1 An Autobiography of Sorts : A life worth documenting

Authorship and Copyright Notice : All Rights Reserved : Satya Sarada Kandula : In Progress.

Preface :

Trying Hard to Have Fun

Einstein thought all his life about the nature of time. Therefore he came up with the relativity insight that was a huge step for humanity. Dell thought about how to make better, cheaper computers and he created a 50 billion dollar MNC.

What have I thought about all my life? I have thought about the next fun thing to do. The problem that I have worked on all my life is ‘having fun living’.

I thought it would be fun to study in Mysore and I thought it was fun studying Engg. I thought it was fun to have a boyfriend and that it would be sad not to ‘get him’.

I thought it was fun to teach and fun to act in movies, that it was fun to cook and clean and to spend time with my husband.

I thought it would be fun to be a mom and that it was fun raising my son. I thought it would be fun to do Master’s degree…..

…..it wasn’t fun do a Master’s degree with a little baby….

I thought it would be fun to work in a corporate… it was fun… but it was tough doing the single working mom thing….

Though it was tough, I think it was more fun than doing the being a service provider in a joint family (ie the daughter-in-law) thing… There is no daughter-in-law in the world that I have met, that I wanted to change places with…. Not even Ash!

I thought it would be fun to be divorced, but it was lonely actually…

It was and is fun to write and to talk to people, to be free and not unduly bothered and to have friends and family.

All my life I have always done what I thought would be fun and hesitated to do what might not be fun. I was not always right in my predictions of what would or would not be fun., and I have learnt a bit from my mistakes.

Fun is what I am about, what Nanna is about, what Kanna is about, what my niece is about and what ’he’ was about. .. Uncle was right.. I have not achieved as high a designation as some of my peers .. but I have had the most fun.. or at least I have tried my best.

No day of my life has been like any other.. I am Aesop’s grasshopper..

Perhaps the greatest fun of all is Self-Determination: Doing what you want, when you want. (Indians would call that Manmani – it is not a compliment!). Perhaps this is why, people think that I have had more fun than anyone else!

Tuesday September 19, 2006 – 01:08pm (PST)

• Feeling My Way Through Life.
• Princess Batcheet

Ancestry (As Learnt from my grandmother)

I am a descendant of the great rishi Bharadwaja, student of Valmiki and Gauthama, who was raised by the Maruts (sons of Siva) and adopted by Bharata, the son of Sakunthala and the grand-son ofViswamitra. I am also the direct descendant of Viswamitra on my mother’s and paternal grandmother’s side.

These Telugu Brahmin Families have contributed to my gene pool:

The Kandulas, Yadavillis, Mukkavillis, Somayajulus, Nanduris, Nunnas, Pendyalas.

This story of my ancestry is as my grandmother (Bhaskaramma) told me in 1979. The words are as I wrote them in 1979.

Sometime in the late 19th century was a born a young boy in the Yadavilli family. He was a boy of extraordinary brilliance. He was adopted by Kandula Laksmikantham and his wife Saraswathi (Somayajula by birth) who were childless. Saraswathi’s niece Somayajula Venkata Subbamma was given in marriage to their adopted son Kandula Seetramayya. Subbamma’s father was S.Seshayya. Her mother had died when she was but a child and her stepmother was of the Vishnubhatla family. Subbamma had an elder sister whom she described as very beautiful. She was very fond of her younger stepsister too. Her father had two brothers VenkataSubbayya and Lingayya and 3 sisters, Saraswathi (Kandula, Gudur Mamma (Maladi family) and one married into the Challa family.

Kandula Seetaramayya’s brother, Yadavilli Kishtayya was a poet. His two sisters were married to Jammalamadaka Bhushayyagaru and Dasiga Chenlu respectively. Seetaramayya’s real father was a Ghanaapaati. He was a brahmin who could recite the Vedas back to front. Kandula Seetaramayya was my great grandfather and his wife was my Thathamma (great grandmother). Kandula Seetaramayya secured a medal in an open exam (matriculation) and became a lawyer. He had four children – Lakshmikantham, Kameswari, Lakshminarasamma and Nagabhushanam. Seetaramayya died when his youngest son Nagabhushanam, my grandfather (Thathagaru), was just a baby.

From then began Thathamma’s trial of endurance. (She was widowed at 25 and lived till she was 97). She was young. On her fell the uphill task of raising 4 children. She didn’t know anything of the legal affairs or of her husband’s work. She, with her children, went to live in Bundar (Machilipatnam). The Kandulas had a house in Bundar. The ilavelpu or family deity of that house was Kameswari Devi. It was cutomary to name the eldest daughter of every Kandula after Her. This tradition was changed in my generation. Only the first of the 4 eldest Kandula daughters (Papakka) was named Kameswari. The next one was named Bala Tripura Sundari (another name of the same Goddess)., followed by Sujatha and then myself Sarada.

The Bundar house along with the Kameswari Deity as the Ilavelpu was inherited by Kandula Seetapathi from his maternal grandmother (ammamma). Kandula Seetapathi was Seetaramayya’s grandfather (through adoption) and Laksmikantham’s father (real). Seetapathi’s mother had two sisters and they had a son each. All three boys got houses from their grandmother next to each other. Seetapathi was an only child and he died young. His son was also an only child.

Kandula Lakshmikantham and his baby son died very soon. His wife Saraswathi was fair of face, but thus unlucky. Her mother-in-law, (Seetapathi’s wife) forced her to adopt a small baby boy Yadavilli Seetramayya who was neither healthy nor handsome at that time. She refused to accept him for a long time and her mother-in-law took care of the baby. In time Saraswathi learnt to love him and married him to her niece Somayajula Venkata Subbamma. Seetaramayya was brilliant and industrious and he soon established himself as a lawyer in Tenali.

Subbamma was 7 when she married him and was a widow by 25. She faced difficulties with utmost courage and perseverance and brought up her children. Her eldest son Lakshmikantham was very brilliant and hardworking and was a man of great honour. He helped his widowed mother and grandmother with the education and bringing up of his brothers and sisters. He married Koochibatla Sundaramma. They had many children who passed away young., so they called in some Muslim Fakirs who converted their children to Muslims. (I learnt later that this was a one day affair where the boys were given Muslim names for a day.) The 3 surviving children were Suryanarayana, Purnachandra Rao and Seeta Rama Sastry. K.Lakshmikantham was the apple of his grandmother’s eye and she wouldn’t eat unless he did. His grandmother wouldn’t eat unless she saw the sun and this taxed her very much on cloudy days, in her old age. So Lakshmikantham’s son was named Suryanarayana was named after the Sun God and now his grandmother could eat even on cloudy days. Lakshmikantham fell ill shortly after the death of his wife when Seeta Rama Sastry was a few months old. His brother Nagabhushanam loved his brother and respected him like a father. So he took great care of him when he was ill. When Lakshmikatham died a few months later, his brother cared for his children with help from his mother and his wife. Lakshmikantham was called Devudu Mastaru or Godly Teacher.

Kandula Nagabhushanam married Mukkavilli Bhaskaramma, the daughter of an English Professor, Mukkavilli Suryanarayana and the descendant of long line of Sanskrit Gurus of a Gurupeetham. Her mother was Pendyala Annapurna. She was a sensitive and supportive wife.

They had three children Kameswari, Kanakasundari and Varaha Narasimha Sarma (my father). Sarma married Nanduri Vijayalakshmi (my mother). Her parents were Nanduri Ramanujachari and Nunna Rajyalakshmi. They had two daughters, Satya Sarada (me) and Lakshmi Naga Padma (my sister).

Chapter : Childhood

Childhood Creations (My sister was a large part of my childhood)

My poetic talents were first fired by my 3rd std teacher, in Australia, a really pretty lady, by the name Miss Mary. As a child I had a terrific memory and a high level of imagination. When Miss Mary first asked me to write a poem, I submitted one that my 2nd std teacher in India had made me learn by heart. (How many miles to babyland…). Though she clearly must have known that it was not original, Miss Mary accepted it as my work. That was the last time I ever submitted something that was not my work.

I think there is a freer atmosphere for thinking in Australia than in India. An Indian student child is sadly suffocated by ideas and concepts too heavy for its age. I consider this a crime that suppresses all originality. Luckily for me I had a break from this system, early in life.

Up to my 2nd standard, I learned everything by heart, addresses, telephone numbers, lessons, songs, poems, everything. But I have a slight hearing deficiency (12.5% when I was in Engineering College as measured at AISH on a field trip). I think this accounts for some funny distortions in those songs that I effortlessly and happily memorized. The reaction of my parents to me was mixed. I can remember surprise, appreciation, irritation. I was encouraged or cut down to size as they deemed fit. I don’t think I still understand… I think some of the vague dreaminess with which I sailed through childhood had something to do with uncorrected short-sight. Perhaps my flat feet, clumsy walk and general butter-fingers, put me at the back of the sports-players and reinforced the joy that I found in the world of ideas. In the evenings, I always tried to hang around listening to the elders talk, but I would get unmercifully shooed out into the playground, into the compassionate world of my playmates, who tried to make the rules easier for me, so that I could play too.

Courtesy : http://slovly.files.wordpress.com/2009/05/bunnies2.jpg?w=500&h=610

I have always loved poems, especially those with nice words that rhyme… Tennyson, Wordsworth.. . Back in India in my 4th std, I used to maintain a list of all the stories and poems that I liked best along with the names of authors. Some of my own compositions used to figure in the list, along with works of Enid Blyton and others from my text books and story books.

Here is the first poem/rhyme that I wrote, as far as I can remember.

The bad lad

There was once a lad,

Who was very bad

One day he said to his dad,

I don’t like being bad

His father was now glad

Though before he was sad

That his son was a bad lad.

My dad’s eyes twinkled in response to this and he added a line about the dad being ill-clad.

Having a good voice and an ability not to go out of tune, I added tunes to all my poems and sang them. Then I would teach all this to Padma, my littol’ sister who was, for most part, my best friend, greatest admirer, only audience and severe critic. We are very close in age( 2 years apart) and being only two of us, we lived in a world apart, perhaps as twins do. I could not think of a person that I liked more than her. This was though we fought lots. I guess her encouragement counted most for my poems and stories, just as she strongly discouraged any diaries, reminiscences or essays. These frankly bored her. Also considering my tendency to use my writing as an emotional outlet from the age of 10 or so, writing nasty things about her in my diary or on the backs of “god-pictures” (in those days many notebook covers had Hindu gods and goddesses which we saved after the book was used-up), whenever we fought, which was very often, this was justified. This was my “horrible vengeful nature” as she put it. As I considered her astute and sensible, as I grew up, I accepted her pronouncement as unclouded, and I have consciously attempted to temper my strong sense of injustice with kindness and mercy.

Courtesy : http://slovly.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/dance-with-me-academy2.jpg?w=500&h=471

Not too fast

Not too fast

Not too slow

Just the right

To keep us go

Though the grammatical error bugged me, I just could not bear to lose the rhyme. In 2nd or 3rd std (Australia), Padma and I would go to buy a white chocolate called Milk bar for 10c or a Sunny Boy for 5c at a near-by store. There was a small narrow passage that we had to pass through. Scruplously clean as Australia was with a wire net to the left. There were very few people about. So one gray cloudy day we invented this game. She would take 10 steps forward singing ‘not too fast’ and I would lag behind singing ‘not too slow’. Then we’d both join up midway and walk ahead singing ‘Just the right to keep us go’. We loved inventing new games and playing them. I remember once when I was 15 and she was 13 we were looking out of a train window, pretending it was a TV. A lady passenger remarked, ‘you two don’t really need anyone else’.

Courtesy : http://slovly.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/talia-and-alyssa2.jpg?w=500&h=454

Smile

You must smile to everybody

I must smile to everybody

She must smile to everybody

He must smile to everybody

They must smile to everybody

We must all smile, smile, smile, smile!

Letter

Please do write a letter to me

If you do

I will too

Write to you.

My sister

I have a little sister

Who slides down the banister….

(I forget some lines here)

She is very pretty

But sometimes very naughty.

That is a an ending against which she strongly protested (though true).

My Sister : Courtesy : http://slovly.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/balletfifthposition2.jpg?w=500&h=520

The clock

I have a little clock

That goes tick, tick, tock

To tell me the time

It starts to chime.

Tick, its seven

Tock, its eight,

Now its time to go,

Away to school straight.

I remember my father asking me if I wrote this one all by myself. I said, “Yes, really”. He said, “I only asked, because its so good”. He encouraged me to send it to Children’s World, one of my favorite magazines, but I did not get any response from them.

The sky

The sky is blue

A lovely hue

Come let us go and play

Joyfully, this sunny day.

The sun is very beautiful

My cup of joy is more than full…. ( I don’t remember the rest…)

Thathagaru, (my grandfather) said that it was artificial. I don’t still understand. But I do remember that I made this ‘pome’ up on my way back from music class on a really sunny day with a blue sky when I was in high spirits.

Courtesy : http://slovly.files.wordpress.com/2009/02/waltz23.jpg?w=500&h=688

There was one rhyme about a robot, a 4th standard composition for school. My teacher, Mr. Eawes (Australia) said this would be a nice robot to have…

The robot

I am a robot….. (a few lost lines)

Everybody loves me

Coz’ I give them lots of money.

If I had written other poems in my childhood, I don’t know. I have forgotten them. That I burnt all these things in a fit of rage and depression, is an adult story that I cannot recall now. I only know that I did because my notes say so.

Photo Credit : Satya Sarada Kandula : All Rights reserved

Ganesha Banda, Kayi Kadubu Tinda…(Ganesha Habba was a big part f my child hood and later life also)

Ganesha Banda, Kayi Kadubu Tinda

Chikkerelbidda, Dodkerelleda!

“Ganesha came. He ate coconut (vegetables) and cooked round snacks (undrallu, kadubu)

He fell in the small lake and got up in the big lake!

Bangalore is gearing up slowly for Ganesha Habba (festival). When we were young, this is the song that children would yell while finally taking Ganesha for the immersion in Sankey Tank. Those were the days!!

Since this is the era of the loudspeaker religion, there will be movie songs played at a high volume wherever Ganesha is kept.

When we were children, we used to take Akshate (rice grains consecrated with turmeric) and go around the neighbourhood asking – “Ganesha Ittidira?” (Have you ‘kept’/installed ganesha?)

The goal was to see 100 (or x number) of Ganeshas, sprinkle some akshate on each Ganesha, do the sashtanga namaskara (salutation with all limbs touching the floor) and gladly eat the sweets and sugarcane offered by the lady of the house. Bangalore was a safe place then where kids could happily ring the doorbells of strangers.

Now kids come with receipt books to collect money for installing the community/area Ganeshas much before Ganesha chaturthi. They have to book the “Ganesha” , they tell me.

The streets are slowly lining up with Ganeshas and soon they will be everywhere. We usually pick an environment friendly mud Ganesha, that will dissolve in the rain in our garden., and do our shopping on the day before.

O Bojja Ganapayya….

“O Bojja Ganapayya…. Ni bantu nenayya.., Undralla midakau, dandu pampu! Perina Neyyayya, Pesarappayya…”

“O Ganesha with a big stomach, I am your servant. Send out an expedition on to the Undraallu (great snacks loved by Ganesha and children), there is ghee that has gathered into tiny beads, there is soaked (and spice) green gram dal… ..”

Our father taught us this lovely and funny ode to Ganesha. After all, there is nothing that children like more than tasty snacks! And that is what we used to wait for, while our minds happily wandered during the Puja. There was a rule that you didn’t get any breakfast before the Puja, maybe a little milk, if mom could slip it to you without important elders noticing.

Artist and Photographer : Satya Sarada Kandula : All Rights Reserved

Vinayaka caviti is the how we call Ganesha Habba at home. We are kannadigas by domicile and Andhras by origin. So we comfortably shift between the languages as long as no one puts pressure on us. Under pressure, I can only ramble in Indian English.

It was very important that wherever we were, we come home for Vinayaka Caviti.

The decorations were children’s work, the cooking was mom’s/grandmom’s work work, the reading was dad’s/grand-dad’s work.

It was important to wrap all the books tat you wanted to pass in in a sheets of newspaper, taped up with cellotape and put it on the pita (a wooden thing to place Ganesha on). The Pita was decorated with a small rangoli that was to be made of riceflour, but we were allowed chalk as well. Then the books, then the rice and then Vinayaka at the very top. As you can well imagine, All our books went into the paper bundle, we were certain that Ganesha would help us with all our subjects. So our Ganesha was really high up on this tower of books.

I always wanted a colourful Ganesha when I was small and deeply regretted the eco-friendly leanings of my parents to wards the plain mud Ganeshas. Finally as a compromise, we had one coloured one, that we were not allowed to immerse and we could resuse the following year and a mud one that could be immersed, in our garden in a bucket of water and then poured into the garden. So we always had 2 Ganeshas, other than a small silver one and a tiny turmeric hill/cone that was made on the spot and called pasupu Vinayakudu.

After the Dandu on the Undrallu, we were encouraged to sing songs about Ganesha that we learned at school, at home and at music class, under the strict understanding that Ganesha loves to be entertained.

The katha – akshatas at the end were very important too, for those were what protected us from Apavada and we religiously avoided looking at the moon that evening.

My Sister on Our Father (My father was an important part of our childhood)

Nannagaru is not a typical Indian father – he played with us, gave us a lot of freedom and did not expect blind obedience. As a result of this unique style of upbringing I think we turned out to be not typical Indian children. Our friends’ fathers were sometimes taken aback at our general chumminess and assumption (or some might say presumption) of equality. As we grew older we learned to not to air our opinions always – but we formed our own opinions, nonetheless.

Nannagaru is very adventurous and loves to travel. I have a vague suspicion that he must have had a mandate from the Indian government for spreading the message of Indian (substitute South Indian –Telugu based on context) greatness in the four corners of the world. Nannagaru made it a point to wear pancha- lalchi to work once in a while, even in Australia and West Indies. In our family, daring to be different was always ok and the path less travelled was always preferred. Nannagaru always took great pride in his nation and his culture. When we were in Australia, and I was slowly forgetting Telugu, he refused to speak to me unless I spoke in Telugu. Of course this did not mean that he was traditional or old fashioned. He knew about traditions and ensured that we knew about our traditions. After that, we were always free to choose whatever we liked. Except in the matter of clothes, where we were free to choose whatever he liked – flat heeled sensible shoes, and modest (baggy oversized clothes).

If I had to choose between asking my sister for help with my school work or my father, I would pick my sister any day. Unfortunately for her, she did not have that choice since she was the older one. I.I.Sc. professors pride themselves on their ability to derive everything from first principles. Anyone who is desperately trying to cram for an exam knows that this is to be avoided at all costs. He also has some very memorable teaching techniques. My poor ear still remembers all about tension and compression!

There were a lot of books at home and reading was encouraged. Although most of my reading was in English, Nannagaru read out to us many Telugu books including his own while he was in the process of writing them or right after he finished. I liked ones in which I could identify with the characters (Maa Kutumbam) and ones that were funny. Frequently they were the same! I remember being read all the wonderful Mullapudi stories, Kanyasulakam , and Sri Sri’s poem – Pathithulara. Watching movies was also encouraged especially if the movie had S.V. Ranga Rao and Savithri in it and was titled Mayabazaar. Pathaala Bhairavi and Missamma were other favourites. I think we saw these movies at least once a year. Nannagaru loves “padyalu” and Madhava Pedi Satyam’s rendering of “Bussy..” . Never one to be on the sidelines, he invariably joined in with any record playing or other person (Amma) singing. Unfortunately, Nannagaru did not inherit his either of his parents’ (or anyone else’s ) musical ability.

Nannagaru is quite the athlete. He taught us cycling and swimming at a young age and table tennis and tennis when we were older. He felt that exercise was very important and would take us all on long hikes in the days when there were about 10 cars in all of Bangalore. We had long walks and long chats during those long walks and lots of picnics growing up.

There is never a dull moment in the Kandula household. We get up early in the morning and are almost half way through the day before the rest of the world wakes up (Twaragaa, twara twaragaa). Naturally we go to bed while the rest of the world is still up. Time is of essence and being punctual is VERY important. People that have visited us over the years know that it is prudent to arrive on time when invited for dinner.

Nannagaru is broadminded and modern. He would not restrict me to any language, caste or nationality in terms of who I could marry. He had one small request though – having done his M.Tech in Kharagpur and eaten potatoes for two years straight in his hostel– “No Bengalis, please”, he said, “I hate potatoes especially when cooked with tomatoes”. Naturally, I married a Bengali – Subhasis Ghoshal, a professor of Civil Engineering just like Nannagaru, who like him, loves anything Amma cooks, loves sports and the great outdoors and to my dismay, is as good a singer as Nannagaru. Nannagaru is your regular doting grandfather -taking Ila to the beach practically every day in Vizag while we were there. I rather suspect, that Nannagaru would even eat potatoes and tomatoes if Ila made them!

KathaKanchiki (A large part of my childhood was spent listening to stories)

The story goes to Kanchi.

Telugu stories fo children begin with anaganaga (it is said and said and said…) and end with kathakanchiki, manam intiki (the story to kanchi, and us homeward).

That is the way we say ‘once upon a time’ in Telugu stories for little children. And we end them with ‘Katha kanchiki, manam intiki’. Which means the story to Kanchi and us to home. Manam is a special word in Telugu, which I am told few other languages have. It is the inclusive ‘we’, it includes the person that one is talking to.

Anaganaga was my favorite word as a child. Luckily for me there were four people in my family who used it frequently. My great-grand-mother (she lived till she was 95 and I was 14), my grand-father (he lived with us till he was 70+ and I was 15), my grandmother (she lived till she was 80 and I was 31) and my father who still loves to write and tell stories.

Our stories were never interrupted by commercials. Only by delicious snacks that my mother served up from time to time. The distinguished user of the magic word anaganaga.. Would adapt the tale depending on the light reflecting in our expressive, eager eyes, dragging out some parts, repeating some bits and skipping over unpopular parts. They were truly interactive, responding to our spoken and unspoken wishes.

What greater joy in life to have a grandfather recline in an easy chair and light his cigar and call for his grandchildren and use the magic word. Or to cuddle up on each side of grandmother and demand a story before our favorite lullaby “Chunchu duvvi pincham petteda, Gopala Krishna”. Or for father’s eyes to twinkle and shine indicating clearly that there was an “anaganaga” in the offing. Or to catch the eternally free great grandmother, Thathamma, and say, tell us a story, now, right away.

An Early Interest in Indian Culture

I started reading the scriptures when I was 13 years old.

My son owns the copyright to this. He reserves all rights to it.

My interest was kindled by my father Prof. Kandula V. N. Sarma, who told me the stories of Sri Rama and Sri Krishna when I was a child in my 2nd grade, in Australia. He wanted me to know my cultural roots.

My grandfather, Prof. Kandula Nagabhusham, used to send Chandamama magazines with great effort and cost to Australia from India. My grandmother Kandula Bhaskaramma and my great – grandmother Kandula Venkata Subbamma, used to tell me wonderful stories that captured my imagination.

Any gaps were happily filled by Amar Chitra Katha and Chandamama even after we returned to India. I still have those books, thanks to my mother, Kandula Vijayalakshmi, who had them bound and preserved so that my son would be able to read them, after I grew up.

I had actually selected Kannada as my first language in 8th standard, but my school (M.L.A. girls’ high school, Bangalore) ruled that English Medium students had to study Sanskrit. This was a great boon and blessing to me.

I was taught Sanskrit, at school, by Kunda Miss. I don’t know her initials or surname, but the lady was a brilliant and dedicated teacher and I was an enraptured student. She taught me for 3 blessed and wonderful years. In 10th Standard, I topped the state board in Sanskrit. She actually wrote me a letter to Trinidad, telling me this.

Our sanskrit syllabus had selections from the scriptures and I used to learn the beautiful words and their meanings by heart. My uncles (Suryanarayana Kandula and Purnachandra Rao Kandula) encouraged me in my pursuit of Sanskrit by offering me rewards for writing letters in Sanskrit and reciting what I had learned at school. (To this day they challenge and guide me in Sanskrit.)

Smt. Vemuri Seetha Mahalakshmi taught me the beautiful Thyagaraja Kirthanas, which in simple Telugu, showed me the beauty of his devotion to Sri Rama. It must be a heart of stone that would not melt before such melodious devotion to such perfection, and mine was but that of young high school girl.

Our school (S.A.G.H.S) library, in Trinidad had an illustrated copy of the Bhagavad Gita, which I read for the first time when I was 16 years old. Little did I know then, that when I was about 40 years old, I would write a course on The Bhagavad Gita, for Virtual University and write a ‘Satya Bhashyam’ on it.

I did one more year of Science and Sanskrit at M.E.S. college and went on to study Engineering at S.J.C.E., Mysore. There was a Ramakrishna Mission, right behind our Vontikoppal Girl’s hostel. I acquired here, the 8 upanishads, with English translation.

My father autographed them for me with a “Tvameham”. (You verily, are I).

I first taught the Isa Upanishad, as I learnt it from these books, to my uncle Mukkavilli Venkateswarulu and aunt Sodemma.

While working as a software engineer at Tata Unisys Ltd, I translated and explained Sankaracharya‘s Bhaja Govindam, online, to interested colleagues.

My most recent passion has been the Valmiki Ramayanam. I am reading and cross referencing all the ideas and words and places and people. I started reading on Sri Rama Navami and have finished it a few days before Sivarathri. It has been a most exciting time that I have been having. (As per the benefits (phalashruthi), I have accumulated enough punyam now to reach Vishnu padam at the end of my life. I feel delighted).

Indra told Bharadwaja, my great ancestor, that there is no end to learning and that he should start sharing it. So also, my father said that I should write and publish all that I am learning. He says that it will get better and better with time as I learn more and more.

The blog-web-site Ancient Indians is a result of that of that injunction. It takes all my time, not spent on daily activities and housework. The reviews I get from my family and friends are very good.

I sincerely hope, that this effort of mine, will help interest, inspire and satisfy the curiosity of others as the work of others has helped me. I dedicate that effort to my dear children, my son and my niece.

When I was working at Sonata Software 91-93, I used to visit the Basavanagudi Bull temple. There is a Valmiki place there. I prayed Valmiki to make me a writer. Little did I know that I would retell his work in English.. like a kind of Tulsidas.

A little less of everything

December 12, 2008

I can see a little less well than people with normal eyesight. Being myopic in childhood, without corrective glasses till 5th standard, helped me be a little dreamy, a little less observant than other children. The world of the mind was mine, the world around was not quite tangible.

I can hear a little less than others. It makes me want to turn up the speaker volume. It means I miss some words, just a little, mispronounce a few things, just a little. It means a little exasperation from parents, a little ridicule from friends.

I have a little squint in my eyes, because of a slight difference in the power of my eyes, just enough for a little teasing from my husband on my wedding day, just enough for my friends to tell me that the Spanish consider that beautiful, for me to develop a liking for everything Spanish from my childhood.

I have a little bit of flat feet, I walk with my feet at a slight angle to each other, the arch of my feet is a little weak, I am not a runner or a sportsperson. My father makes me walk on straight lines with a hope to correct this imperfection, but it does not work. One day, when I am older, I shall buy many pretty high heeled shoes and hope that I look nice when I walk. Not the ‘point A to point B’ walk that my teenage friends described.

I am a little short. My feet do not touch the floor when I sit on a chair, they dangle. I develop a slight slip disc in my later years and a slight spondylosis in my neck. As I grow older, I develop a slight arthritis in both my knees.

My marriage is a little short of warmth and love and passion, my divorce is a little less than sad.

My cells absorb a little less sugar than what they need, I am a little tired-er than others, the air ways in my lungs allow in a little less air than I need. the blood pressure in my veins is a little less than necessary and in my heart it is a lot more than necessary.

When I die, I shall have lived a little less longer than normal, and during my life, I live a little less.

A brush with Racism, Religion, Caste and Regionalism

In  Australia:

When I was in 2nd std, my dad took us all to Australia. That was my first encounter with white people. Many of them were nice and friendly and some were goodlooking too. My benchmate Mark was cute and he gave me a sweet to eat. So he is definitely one of the good guys. And Miss Mary was beautiful and sensible and extremely smart and kind. I was quite her young fan.

Then there was Jack something, a boy if Italian descent who called me blackie. I told him I was brown and he was colour blind. He used to ask me if I had blue blood and if I was an aboriginie.  I always thought aboriginies were cool, but I wasn’t one, couldn’t he see? This guy was on the same walk home from school, so I saw him everyday. An annoyance.

Then my mom went to teacher’s training in Australia. So we had to go to a baby sitter. Her son always made us the Red Indian squaws, while he and his friends were the great white American settlers. Well this made me love all Red Indians or Native Americans as they are called now and I decided I would marry one when I grew up. They seemed better people than these white settlers any way. (I recently saw a movie called Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee and my sympathies are still with the Native Americans. On a sadder note, when I was bout 30 I did meet an actual native American in Detroit, where he worked as a janitor. He described the pathetic conditions of the ‘reservations’ and I did not have the heart (or time) to go and visit. And he did offer to marry me, so that I could get American citizenship and then divorce him after the legalities of immigration were through. But how could I explain my caste situation to him? And clearly he did not know what a big and complicated deal marriage is for Indian women. But I did give him lots of Indian money for his collection and I hope he still has some of the coins and notes).

The baby-sitter, dear old aunty Jones, gave me a lot of Santa Claus and apostle books for Christmas, and I had a brush with some of the more pleasant aspects of Christianity and attempts at saving my poor heathen soul. The nasty aspects were a teacher at school who told me that Rama and Krishna were stones and Hindus who worshipped them were idiots. I came home crying and complained to my dad. He wrote a letter to the school and I never had to sit in that awful, evil class again. I read that hurting someone with words causes as much pain as a punch between the ribs. That teacher should have been locked up for physically abusing a young child.

My dad told me the entire Ramayanam and Bhagavatham in our daily walks to our little locality park,  my outraged feelings were assuaged, and I fell in love with them very deeply. I also decided that Christ was OK, but Christians who are out to convert you are definitely Not Ok. I still hold this view.

However we thought that Christmas presents, Easter Eggs and birthday parties were cool, so we enlarged our celebration list to include these festivals.

In India Again.

I liked Australia and did feel a little bad when it was time to come back to India in my 4th grade. By now, I had forgotten my mother tongue Telugu and spoke English with an Australian accent. My rural cousins laughed at my accent, my clothes and made the most distressing comments.

When I went back to my old school (Himamshu), I was backward in all Indian languages (Hindi and Kannada) and in Indian manners. My English had  improved beyond all recognition though. There were many teachers who pampered and loved me and a few who thought I was insufferable. The class bully Sudhakar always got on my case calling me an Australian. The class duffer, forget his name, was assigned to my study group and he declared that he would rather fail than take help from a girl. But the smartest boy in class had a kind of crush on me, so that was OK.

We read a lot of history from Amar Chitra Katha and got very involved. My sister and I would frequently fight the British for independence – they were the bushes and we had sticks. Our favorite movie was Alluri Sita Rama Raju.

When I changed my school in 8th std, I never told anyone that I had ever left the country, and kept much of my life and feelings  private. My high school days were happy, all I knew was that the different girls in my class spoke different languages. The girl who topped the class, Chitra E.L., said that she was smart because she was a Palghat Iyer. And that was it. I caught up with Indian languages Kannada, Hindi, Sanskrit and Telugu. I tried my hand at Tamil, and learnt the accent but not much language.

At this time my grandfather introduced me to the essence of Buddhist philosophy. Of the several Buddha images we had at that time, we still have one big one in our living room. What I understood and remember is that our past janmas give us strong impulses in this life time, but we do not have to act on them. We can decide for ourselves. Living rightly is far more important than worrying about God. Living rightly is the greatest and best adventure of all.

In Trinidad

Then in my 11th std, my dad took us all to West Indies. I learnt about race from a black perspective this time. I learnt that Indians were called white devils in Nigeria as we were called blackies in Australia. I learnt that I was a ‘coolie’ chick. The blacks would call the Indians coolies, the Indians would call the black slaves. And any pure breed was considered better than any hybrid. There were creoles and dongras(?) and what have you. It shocked me that not all blacks were on our side. This was because when the slavery ended in the West Indies, the British brought Indian indentured labour over to Trinidad as cheap labour. By the way, I have heard the ‘cheap labour’ term applied to Indians by all races all over the world. It isn’t funny.

At school at lunch I had one Trinidadian Indian Muslim friend called Amina Mustafa, one Trinidadian Brahmin friend called Madhuri Maharaj (extremely nice girl), a Trinidadian  black girl called Carol Wynn and I think another Carrol too and a Trinidadian Hindu girl called Aditi. A white girl called Rosemary Barnes was a nice friend who visited me at home and played shuttlecock with me at school. Camille was a wonderful girl with the genes of several European nations, Caribs and Africans too. She was very friendly, very pretty, very cultured and very talented playing a piano. My sister and I liked her very much. We also had plenty of Indian friends from many states and castes and realised how different ‘their India’ was from ours. There are one billion Indians and I think there are at least 1 million Indias. So when we tell foreigners about India and Indian customs, we are really talking about our region, our economic and professional class and our caste. We don’t even know each other really well.

However, there was a lot of political tension between the Trinidadian Indians and the Trinidadian blacks. The Indians there were playing population catch up and one lady with 22 children was publicly honoured when we were there. At the same time a Trinidadian Indian man was very disappointed when he learnt that my father had just two girls.

Inspite of all this, Trinidadian Indians preserved their religious and caste identities. Occasionally they would marry Indians from India, but this was often a disaster for the Indians. There was too much cultural difference. Some of these Indians complained that the Trinidadian Indians too materliastic. Truth be told, Madhuri Maharaj was far more traditional than I was. She used to say that though things in India had changed, memories of India in Trinidad had not changed and she was forced to confirm to those old memories.

Interesting hybrid customs also sprang up. You could see old Indian ladies in frocks, not sarees, but with an Odni! The temples there had church pew stlye chairs to sit on. In India, we sit on the floor in temples. I learnt beautiful Christian hymns at school as well as their national anthem which I sang with as much respect and feeling as I sing my own Jana Gana Mana. Only someone who loves themselves and their own culture can love others and their culture. I also learned what evangelists were and how to give them a miss.

When in Trinidad, my general knowledge teacher taught me what the apartheid conditions were like in South Africa. I felt very happy that India was against apartheid. I saw a TV serial called Roots, which depicted the history of black slavery in America. Abraham Lincoln became a personal hero to me, because of what he stood for.

There I had a white teacher called Mrs. Beckles who is the best chemistry teacher in the world in my experience. She used to wear a sleeveless short mini frock to school. And tell my classmates who were dreaming of boys, to acquire an education that would protect them from the horrors of a bad marriage. “When your man is giving you horrors and you can’t leave because of the children, then you will realise the value of a good education! ” Then I realised that clothes have nothing to do with a brilliant mind and a kind loving heart. Clothes are just custom and convenience, not morals as I was taught in my high school in India.

Back In Bangalore.

When we came back to India, I was surprised to see that some of Indian lecturers had prejudice against western clothes, that boys and girls were segregated in co-ed colleges and that some Indian girls went to parties and dated. See in India, even today, a corrupt official feels morally superior to a woman who has an affair. If you are a celibate and kill people in riots you are probably morally superior to a teenage girl who goes on a date. Like that and all that!

Talking to boys was a high end crime that I committed freely.. because I took part in all cultural activities at the college. But then many people were unsure about me.. I took the boys’ stair case if it was emptier than the girls’ stair case and I wore pants, rode a cycle, asked questions in class!!! .. the list is endless… I walked out on a preachy swamiji’s lecture at college who arrived in an ac car and started telling us that the youth did not know our tradition. I had already spent several years learning carnatic music, had studied the Bhagavad Gita, had studied Sanskrit for 4 years and knew all the scriptures and stories from my father and grandfather. I had also read the children’s bible! I wasn’t about to be talked down by a swamiji who had not yet renounced physical comfort.

Studying in Mysore.

Then I went to Mysore to study Engg. I learnt that I was a “Bomman” a distortion for Brahman and that my close friend Sumana hated Bommans (but liked me inspite of that). I learnt that Lingayats were very powerful and Vokkaligas were another powerful caste. I learnt that Manglorian Shetties (Tulu Bunts?) were very modern and that Coorgis called Chitranna – picture rice. I discovered that churches are peaceful when no one is there and sermons are to be avoided at all costs. Especially when they start criticising Hinduism. I learnt to fight in Kannada. I realised that I like Chinamayananda very much and I was surprised to see that a girl who spent so much time serving  Bal Vihar, thought nothing of flirting with other people’s boyfriends.

I started reading the Upanishads and I liked them very much. I continued learning carnatic music. I went quite regularly to temples and Ramakrishna Math. I found a Kannada Brahmin boy that I wanted to marry, and we moved to Bombay after that.

In Bombay.

Here I realised that I was a South Indian (all 4 states, languages castes and all lumped into one: Are there brahmins in south India? really? Telugu is Madrasi!) but that the locals were all Maharashtrians, who were not to be clubbed even with Gujarathis as say., West Indians. I was warned that Sindhis were not be trusted (`kill the Sindhi and then the snake…’) and found that my best, most respectful students were Sindhis. Other than that in Bombay no one pretty much cared who you were or what you did, except for telling you once in a way that Bombay was for Maharashtrians.

Chapter 2 : Late Teens Till Early Twenties

I guess it was my nature to question everything and derive it from first principles. I would never take anything on someone else’s word or judgement, except perhaps my parents and even that went slowly away over the years.

Doubt

Should I live or should I not?

Should I do this or should I do that?

If this, then that,

If that, then what?

Will it make me happy?

Will it make me good?

Will I regret it later,

As I often have?

Is it right to live for pleasure?

Is it logical to live otherwise?

Who has the right to define my duty?

Who has the right to curb my pleasure?

How much do I owe others,

How much do I owe myself?

Who defines this debt?

And who will collect it?

Have they the right to criticise?

Who themselves are unworthy?

Do they ever question,

Their own capacity?

Am I the only one,

Who is plagued by doubt?

Will I finally find the answers

Before my time runs out?

6/12/1987

A little high on temper.

As a child, I was described as a sweet, sunny child… except… when I was not, I guess!

When I was locked in a room, as a punishment… I tore up a pillow.. I hear… Or was that me? I am not destructive.

And I hear that when I was very, very small, and angry with my parents for whatever, I just toddled/stalked out of the gate… meaning to run away before I could walk properly. My parents laugh to tell this tale of a little person, with a such a big temper.

One thing I do know, is that I am still both short tempered and strong tempered. And I have run away/walked out, a countless number of times in my life, not so much out of fear as out of anger. My leaving is a sentence that I pass on offenders, in my mind – it is always their loss.

I wrote the poem – Temper, when I was angry with a friend of mine, who is still my friend by the way. I have such decent friends, friends who can laugh away my temper and wait for me to laugh too. I was about 18 or 19 then, I think.

Most of the people who have stayed in my life (and this includes my parents, sister, friends and son) are people who know how to side step my temper.

I can be appeased easily by kind words, food and/or a hug!

I remember once, when I was telling an astonished new husband where to get off., my grandmother literally poured some horlicks down my angry throat and I turned sunny again. She told him, that I could never tell when I was hungry and often confused hunger for anger.

Later I learned that this had to do with a neuro-transmitter called serotonin. May be I was a also little glucose intolerant then but we did know. My husband and in-laws did not undertsand, how necessary it was to let me eat and sleep on time and they did not know how to side step my temper. So they are, naturally enough, not in my life anymore.

Instead of laughing, they took it rather seriously when I kept running away from home in a temper.

Temper

Why is it I’d like to know.,

That I can go from high to low,

When people say things I find unfair,

Can’t I ignore them or give them a glare?

Must I shout and try in vain,

Giving my mind endless pain

To change their minds or that nebulous matter

That they carry around in their heads or whatever.

Standards they have two or a pair,

One for themselves, the other for the rest,

Subtleties are lost, nuances are missed,

Stinging words are their idea of wit.

There are times when I dearly wish,

That where they deserve I could plant a kick.

I must instead with words be content,

Frail and ineffectual to the illogical bent.

All right, all right, let’s call it a day

Send tempers home and pride away

Rebuild those bridges and bury those hatchets

Else how can we fight another day?

28/8/86

Bhatta and the light bulb

There was also a fight for justice streak in me, that “never really lived, but it never really died, it never really made it but it tried…”

It has been ages, about 25 years. Yet this is a story that I never forget. When I joined J.C.E. girls hostel (Mysore) in ‘81, there was never a bulb in the ladies toilet: except when the warden came to visit.

I asked for one, and was fobbed off. I collected the girls together in a room and then said we ought to ask for a light bulb. We were dispersed.

There was a cook called Bhatta in charge. A bad, indifferent cook. A tyrant of sorts. The warden and the principal never visted the girls hostel.

My dad took up an assignment in Bundar college and he took me there. Things did not work out for my sister’s health and we came back. I got re-admitted into JCE, and tried to get back into the hostel. Bhatta fought tooth and nail. He told the warden and principal that I was a ring leader and not to be allowed back into the hostel. I looked unsuccessfully for accomodation outside.

My father met the principal and asked him about admission for me. When the principal told him about Bhatta’s view on me, my father told him about the light bulb. And about Bhatta’s prayers to the Sun in skimpy wet towels which my friends had complained to my dad about.

After a lot of back and forthing, I was allowed to stay in the outhouse with some other nice first year girls. There I came to know how corrupt the cook, clerk and warden were and how they swindled the girls and the college.

I was quiet, but harassed by Bhatta time to time, till one day, I burst into tears. Bhatta was appeased. But the gods were not.

One day the principal saw me outside his office in my traditional langa voni dress, books in hand. I had just topped my class (or come close to it). He asked me how things were in the hostel. I just said “as they were”.

Princi moved fast after that. Bhatta was thrown out, the warden and corrupt clerk re-assigned and we had a newer cleaner transparent management.

This was really good for the hostel. And very good for me.

And also a light, for future bad times. Whenever I ask for some small legitimate thing, I get snuffed out, discredited and harassed. Because that small legitimate thing that is absent is the tip of a criminal ice berg. As has happened in my work place now.

But I know, that in time, a strong visionary leader, like our principal, Dhananjaya will set things right. This is the hope that incident gave me for a life time.

Chapter : Love

• Is There Anything As Beautiful As A Love Story?
• A heart

Image Courtesy : http://bonifisheii.blogspot.com/

(Dec ‘87)

A heart full of joy, a heart that is light,

It is a heart that has, seen your face alight.

A face that is laughing, a face that is bright,

A face that grows dearer, each time it comes in sight.

A heart that is a-flutter, a heart that starts to beat

Faster and much faster every time we meet.

A meeting so wonderful, as precious as it’s rare

A meeting so thrilling sometimes its hard to bear.

But a heart as heavy with wisdom,

As it is light with joy

A heart that’s bound by duty

That know where to draw the line.

For just as the sun looks better

When seen shielded through the trees.

Distance makes the difference

In any relationship.

Chapter : Marriage

Come back?

Prologue :

It is over 3 weeks since I have completed my M.Tech. Programme, 3 weeks of re-organising my life, picking up old threads, burying some hatchets and organising my thoughts.

My two year old son is playing in the next room, drawing my attention to himself every once in two minutes. My father-in-law’s radio is airing songs in various languages, sequentially. A sparrow chirrups on the window-sill, a dog barks outside. The sounds of children playing in the afternoon sun occasionally drifts in. In this remote suburb of Bangalore there are no buses to drown the sound of their laughter. This area is untouched by the vagaries of the city water supply. Here it is easy to forget, to drift, to dream. Yet for the first time, I do not wish to forget, to leave behind, to close the door on unhappiness. I wish to understand, assimilate and live better.

The true beginning of my story is in some pre-historic dawn. I can only begin at a suitable middle, carry it some distance and leave it at another middle and call it the end.

Please Come Back :

Ramesh and I sat in the dark, side by side. Our was son asleep a few yards away on a mattress on the floor. I’d collapsed the bed so that my seven month old son wouldn’t crawl off and hurt himself.

Bitter angry tears welling up in my eyes.

“Come back with me Vennela,” he said, “I need you.” Blood rushed to my head. “You always needed me,” I thought, ‘To provide for you, to keep your house, to obey your orders, to take the blame. You needed my thrift to compensate your extravagance. My sacrifice so that you could be generous.”

And I thought, nearly bursting a blood vessel, “always it was me seeking you. – Ramesh, it’s months since you’ve written, are you OK? – I’m terribly sorry to disturb you., but can you speak to me for a while? – I need you, are you listening? – I miss you so much that it hurts like a physical wound.”

“When I was in love with you, darling,” I thought, “I wanted you to need me. At that time you asked me to define love.”

My eyes brimmed over. I thought of a walk with a friend, a few years ago…..

“I’m miserable”, I told him. “I’ve just landed a good job.”

“Tell me,” he said. “I shall either be able to provide for my child or to look after it. And the good Lord knows I want to look after it.”

“Won’t your husband provide for you and your child?” he asked.

“No!” My mind screamed then, “I have to provide for my husband.”

My thoughts surged on. “Ramesh, I need your support now, your shelter, your caring, not your dependence. I can’t support you anymore.”

Ramesh went on speaking, “You can take tuitions. There is an instrumentation company next door, you can work for them. You can help me manage my work. We can make a lot of money. Come back, Vennela!”

I thought of the polluted city. My meagre income., my husband’s unpredictable expenditure. Expensive Creches. My unhappiness with my job. Pressure from my in-laws. The very people who caused the problem in the first place with their requests for money. Money! My frustration with budgets that my husband didn’t respect and accounts he hated to supply.My husband’s struggle to make a name for himself – to be someone – to be an actor. Tireless. Relentless. I remembered my loneliness, friendless in an impersonal city. The money I’d saved for my baby – diverted by my in-laws. Money I’d saved, used by my in-laws to buy me gifts I did not want, at ceremonies I considered a waste. I remembered the days that we lived on one meal a day.

I looked at my darling baby – innocent, trusting, peacefully asleep.

“A no-win situation,” I thought, “but my responsibility is to the child that I’ve brought into this world. I must provide him a decent start in life. Education, decent healthy surroundings, a love of music and culture. A sense of responsibility and values and fun!”

“Come back, Vennela,” was what my husband said to me. “Let’s build a life together.”

And What was it that I said that day? I think I said, “Over my dead body!” Yup, that was what I said.

Old Letters

Old letters (1994)

(Thatha means grandfather, amma means mother, nanna means father, attha means mother-in-law, kanna means offspring. Ramesh is another name of Vishnu in Sanskrit, Vennela means moonlight in Telugu.)

Dear Thatha,

Ramesh has curly hair and golden eyes. I am going to marry him. My decision is final.

Love,

Vennela.

Dear Thatha,

Suguna got married. My future mother-in-law came to the wedding. She wants me to be as radiant a bride as Suguna. I wonder!

Vennela.

Thatha dear,

I just realized that I don’t want to marry. I’m a sight too happy here. Why should I throw away certain happiness for an uncertain future?

V.

Thatha,

Ramesh treats me like a princess. I’m approximately the luckiest girl in the whole world.

me.

Dear Thatha,

Is this me? Rushing home from the office and cooking like amma. Budgeting and financing like nanna. A person in my own right with a home of my own.

Heaven comes home with Ramesh …. Only thing is he doesn’t come home often enough. I refused doctors as too busy. Try dedicated actors.!

I love you, Vennela.

Dear Thatha,

Little kanna is you. Even if no one else thinks so. All the world is in my arms. Ramesh did not call, wire or write. I was so miserable. The uncaring goose. He was stunned he says. He went around the countryside dishing out chocolates. He didn’t call me. Grandmother says you were just as bad. Aunt says uncle was infinitely worse. Well, I don’t care. I have kanna. I love him.

Dear Thatha,

Life is unbearable. Attha used to be so nice as long as I never wanted anything. But we have differences now. When Ramesh is home, he’s sitting on the fence. Everyone is going through hell. No compromise.

V.

Thatha,

Wish you were alive. I receive widely varying and conflicting advice. So that no matter what happens., someone can say “ I told you so”.

Vennela.

Dear Thatha,

Someone in me is struggling to come out and live. She’s fighting to determine her life and live by her rules. To make her own decisions, to be someone, to be free.

Thatha,

The die is cast. I will keep my son and attha will keep hers.

V.

Oh God,

This shouldn’t happen to anyone. When you love someone and want to live with him, you can’t, till your family, friends, society and government say okay. Now the same in reverse. If one more well-meaning uncle suggests reunion, I’ll kill myself.

Dear Thata,

A clean break is a contradiction in terms. I’m healing though. Now I deal with “The outside world” directly. I realize how much Ramesh sheltered and pampered me. Losing him is like losing my skin. Freedom goes with responsibility, courage and competence. I miss the love we shared.

With Love,

Vennela

Dear Thatha,

Life is tranquil now. I actually began looking outward to avoid looking at the awful gap inside. But its rewarding and interesting. Some people say there is pain in my eyes. I avoid them. Pity is so tough to swallow. The storm has passed, the story is over, I feel my life has just begun.

With Love,

Vennela

• Thoughts In Sringeri
• Value Conflict: Mathru Devo Bhava, Pathi Parameswar

Chapter : Loss and Loneliness

• Fire
• The Black Koel (August 1996)
• The Despondency Of Satya
• The Empty Seventh House.
• Wreckage
• Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

The forest fire had raged for several years destroying and consuming everyting in sight. It was now in its death throes. All that was visible for miles around were the black coals and the grey ash… the only memories of those that were…

Here and there flickers of flames were dying by the dozen and soon there was neither sound nor light to mark the heat that was.

That was when the little breeze passed that way. Curious.. playful..
And while it passed it dropped dry leaves and bits of paper as if to play with ash and to delight in the transient patterns that were created…

All was well for a while. Till the little breeze chanced upon some golden red embers – with the breeze around they grew brighter and brighter. The breeze was fascinated and excited, not knowing what would happen next and not quite able to stop itself. The embers suddenly burst into flame. The breeze started to move…

“Feed me,” the fire demanded ” for you have brought me to life… Feed me,” it said “for you have brought me back from the dead.”

The breeze said helplessly, “I can carry but leaves and bits of paper. Your appetite is mountainous and my powers are humble. I cannot feed you…”

The fire crackled, “Then stay and keep me alive till I can get some food.. Do not leave me now or I’ll surely die.”

“Oh darling fire,” said the gentle breeze, the essence of my exisitence is movement. If I am still, I am no longer there and how would that serve you?”

The fire then cried in pain, “Oh wind, you are cold, you make me burn, if you can not stay then take me with you,” and it sent up a beautiful shower of sparks into the wind…

The breeze carried the sparks away perhaps to start a fire elsewhere… and this fire slowly dimmed again.

The dying fire, now cooler, fell to thinking — as long as there is warmth in me, any breeze can kindle me into flame. Die I must anyway, some day or the other. Breezes will come, and they will go the way they came. I can neither refuse to burn nor insist that they stay. Nor do I wish to be put out by the rain. I myself can not move, so I must wait… and accept the intermittent pleasure and the ensuing pain.

———————————————————————-
Bujhthi bujhthi aag ko phir jala gaya koyi.. jhoom uthi chali hawa…
———————————————————————-

Sita’s options.

It was Tretha Yuga again. Sita found herself in the forest, heavy with child. Uncomprehending tears and unbearable grief gave way to resolve.

‘No more’, she said. “no more tears and tests of my love for Rama. This time, the story will be different’.

Valmiki found her and offered her shelter. ‘No, father,’ she said. “Not this time!”

She wended her painful way through the forest. Was she not Neelakanta’s sister? She too held the poison in her throat, neither expressing her grief nor swallowing it.

A forest dweller chanced upon her. ” Oh lovely damsel! What villain has forsaken you! Be mine!” he urged, with desire in his eyes. “Fallen Woman!” cried the women folk in his family, ‘Dare you cross our threshold?’

“I’m Sita, Sri Rama’s consort, would they speak to ME this way?’ The humiliation of it all joined the pain in her throat.

She walked further down her new path. There she saw a prince, fair as the moon in heaven. “What kind of a man was he to discard a priceless gem like you, and to let you suffer the hardships of the jungle alone,” he said.

At his order, the palanquin stopped for her. “Women should be treated like goddesses.” he said, “Not like discardable garments”. Sita listened. He went on.,”My queen is devoted to me, she’ll show you to my harem’.

Sita’s eyes widened in surprise and pain. The prince continued..”You understand that I cannot make another man’s wife one of my queens..”

Sita walked away from the prince, back towards the Maharshi’s Ashram.

There she saw a young disciple, his face radiant with the knowledge acquired in a divine pursuit.

“Must you suffer?” he asked, “can you not remarry?”
Sita looked at him with a question in her eyes. “would you?”
“No mother,” he said, shaking his head, “I have a different goal”.

Sita stood in quiet contemplation. Rama broke the bow to win Janaka’s daughter. Ravana carried Rama’s wife off to avenge an insult to his sister. Rama and Ravana fought for their honour, not for Sita herself. That was past.

For her own honour she rejected the prince’s harem, and the insults of the forest women. What they offered was an unacceptable future. While the young disciple respected her – he would not personally take up her burden.

She walked towards the Ashram. Valmiki held up the lantern for Sita to come in. She touched his feet, and said, “This is my only option father, very little has changed in all these Mahayugas.”

Valmiki, spoke with the kindness and wisdom of a thousand years in his voice… “My dear child., there is a much higher aim to life. Live for the life that lives within you.”

Re-Marriage?

Kavita smiled happily at Vennela. “Akka, Nanna said that I could stay over with you tonight. Since you live alone in this palace of yours, you must be grateful for human company”.

Vennela looked affectionately at Kavita. “The key word is human. Anyway I’ll endure your presence so long as you leave your slippers in the verandah and do not comb your hair in my kitchen.”

“You’re pretty old fashioned for a compulsive globe-trotter” complained Kavita. She kicked her slippers off so that they fell in a corner at angles to each other.

Vennela shook her head. “It’s a matter of hygiene….” she began. “Oh, Akka, please spare me the discourse on The Hygienic Basis of Hindu rituals. I’m hungry.” Kavita checked to see what Vennela was cooking.

Vennela put the finishing touches on her tried and tested Tomato Pappu. She moved the food onto the floor in the dining hall. Kavita looked on with distaste, “When aunty comes she will bring all the nice furniture with her and put some good food on the table. Why must you live like a blessed hermit?”

Vennela leaned over to serve Kavita some food. Kavita’s sharp eyes caught the glint of gold and black on Vennela’s neck. “Akka, you’re wearing a mangalasutram! Why? You’re a single lady now. You don’t need that noose around your neck. Do you still love Bava? He has happily re-settled. You should too.”

“I am not a single lady, Kavita, I’m a single mother.”  Vennela helped herself to her standard fare and looked at Kavita. “Yes, I do still love Bava, don’t you? But that is not why I wear the Mangalasutram. It is not even the one he tied. You know he took that back. Look, this has Vishnu Namas on it. This is effectively a Thulasi Mala.”

Kavita looked around the kitchen to see if there were pickles. “Naalika chacchi pothondi! What bland fare! Single mother, huh? How does that mangalasutram help your son? It will only chase prospective ‘new daddies’ away.”

Vennela laughed, ” The mangalasutram conveys two messages. People who know me through my son generally assume my husband is somewhere else. I let them think so. This makes it easier on the little fellow. People won’t treat him like he’s different. Kids hate that. It is good for me too. People will suspect that though I am out of a marriage currently, I respect the laws of Hindu marriages. I will not have to deal with many indecent propositions.”

Kavita opened the fridge and stared at the contents with suspicion, “Will you swear that this perugu is less than a hundred years old? Otherwise I shall starve to death and the world will blame you for it!” Then she looked at Vennela and said, “With all these defense systems has anyone ever proposed to you?”

“On and off. One day I had a very bad day at work. And this whole life, past, present and future weighed on my shoulders like an unbearable burden. I burst into tears. Finding the ladies’ room occupied, I sought refuge in the basement stairs of our office. My boss, Deva, came there to smoke a cigarette. Half the office is a non-smoker’s zone.

He observed my plight for a second. Then combining native prudence with insightful compassion he asked me to go home and offered to send the design home for review later on. I shifted my tear-strained face into an auto and was still sobbing, much to the auto-driver’s discomfiture. Then all of a sudden, half – way down, a truck signaled the auto to stop. Av got out of the truck, paid the driver and shooed him off. Then he insisted on dropping me home. He hadn’t changed at all in seven years after college. A wonder that he recognized me.”

Kavita guessed ahead, “Damsel in distress. I must remember that”.

Vennela continued, “Av was very thrilled to see me. He had spent the past years building up a successful small-scale enterprise of his own and didn’t spend any time on himself in this period. He was at the juncture in his life where he wanted someone to share his success with. He had always liked me from college days. Though I didn’t know that. The seven years of my life didn’t make any impression on him. That always surprised me. Anyway he took my son and me to parks and temples and home to meet his parents. He told me how much money he made and what level of a life he would be able to provide me. Vacations in Mauritius and all that…”

Kavita said, “Tall, dark and handsome? In love with you?”

Vennela said, “I guess so. I am vulnerable, badly hurt and not good at human relationships. In all these years I have never been able to know whether a man is interested in me or he not.”

“I see,” said Kavita. “No, I don’t see at all! Why are you living alone with Thulasi Mala style mangalasutrams, eating food that ought to be banned by a special ordinance? Why are you not married to Av and living happily with him and your son? Parents?”

“Mine were okay with the idea…” dragged Vennela.

Kavita said brightly, “I really like aunty and uncle – they’re progressive, forward looking. Not many people get parents like that, they support you in distress and yet encourage you to go build a new life at work and home. You, however, live in the past. Past traditions, past life, past love, past pain.”

Words flowed from Vennela in a torrent. “Those who ignore that past are condemned to repeat it. We must learn from the past. I have to know what went wrong and why, so as not to repeat the mistake. Both Bava and I are responsible for the failure of our marriage. He had the faith and opportunity to move on. Also his parents have only benefited from the new marriage. His new wife was previously married to a rotten creep and is truly grateful for a second chance to live a good life, with a reasonable man.

But in my re-marriage, the risks are not mine alone. There is also a risk is to Kanna. I threw caution to the winds when I married Bava. At that time, I thought it was only my life at stake. I was wrong. Kanna was born and the stakes grew higher. When Bava and I dissolved our marriage Kanna lost the closeness of a loving father. Why did a marriage like ours built on so much love fail? Why? Internal factors? His dedication to his career? Av could be the same. My nature?

External factors? Mother-in-law? With Bava it was just another language, same caste. With Av, it is another language, another caste AND I was once married and once kidded to coin a term. His mom was not in the least excited about this idea. Would I approve a single mother as a prospective wife for Kanna? Would you accept such a daughter-in-law or such a sister-in-law?

Wounded as I am, I am not confident that I can really handle all the complex people dynamics. Kanna might not be accepted on par with other potential children and grandchildren and nephews by the whole family. There would be just that touch of reserve and discomfort that a small child like Kanna can sense but cannot understand.

The position of a woman in Indian marriages is the second place. This is not what it should be. But it is. With that position can I secure equality for Kanna?”

Also, who would care for Amma and Nanna? There may be a point at which they need some help, physical and financial.”

Both of them stood in the kitchen not cleaning up. Not minding the water on the gas stove.

“Akka, I cannot accept your solution. You are a woman with physical, emotional and social needs. If you neglect yourself, it cannot be good for you, your parents or son. I know that Manu Dharma Shastra says that a woman with a son need not re-marry. I read too, you know. But I don’t think this is fair to you in particular and to women in general.

You have traveled to so many countries – even to America. So many women remarry there, didn’t you talk to any of them?” asked Kavita.

Vennela answered, “Yes dear, I did talk to many women, working class, managers., what have you.  And this is the summary :‘HIS CHILDREN ARE ALWAYS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR CHILDREN.‘ So many of them, even my manager, wept when they remembered how their children by their first marriage turned out… and when they recalled how helpless they were. To leave now would be to sacrifice the new common children. One man who had married a woman with a child by a previous marriage told me how that lady works at two jobs to give HER child a good education.

You called me regressive many times, darling, in your anxiety that I should not lose out on life. But I have seen where many mothers who progressed in the path of remarriage have reached. That is not where I want to land.

The world can see that my marriage with Bava failed. Because we admitted it and ended it. But how many people hang in there, in misery or domination or deceit or abuse or delusion? How many people even recognize their state? Perhaps it is not my marriage that failed. Perhaps it is the institution of marriage that is failing.

And yet I am happy to see my younger sister married, as I will be happy to see you married. I would even want Kanna married at the right time.”

Kavita turned around to see all the water in the pot evaporated. She turned off the stove thoughtfully.

Kavita looked at Vennela, “Then you do understand that marriage is about love, companionship and having someone on your side through the pain that life can sometimes be. Love, or the illusion of love is what makes us want to live. You are saying that marriage is good, but that re-marriage for a single mother is risky. Life itself is risky. You have become risk-averse and insecure. Don’t hide behind kanna, uncle, aunty and thulasi malas. Have the faith and courage that Bava has. Opportunities will come to you. Don’t ask, can it work? Ask, how can I make it work? Cook good food. Keep a beautiful home. Dress attractively. Be hopeful. Live well. Be brave. Show other single mothers that life can be fun, fruitful and beautiful, Vennela.”

“That, I will” said Vennela. Now Kavita smiled.  “And re-marriage?” asked Kavita. “That too. I promise. Give me time to heal,” smiled Vennela.

16/1/2005.

Akka – Older sister

Bava – Sister’s husband

Mangalasutram – Auspicious Thread – worn by married womeen.

Vishnu Nama : Here Symbols of Vishnu, also names of Vishnu.

Tomato pappu – A dish made of Lentils and Tomatoes and Spices.
Naalika chacchi pothondi – Lit. Tounge is dying – implying that food is not tasty.
Perugu – yogurt

Thulasi Mala – A holy garland of basil beads. Dear to Vishnu.

Chapter : Motherhood

• Amma loves Stories
• On Being Left Out.
• Thatha and the Magic Grain
• Should A Mother Work?

Crying into the kitchen sink…

This is not really about the kitchen sink. It is about everything but that! This connects with the kitchen sink, because I was washing dishes as  I watched TV. In the olden days women sat together and sang and talked and gossiped as they did work. Now we are alone and we watch out favorite TV shows. Each on their own TV.

A slumchild  won an  Oscar.  The child’s eyes sparkled with interest and fun as the film received a best fim nomination. The positive effect of all the growing connectedness and global villages is that little  boys from Mumbai slums get to go to Oscars and receive awards. I wonder whether this little boy ever visited the real village from his parents must have migrated to the cities to leave behind their agricultural life styles for industrialised ones. This is how India is becoming industrialised .. by abandoning her villages and overcrowding her cities.

Another positive effect of all this connectedness is that friends from decades past are showing up in my life again, looking for me and finding me on the internet. Friends who have moved to America still show up on facebook and yahoo and make enquiries and make demands.

In the depths of my heart, there is a pain. My son has experienced for the first time in his life, betrayal and desertion by young girls and middle aged men. He has learnt the lack of value of the spoken word in today’s Indian society. A society where the Immortal Vedas were preserved in their pristine purity by word of mouth for 20,000 years.

He has learned what is like to be attacked  for something you have not done and to be branded for the same. What it is like when the proof of your innocence is deleted, and those in power can insult and degrade you and seize and hold your precious possessions.

He has heard his parents telling him, that this unspeakable episode where the guilty are honoured and the innocent are penalized, is really good for him. We are really happy for you, his father and I told him. Now you know first hand that there is danger and villainy in the world. We hope you will be cautious going forward. We have equipped you with love, courage, reason, reasonableness, intelligence, talent and truth and now we are sending you out into a world where these virtues are not only rare, but also act as lightning rods to attract trouble. You will be fine we tell him, just be careful. Don’t do anything, don’t touch anything and don’t say anything. If possible don’t even go anywhere.

I want to go and stand  up for him. Everyone tells me to step back and stay out of it. These are bad days they tell me. A muslim boy was shot and killed for drag racing and running away – because he landed in an Army officers quarters and fished out his cell phone. The real terrorists are roaming the streets. Boys were killed for threatening to attack girls with acid, with out a police case, a court case or a trial. A brother and sister were roughed up for going home together on a Valentine’s day. Hell, now a days people are killed for booking a railway ticket, a movie ticket or a bus ticket on a day when one of our million terrorist groups choose to attack it.

We are caught in the cross-fire between the law breakers and the lawless law enforcers. Our law breakers have succeeded in giving increased powers to our law enforcers. Now an innocent man must learn to fear both the law breakers and any law enforcer who may suspect you with or without cause.

These are truly bad days. We are told that this is still Prathama Pada of  Kaliyuga and that though Dharma is limping along on a single foot out of 4, that MahaVishnu will not come to save us for another half a million years. Oh Siva!, we cannot wait that long. We are afraid of living our normal life. We are afraid to think freely and speak freely.

I long for the protective bubble of IISc and the Software profession. In one there was honour and in another there was money. In the olden days, those fed up with this country used to run away to America if they could. It used to seem that at least America was in Satya Yuga, a land of milk and honey. And even there two buildings full of people were killed just for going to work.

Something has to give. I want a good society. Not one where I have not only to fear people of all other religions but also people of my own religion. Where I not only have to fear people who are out to do bad, but also those people who are out to do good. Heaven alone knows how they define good. They no longer want to go through our archaic law system or wait patiently for our overloaded and infinitely slow judicial system to do justice.

Can beauty, culture, poetry, music, art and all the blessings of civilization flourish or even survive in a lawless and uncivilised, disorderly society?

My young friends meet me and ask me with great concern how I am doing and tell me not to worry. All my young darling friends, how can you not worry? Look at what we have left you. Better technology than what we had, more connectedness, so that if one country’s economy fails, all countries come down with it, and more divisiveness, so that you have that many more reasons to hate others. Our generation has raised the global temperatures and stockpiled nuclear weapons all over the world.  We have polluted pure rivers like the Ganga and contaminated oceans with oil spills.We have driven many beautiful species to extinction. We have made a mockery of education, justice, law and democracy.  Even of healthcare.

And from your generation, we demand respect and obedience. We want you to take our advice on things. It annoys my generation to see you confident, competent and proud.

Krishna said that we must act! We must do our duty. In these changing times, do we know our duty? Well here is my blessing to your generation.

“Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic wars;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action -
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake. ” Ravindranath Tagore.

Chapter : Career

Struggling with women’s issues

Corporate Issues: A letter: Struggling with women’s issues (2006):

For the past few weeks, my focus has been shifted from developing women to self-preservation. I am not very confident of whether I will survive this battle and if I do, what shape I will be in. B’s advice was to learn the rules of the game and have some perception management strategies. This is valuable advice from someone who has made it, against the odds. I need advice from someone who has fought such battles for self-preservation and won. I need advice from someone who has succeeded in bringing about positive changes in corporate society and corporate social order.

If you know any such person, please put me in touch with them. I have read and continue to read Gandhi and Nehru.

They both were lawyers who knew British Law. (They won freedom for India.) I need to understand the rules and laws of the corporate. I also need to formulate clearly the goal that I want to acheive for women in the workplace. It has to do with a level playing field, it has to do with developing women, it has to do with dissolving prejudice.

According to Gandhiji and I believe this: when women achieve equality in the workplace, their social status in the family will also improve. This will stop the social problems of women in India such as female foeticide, girl child “un”-education, dowry deaths and a bunch of other problems.
Sunday July 30, 2006 – 08:18pm (IST)

The ability to take concalls from home is a great corporate leveller from a working mother’s perspective:

This is commonly available in most software companies in India, but it was not available in one organization that I worked for in the division that I was in.

A general e-mail to the managers trying to find out who would support me in this venture only resulted in criticism, discouragement, back-biting comments and negative feedback from my manager asking me if I thought that people before me were idiots. I told him that technology would have changed, laws would have changed and I would give it a try.

I found a senior manager willing to support this effort, a few members of my team who were willing to exert themselves and a champion for business process improvements willing to guide and back us.

The team did a survey of what was available and at what price and they created a whitepaper. With the support of the senior manager, we presented it at various levels, to various people in the organisation answering questions, popularising the results of our survey and generally just keeping at it.

On the day before my last day at that organisation, I was told that the solution we had recommended was approved.

So what worked? Teaming up. The idea came from a thinker, the work came from an executor, managing the senior management came from the senior manager, process support came from the champion and the drive/leadership came from me.

Good or bad it is organised teaming up that wins. When people from various levels and different abilities come together to achieve something, they generally win.

(Unfortunately my ‘evil’ detractors who did not like the changes that I worked for, teamed up too and drove me out… Hmm…)

Write-ups on other women’s issues:

• Safety of corporate women working late.
• Status of a housewife in the perception of some working women.
• Need of girl students to network into student groups to overcome prejudice.
• Working women’s hostels and undignified perception about women not staying at home.
• Traditional dresses and untraditional responsibilities of women driving and commuting.
• Lack of sensitivity of married men and women towards issues of single women.
• Should a Mother Work?
• Mothers of grown up children emotional issues: Graduating from Motherhood! Graduating from motherhood. The world owes us… nothing!
• Problem of an Adivasi woman protesting for her rights.
• Housewives: internal pressure to talk a lot.
• Peacefully Passing on to a brighter world.

Stories related to women’s issues:

• Old Letters about divorce
• Come back? about reconciliation
• Fire about passion
• Papanasanam about reconciliation
• Re-Marriage? about re-marriage
• Sita’s options. about re-marriage
• Thoughts in Sringeri about self-determination and freedom.
• Crying into the kitchen sink… A mother’s helpless tears in a world turning crazy.

Chapter : Writing

• Why I Quit My Job!
• Yoga Classes And Dance Classes
• Kim Idanim? What Next?

Life in H.S.R. (Bangalore, 1998)

House To Let
There is a two bedroom independent house with a garage and terrace in H.S.R. Layout. Big kitchen, hall, pooja room, built in space etc.

It is around 7 minutes walk from the Main Road through the village.

The car approach is bad on normal days and even worse when it rains – so the only noise pollution is air traffic and music practice.

It is a peaceful place with the nearest shops being in Koramangala 1st block or teacher’s colony. The only vendor that comes that way sells Kashmiri carpets.

Servant labour is inexpensive when available.

The circle of life will involve you at the bottom of the food chain, the mosquitoes which eat you, the frogs and lizards that eat the mosquitoes and snakes that eat the frogs. If you’re willing to eat the snakes then the circle is complete.

The soil is rich., so you can grow a beautiful garden with various lovely birds and colourful spiders thrown in for free.

The house owner will only visit you under the pain of death or if you haven’t mailed him the rent cheque. So you are a free agent.

Water and electricity are available unless the pipes burst or the transformers blow off. The street lights work.

There is no air pollution except when the wind blows from the ‘kere’ (lake) direction.

And as soon as it is dark the air is filled with the delightful calls of 200 frogs inviting their friends over for a nightcap.

1998

43 not out!!! Unique solutions, mundane problems.

I’m 43 today even by the Indian calendar.

When I was 18, I wanted to understand the world. I have read thousands of books and interacted with thousands of people and lived about 15480 days. I may live another 15000 days. I have earned and spent millions of rupees and saved some part of that. I am happy about this.

No day of my life was like any other. My life is unique by many standards. Not because I faced unique problems, but because I came up with unique solutions and then to solutions that those problems brought up.

My mind is unique because it has gathered, processed and synthesised knowledge from many fields. I am good at analysis, abstraction and design. My predictions are accurate.

I have a model of the world and of society.

• I have a low opinion of many human beings in general. Humans use their cortex (higher intelligence) to serve their reptilian impulses (lower needs). But their speech is full of lies and hypocrisy. Their actions serve their greed and their insecurities. Humans are nothing to write home about.
• I have a very high opinion of individual humans. The thinkers, the creators, the humanitarians, the ecologists, … . Individual humans have achieved pinnacles of understanding, service, reform, love and creativity. the individuals who I worship have always been given a bad time by society. Either for a part of their lives, or, for all of their lives and may be even after it. Their work has served the interests of the selfish and the foolish.

In human society, power wins. Power is with the wealthy, the politicians and those in positions of importance and control. People rarely use their power for the good of the ecosystem, of the living or even of other humans.

My father and his father saw the power of self-denial, truth and non-violence. I have seen the rise of terrorism, the power of fundamentalism, corruption and co-ercion by those who can. I have seen disregard for others: whether in endangering others to get a minute ahead on the road or destroying their livelihoods to get ahead in their careers.

I have seen the rise of TV serials which talk of evil family members out to get each other replace the ‘moral’ and ‘idealistic’ stories of a previous decades.

Power and money as a means to achieve it are the value system of commonest of individuals.

I have tried to survive by creating oases. An oasis of unpolluted air in my car. An oasis of divine thoughts in my mind. An oasis of human values in my home.

When I try to extend my influence beyond myself, I get into trouble with the society. I sometimes land up with less than before. Students do not want to learn, nor teachers to teach, employers want to exploit employees and vice versa. Neither the corporate, nor the government feel any social responsibility beyond what they can be co-erced into.

And to co-erce the powerful you need even more power. Gandhi found it in self-denial and non-co-operation and Chanakya in strategy.

What is my source of power? With what shall I bring order and reform into the world? How will we keep a clean environment, a healthy eco-system, organised traffic, a fair and people focussed administration, social harmony and peace… and all the rest… Because that is what I want for my birthday and for ever after. So, God, if you are listening… please…

Family and Relationships

Understanding family: Sunday August 13, 2006 – 08:31pm (PST)

Misleading heading of course. It does not mean that I have an understanding family… it means that I need to understand my family and it needs to understand me.

Being physically present in an office most of my waking hours and being psychologically absent the rest of the time, seems to have resulted in not knowing my folks and their not knowing me.

My parents don’t want to understand me., they think they already do. They want to cure my problems by changing me., they don’t want to listen to who I am. I think my son has this same problem with me. He gets my advice when he needs my sympathy. And he gives me advice when I need understanding.

I guess we have a caring family, but definitely not an understanding family. Many people think we have a good family. Because we are financially independent and help others. We are “moral” in the generally understood sense. We live together. Stuff like that.

We fight all the time. Because we don’t understand each other and we have to yell to be understood. Even temporarily.

But we all need each other for some reason or the other. That is why we stay together. While we certainly don’t meet all of each others needs, there must be some needs that we are meeting.

I don’t know what it is that keeps us all together. But I think this is what makes other people say that we are a good family.

Relationships: The right distance

Everyone I know wants to maintain a ‘certain distance’ in our relationship. That distance is never as close as I need. This is probably why I write.

Yet the distance they select is close enough that everyone I know has demands on my time and energy that they consider legitimate. They don’t let go.

Everyone I know has certain favours that they wish to confer upon me, depending on their perception of my need, and their comfort about what they can do.

Everyone I know has certain favours that they wish of (from) me, depending on their perception of my ability, and their own need. These they present – in the nature of demands.

This is why none of my relationships today are internally satisfying to me.

This is why I am a recluse: even though I know so many people.

Superficial relationships don’t interest me and close relationships don’t interest them.

There are some formal relationships I enter into such as employment because I need money for things I want/have to do. And all the relationships that such an employment generates. I have a host of those.

There are some relationships that are generated because of ties of blood and matrimony. Family.. relatives.

Some are generated because of other organisations that I have belonged to: schools, colleges, religious and spiritual institutions.

And naturally, neighbours and tradesmen depending on where I live.

People who have more resources to share and more willingness to share them attract more people. ie the wealthy (in any sense – money, spirit, ideas, time….) and the generous.

Some people can inspire loyalty in others, provided of course, that those others have loyalty in their nature to begin with. These people have a fundamental ability to ’stand by’ others and to protect their interests.

What attracts people to me? Power, when I have it. Though I have yet to learn how to use power. Attractiveness, to those who find my appearance/gender attractive. Ideas, to those who have problems that need (original) ideas to solve them. Ideas, again, to those who are interested in ideas. Money, when I have it, to those who need or value money. Affection, to those who need love. Compassion, to those who need that. Glamour, when I have it, to people who have glamour for power, beauty, money and achievement.

What attracts me to people? Love for me, Attractive appearance, Ideas, Experience, Conversational Ability, Creativity, Time for me, Liveliness, Attentiveness, Admiration, the idea that I am needed, the ability to understand my ideas, receptivity to my ideas, understanding my nature and liking my nature.

Chapter Spirituality

Papanasanam

Papa Nasanam (Destruction of Sins) 2002

Left in despair

This story begins in Thirupathi. It ends in Bangalore 5 years later. It may take a while in the telling. Maybe you should get yourself a flask of coffee right away. Then we won’t have to pause in the middle. I am the protagonist of this story. That means that this story is about me. So I’d better tell you a little about myself.

Everywhere that I’ve been – I’ve always been perceived as different. Everyone knows definitely that I am “Not from here”: wherever that “here” maybe. This includes the place where I was born, the place where I grew up, and the place of my roots. I have been called deep, difficult to understand and a very private person. This – by people who like me. By the not insignificant many who don’t like me I am called hard to predict, hard to manipulate and very often – not even a woman. That is strictly false. The body I occupy is that of a moderately attractive, middle-aged, middle-class, urban, Indian woman. My soul, I am told, has no colour or nationality or gender. It is just like everyone else’s. I can vouch for my feelings too. Normal. Love, hate, jealousy, generosity, greed, altruism, anger, forgiveness … the whole range – you name it – I have it.

What is different is my conscious mind and that part of my behaviour that my conscious mind governs. Inside this Indian woman’s body – I have the mind of a white person. Thanks to Westernised upbringing, westernised education and westernised reading. Thanks to Somerset Maugham, Bertrand Russell, Isaac Asimov, P.G.Wodehouse and Douglas Adams to name a few. To put it in one sentence – I look at life through western eyes. In no small way am I proud of this.

At the time this story begins, I was a successful software project manager, with a nice new car, living all alone in a beautiful spacious house, It was just outside town, lovely garden, beautifully architected. My loneliness gave me more hours to put into my work, that brought me recognition from my superiors, a quicker (than normal for an Indian woman) rise in my career and plenty of powerful, jealous enemies at work. Since bonding with superiors was interpreted as sychophancy, peers were jealous rivals and juniors were favour seeking, I had to find my friends outside work.

But what time did I spend outside work? I had a few friends – odd young bachelors who described themselves as living as close to the periphery of society as possible without actually stepping outside the boundaries. With this crowd I would hang out on my rare breaks from work, pub hopping, watching late night shows, eating out. Some of them even smoked grass – this I never did. This still left me with a few hours a week, no work, no friends. In these few hours I was forced to confront myself. The lonely, tough, successful career-woman I had become. When I looked at photographs of myself I could clearly see the hardening around my eyes. In my life, thought, word and meaning had all divorced each other. The portait of Dorian Gray was what came to mind.

What about my family? Had I no husband? I had a one at one time. I remember thinking at that time that I had wedded pain and bedded despair. We ended our marriage by mutual consent. In many ways, a happy release for both of us. But in one definite way it was a loss for me. When I first met my ex-husband, I was in-centre and he was at the social boundary. With our marriage there was an exchange of momentum. He moved in-centre and I, to the periphery of the society. After my divorce, I existed only in the work place where I was loved by some and hated by many. Outside my work place I did not exist.

Had I no parents? No children, no relatives? Yes, I had wonderfully supportive parents. They lived in another city. They supported me by looking after my only child, a son. The society counselled me that the care of an available grandmother was far more valuable to a young, dependent, child than a busy mother with a full-time job. “Time is love”, they said. The society also assumed that with my husband gone, my next natural focus would or should be my career. My sister lived on another continent, with her husband. She was a voice on a telephone for 15 min a month. My reality, I lived alone in a beautiful house, with a new car and away from the son I loved.

There was hardness in my eyes because my thoughts asked my emotions to “put a lid on it.” However, when you are alone, neither your thoughts, nor your emotions shut up. They want to rake up the past. They want to direct the future. They want to negotiate the present.

This was the time when I saw an average Telugu Movie (Telugu – a language, – my mother-tongue); about an outstanding devotee of God called Annamayya. I was moved by the music and the love of Annamayya for God.

At this time I must request all of you with different beliefs to suspend your judgement and come with me as I take you through my story. Thank you. Just come with me here as I show you my world at that time. This way please…mind your head.

Right in Control.

The God that Annamayya worshipped lives at Thirupathi. He is none other than the omni-present, all powerful one God with several thousand names. Why would a God that is everywhere, make a special appearance at one place? To ease troubled hearts such as mine!! This time my emotions asked my thoughts, my conscious mind with all its westernised linear rational thinking to shut up. Taken by surprise, my left brain got around to making arrangements for the journey. It had never seen my right brain take control before.

Good! Now here I was at Thirupathi with a couple of my in-centre friends all set to go and see God. Me, weighing close to 70kg (that’s about a 154 pounds I think). The only part of me that was exercised and functional was my left brain and that was dutifully taking orders and making arrangements. And there were 7 hills worth of steps to climb. For God is to be experienced at the top of the 7 hills. Many thousands of steps away. Too many thousands of steps away. And I lost my slippers somewhere near the beginning.

At the beginning of the climb there were all the thoughts of my office, office politics, projects, deadlines. My slim in-centre friends raced ahead, laughing. My own progress was painfully slow. As I climbed higher all thoughts of my workplace started to feel trivial, my colleagues started to seem like normal people.

Now, for the first time in 5 years I started to think of my husband. All the fights, all the unfairness, all the loneliness. As I climbed higher all the anger against my ex-husband left me and I was left with only love and forgiveness for him. I was somewhere half-way up and was too tired to move a little toe. It would be just as hard to go down as it would be to complete the journey. I had been climbing stairs now for 3 hours and there was another 3 hours to go.

“My Lord”, I thought “What is my sin, that I cannot climb any further and my young friends are almost near the top?” “Laziness and lack of exercise,” supplied my left brain. At this time I realised that I could not climb up the stairs on my own strength. Stay with me here. The story is a good one even if you don’t believe in miracles.

“Dear God,” I prayed, “You brought me this far. Now to take me to the end. Don’t leave me here.” Now, don’t ask me where I got my energy from. I know – but you might not believe my answer. But I did suddenly get a ton of energy. Where I had climbed the easier first 3 hours in pain and slow misery, I climbed the remaining 3 hours with energy and enthusiasm. I even ran in patches. I noticed other devotees, their heads shaven. I noticed the lovely scenery. I noticed the names of the Lord on the pillars and started to read some of them.I fed some deer on the way. I was very happy. I did reach the top in a total of 5.5 hours, slipperless, walking on hot tar roads in many patches. No trouble to my feet.

Everywhere “Govinda, Govinda” in my ears. That’s what seasoned devotees chant the whole way. I had picked that special day to see the God of Thirupathi because it was my 34th birthday. Millions of others picked it because it was auspicious in some way that I do not know. After reaching the top, I had to wait in line for 8 hours for my turn to be in that special room where God is specially present. My turn lasted just one minute. It was a beautiful overwhelming experience. Like many others I left the room with tear filled eyes and a great sense of wonder and peace. I left the hills with a great reluctance to leave the pure wonder of God’s presence – for the murk of daily living.

I changed that day somehow. I left my existence on the the social periphery and started moving in-centre. I began to feel and started thinking about my feelings. I made other trips to Thirupathi and visited places nearby. I bathed fully dressed under holy cold-mountain streams “Akasa Ganga” and others in November and December months and yet never caught a cold.

One special stream was called Papa Nasanam. You bathe there and then the priests do a special prayer for you to cleanse you of all your sins intentional and unintentional. There is no confession only absolution. Many times in the past few years I had thought “why me? what was my mistake? what was my sin?”. My logical mind supplied me with many standard answers. ” Immature choice of spouse, Financial Troubles, lack of patience, wanting too much…”

But that day I suddenly realised what my greatest sin was. I had seperated my own much loved son from his doting father. If I was suffering so much away from my husband and son., what could my little son in 4th grade be feeling away from his dad and mom? All his life changed for no fault on his young part. I can’t even tell you how I felt when I realised and freely admitted my sin to myself. There, with wet clothes, with the priest praying for my absolution I realised my sin and repented with grief in my heart.

Atonement

Now, it was like my life was in fast forward. I was sent on a high-flying visit to Japan on a business trip. On the second day, a Japanese client told me that I was not only not like an Indian woman, but also that I was more like an American woman! A recurrence of the “Not from the East!” theme.

I found a few hours in Tokyo, between my long hours of work, to visit the Buddhist temples and Gods and their special God for little children. I made my prayer.  The very, very nice people in Japan showed me how to get around to different places. They showed me how you pray in Buddhist temples. There is incense, feeding pigeons, and rubbing a particular deity and rubbing yourself. His head, your head and so on. It was wonderful to feel the presence of God all the way over there in Japan. It was also nice to buy a remote control car for my son and ahigh tech camera.

I was in Japan on Christmas day, in ANA hotel. 250 dollars a day in those days. Very lush. Very nice. Lovely people were singing Christmas carols in lovely voices wearing blue dresses. I was so lonely for my son. All this success, this luxury, this organised beauty and all this loneliness.

On my last day in Japan I was left with an extra hour in the airport. I decided to try one of their world famous foot and back massages at the airport. As this very capable girl pressed my feet expertly, I began to think of my husband and son and weep again. Clearly things could not be left the way they were.

It was insufficient to realise and repent – I had to make amends. What did I have to do? Get the father and son together. I knew that I would face much resentment from my ex-husband and in-laws if I attempted to contact them. I knew that my ex-husband’s new wife would not like me to show up in their life, and I knew that I had to give father and son a chance to know and love each other.

Left brain in command, I called and called on my ex-husband and his family. My welcome was as frosty as I anticipated. Then my little young stepson just a few years old, broke the ice. He held my little finger and took me inside to see his dog and other toys. The whole family thawed slowly after this gesture.

Five years after I had left their house never to return, I was back to say I was sorry for my part in the events, to make friends and make amends so that bridges could be rebuilt and my son could re-build his relationship with his father. We exchanged addresses. Promises to write and call with news of the children.

End of the story

Father and son kept in touch writing to each other. Calling on birthdays. Visiting sometimes, when they were in the same city and having fun together. On our last visit to his hometown, my ex-husband called on us with my sweet young stepson. They picked my son up, visited grandparents, bought new clothes. A very happy father dropped a very happy son back home with me at the end of the day. I remembered my bath in the “Papa Nasanam.”

It worked! I now live in a town where I am as close as close can be to my genetic pool. An engineer who stopped by to fix the disk crash on my computer, looked at me and said, “You’re not from here, are you? Where are you from?”

Krutartha:

About 15 years later, my son reached out to his father at a time of difficulty. At a time when his so-called friend let him down, his father came and stood by and for him. Today I am a Krutartha, one of accomplished purpose! Om Santih, Santih, Santih!

Conflicting Emotions

At a spiritual level, everything that happens to me is for me to evolve,

At an astrological level, everything happens because it is pre-ordained (either as a result of what we have already done (karma) or as a result of what we have planned (destiny – karaka janma),

At a human level, a lot of bad things happen because there is injustice in the world, because people who have a choice between right and wrong, often choose wrong because of their selfishness and insecurities.

While I may have no anger against a Tsunami because that is a “Natural Disaster”., I am angry with war-mongers and crooks, because I think that they can help themselves.

My emotion indicates to me that I believe that people have a choice, that people have free will. It may be limited, but it exists.

Therefore, there is a conflict in me. I believe in destiny and karma: but I also believe in free will. This is why I am angry with malevolent, sadistic, selfish people. This is why I am angry in a society which prefers incompetent manipulators to competent deliverers.

I know environment and genes shape people and the pressures they are under constrain their choices., but I know/believe that whenever a person chooses away from compulsions of nature, nurture and circumstances., and chooses to do what they believe is good, then nature herself will give way.

Good is the good of all. Not just the good of the majority and not just most of the time.

Today, I am burning at the injustice that has been done to me. I would like those who have wronged me, to burn in this flame of my anger and be reduced to ashes. Today, I believe in free will. Today, I believe that my enemies hurt me out of choice and intentionally. Today, I am unforgiving. Today, I would like the system that caused me so much pain, to be completely destroyed and completely replaced with a healthy and fair system.

Today, I checked my horoscope. So today, I believe in destiny and pre-ordained events. Today, I believe that good times are ahead.

Today, I spent time in meditation. So today, I connected with the God in my heart. Today, I believe, that all that happens to us is for us to evolve. Today, I believe that God is in all hearts and that he is the doer. This thought calms my heart and cools my fire. I am close to forgiveness.

Monday July 24, 2006 – 09:54am (PST)

God, Desire, Fate and Free Will – Satya Gita

Desire:

Gauthama Buddha said that desire is the root cause of sorrow, because it could lead to disappointment if the desire is not fulfilled. The Bhagavad Gita says that desire springs from attachment which springs from continually thinking about something. And that desire leads to anger loss of memory, intellect and destruction. Narada Bhakthi Sutras agree with this. This implies that sorrow is a thing to be avoided and therefore desire is to be given up, to avoid that sorrow.

The Bhagavad Gita talks of Nishkama Karma or desire less work. This is a  “cool model’ . The society benefits through such an approach and through that the individual benefits. The point is to focus on the ‘process’ or the activity and not on the results.

The Western Corporate talks of drive for results, it talks of greed, of growth for the sake of growth and it yokes people to itself through their greed and fear. This is unhealthy. To me the Western Corporate is incompatible in its fundamentals from the Bhagavad Gita. But once you give up that greed and fear, you also give up any possible achievements in that line. If I don’t desire money, power and glory why would I do a corporate job? Then I cannot have that achievement. Greed is not desire. They are not synonyms.

Is it so important to be free from sorrow? Vivekananda said that he was willing to be born a thousand times to serve his country. He did not desire salvation or moksha (freedom – from the birth and death cycle).

Contentment leads to peace. But desire leads to effort, effort to experience and to achievement. Even a desire for peace or for freedom from sorrow is a desire. Buddha’s desire for the truth was so great that he undertook a huge effort to find it. Slavery is a result of a desire to stay alive even under apalling conditions. Many devotees who desire God are unhappy till they reach that state of oneness. Even a desire for God is a desire. I still have desires. Realistically, I may have desires till I die. So I stand to suffer from not fulfilling my desires because: a) they are impossible desires. b) they are possible – but I don’t know how to fulfill them. c) I know how, but I have failed in my attempt. I may never reach a desireless state – even if I try.

My conclusion : Desire need not be given up. Desire leads to experience. Experience leads to wisdom. Desire leads to effort and effort leads to accomplishment. Because sorrow due to disappointment is not to be avoided, it is to be accepted. It has its place in learning and creativity and new ideas for doing things. And that is life. Renounciation is for those who cannot handle the disappointments that are an inevitable part of living, doing and being.

Insecurity :

Insecurity is generated by a fear of losing something we love or like. A job, money, family, a lover, health or even life itself. The truth is that nothing is permanent, not life nor health nor job nor family and most certainly not wealth. The sun will cool, the earth will spin into the sun, the universe will collapse into itself, a bubble with a different time scale.The alternative to living in insecurity is to live IN the moment. Not “for” the moment. Today you have much that you did not have yesterday and will not have tomorrow. Some things you never will have! (Sept 2004).

(2007-2008)  We pray God to grant our wishes.

But where did these wishes come from? Our wishes come from our nature and from our environment. If there was a one – aham – I ( ’us’) and another – tvam – you (God) (Dvaita) we could say that our wishes come from God. We pray God to grant us those wishes that he gives us in the first place. We envy those who ‘get’ their wishes. We pity those who do not. We do not understand those whose wishes are different from us. We hate those whose wishes cause us or others harm. But with all this both the wish and its fulfilment would really be upto God and not upto us.

Values, like wishes, are acquired from environment and nature. Therefore they are acquired from God. So all conflicting desires and values that we see around us come from God. God gives us values, God gives us anger when our values are not upheld, He gives us shame when we do not live upto our own values and pride and admiration when we do live upto them. God gives us our feelings through nature. It is God who gives us the sadness that we feel when we think the situation will not improve. It is emotions that drive our actions. It is God that determines actions. God is intricately tied up with our emotions. God must cause emotion or influence it at least. And in our popular stories and movies.. God is highly influenced by our emotion too.

For prayer to work, our minds must be linked to God. God can give us some thoughts. We can sense sometimes what is happening elsewhere or what will happen later. We can pray for what we wish will happen. God and us can listen to each other. God can influence us through events and thought prompts. We can influence God through prayer. It is God who decides or has already decided what will happen. Action and events are God’s realm not ours. But we can pray God for what we want or need.

Astrology works. So there is fate. Prayer works. So fate can be changed? Is it that a few discrete events are pre-determined and the details can be filled in by us with effort, prayer, boons, curses and Will (Sankalpa)? Markandeya overcame even death with penance and Siva’s grace.

So we should be well-intentioned, pray for success and good things and work for them. And if there is no major pre-determined event that overrules or overrides this., then we can get what we wish for/work for/ pray for/ are blessed with. There is power in words, thoughts, wishes, prayer, effort and blessings.

Karma and Action (Sept 2004)

You could choose to help a hungry man or kick him in the face. Or you could choose to do neither. But if he is due is food or a kick in the face or neither that is what he will receive through you or someone else. Your choice is limited to whether you wish to be the agent of service or agent of retribution. Everything you give comes back to you. Good or Bad. Good and Bad. You can in no way alter what another person gets. (This I have seen from direct experiece – it is my personal conclusion as well as the teaching of the Bhagavad Gita)

People who practice self-restraint set up fewer waves of activity : or good-bad cycles that will come back to them.

People with a love of life and activity, people who equate living with activity : set up a lot of waves. They are always doing things. Things are always happening to them.  Things happen to people who do things. This is “karma”.

Sri Krishna in the Bhagavad-Gita says : if you act, conscious that you are My agent : then Karma will not stick to you.

The Sahaj Marg Master says : you must act if only to breathe, eat and go to the toilet. Even “not acting” is action : it is the act of not acting. Action is unavoidable. Think that it is the Master who acts through you and it is the Master who experiences the consequences.

The concept is to recognize that we are agents of ideas whose time has come. This frees us from credit and culpability. It frees us from the tremendous burden of our actions.

The Butterfly Effect is the concept of a butterfly that flaps its wings in China either setting off or not setting off a tornado in Kentucky through a series of interlinked meteorological changes. The enormity of the consequence of such an action would weigh heavily on a butterfly if it could think.

All our actions are similarly bound in such complex interconnections that it is impossible to know whether we are doing right or wrong. Will mercy make the receiver lazy and reinforce his negative traits? Is mercy to one cruelty to another? Is a harsh word to an enemy what it takes to kindle his pride and become a great success in life? If we think through all the consequences of our actions: most of us would be paralyzed.

Rishis and Munis act as little as possible. Karmayogis whether they be soldiers or civilians, try to do what they perceive to be their duty and leave the consequences to God.

Others agonise over what they ought to do. They identify what they think are desirable consequences. They act on what they think is a plan to achieve those results. They are amazed when they realize that the basis of their planning was not right, when their good plans go awry and when they realize that the desired results are not so desirable once they are attained.

They realize that they have never enough data to make a good plan and never enough wisdom to select the right goal. This inhibits such people from thought-out action. The consequence is that they end up acting on impulse which could be worse. (For e.g. a person caught in an internal debate of whether it is right to eat or to earn to eat… when overwhelmed by hunger can steal and eat.)

(2007) If God is responsible for our actions and events and not for our thoughts, then we cannot accrue karma for our actions, only for our thoughts. The Bhagavad Gita says that God IS responsible for what you do and what happens to you, but to be free from karma, you must also think so.

If everything that happens is because of God.. then there is no point in thinking and planning. Thinking about what you are going to do is pointless. The Gita’s point exactly. Nothing is in your control – so leave it to God. Since it is God and Nature that compel you to act, be free of responsibiliy and of guilt – both are ego products. A tiger that kills a deer for food is innocent, it is not malevolent or cruel, just hungry and following its instincts. You cannot try it for murder.

This makes us a little sad. Because we want to control things, influence things and change things through our actions. If we can do nothing… then what ’shall’ we do? Bhaja Govindam. Turn our mind to God, away from the minds of humans, away from work.That will give us peace. Work will get done anyway, either through us or others. But we won’t be to attached to it and we have Nishkama Karma.

Why things happen. (Mar 2005) :

Sometimes we ask..Why did this happen to me? When we make a heartfelt prayer, sometimes, surprisingly unpredictable events follow : Consequences of our prayer, events that are wish-enablers. They may not be pleasant and packaged as miracles. They may be unpleasant, painful and packaged as difficulties. But they enable the inner, powerful heartfelt wishes that we have. Some unpleasant events are like the knocks of a sculptor’s chisel designed to make us more beautiful people. Especially those that break our false pride and leave us with a sense of true worth and self-respect.

We form our destinies based on our nature and values. Siddhartha Gauthama may have let go of all his riches in one stroke to find the truth, others may lose their inherited situation more gradually. They may give up respectability to lead a life of dissipation.  Dhirubhai Ambani gave up’ his life of inherited poverty and ended up one of the richest industrialists in the country. His values and nature were about wealth creation.

It is not sufficient for a soul to select a birth advantageous to its goal.. if its samskaras and impulses drive it to some other goal.

Where were your born? Where are you now? Can you perceive the choices you made and the actions you took that brought you here? Do you know others who have chosen differently in similar situations? What is the one thing that you would never sacrifice? What is the one thing for which you would sacrifice all other “good things”? That explains the course of your life, that explains why things happen to you that do not happen to other people.

What is the one cause that drives and defines your existence? The reason why do something, stick with something or abstain from doing something? What is it that you love? That is what makes things happen for you.

Attribution of causes (May 2005):

When we think the other guy is hurting me, we feel angry.

When we think this is caused by my samskaras or my fate, we feel resigned to the circumstances but not angry with anyone. What have I done in the past that I suffer so. I cannot escape it.

When we see the hand of God, in the events that happen to us, then we find acceptance of the event. We think what am I supposed to learn, what am I supposed to do, that helps me evolve into that kind of a human being that can take on more serious work, or be closer to God. This is evolution.

One (Mar 2005) :

There is only One soul, One consciousness, One body, and I think only One place (Here) and One time (Now).

This is why the Universe responds to us and we to the Universe.

You can move your finger because you identify with it and vice versa. The same is true of your friends, family and the universe.

Your pain is their pain and their pain is yours. Your wishes are their wishes and their wishes are yours. Your needs are their needs and their needs are yours.

Because, they and you, you and I are one.

Our fear of death, loss, separation and individual suffering are a sense of false identification or limited identification. There is truly no pain or worry for those who identify with the infinite : either on their own account or on any one else’s account.

Our yogic powers are merely our ability to realise the connection between us and others, our union with the rest. That is why they work. It is a stage in enhanced identification.

Earth: On Ecology (2003)

The earth is one living organism. More of the earth’s crust is being converted into human beings and human habitats. This is de-stabilizing the current ecological balance. We are consuming our planet in an effort to modify it to suit our needs and comforts. The old equilibrium was suited to the multiplication of human gene patterns. The new equilibrium may favor the dominance of other gene patterns.

Perhaps the earth is using her “human cells” to transform herself to phase next. Perhaps we have no choice. Perhaps that is our program.

God :

Humans like the “light side” of God. To us God is Truth, God is Light, God is Cleanliness, God is Beauty, God is Love, God is Compassion, God is Life, God is Service, God is Learning, God is Goodness, God is Bliss, God is our Highest Value, God is our Final Goal. God is Just. God is Forgiving. God is punitive. God can save us. God can be prayed to, pleased, loved and realized. And when we do something difficult, God is on Our Side.

96 percent of the universe consists of dark matter. There is in this universe dirt, disease, hatred, death, exploitation, ignorance, badness, misery, apparent injustice. Are these a part of God or of the Anti-God? Is there a war between God and Anti-God? Is there a God above them?

(Jan 2005)
The clamour of my thoughts and emotions is preventing me from listening to God. I know that God is listening to me. I know God not. How may I recognise one that I do not know. I do not even know what realisation means. Who art thee who I seek?

Life, the Stars, and…

Insecurity :

Insecurity is generated by a fear of losing something we love or like. A job, money, family, a lover, health or even life itself. The truth is that nothing is permanent, not life nor health nor job nor family and most certainly not wealth. The sun will cool, the earth will spin into the sun, the universe will collapse into itself, a bubble with a different time scale.

The alternative to living in insecurity is to live IN the moment. Not “for” the moment. Today you have much that you did not have yesterday and will not have tomorrow. Some things you never will have! (Sept 2004).

• The Joy Of Not Being In Love!!
• Fun And Philosophy : My Wonderful Trip To Kerala…
• Guns And Spirituality
• Siva, Scary Roads And Pandas: Thoughts In DevaPrayag
• Knowledge (Gnyanam) Vs Superstition (Maya)

• Madras Cafe – Rishikesh
• Sanyasis Of Haridwar And Rishikesh.
• Rang Rang Rang Bole!!!

• If There Is No Free Will, There Is No Sin.
• Hating Your Duty…. And Doing It!
• Overcoming Negativity

Photography, Authorship and Copyright Notice : All Rights Reserved : Satya Sarada Kandula