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.

Of Childhood and Colourful Ambitions

It was Ranga Panchami – the day of the Holi festival. Classes had been suspended for students of my college because we have many North Indian students for whom it is a major festival. However, the management had extended no such relaxation for the students of the other institutions in the same campus or for us teachers. 

As I sat grading answer papers in the staffroom, the office attender who came with a cup of tea remarked in passing that my son was having a gala time, playing Holi with his friends. She said she’d seen a huge group of kids and teenagers outside my house as she passed by it on her way to the tea stall.Engrossed in trying to make sense of an illegibly scrawled answer, I just nodded absent-mindedly.

When I reached home for lunch, I noticed the entire front portion leading from the gate to the main door was covered with puddles of colored water. Although my son was nowhere around, there was a stained t-shirt and shorts left soaking in a bucket in the bathroom. My father-in-law who was at our home that day, said the kid had bathed, had lunch and gone to a friend’s house nearby. I found all the taps had run dry and requested the neighbor who lives in the house above to kindly switch on the motor to fill the overhead tank. My neighbours are an elderly couple and Uncle did as I asked.

Later in the day, when I got back from college, there were currency notes and coins, totalling about Rs. 47/- lying on the dining table. When I asked my son about who had left it there, he proudly claimed it to be his first earning obtained by providing a service. He even went on to say that it would have been higher, but he had to share some part with his friend. I asked him for the details and slowly, the entire story emerged.

His friend had come home with the colors and they had played Holi outside the house. A few minutes later, a group of about 6 – 10 college-age boys had passed by, their clothes, arms and faces fully stained with the festive colors. Noticing the tap outside our house and seeing my son and his friend using the water to clean themselves, the youngsters had also come forward to use the water.

My son and his friend set themselves up to ration the water to them – for a princely sum of Rs. 5/- for two mugs of water. As time passed, word spread to other kids in the vicinity that there was a place close by where you could clean up to some decent level before proceeding home and so, the water business outside my home had boomed. Since my son and his friend had both done the hard work of counting out and pouring the mugs of water, keeping tabs on who used how much, and collecting the money, it was decided that the entire amount collected would be divided equally among them.

I was appalled to think my son had “sold” the water. I asked him why he had not let the kids simply use the water instead of charging them for it. When the reply came, I looked at my kid with new eyes.

My son knew the water level in our overhead tank was less because I had warned him to use minimal quantity of water. But in the demand of the youth, he saw an opportunity to counteract any after effects. His logic – even if the water in the tank got over, he would have at least generated enough revenue to buy us some bottled water to last till the end of the day when water supply was to be restored! Besides, he thought that Amma will not be irritated when she realized that her son had acted on her mantra often passed on to him – “every problem had a solution”!!

Later in the day, my neighbor Aunty came and enlightened me on yet another aspect of my son’s entrepreneurial venture that he had “forgotten” to mention. After a while, the “water business” had been forced to stop because the tank had emptied out. When the tap had run dry, my son had gone to Aunty and requested her to switch on the motor to pump water into our tank, offering her his entire share of Rs. 47/- to compensate for the electricity and water charge that she would incur!! Aunty had refused to do as he asked because she didn’t want him squandering the water. But she told me she was quite impressed with his act and even added, “See how smart he is! I’m sure he will never in his life be cowed down by difficulties!”

As I narrated this entire chain of events to my husband, we wondered at the workings of a 12-year old mind. And then, I learned of something else. It seems just that morning, as my husband read the newspaper, he had drawn the kid’s attention to a teenager in the UK who had developed some app and monetized it. I couldn’t help but wonder – had that bit of news motivated our kid to develop this sudden “revenue-generation” desire?

Who is your best friend?

“Travel and tell no one,
live a true love story
and tell no one,
live happily
and tell no one,
people ruin beautiful things.”

- Kahlil Gibran

I’ve been noticing this post being shared by many people in the past few days. Every time I read it, it brought out a different aspect.

“People ruin beautiful things” is true. But to me, it seems more like the fault of the narrator than that of “people.” I mean – shouldn’t I know whom to tell what? If, in the rush of wanting to share my joy, I choose to share it with people who are incapable of understanding what I’m saying, isn’t that my problem rather than theirs? There’s an idiom used in my mother tongue that roughly translates into “people can see only up to the edge of their nose.” So, it is perhaps foolish on my part to expect others to be able to see things the way I do.

And yet, once in a while, we do come across others who are able to catch the particular nuance we’re trying to convey. When you find such persons and they resonate with you, it is a truly wonderful feeling and you find your joy multiplies.

But it looks like the poet was also trying to drive home a more subtle point. That there are some feelings we must retain in their pristine glory of being an unshared experience. Of all the examples he could have used, why did Kahlil Gibran chose these three – travel, love and happy living? Is it because these are the ones especially that one experiences in unique ways that cannot really be understood by someone else?

I’ve heard people describe their visit to some place. What I “see” when I visit the same place is often quite different – and that has to be a result of the way my “mental” eye functions for anatomically and physiologically, my physical eye is the same as my friends’.

When it comes to love, every single person in this world feels his or her story is the best. If you feel someone else’s is better, indeed, yours cannot be a love story! No matter how exquisite your experience of love is, even if you are a master wordsmith, there is no way you can transfer that feel to someone else.

In fact, I’d even go so far as to say that even the two people who are entwined in the bond of love will not experience it in the same way. Of course, they may claim to do so – but that’s just because we’ve grown up with the idea that conforming to each other’s notions is loyalty. Deep in the recesses of your own mind, you know that the outcome of loving – joy, happiness, delight – may be common to the one with whom you bond, but the nature of your experience is yours alone.

As for a happy life, every single one of us has our own concept of what makes us happy. Happiness to me may mean spending the few early morning hours on a Sunday writing this post. If you’re reading this and smiling, happiness to you can mean reading my blog post. For some of us, happiness is in owning things, for others it is experiencing them even if you don’t own them. To some people, happiness is in providing for a family, for others, it comes from not getting trapped in a family and to still others, it may come from making the entire world their family.

When you try to live life your way, especially if it is not cut to the conventional mould, there will always be people to advise you on how to live their concept of a happy life. Perhaps that is the reason why Kahlil Gibran says, “live a happy life, and tell no one.” For each one's happiness too is solely his own.

The biggest message I saw in this quote was a kind of confidence-giving to those who struggle to balance between living life their way and being popular. As long as your experience is a positive one that helps you move ahead in this long-winding journey of life, you alone are indeed your own best friend.

BE such a free soul !!

Who Can Escape Karma?

On a leisurely Sunday morning, as I sat reading the newspaper, the doorbell rang to reveal the presence of the “paper” boy. Not the one who delivers it every day but the one who picks up the old newspapers, a tiny cog in the humongous wheel of the recycling industry.

I was surprised to see him for he hadn’t been around for quite some time, forcing me to give away the burgeoning pile of newspapers to another such “paper boy.” Even as I was preparing an answer to his request for collecting my non-existent “raddi,” I was struck by the fact that he was agitated about something. 

He asked me if “Saar” had sold off the pieces of iron that were left over from one of his elevator projects. At first sound, I thought he was upset because he had been trying to negotiate a deal with “Saar” who had steadfastly refused to give in to what he considered an undervalued price. Poor “paper boy” didn’t know that had he come when “Saar” was in a more expansive mood, he’d have got his iron which still lay untended and forgotten under the concrete bench outside our house.

But let me not digress from the story which vies with “Saar’s” moods for unpredictability. 

It turned out that two children had come to the “raddi” shop of this “paper boy,” offering to sell an iron bar that was suspiciously similar in appearance and dimension to the one “Saar” had refused to trade. Our “paper boy” had refused to buy it from those urchins because he thought they had stolen it from us!! And had hurried to our house to check with us to see if our iron was safe!! 

The rest of my Sunday was spent in the wondrous glow of knowing that for all the world’s ruing of how moral values are denigrating, there are still people like this “paper boy” who help keep my faith going strong.

I put this part up on my Facebook page that I maintain as part of a daily writing exercise..but then, many readers wanted to know what happened next – and although I’d rather have written about it some other time, I suppose it’s best to strike while the “iron” is hot!

Well, “Saar” was definitely impressed with “paper boy’s” integrity and thanked him profusely and showered him with praise for having taken the trouble to inquire. The warmth however, was not 

strong enough to thaw the inertia of “Saar” on a Sunday morning. This writer’s request too fell on deaf ears and both she and the “paper boy” were dismissed with a “Let’s see next time.”

A few months later, one sunny afternoon, “Saar” sat in his home office, brainstorming with an associate. His view of the entry gate was obscured by the SUV parked in front. The iron lay ignored under the concrete bench a few steps away from the gate. A youngster reached the office door, saying he was on his way to the nearby ISKCON temple, and requested a glass of water to drink. “Saar” went in for a minute or two, filled up a water bottle, gave it to the boy and went back into his office.

About two hours later, an employee who came back from a work site, noticed the iron was gone. 

The Srimad Bhagavatam makes an emphatic point. Put a mother cow into a cowshed with 1000 calves and yet, she will find her way unerringly to her calf. Karma works similarly with unparalleled precision.

That iron was not meant to bring any income to “paper boy.” Nor, apparently, to “Saar”. Both the one who wanted a lower price and the one who wanted a higher price were left without any stake in the matter, totally eliminated from the equation. 

The one who is intended to enjoy the fruits from a piece of iron is the ONLY one who will benefit from it – not the one who owns it, nor the one who covets it.

I only shudder to think of what karma has in store for the youth who brought Krishna into the equation. 

Because Readers Are Asking !

I make an honest attempt to always keep my praise response mechanism at a default setting of modest gratitude. However, on quite a few occasions in the past month, this setting changed spontaneously to genuine surprise and even unalloyed joy.

The first occasion was when a friend asked why there were no new posts on my Facebook page called Write Every Day that I’d started about a month ago. Although I knew he followed that page, often liking or commenting on stuff I wrote, it did come as a pleasant surprise to realize that he had noticed the writing had stopped.

The next occasion was at a family get-together when I mentioned in passing about having signed up for Sanskrit classes. A dear cousin whom I hadn’t met in person since quite a few months quipped, “I know.” In response to my surprised query of how he knows, pat came the reply, “I read it on your blog.” Which helped me realize that he follows my writings although he has never commented or indicated in any other way that he reads what I write.

Just a few days ago, another cousin popped up on WhatsApp with a sudden query, “Why no blog posts of late?”

And just a few minutes ago, an old student sent me a message saying, “When are you writing new blog Ma'am? I'm eagerly waiting to read.”

All these experiences hold a surreal meaning for me. Because many times when I send people links to my blog posts asking them to read, there's a tiny voice inside that keeps popping up now and then, "What makes you so sure they'll want to? Are you by chance intruding on their time and space by urging them to read you?"

 Whenever I write something, it’s mostly because I’m moved by a particular topic. In that sense, it serves as a chronicle of my views and an outlet for my thoughts. Sometimes, the writing is to try and convey a particular viewpoint that I think will be useful to my readers.

To myself, rather than a “writer”, I feel like just someone who

• spends a lot of time thinking of things that most others don’t notice or don’t break their heads over

• is persistent enough to work at putting those thoughts down in writing, and

• has the nerve to share these thoughts with the world.

 Which is why it always surprises me when I get feedback saying someone is touched by what I write. And it astonishes and gratifies me that people actually wait to read what I have to say.

Putting together all those surreal experiences I mentioned earlier, I’m left once more humbled and grateful and aware of a greater sense of responsibility. To write more often in the vein I do. To try and keep my voice as sane and free of petty considerations as possible. To try and become a really great writer.

Samskruta and Samskruti

Children and teenagers chanting in resonant tones.

Young adults hurriedly going about their allotted duties.

Mild-mannered elderly teachers conveying the most profound of messages.

Respect, humility and affection characterizing the actions of the guests as well as the audience

An audience comprising men, women and children of all ages watching the proceedings with awe as they imbibe the spirit of the event.

The common thread linking these people together, ensuring they sit attentively through a 2-hour program – Sanskrit.

The Sringeri Shankar Mutt where I attend Sanskrit classes every Sunday evening had a small function yesterday. The event was held to give out certificates to students who had cleared the previous year’s exams conducted by the Sura Saraswathi Sabha and Sanskrita Bharathi – two institutions relentlessly striving to get people to learn what is described as the classical language of India.

The entire program – the anchoring, the invocations, welcome speeches, address by the guests of honor and vote of thanks –was conducted almost entirely in Sanskrit. Although many of us students are only now growing familiar with this tongue, it was not really difficult to understand the things that were being said.

But the unspoken left a bigger impact than what was said.

An erudite Veda scholar and teacher staunchly refusing to accept anything except a book as a token of appreciation.

Towering personalities prostrating and attributing their undisputed abilities to the blessings of the Guru and God.

Mothers who initially accompanied their children to the class later enrolling themselves to learn and passing the exams with flying colors.

Indeed, as all the Gurus at yesterday’s event kept reiterating, Sanskrit and Sanskriti – or Samskruta and Samskruti as they called it – are two sides of the same coin. 

How to Make Your Doctor Happy

Yesterday, I noticed a few patients wishing their doctors Happy Doctors Day – some in person, others through social media. Most doctors must have just smiled, said a simple thank you and continued with their work for it was just another day in their fight against disease and ill-health.

But I couldn’t help musing that if only some patients and their families had to change part of their attitudes during their episodes of ill health, it would make doctors much more happy not just on one day, but throughout the year – a fact that is definitely to the advantage of those at the receiving end of the doctor’s ministrations.

If you want to truly make your doctor happy, here are a few things you could try.

• Tell your symptoms once to the doctor and then wait for him to diagnose what the problem is. Don’t keep repeating yourself – he is intelligent enough to understand what you’re saying the first time he hears it. Your repetition only clutters his mental space and is more likely to interfere with his decision making process than actually do any good.

• Answer the doctor’s questions with precision; don’t ramble on and on about how you feel so miserable

• Don’t blow up your symptoms in a bid to gain sympathy from the doctor or to convince her of the gravity of your problem – you may end up getting diagnosed with something you don’t have.

• Don’t use your half-baked knowledge (from the experience of a friend or relative) or the selective interpretation you’ve made using Google Guru on the doctor. She has trained for a minimum of 7 to 8 years on her subject and knows a lot about it – your contribution to her knowledge base is negligible to say the least and if she doesn’t give you a piece of her mind when you act too smart, its only out of good-natured tolerance.

• Follow the doctor’s advice faithfully, stay observant of the changes in your condition and report back accurately. It’s your responsibility to recover, not your doctor’s – so be a partner in your recovery process.

• Asking if a drug will cause side effects is a foolish question. When you choose to introduce a chemical into your body, there is bound to be some or the other discomfort. Your doctor will have weighed the pros and cons of a particular drug before administering it to you. There are no free lunches anywhere – especially not in medicine. By all means ask about any serious effects to watch out for and how to combat them – but the world won’t end if you suffer from a little indigestion or mild drowsiness for a day or two.

• If you believe a particular treatment will work for you, it is more likely to really work – that is called the “Placebo effect.” But be warned – research is increasingly showing that the reverse can also occur – there is something called the “Nocebo effect”: if you approach the medication the doctor prescribes with the fear that it will cause side effects – it probably will. If you’ve made a habit of taking the prescribed treatment with the foreboding that it will not work, no second or third or zillionth opinion is going to make a difference.

• Don’t expect the doctor to work miracles – she is not God.

• Because he is also human, a doctor needs time to rest and get away from his profession at least occasionally. Don’t corner him with your health problems when you meet him in social situations. If you’re really suffering, book an appointment at the clinic or the hospital where he’s practicing.

All these things that I have pointed out are not rocket science – they are more like common sense to me. But then, like they say, “Common sense is not so common.” And then, it become even more uncommon when you’re stressed with ill-health and the emotional effects of the illness. So, I’ve taken the liberty of giving these pointers. If there is indeed any doctor reading this piece – this is my way of saying, “Thank you, dear doctor.”

Disclaimer: One of my sisters is a physician and another a psychiatrist; a close cousin is an orthopedic surgeon. This piece is entirely based on my understanding of their experiences and some common sense that comes out of being a pharmacist myself. Therefore, there is a definite tilt in my perception of these issues. Having diligent doctors in the family means that I have not really been exposed to situations arising out of interaction with the few irresponsible healthcare practitioners who also, unfortunately, exist in the medical fraternity.