times. He did not have particularly deep devotion, but just because he felt good chanting this, he continued to do so.

When a famine struck that place, the farmer found himself struggling with no work to do, and no food to eat. He visited an astrologer to find out what the stars had in store for him. Studying the farmer’s horoscope, the astrologer was confused and didn’t know what words of solace to offer the poor man. “Come back next week, and I’ll be able to tell you what to expect,” he said, bidding goodbye to the farmer.

The next week, the farmer was back, and the astrologer was shocked to see him there. “Tell me all that happened with you in the past week,” he demanded.

“On my way back from your house, I was caught in a downpour,” started the farmer. “To shelter from the rain, I stepped into the only structure there – an ancient, dilapidated Krishna temple. Seeing the sad condition of that place, I had the thought that when I get enough money, I’ll arrange for the renovation and Kumbhaabhishekam (consecration ceremony) of this temple. Suddenly, I heard a loud, angry, hissing sound, and as I desperately looked for the source, my eyes fell upon a huge snake in the temple roof. Scared for my life, I rushed out of the temple!”

“What happened after that?” the astrologer asked.

“No sooner had I run out of the temple, than the whole structure collapsed to the ground, and I was left shaking, wondering at my narrow escape!”

The next moment, the astrologer fell at the farmer’s feet.

“What are you doing, Swami?” cried the shocked farmer, hastily stepping back.

“Great indeed is the grace of Krishna, and blessed are you to have His anugraham!”

“How do you know that?” asked the farmer.

“When I saw your horoscope last week, I could make out that your death was near. Building a Krishna temple was the only parihaaram or remedy to avoid it. You were already struggling for your livelihood, how could I tell you this parihaaram? So, I simply told you to return after a week.”

Can we grasp what had happened here?

Krishna came as the snake to protect the farmer from dying in the temple collapse!

Krishna accepted the Kumbhaabhishekam that the farmer performed merely in his mind!

Even though he had no deep devotion, the farmer kept chanting Krishna’s name and this, along with his one moment’s desire to serve Krishna, is what protected him and averted disaster.

If doing something without much involvement can give such rewards, can we even imagine the fruits we can reap, when we chant Krishna’s name and pray to Him with love?

Of Living and Dying and Continuing to Live in Others' Memory

Recently, a college mate shared the news of the demise of one of the lab assistants of the college where we studied. In passing, he mentioned about how this person was the one who never provided us with distilled water that we needed for our experiments; as a result, we always had to ‘steal’ it from the lab when he wasn’t around. Someone else remembered how he would always shout at us.

A third person then stepped in to say, “We ALL remember him….despite what my teenage thoughts may have made me say or feel, in retrospect, I’m thankful for the role he played, in giving me the life I live today.” This, I feel, is an amazing response, and quite the benchmark for how we ought to feel about all the unpleasant people we encounter through our life journey. Easy to say, but quite very difficult to practice.

But this discussion also set me thinking about something I read recently. Stephen Covey in “The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People” asks readers to visualize the event of their own death. He then asks you to imagine “What you would want people from your family, friend circle, workplace, and any community organization to say about you and your life? What character would you like them to have seen in you? What achievements would you want them to remember? What difference would you like to have made in their lives?”

Over the past couple of days, social media has been full of eulogies for the great singer S. P. Balasubrahmanyam and what is astounding is that so many of them are from ordinary folk you and I know. SPB touched people through his music but unknown to many of us, he was also deeply involved with helping others – whether it was sponsoring chess champion Vishwanathan Anand’s team in the national team championship in 1983, or raising funds for charitable causes through his stage shows. Did you know, for example, that he set up the SPS Charitable Foundation in memory of his father? Through this platform, he was involved with providing financial help for a plethora of organizations involved with education, palliative care, serving the disabled, flood relief, cine musicians, orphanages, and on and on the list goes. 

Image courtesy: The New Indian Express

I watched a video clip on Twitter in which SPB is seen surprising a blind fan hailing from Sri Lanka. Another video showed me the legend’s humility as he touched the feet of the ‘doli’ bearers who were to carry him to the Sri Ayyappan shrine at Sabarimala. I read online about how, in August, when SPB’s health condition was steadily declining, the same temple did something it had never before done – it performed a musical puja to Sri Ayappan for SPB’s recovery, and after this, one of the temple musicians rendered the Naadaswaram to his award-winning “Shankaraaa….naadashareeraa…”

Well, if we had to correlate SPB’s life with Stephen Covey’s questions……you can fill in the blanks for yourself.

I haven’t told many of you this. On the night of 5th September this year, my nephew Shreeharsha passed away from issues that traced their origin to long-standing health problems. He used to write, too, and had even penned a piece of our visit to Haridwar and Rishikesh in 2015. (You can read that post here)

In his short journey of 31 years, he touched all our lives with his unique wit and humor and inspired us by his refusal to let his physical handicap limit his abilities to enjoy life and true to his name, spread joy. Harsha was a great fan of the Bengaluru Football Club, and a vociferous supporter, often traveling to different parts of the country to support his beloved team. Closer home, he was the inspiration for my son to get actively involved with football. 

After Harsha’s demise, we, his family, grieved his passing, reminiscing about the things he did and said and the way he lived. Quite surprising to us was the outpouring of grief from his larger circle of friends and even mere acquaintances. Twitter and Facebook were filled with posts from his friends, colleagues at all the places he worked and of course, hundreds of BFC fans. A common thread that ran through all their remembrances was his positive spirit and ability to make people feel comfortable after just a few minutes of interaction.

As I told my niece, Harsha’s sister Rajashree, about this phenomenon, she exclaimed, “I wonder where he found the time to do things to create such an impression on so many people!” As we pondered over this question, it struck me that impressions get formed by what one IS as a person – when that is impactful enough, there is never the need to DO something separately to create an impression.

Whether it was the lab assistant or SPB or Harsha or me or you whenever our time comes, it is the way we live our lives, the things we do and say as we pass through this life’s journey that will sustain in our wake.

On Being a Teacher in the Pandemic

I enter my ‘Classroom’, but I’m not going to stay there for too long. I’m only there to “Share something with my class” – the “Joining info” to let them enter the “Meeting” I’ve started on Meet. I toggle buttons to move back to the “Meeting” and wait for the students to arrive so that I can “Admit” them in.

I miss the luxury of having students waiting for me to arrive.

They arrive in one’s and two’s, but I can’t see or hear them – their cameras and microphones are turned off in the new classroom etiquette, and I won’t hear them talk until I invite them to do so by wishing them “Good morning, students!”.

I miss hearing their loud chorus of “Good Morning, Ma’am” that is capable of pushing everything beyond that moment from my mind.

I miss being able to smile at them and having them smile back, creating an infectious high energy vibe. 

I miss the unconscious scan my eyes and 6^th or 7^th sense would run over the class to measure their energy and interest level so that I knew how to amp up or down my pace of teaching

Some students take time to arrive. It’s no longer the “I missed the bus” or “I got stuck in a traffic jam” excuses. The ‘rate-limiting-step’ has morphed – it’s the speed of their mobile network service provider that’s the culprit for their delay.

Three minutes into the “Meeting”, about 80% of the class is in, so I decide it’s time to “Present Now” and choose “Present a Window” as I unmute my microphone and wish the class “Good Morning”. A few return wishes reach my ears. I don’t “Turn on my camera” because of various reasons that range from ‘no dress code for teaching from home’ to ‘family member dashing into and out of the bathroom nearby’. But the most important reason for not enabling video is that connectivity is always more stable with the video off.

I miss having my class look at me while I’m teaching. I wonder if they miss it too, and wonder if the energy in my voice is enough to sustain them through the hour. I pray it will suffice.

I continue to explain what is there in my presentation. I’ve sat up till midnight of the previous day to make sure that along with the text, my presentation contains diagrams and tables and graphs to help the students understand the topic better. I ask questions in between to make sure that they have understood what I’m explaining.

I miss being able to judge my students’ understanding – or lack of it – from a mere glance at their facial expressions.

I toggle between parts of the presentation as I go back and forth to emphasize an earlier point to explain the present one. I try to keep each slide in place for at least half a minute to make sure that all students – even the ones with a slow network – are able to see what I’m talking about.

I miss the way I used to walk from one side to another to connect the concepts I’ve explained by writing on the blackboard. 

Which reminds me – I miss my chalk piece and duster, too. 

I miss the dust of the ‘dustless’ chalk getting into my eyes when I rub the board. 

I miss the polka dot spray the white dust created on my shoulders. 

I miss having to wash my hands free of the calcium carbonate (instead of the SARS-CoV-2 I’m now trying to keep away).

After about 48 minutes of class, I decide to stop. When I myself cannot sustain talking for an hour, how can I expect my students to listen for so long? I check if they have any doubts. I ask if they have received the notes I sent. I tell them about some PDFs and links I’ll be sharing after the class. And finally, I say, “Let’s close today’s class” and give them permission to “Leave”. There’s a smattering of “Thank you, Ma’am”s that I hear as I click the red telephone icon to myself “Leave” the “Meeting”.

I miss the days when I’d overstay my time in class because we were discussing something important about a problem the students faced.

I miss the impromptu activities and games I’d sometimes have them play to learn an important life skill because either of us was too bored to study heavy-duty pharmacy syllabus.

We’re only teaching theory now in our online classes. Practical experiments will be done whenever regular college starts.

I’ve been missing the smell of chemicals that would cling to me after a lab session. 

I’ve even begun to miss the headache that would result after hours of non-stop peering about three times per microscope multiplied by 20 microscopes, repeated thrice a week. 

The only headaches I have now come from staring at a screen that connects and yet separates me from my students.

I’ve just begun teaching a new subject - Pharmaceutical Microbiology. And thanks to what I’m learning anew, as I write this blog, I realize that as a teacher, I’m not the strict autotroph I thought I was. I can’t make all of my own energy – I need to draw quite a bit of it from the emotional connection that grows as I interact day in and out, face-to-face, with my students.

On this Teacher’s Day, I’d like to thank all the students I’ve taught in all these 20 years before the pandemic. You’re the ones who made it a most memorable journey for me, and those memories will always stay special.

To the students I’m now teaching through a virtual medium, thank you for your cooperation, and hopefully, we’ll be able to connect better by the time we’re through this semester.

  

Learning from Nandi

A few days ago, I went to Malleshwaram to buy yellow Srichurnam for my father-in-law. In case you don't know what it is  - Srichurnam is the yellow or red tilak sported by Srivaishnavas on their forehead.

On the 8th Cross off Sampige Road, there are shops that sell all pooja/Hindu-ritual related items, and you can recognize them by the typical "cones" they have of turmeric and vermilion - arashina/haldi and kumkum. 

It's been ages since I had an occasion to visit these shops, but I knew the Srichurnam and some other items I wanted would definitely be available there. Now there are 3 shops of this type right next to each other and on a whim, I chose to go to the first one I saw as I approached the trio. 

A young boy was sitting there, and very pleasantly, he gave me the items I wanted and told me the amount I was to pay. Just as I was drawing money out of my purse, he extended a Haldi-Kumkum set towards me and said, "Madam, Arshina-Kumkuma togoli." He was asking me to take or apply the turmeric and vermilion in the gesture that is so very common in South Indian homes when married women visit. 

I was a little surprised, and my mind ran through the possibilities of it being some festival day. But I couldn't find anything significant about that day, so I simply asked the boy whether there was something special in their shop that day and the reason why he was offering the arashina-kumkuma to me. 

He replied that it was a practice he had cultivated, and he offered it to any "Sumangali" or married woman who came to purchase things from his shop. 

Such a simple gesture, but it made me feel so good and "at home". 

As I talked a little more with him and asked permission to take the picture of him in his shop with the Arshina-Kumkuma set, I learned a little more about him. His name is Nandi, and he has studied till 1st PUC, but couldn't continue studying (although he desperately wanted to) because of his family's financial difficulties. Now, he mans the shop but has fond hopes of answering the 2nd PUC exam privately. He also said he is looking out for a good job.  

Chatting with young Nandi, I was struck by how our culture survives because of such people who continue their traditional practices. Despite having his own set of problems, he was smiling and pleasant and had a positive spirit which I'm sure will take him far ahead in life. 

I said as much to him and told him to keep up his efforts to study. I wished him saying "Devaru volledu maadali" - which translates into "May God bless you with good things." 

I left the shop with not just my Srichurnam but also with a fond memory of one simple gesture that warmed my heart and a lesson about staying positive even in the face of difficult situations.

Edit: One of my friends Dr. Nirmala, wrote to me after reading this post. 
"Really touching.
Had the same experience when I had visited.
When I offered him some extra money , he refused
Was really taken aback by his self esteem." 

A Sunday's Learning from Mrs. P

"Madam, Madam!" a voice floated in through the window. 
Something about it told me this was one of those salespersons who go home to home with their products. It was a slow Sunday morning, so I opened the door to see what the matter was. 

Outside my door stood an elderly woman, whom I guessed to be in her fifties. In her hands were 2 small plastic bottles that held a green-colored liquid. She thrust them towards me and began her marketing spiel about the newly launched herbal disinfectant and even opened one of the bottles for me to smell the liquid inside. 

I had enough stock of floor disinfectant for another month at least; but something about the way this woman talked got my attention. Mrs. P was delivering her sales pitch in a manner unlike any salesperson I'd come across till then. 

There was a quiet dignity about her, a genuineness in her selling that made it sound like she wasn't actually selling, but just informing you of something for your good. Perhaps that is the reason why I couldn't refuse her, and ended up buying 4 of those bottles.

As the money exchanged hands, I couldn't resist asking Mrs. P the question that had been uppermost in my mind. But I tried to couch it in polite terms to avoid hurting her. She was just as dignified in her reply. Her eyes clouded over, but still, with a calm smile, she explained how she had begun working in her late forties due to family problems. And that she had continued working even after the children started to earn, because she didn't want to be a dependent.

With a twinkle in her eyes, she asked me to guess what her age may be. 

"Hmmm...55?" I suggested.

Her smile grew wider. "No, 68," she corrected.

I was shocked, because she didn't at all look that age! I found myself wondering even more at her positive and happy spirit. Yes, she had difficulties, but just see how she was cheerfully going about coping with them! I said as much and expressed my happiness at having met her, because I had learned something from her. 

She smiled again and folded her hands in the typical 'Namaskar' mudra. 

"Thank you, Madam, for your kind words," she said, "It is the good wishes of people like you, and God's blessings that are my biggest strengths!"

I was so lost in the wonder of this amazing encounter that I forgot to ask if I could click a photo of her. By the time I realized, she had moved away from the gate. From my frantic efforts, I caught just a glimpse of her through the window.

And Mrs. P goes marching on....!

I've preserved this photograph as a reminder of  how one must face adversity with dignity and cheerfulness and a sense of counting our blessings.And I'm sharing it with you dear readers, to pass on the same positive spirit to you, too.

When the COVID-19 lockdown began, I couldn't help wonder about what Mrs. P was doing, and how she was coping. Given her positive attitude, however, I'm sure she would have found some way to still stay cheerful!

How to Go From Monkey to Monk: Keep Your Eyes Closed?

Covid-19 lockdown is a mixed bag for us teachers. We’ve had to adapt quickly to teaching online, and are slowly learning the art of balancing college work and home work when working from home.

During these trying times, the silver lining has been the opportunity to upgrade our own knowledge, free from the restrictions of desh and kaal (place and time), thanks to the plethora of webinars/online conferences being conducted by institutions across the country and the globe.

Yesterday, I attended Day 1 of a 5-day Faculty Development Program, hosted by GIET School of Pharmacy, Andhra Pradesh.

Dr. B. G. Nagavi, one of the most distinguished innovator-teachers of the pharmacy profession in recent times (and so much more – you can check his profile here http://hesdarcenter.com/promoters/), was doing a presentation about education research.

While talking about the very important role of a teacher, Dr. Nagavi played a video, narrating an anecdote from a teacher’s life.

Here’s the summary of the story; if you want to hear it for yourself, click this link https://youtu.be/yf-AlywtY5g


A young man walked up to an older man at a gathering and introduced himself, saying, “I’m one of your students.” The teacher greeted him and asked about what the young man was now doing.

“I’m into education. I’m also a teacher.”

“Great! So what inspired you to go into education?”

“You!”

“Me!? How?”

The young man answered, “One day a boy in our class brought a new watch to school. I liked it a lot, and because I wanted it, I stole it. He realized the watch was missing, and complained to you, the teacher. You announced the news and asked whoever had stolen it to return the watch.

I didn’t return it.

Then you closed the classroom door and asked all the kids to line up facing the wall. You ordered us all to close our eyes tight until you had finished searching through all our pockets. We did as you said. You went from one boy to the next, looking through the pockets and when you came to me, you found the watch in my pocket! Yet, you kept moving through every child’s pockets and at the end, you announced the watch had been found, and handed it over to the rightful owner.

You never said a word to anyone about it. That day, you saved my dignity. I was ashamed of myself and decided not to do such a thing again. But you never ever asked me about the incident, either. You saved my soul by your action. I learned how a real educator must be and because of you, I was inspired to go into the teaching profession.

I’m sure you remember this episode, so you must remember me, Sir?”

The teacher replied, “I remember the event you mention. But I don’t remember you. Because that day, while going through the children’s pockets, I closed my eyes, too.”

This story is meant to drive home the message of how wonderfully inspiring teachers can be. It is supposed to make us teachers more aware of how our actions can impact our students.

For me, however, it triggered an even deeper realization of how vital it is for teachers to be self-aware.

“I closed my eyes too!”

What a sensitive, thoughtful, and loving act by the teacher!

How self-aware must this teacher have been, to realize that he is likely to be affected by knowing who the offending student is!

How strongly the teacher must have been motivated to not let himself get prejudiced by one wanton act of a young child!

What an immense control of mind he must have possessed to decide he didn’t want to know who the errant child was!

Can we even imagine the degree of self-awareness, and goodness of heart and magnitude of self-control someone needs to be like the teacher in this story?

Even as these thoughts raced through my mind, I was struck by another, deeper one. 

Can I learn to be like this teacher in the other areas of my life, too? 

Can I unlearn the tendency to notice the unpleasant things people do, can I stop mentally branding them, and give them another chance to become their better selves? 

Is this the ‘key’ that I must lose, to make the transition from ‘Monkey’ to ‘Monk’?