Meet the fantastic Ficus krishnae

The Ficus genus is vast and varied; there are about 850 species of plants in the Ficus genus, ranging from woody trees, shrubs, vines, or epiphytes in the family Moraceae. Approximately 115 species of ficus are present in India, the most popular being the Peepal (Ficus religiosa), the Banyan (Ficus benghalensis), and so many others. 

Of the many such figs that stand tall (or rather spread wide) is a particular tree in the Lalbagh Botanical Gardens in Bangalore. Dubbed Ficus krishnae, it is thought to be a banyan tree variation and is often treated as a subspecies. But that was not the case when first classified in the early 1900s as a new species. However, a few decades later, it was marked as a freak variant of the common banyan tree and was named a sub-species: Ficus benghalensis var. krishnae. 

More recently, based on genetic research, the tree has been re-designated as an independent species in its own right.

But apart from all the taxonomic details, here are some reasons why this tree is truly special. The tree is a native of India and is quite rare. While there are many similarities to the banyan, namely the spreading branches with aerial roots that thicken and become trunks that support the crown. Or the similarity in the texture of the leaves, which look a lot similar.

Yet, the differences persist. This tree does not display a dense and spreading canopy like a banyan, and the bark also feels quite different. But the most significant difference is the way the leaves are shaped; they seem to have a single jarlike funnel. The basil loves of the leaves that spring from the stem twist backwards to form a “cup”. 

According to legends, the name Krishna comes from Lord Krishna, who rolled up the leaves of an ordinary banyan tree so that he could hide his butter in it. Thus it is also known as Makhan Katori/ माखन कटोरी or Krishna’s buttercup, Krishna vad/ कृष्ण वद.

As mentioned in Vijay Thiruvady’s book Heritage Trees, this particular tree is around 150 years old. Thus when the tree came into being, India was under colonial command, and Queen Victoria was the empress. There is also an interesting story on the discovery of the species narrated by Vijay in an episode on Bangalore Walks.

You can catch the tree near the Japanese Garden, a short walk from the Lalbagh main gate. The best part is that the park guards are pretty stern and dissuade many visitors from sitting on the branches with a persistent and irritating whistle. 

A few metres away, almost 100 metres, is another younger Ficus krishnae tree. It has even a further variation to its cup-like leaves; the pocket is divided into two compartments with a stitch in the middle. It is incredible to have such rare trees living out in close cohabitation.

So, next time you are in the park, don’t forget to visit the fantastic Ficus krishnae tree and its younger brother (or sister). Here are the coordinates for the same.

वो हैप्पी-दीवाली और साल-मुबारक वाले दिन

बजे होंगे कुछ सात या साढ़े-सात सुबह के, जब घंटी की आवाज़ से नींद टूट गयी। जहाँ तक याद था, कचरे का डब्बा रात में ही बहार रख दिया था, तो इस समय जमादार का घंटी बजाने का सवाल नहीं होता। एक बार सोचा जाने दो, किसी बच्चे की शरारत होगी। मगर जब दूसरी बार घंटी बजी तो नींद को टा-टा करना ही पड़ा।

खैर जैसे-तैसे, उठते-उठाते, बचते-बचाते, दरवाज़ा खोल ही दिया, तो सामने साक्षात जमादार-भैय्या के दर्शन हुये। लेकिन वो कुछ अलग दिख रहे थे, कपडे साफ़ थे, वो कुर्ता-पैजामा पहने हुए थे। आज तो चेहरा भी दिखाई दे रहा था, जो अक्सर किसी कपडे या गमछे से ढका रहता। एक अजीब सा तेज उनके personality से प्रवाहित हो रहा था। सच बोलै जाये तो मुझे कुछ मिनट लगे, उन्हें पहचानने मे। उनकी यह वेश-भूषा देख कर नींद गायब हो गयी।

हाथ जोड़के, शीतल विनम्रता से जमादार-भैय्या ने फ़रमाया, “साब, हैप्पी दिवाली, साल मुबारक”। यह सुनते ही, मेरे दिमाग की बत्ती जल गयी, मुझे पता था आगे क्या आने वाला था, मगर फिर भी, बनावटी अल्हडपने से जवाब दे दिए, “आप को भी वैरी हैप्पी दिवाली”। अब जबकि हम दोनों ने दो राष्ट्र-अध्यक्षों की तरह दिवाली ग्रीटिंग्स की फाइलें हक्ष्ताक्षर करके बदल ली थी, एक सन्नाटा सा छा गया, जैसे हम किसी शोक सभा में मौजूद हो। सच बताऊ तो मैं वापस बिस्तर पे जाना चाहता था, और हमारे हैंडसम जमादार भैय्या को भी कम जल्दी ना थी। कई और घंटियां बजानी थी, एक घर पे थोडिना इतना टाइम बर्बाद कर सकते थे। “साब, दिवाली की बक्शीश” कह कर वो सीधे मुद्दे पर आ गए।

अगर सत्य कहु मुझे इस बेवाकी पे जरा भी आश्चर्य नहीं हुआ, यह कोई नयी बात ना थी। बड़ी दीपावली का अगला दिन, नए साल के रूप में मनाया जाता है। यह, एक गुजराती परंपरा हैं, जो बाकी सारी गुजराती चीज़ो की तरह राष्ट्रीय और अंतर्राष्ट्रीय हो गयी है। इस दिन सारे काम-करने वाले लोग निकलते हैं, अपने हक़ की बक्शीश लेने। भले ही आपकी दिवाली कैसी भी गुजरी हो, अगले दिन हैप्पी-दिवाली बोलने वालों की कमी नहीं होती। भले ही आपकी गर्दन पर चाकू नहीं रखा गया हों, मगर वो प्यारी मुस्कान की नोक कुछ कम ज़ालिम ना थी। एक तारीकी से कहिये तो यह sanctioned extortion या मुम्बैया भाषा में कहे तो एक प्रकार की वसूली थी।

जमदारजी की बात सुनके मैंने पापा की पेंट जो अलमारी पर लटकी थी, उनकी जेब से वॉलेट निकाल के बीस रुपैये थमा दिए। रात को दुश्मनी हमले के पहले हम लोगों ने पूरी स्ट्रेटेजी बनायीं थी नये साल के आगमन के लिये। बक्शीश की शुरुवात बीस से होगी, और चूँकि उस समय कौन बनेगा करोड़पति का ज़माना ना था, तो अगला पड़ाव २५, ३०, ४० और उसके आसपास ख़तम हो जाता। हम पिछले कई दिनों से छोटे denomination के नोट इक्कठे कर रहे थे।

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Are you Swim-Dad or Swim-Mom? Here’s a way to find out..

Swimming when you do it for leisure is pretty harmless. In fact, it is a good and healthy vocation for the body and the mind. But, when it is taken as a sport, it kind of transmutes into something else. Swimmers seem like a different species altogether. They are focused, private individuals who are interested in just three things: swimming, eating, and sleeping, not necessarily in the same order. In that way, swimming as a sport is something quite different, it is an abiding passion that not only sucks in the sportsperson but also their folks, their parents.

Sometime between when the kid is practicing in pools and participating in local meets, a strange transformation takes place with the parents. At some ill-opportune moment, they transmute from normal fun-loving folks to an obsessive passionate lot. Called as the Swimming Parent (a Swim-Dad or a Swim-Mom), these are pretty normal beings most of the times but shows traces of abnormalities in the proximity of a water-body like a swimming pool or a sea. Abnormalities include garrulous or loud behavior, a fascination for trivialities like splicing or leg movement, and obsession over lap-times. The inflicted one is not shy and inhibited in showing his/her excitement or disappointment to the world at large. At meets, the Swim-Dad can be seen nervously timing the different heats and thunderously timing the ones that have his kids. Usually, he or she does not swim yet, knows the nuances of each stroke. He or she is well aware of dietary practices even though their body might not reflect it. He or she is obsessed with timings, records, and tournaments. And usually is not much liked by officials and coaches. The good thing is that, once away from the pool, the Swim-Dad displays normal tendencies, but now and then, some mutations occur and the Swim-Dad is equally obsessive even in while sitting in the living room.

To know whether you are afflicted by the syndrome, here’s a list of statements of the primary traits. Count how many the number of traits that you agree with and then compare it with the result at the end. So, let’s find out if you are a Swim-Dad (or a Swim-Mom). Here goes:

If pools excite you, 50 mt makes you happy, 100 mt makes you ecstatic and anything less than 25 Mt is disappointment

If keeping records of your kid’s performance is your favorite hobby, or better, your only hobby

If you go to meets armed with your camera, clipping all races for posterity Continue reading

How long will you live; Dad?

Ok God, if I cross that line before that car does, you will add 20 years to my mummy and papa’s life. Done!,” Mumbling something like this I would dash full speed ahead, trying to cross an imaginary on the street before the car coming from the front does so. To be honest, the line was always drawn in a manner which would be a trifle hard to attain but with a certainty nonetheless. Also, the opponent car would be selected with care, the slow-poke stuttering Fiats and Ambassadors would be preferred over the flighty Marutis. Not surprisingly, I would win almost all the contests, crossing the line, winning the race and yes, adding years to my parent’s lives.

Though I am not too sure as to when I started playing this game, it was surely when I was less than 10. I guess, there’s something about that age when we suddenly become conscious of mortality, about life, death and the things beyond our control. We see birds dying, people dying sadly in films and on TV, we hear about the deaths of some far-off uncles and aunties, and then there are these absolute strangers that die up in some conversations, that were snatched away by  the pot-bellied Yama in some accident, disease, crime, or just about anything. Sadly, the blissful reverie and the innocence of childhood is besmirched by the burly god of death riding his dark buffalo to the underworld. It is at this age that it dawns upon us that life is a balloon that can be punctured by the prick of death. La Vita, is not necessarily and not always, est Bella.
The vulnerability is acute when it comes to our parents. Somehow the majority of the people dying seem to be strangely of about the same age as that of the mum and dad. In fact, the very thought of a lifeless dad or mom can absolutely ruin the fun and frolic much common to that age. We do realize that the parents are pretty crucial, as providers of course, to our existence. They buy us gifts, they give us food, new clothes, fees, toys, and other things. And though they can be pretty irritating with their lists of dos and donts, they are like a protective shield around us, saving us all the times from the big bad in the world. In a manner of speaking, parents are a necessary evil for our existence, like that sour medicine that spoils the taste but makes us healthy nonetheless.
Even the fairy tales are replete with instances of how terrible life can be without parents. I mean look at poor Snow white who lost her real mum, or for that matter Hansel and Gretel who were almost cooked to a curry because of their step-mum.  Or the reason why the big bad wolf was able to gobble down Red Riding Hood was because she had no mum and dad to take her care. You see, in almost all the fairy tales, the misery for the kids is beset by the death of a parent, most often a mother that is replaced by a wily step-mum.
Such tales kind of underscore why we kind of need our parents at that age, and why we are so interested in them living out long — often very very long. 100 years to be the very minimum!
It is the interesting conversations that I have with Idhant and Vihaan that reminds of my childhood dash that helped me to add continuous years to my parent’s lifeline. Invariably, any discussion that even has a hint of death and tragedy ends up with a discussion of how long we both (dad and mom) will live. Numbers are thrown up, calculations are done, and then a figure is arrived at.  At present, as per the current negotiations, we are supposed to live at least a century, a number of 150 years is not all that undesirable either.

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From Class-less Mumbai Trains to Caste-less Indian Society

Abbé aee— first class hain, First. Chal peeche waala dabba mein ja,” (this is first class, go to the compartment behind) is a common refrain that can be heard in the suburban trains of Mumbai day after day. Depending on the time of the day, the tone and the tenor of the words change; it will be irritated and scruff in the mornings and evenings during the peak hours when space is at a premium and it will be calm and brotherly during the afternoon, or late at night when there is much space around.Mumbai-train-station-main

In 10 cases out of 10, the admonishment above would have been uttered and directed at a person based on how he looks and what he wears. If a man is a short, black fella with oil in his hair and in chappals or slippers, if he is wearing faded shirt and a worn out pant, if he carrying a common bag on his back, a cheap mobile in his pocket; he (don’t know if it happens in a she-compartment) is most likely to be reprimanded so, and reminded of his status in the scheme of trains. In most cases, the man uttering this phrase is right in his judgement, as ridiculed one would look around confused and dazed, and would scamper out to squeeze himself in the ‘other  compartments’ meant for him. In this way the ‘premium’ness of the First Class is assiduously protected. And rightfully too, after all the fares of the First Class are around thrice and more of the Second Class, there are just 3 coupes of First in a train of 12. This economic barrier is what ensures that a corporate executive travels to work comfortably while reading news from a pink paper, and poor peon hanging for his life and trying not to become one.

Pic: http://shoooonya.blogspot.in/2012/07/mumbai-local-first-class-vs-second.html

Pic courtesy: http://shoooonya.blogspot.in/2012/07/mumbai-local-first-class-vs-second.html

Honestly speaking, there is no real physical difference between the First and Second Class in the suburban trains, at least no discernible one. Both arrive at the station simultaneously, the interiors are the same, and so are the exteriors. Even the seats are the same, and the pattern of seating. It is not as if, after paying a premium you are showered with fresh scented air, or extra leg space or something. Neither do you have the privilege to disembark first or something, like you have in planes. In fact, travelling in either class is the same, what really changes is kind of gentry, and so the attitude of the traveller based on his or her perceptions. Thus, a First Classer is much gruff around with his personal space, they will only seat 3 on a seat that on a supposed to seat 3, unlike in the Second Class, where they always ‘adjust’ 4, and even more based on size of the occupants.  Continue reading

How mythology is not a science, and why it should not be treated as one!

“Who really knows?
Who will here proclaim it?
Whence was it produced? Whence is this creation?
The gods came afterwards, with the creation of this universe.
Who then knows whence it has arisen?”

 Rig Veda, 10:129-6

 Somewhere embedded deep inside the Rig Veda — which happens to be one of the important canonical texts of Hindu religion, the four Vedas — is Nasadiya Sukta, or what is known as the hymn of creation. Of unknown authorship, this hymn poses some very cryptic and incisive queries on the purpose of life and the very existence of an all-bearing god. There is an element of agnosticism, of query, of doubt. It starts in a rhetorical fashion, posing incisive queries questioning the singularity itself. And while numerous interpretations of the Sukta have highlighted the scientific temper and the inquisitive Indian mythology1temperament of the early sages who penned this and the very many hymns found elsewhere, the fact remains that Nasadiya Sukta is also a very humane and emotional query. For instance, when asked to believe in something, don’t we always begin with scepticism and doubt, it is only later when through understanding and acceptance that we move to the next level. Until then, we are atheists, sceptics, agnostics and so on.

In that way Nasadiya Sukta is most special, it accepts doubt and empiricism as part of the man’s spiritual and scientific journey. It encourages questioning the very fundamentals, even the existence of a supreme being or many is not taken for granted. It is in this sense, Hinduism differed from all else, you did not have to believe anything that your rational mind did not. Faith was not a mandatory imposition; that is, not believing in the trinity — Brahma, Vishnu, Mahesh — did not make you any lesser of a Hindu, than say a temple priest who spent a lifetime propriating the very triad. And so the ancient Vedic Hindu was a questioning, open-minded, person, not a self-deluded proud oaf who saw Meru as the centre of the universe, denying everything else.

Much has changed in the journey from a Vedic Hindu performing a homa on a vedi in the ancient time, to the modern Hindu blogging and posting on the Vedas on FB and Twitter today. The progress of technology and evolution has left its mark on the religion itself. New gods have emerged, old have been dislodged, there have been numerous reformist movements from Arya Samaj to Theosophical Society, from Iskcon to Art of Living. Hinduism probably is the only religion in the world, where new deities keep emerging at different time, and all the time. Take the case of Sai Baba, there are numerous temples dedicated to him and many more are sprouting all the time. In fact, Shirdi which was the seat of Sai Baba has become a huge pilgrimage centre, with annual donations running in many millions. Faith is always good business in any religion.

Sadly, the Vedas to a large extent have now been relegated to the domain of the experts and the scholars, with newer texts taking their place. The Hindu theology can be broadly classified into three buckets:

  • Vedas & Brahmanas
  • Upanishads 
  • Puranas & the Epics

The four Vedas – Rig, Yajur, Attharva, Sama — primarily are a collation of hymns, rituals and prayers, propitiating the various Vedic deities (32 approximately), like Indra, Agni, Varun, Maruts, Prajapati. There’s much lesser storytelling in them, and whatever are there, the purpose is to present a reasoning for a certain ritual or sacrifice. For instance the tale of Apala in the Rig Veda provides a clue as to why certain rituals like the turmeric

Indian mythology3ceremony is performed during the nuptials. Thus, the tales are a sort of story to explain the science. There is a purpose, a well-thought objective. The sheer depth and complexity of the Vedas are tempered by such tales. Also, it is important to note that there is a lot more cultural and scientific material in the Vedas, through careful examination and interpretation, one can understand the nature of being, and the natural world that surrounds it. Indeed, there is theology and philosophy, but only to a limited extent. For instance, we get to know about how the world was created through Purusha Sukta and to an extent the Nasadiya Sukta. Matters like philosophy of religion is dealt with much greater emphasis in the subsequent works like the Upanishads.

So, broadly speaking Vedas are the scientific texts, Upanishads are the philosophical treatise, and by the time we reach the Puranas, all we are left with tales and myths. The Puranas are much later compositions and were written for a specific purpose to promote and endorse one deity over all else, thus in the Shiv Purana, you are told that Lord Shiva is ‘dev adi dev, mahadev’ (the super-duper god), the Vaishnav Purana would tell you about the Maha Vishnu, who creates a million universes with each breath lorded over by a smaller Vishnu in his own image. The Devi Purana, similarly pronounces the supreme-ness of the female deity. All this is done through prose stories, and almost every time the story of creation is reinvented with a new twist.

Meanwhile, the epics Mahabharata and Ramayana penned by Vyas and Valmiki respectively are Maha-Kavyas, great poems and work of fiction, like say Iliad and Odyssey. These are fantastical tales possibly of fantastical people and times, but then in lack of larger proof in terms of historical finding or artefact, they cannot really be considered as real.

Yet, since the epics are much a part of the religious ethos, the Hindus treat them Hindu mythology 2with much deference and respect. Considering that the two major Vishnu Avatars are at the core of each of this epic, raises the religious value of these works beyond comprehension. Little wonder, when the same epics were adopted on television the actors playing Rama and Krishna were treated like gods, and there are stories of how people would offer flowers and fruits to the TV when the episodes aired. In that particular timeslot the television set would turn into a temple of sorts. That is the power of belief.

Little wonder, the amazing tales told in the epics, or even the Puranas, are not fiction for many. There are numerous who believe them to be real, and so many scholars and researchers spend their lifetime looking for clues, meanings and physical markings of all the things and places etched out in them. This is a sort of retrofitting research, wherein you try and find the physical manifestation of a fictional object or thing. People give real world dates, 4000 BCE, 8000 BCE, 80000 BCE and so on. Ramayana came first, Mahabharata second, and so on.

Ravana_seizes_the_chariot_Puspaka_from_KuveraAnd this is essentially where the anomalies start, in the fascination and fastidiousness of proving the epics as historical contrivances, supposed scholars start building fancy hypotheses.  Thus, a Brahmastra in Arjun’s  quiver becomes an equivalent of an atomic missile, Ravan’s Pushpakvimana turns into an early age helicopter, Gandhari’s mechanism of having kids by raising 100 embryos in 100 earthen pots is like test-tube baby, replacement of Ganesha’s head with that of an elephant is surgical procedure, the Jambudweepa is another term of the ancient Pangea, the extreme slowness of Brahma’s time is actually time dilation, the Krishna’s precise and pinpointed Sudarshan Chakra is actually a cruise missile, and the list just goes on and on.

Looking from the prism of today, these scholars try to reinvent the past using the epics as the base. The core idea is to impress upon us that our lineage actually hails from a very scientific and advanced race. It is like reading Verne’s ‘20,000 Leagues under the sea’ and deducing that the medieval man had a powerful nuclear submarine like Nautilus, or using HG Wells novel to claim the indisputable existence of a time machine. The lines between fact and fiction gets blurred.

By the way, in no manner do I imply that our great ancestors were some pastoral oafs. Indeed they were ahead of their times, inquisitive and used science as a tool. Anyone who has ever visited any Indus Valley Civilization’s ruin — even excepting Harappa & Mohenjo Daro (because they are far too superlative to not impress) — would immediately realise the scientific temperament of the ancient Indians, the town planning, the right-angled streets, the sewer system, the trade mechanism, etc. do provide a glimpse into the scientific past. Continue reading

Here is what they should not tell you about Hindu mythology

While I much respect and admire the kind of work Devdutt Pattanaik is doing in bring Indian mythology to the fore, he has written numerous books and spoken at various TedX events on the same, yet I am much disappointed by his latest post on qz.com, titled “Here is what they don’t tell you about feminism and sexuality in Hindu mythology”. It is a well-written piece on a well-read website, yet at the core of it, it makes a lot of errors not only in terms of judgements but also on inferences drawn from them. The very first words of the piece start with, “Hindu Mythology reveals”.  This can be a very dicey phrase to beginMahabharat1 with. You see, mythology by a simple definition is actually a story or a tale. And being one, it cannot really reveal anything; one can only make interpretations of it, to guess what the thought process was in that time when the same had been supposedly penned. Thus, as a corollary, etiological study of epics like Mahabharata or Ramayana are as prone to misinformation, as say an archaeological study is.

Coming to the primary premise of the said piece that talks about a very important issue of feminism and equality in ancient Indian times. The objective is much noble, but then, it starts of in a weird manner, stating that in the Mahabharata, there is an allusion of a time, where “men and women were free to go to anyone, until it became important to establish fatherhood.” Mahabharata is a vast epic that has much in it, like an ocean, where you can dive and find different gems every time. Hence, finding instances that support such inference is not really a surprise. Yet, in the phrase above, the allusion seems to be either on promiscuity or freedom to choose partners in ancient India.  Continue reading

Will someone kick the #StupidBucket

Imagine for a second, what would happen if  someone pours a bucket of ice-cold water over your head? A slight chill runs through the body, the hair gets spoilt, the dress gets wet, and god forbid if you are carrying your wallet or your phone on you, the person with the bucket would possibly be buried in one.

But what if you could have some fun, get publicity, and indulge in friendly ICB11bantering with your colleagues or friends, and finally, the beatific feeling of having contributed to a good cause, all at the same time. If imagine you could get all this by having a bucket of cold water poured over your head, would you not agree to it?

This is what essentially the Ice Bucket Challenge (or as it is known #IceBucketChallenge) is all about. Lots of fun, PR gimmicks, bantering and all this in the name of a charitable cause. Apparently the Ice Bucket Challenge is being taken for spreading awareness on ALS or Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. A neurological disorder affecting the nerve cells in the brain and the spinal cord. Patients suffering from ALS or Lou Gehrig Disease as it is also known suffer from a degenerative loss of control over their bodily functions, leading to total paralysis and subsequent death. Typically, the time-span between the onset of symptoms to death is around 2-5 years. It is a painful and traumatic disease, which leaves the person debilitated and is incurable. Hence, people having fun with cold water in the name of such a traumatic disorder must make you sick. Right?

Not really. In our disjointed world, something as abominable as this is repackaged as a philanthropic and social exercise. SO, the Ice Bucket Challenge has a social side, the participants in the challenge have a choice of donating $100 or having a bucket of ice-water poured over their heads. Ideally, you’d expect folks (especially the uber rich ones) to opt for donation, so that there can be more research on the disease, and the possibility of finding a cure. But no, in a sort of pseudo machismo, people will have water poured over their heads as if it is a very brave and gallant thing to do. The script is similar in almost all the videos posted, the person will ICB2“accept” the challenge, rattle of a few more names, steel himself/herself up, have the bucket emptied over self, smile, shriek or just look bewildered. The length of the video varies from 30 seconds to over 2 minutes, directly proportional to how desperate the person is for publicity. In fact, in many videos the celebs don’t even mention ALS or do it very casually, thereby defeating the whole purpose for taking up the challenge (remember the greater good of spreading awareness). Continue reading

Is Bhagvad Gita actually an *(Asterisk) in prose?

Bhagvad Gita is one of the most sacred, if not the most sacred of Hindu texts. It has gained cult status, with people from different walks of life, from religious to completely non-religious background emphatically thumbing their support for it. Even the common man is sensitised to its sacredness, what with the oath of honesty one has to take while in matters of courts and law. In that way, it is to Hindus what Koran is to Muslims or Bible is to Christians.

Yet, Gita is not a standalone work or complete in itself, like say the Koran and Bible are. It is a part of an overall epic of Mahabharata. In fact were we to make a size based comparison, it is very small part of the epic, having some 700 verses in a family of some 200000 verses. Nevertheless, Mahabharata is not sacred, but Gita is. I well remember in the past, there was a pervasive notion that if there is a 101734067Mahabharata copy in your, there will fights and clashes in the family. Result, not many would keep the Mahabharata copy at home. But Ramayana, and more importantly Gita always find a place of honour in any Hindu god-fearing home.

Recently, while discussing Mahabharata at the Comparative Mythology class, there was this bit about how Hindu epics like Mahabharata and Ramayana had numerous editions of interpretations. Through the ages, these stories have been told and retold, with a little tweak and a little addendum, for instance, Ram in a version of Bengali Ramayana is portrayed as a weakling, while Sita is the strong character (not surprising since in Bengal, woman have been always at the centre of things be it literature Labonya in Gora, films – Charulata (Satyajit Ray), or even in politics like Mamta). Similarly, in a tribal version of Ramayana from Madhya Pradesh, the second brother Lakshman takes a much bigger role, and is central to the theme. Meanwhile, in places like Thailand and Surinam, Hanuman is much more than a devout monkey-follower of Ram. Thus, in every retelling of a tale, there is some embellishment of it.

Mahabharata too has undergone many such interpretations, the story being told from varying perspectives, be it Karna, or Duryodhan (or should one say Suyodhan). There is even one work from the perspective of Karan’s wife. The sheer depth and character of the epic, lends itself to such works.

Gita somehow seems to have escaped from the cycle of interpretations. I mean there is much work and analysis on Gita, but there is not much interpretation. As the lecturer said in the mythology class, storyteller and mythologists always keep a healthy distance from Gita. It makes you scratch your head, as to what could be the reason for it?

Sharma-055One of the explanations is to look at the nature of the content of Gita. Unlike the interesting milieu of the Mahabharata, Gita is a fairly staid. Essentially, the whole of Gita is actually an elongated sermon, given by Krsna to a confused Arjun, who is sort of dithering before the great war. Right through the 18 chapters Krsna more or less sums up the Hindu philosophy of birth, death and living. While answering to doubts raised by Arjun, Krsna lays the philosophy of divinity namely that of Advaita (non duality) and merges the concept of karma, addressing Arjun (and thereby all of us), to surrender on to him and think not the consequences of action. The chapters are an assimilation of the three schools of thoughts in Hinduism, what are dubbed to be the paths leading to god, namely, karma, gyana, and bhakti. Continue reading

How the Indian PM was abused & denigrated in the name of democracy

Reading the excerpts of Sanjay Baru’s book on Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, The Accidental Prime Minister (http://bit.ly/1iawxNv), I am somehow reminded of a cartoon that was done by the brilliantly nonchalant Abu Abraham. Published in the tumultuous period of the Emergency, it shows a rather ungainly President in the bathtub, signing off the proclamation. Indeed, on midnight of June 26, 1975, the office of the President of India was delivered such a body-blow, that it has not recovered even till today. Not surprisingly, the president of the nation, was considered to merely a rubber-stamp, a puppet in the hand abu_abraham_cartoon_20120326of the government, who signs off the bill, the ordinances, proclamations of Presidents Rule, etc., living off the lard in a cosy colonial palace, the Rastrapati Bhavan. Indira Gandhi, who selfishly wanted to avoid the embarrassment of having to resign following a verdict of Allahabad High Court, decided to enact the most brazen and oppressive abuse on Indian democracy. The rest of the government, including the President, were merely stooges or at-best hapless no-bodies, who could no nothing.

Somehow, the stratagem that was deployed by Indira in 1975, was mastered by her daughter-in-law in 2004, who foisted on a nation a political cipher as a prime minister, just to warm the seat for the eventual transition to her son, Rahul Gandhi. Manmohan Singh as a prime minister in 2004, was as much as an accident as much as it was a design. Just like her mother-in-law, who was under fire for electioneering crimes, Sonia Gandhi was under pressure over her Italian root. The then President APJ Kalam too had apparently raised the issue of her origins, and showed reluctance in ordaining her as the PM. After having burnt her fingers with a thankless PV Narsimha Rao and ambitious Sitaram Kesri, Sonia decided to find a PM that was not only pliable and amenable, but also deferential to the 1st family, and drawing his support from the family itself. Thus by a curious tragedy, in 2004, we never really got a prime minister but rather a care-taker prime minister, someone who was always “caring” the needs of the family and careful not to fall out of favour with his mentors.

While the stratagem deployed by Sonia Gandhi was vintage Congress-stuff, the implications and ramifications were far wider. Over the course of reign from 1966 down to 1984, Indira Gandhi had ruthlessly destroyed all the power-centres that could pose a challenge to the PMO. Stooges were given positions of power, and those who stood in the way were somehow sidelined and cut to size. For instance, not many were surprised when Giani Zail Singh on being made the President had apparently remarked, that “If my leader had said I should pick up a broom and be a sweeper, I would have done that. She chose me to be President!”. Little wonder, when Operation Bluestar was launched, the President did not even know a thing about it beforehand. India was Indira, and Indira was India, truly speaking. Continue reading

Tale of the Farmer, Rats and a Cobra

Long long ago, in a not so far-off land, there lived a farmer with his prosperous land. The piece of land was much fertile, in fact so much so that it could easily feed the farmer and his family, and even leave him a decent surplus. Sadly, wherever there is prosperity, follows the crisis. Not surprisingly, the farmer’s land was invaded by a bunch of fair-skinned rascals, who took over the land, made the farmer toil, and took away all the surplus. Suddenly, in the field which used to feed and leave a surplus, the farmer and his family were facing starvation. For what seemed like a long age seemingly stretching for two centuries, the farmer suffered, starved and toiled. The land was his but the produce was not. He strove hard against the new lords, and finally was able to evict them. And he heaved a big big sigh. His land was his again, the food was his again. He dreamed of a good future, quite unlike the time before the fair-skinned crooks had come.

With a renewed vigour and zeal, he started toiling, it was his time in the sun. And then one day while taking a stroll in his field, the farmer heard a squeak, and spotted a little mouse. Looking at the field that produced so much, the farmer thought how much could the poor famished rat eat. So he let it be. Time passed, and as the farmer toiled through the day and night, getting his rewards, he could hear the squeaks getting multiplied. But then he was too happy and glad, to bother about a few or more rats.

‘God has been kind, and its his wish’, he say to his family. This went on for a long time, and in the same time the mice turned into medium sized rats, and then into huge bandicoots. They thrived on the land and its surplus. And then came a time, when the pestilence grew so much that the farmer’s output was affected. First his surplus was steadily wiped off, and then his subsistence ration was. The farmer realised his folly, but alas it was too late. He tried killing a few with sticks, scaring them, but it would make no dent. The rats had reached a point, where a few dead was no issue. Newer ones were quickly added. Continue reading