My Experiments with Truth

It was his birth anniversary two days ago and five days ago an important judgement was passed in the highest court in the country. Both were there in a blog written five years ago, so thought of re-printing the same with a relevant epilogue.

Two gentlemen, separated by nearly a century at birth, come together at the Maha Kumbh of this page where we shall trace some experiments with truth and untruth in their lives. One went on to become the Father of the Nation and the other remains just a Father of a Lovely Daughter.

Episode One:  A young Gandhi, on his return to India, was waiting at a platform for the train to arrive. In those days, if the driver did not see a white man at the station, the driver would just slow down the train expecting the Indian to scramble on to the running train. As Gandhi managed to board the running train, one of his slippers fell off. Gandhi immediately took off his other pair and threw it to a bewildered onlooker. Gandhi remarked later, “Ah, well if someone is to find one of my shoes, hopefully he’ll find the other one too and thus have a fine new pair for himself.”

In the book on leadership, where I found this story, the learned author goes on to say, “What a Man. In this age of scams and greed and never ending wants, it strikes me that we can all take a leaf out of the Mahatma’s book.”

The story shifts to 1982, Ambedkar Stadium, New Delhi where East Bengal was playing Incheon University, South Korea in the DCM Cup Finals. The boy, who never missed any of these matches starting from the Quarter Finals onwards for years, along with his friends, was there to witness the epic match hoping his team in red and gold would win the prestigious cup. It definitely was not his day and the Koreans won the tournament. No sooner had the match got over, than the boy and his friends ran outside for a glimpse of their favourite footballers like Mona da, Bhaskar Ganguly and others. The losers came and quickly climbed onto their waiting bus and drove away without even waving their hands…what a disappointment. The attention then shifted to the Korean team which by now had settled in their luxury coach. The boy, like many others, started screaming for the T-shirts and shoes from the winners. One of the Koreans threw one shoe and the boy fought off a hungry tide of mad soccer fans to grab it…Yes..he had won the shoe. The Korean player now threw down the second pair and the boy made a desperate attempt at snatching the same but failed despite his best attempt.

The person who got the second pair asked the boy to give him the other shoe since it was of no use to him anyway. The boy thought, not having read the memoirs of the Mahatma, that it was true.  “What am I to do with one shoe?”  And he threw his prized ‘Golden Boot’ to the other fellow. This definitely was not a sign of any Gandhian leadership but sheer foolishness. While on his way home he thought, “I too could have asked the other fellow the same question and maybe I would have been taking home a fine pair of football boots with plastic studs.” And so the story goes that the boy was left playing football for another couple of years with ordinary Indian make shoes with leather studs fixed with nails, which would often pierce his foot and cause him pain, as much as the story of the missed chance which haunted him for a long time.

Episode 2: While in England, Gandhiji took to the habit of walking to the court and other places in order to save on fares. He would walk up to eight to ten miles a day and he goes on to say that, “It was mainly this habit of long walks that kept me practically free from illness throughout my stay in England and gave me a fairly strong body.” And then who can forget his numerous Walks for Freedom including the Dandi March which was a 24-day and 240 miles long walk from Sabarmati Ashram to Dandi to produce salt without paying tax.  For those who have seen the pictures of Gandhiji walking will vouch for his speed which his followers found it hard to match.

The boy when fairly young took to the habit of long and fast walks. The reason for this habit was simple.  One, the options of conveyance were limited, and even more limited was the currency in his pocket. So the more he walked, the more the coins remained in his pockets to spend on other luxuries of marbles, cricket ball and cream rolls. While walking he developed another strange instinct of trying to overtake the person ahead…and then the next and next till he discovered at least in some activity he could beat a host of people. This habit held the boy in good stead later in life.

In 1998 on his maiden visit to Paris for two days the boy, who by then had turned a man, found it very irritable to talk to the French in English and figuring out the metro there. He took to walking in Paris and he walked and walked and walked for 2 days for almost 16 to 18 hours a day. By the time he would retire to his hotel room, his legs would be shaking and he would try relaxing in the bath tub but failed as the stopcock in the tub was not working properly and the hot water would quickly drain away. But one thing was for certain, no place in Paris was left untouched….from climbing the two allowable levels of Eiffel Tower, to Arc‘d Triomphe, Notre Dame, Louvre, Champs Elysees, museums, cemeteries, bridges….everything , walking through the streets of the historical city. He would have almost covered the entire Dandi route of Mahatma in just two days flat!

It was 6^th December 1992 when the Babri Masjid was demolished. The boy was enjoying a movie at night on the video with his friends at Salt Lake City while his wife and baby daughter were at his in-law’s place at Barasat on the outskirts of Kolkata. On the morning of 7^th when he woke up, he wanted to see his kid desperately but unfortunately everything in Kolkata was shut…with a couple of incidents of communal violence springing up, curfew had been declared and only fools and goons would dare to venture out in the streets of Kolkata. A Capri by birth and character, the mountain goat was determined to reach his daughter 20 kilometres away and so began his long walk in a pair of slippers. Stopped at a couple of points by people wanting to cause trouble, the boy slowly but steadily made his way to his daughter who was so overjoyed seeing him that all his pain melted away seeing the kiddo smile and giggle as she jumped into his outstretched arms. The blisters in the feet never mattered at that point when she started playing with him. Love cures.

Finally, the year was 2015. Our man, who had by then suffered severe bouts of spondylitis, entered his name in the Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon. The doctor had asked him to stay away from running…he told his wife and daughter who was by now a fine lady and a doctor…”I will walk the 21 kms and promise not to run! He walked and walked pretty fast and completed the half marathon in 2 hours and 42 minutes beating many a runner. It is another matter that after this great run, he was laid to bed for nearly 2 months but that did not prevent the Johnny Walker from completing the half marathon yet again the following year…with a slightly slower timing of course.

Episode 3: The man’s wife and daughter would complain about his snoring. They said it was nothing short of animalistic noises of all hues.  When the daughter was a kid, one night she started crying and when the mother asked her what had happened, the kid said, “Ma Hambaaa”…she called a cow Hambaaa which meant she feared there was a cow in our room. My wife stepped out of the mosquito net and showed her there was no cow and put her back to sleep. Surely my wife must have given the stare of her life to the cow that was snoring away to glory next to her.

Gandhiji in his autobiography narrates a story of how he once ate meat along with a friend of his.  “I had a very bad night afterwards. A horrible nightmare haunted me. Every time I dropped off to sleep, it would seem as though a live goat were bleating inside me and I would jump up in full remorse.”

Our protagonist never had any remorse to all the meat he would have regularly. It is quite possible the bleating of the goats, the clucking of the chickens, the grunt of the pigs and the moo of the cows would peep out of his inside to the outside world as he slept soundly, oblivious of the cacophony he made.

In the end let me admit, this is where our similarities ended apart from both having a bad handwriting that we regretted. No words can describe the Great Soul better than those of Albert Einstein who said, “Generations to come, it may well be, will scarce believe that such a man as this one in flesh and blood walked upon this Earth.”

Epilogue

History is mostly written by victors and today we are in an age where vilification and bringing down the legacy and statues of heroes of the past seems to be fashionable. Unfortunately, no matter what they do, they will never erase him from our hearts and minds. Here’s a cartoon that was printed in The New York Herald Tribune in 1968 that speaks a million truths.

SS

Three Wise Men

I have always believed that the general insurance industry in India has always been run by people with mediocre to low intelligence quotient. So expecting any gyan from people working here, is not what one expects. However, in the course of last couple of weeks, I encountered three gentlemen from the insurance broking fraternity who, also over the years, have turned into good friends and taught me a survival lesson or two in these tough times that we find ourselves in today.

“Ajit bhai, Janamdin Mubarak ho! How are you doing my friend?”

Thanks Sibesh bhai. It is good to hear from you. All is well. Sab badhiya hai.

Ajit, I have known you for almost forty years since school and college when we were together. There is something solid in your voice…ekdum kadak hai…and makes one feel that truly all is good. How come you manage to evoke such positivity and confidence with so much bad happening all around?

Arrey bhai, just look at all the things you have and that will change your perspective. Firstly, we are fortunate to have a roof over our heads. Secondly, we are still getting our monthly salaries on time every month, so there is food on the table for all. And finally, we have our hands, head and legs all functioning reasonably well….aur kya chahiye?

I paused for a moment to think what my friend had just said. He had given a new definition of the world. With the television anchors shouting through every channel that shit is happening all around from politics to filmdom, from corona to vaccine, here was someone telling me in simple language that All iij well. Ajit slightly modified the age old dictum of roti-kapda-makaan (food, clothing and shelter) to roti- sehat- makaan (food, health and shelter). Come to think of it, what more do you want?

                                                               Ajit with the Maestro

Thanks Ajit for telling me, you’ve got all.

……………………………………..

With all travel at a standstill, we have downloaded all possible applications which allow us to travel anywhere, anytime. I have with me frequent flyer programs of Zoom, WebEx, Microsoft Teams, Google Meet, Google Duo and a few more digital airlines. I wish they had invented loyalty programs and linked the miles to be redeemed with home deliveries of pizza, cakes and coffee….some of us would then have been promoted from Sliver to Gold and then to Platinum Card holders, based on usage, allowing us more benefits like Urban Clap haircuts and extra 50% off on Big Billion Day online sale. Anyway, that is not the exotic idea I wish to share but another instance of a dialogue with an insurance broker, based out of Surat, whom we connected as part of our so called ‘engagement program’.

Namaskaar Khatri ji. Kaise hain? Hope you are doing good.

Thank you. Sab badhiya hai.

And as the conversation started on the general things before warming up to the more business talk, our man popped up a question which taught me my lesson number two.

“Sen Saab, tell me the positive things about the pandemic situation?”

No one had asked me such a question but surely there were a few positives I could easily talk about.

“I have been eating healthy in these five months. Before the pandemic, my hectic travel, within the city and outside, would entail eating everywhere from lounges, canteen, complimentary hotel breakfast, lunch meetings, midday snacks, dinners with colleagues and partners, not to mention the home deliveries. But now, it is all good home cooked food and I have shed almost six solid kilos of excess weight. I am also waiting to do the other regular tests to check my vitals and, hopefully, the cholesterol level is now within the acceptable limits. I have also taken to morning yoga, something I could never get myself to do earlier. That to me has been the one biggest positive. Then there are other good things like being able to spend more time with my wife enjoying the movies and serials on Amazon Prime, Netflix and Disney Hotstar. Those couple of hours of togetherness, even though peppered with some late evening official calls and mails to attend, is a huge stress buster. Yes, there are many positives to this changed way of life as well.”

“For me, Sen Saab, the pandemic has shown me and possibly all of us, how much money we really need to live.”

This statement really got me thinking once again. How true? With multiple credit and debit cards in the wallet, how many did I use in the last few months? With no travel happening, no visits to the malls and movies, we have started living within our means and things that are there with us. All we have invested in, perhaps, is a better WiFi connection and no other gadget. The only clothes we now wear are shorts and T-shirts and semi-formals. The formals are all lying in the cupboard untouched since that fateful day of 22^nd March 2020. So many festivals have come and gone and some more are coming shortly and yet we are not jumping to the juicy offers of 50% off that are flashing from our phone and social media screens. Today, I actually needed to check my secret diary to recollect the ATM pin before going there again wearing my surgical gloves and mask. There is no reason good enough to celebrate and swipe the cards to buy things.The joy of buying is lost. The joy of spending and splurging is lost.  All we do now, possibly, is buy essentials like fruits, vegetables and toiletries that will take us from one weekend to another and no more. If this is the life I could lead, then why crave for more? With so many known people getting affected and also falling down, life seems frail and full of surprises and unpredictable. So then why am I in this rat race? Most important question we all need to answer, how much do you need to live our lives?

Thanks Khatri ji for telling me how much is enough. Thoda hai, thode ki zaroorat hai…

………………………….

The third wise man is truly a man of all seasons. On weekends, he will send six to seven comic strips of Lockhorns, Beetle Bailey, Hagar the Horrible, Dennis the Menace, Garfield, Dilbert and Calvin and Hobbes. But the reason for my adding Sats in the list of people who gave a meaning to life is not because of these forwards but the way he ends the day daily around 8.00pm, musically and poetically. Sats sends out a song to me and it is not just any random song. Each song has a co-relation to the day he is sharing like the singer’s or the music director’s birthday or anniversary. Each song is accompanied with a short note where Sats pours his love out for the song, the singer, the movie and even pronounces his dislike for none other than Queen of Melody. He writes those lines as if Sahir Ludhianvi were writing his lyrics with a glass in his hands….in fact Sats tells you whether he is drinking Black Dog or Glenfiddich…as he types the lines of the night….but never to miss a comma or an exclamation mark! Here’s one of his last verse for you to appreciate what I said:

“I am early in your box this evening, the night is still a distance away. But I rush, for at 8.30pm, I intend to immerse myself with Mukhtar & Co (some musical) with a single malt in hand. Why single malt? Because, peene waalon ko peene ka bahaana chahiye…and today I have a reason….in fact, for a while now, I have also been contemplating Jagjit Singh- isn’t a song by him long overdue? And therefore, I grab this opportunity. Raising a celebratory toast to Shabana Azmi on her birthday! A stunning powerhouse of talent, from a time when film makers were masters of their craft. This song, today, is from the 1982 beauty, Arth, directed by Mahesh Bhatt (always a man who loved to be in the middle of controversy) and starring two powerful lady protagonists- Shabana and Smita Patil. And Kulbhushan Kharbanda and Raj Kiran. The music and singing is by Jagjit Singh, lyrics by her dad, Kaifi Azmi himself…Jhuki Jhuki Si Nazar…She comes alive on camera without saying one word. What an actress…Just watch!

And along with it comes the film clip of the song.

Wonder how a man can write every day after doing so much research and putting so much love into those lines….he too can’t be having a great day every day….he too must have his worries at work and home…and yet here is a man who brightens up the evening. I, not only enjoy the music and the power of Sats’ pen, but also make sure to send out the post to a couple of friends and groups….at least a hundred more - to enjoy the power of this man’s creation. Incidentally, many of them believe that I am the creator despite my vehemently denying and sending out multiple clarifications. So what did Sats teach me…passion…love…when you love something you will find time for it and words and actions will follow…the more you love something, the sweeter the creation becomes, for you pour in loads of love and sweetness. And more importantly, here is a man not only enjoying music but unknowingly making evenings and nights of hundreds of people so much better. Hats off Sats!

Thanks Sats…for the music and the joy it brings to troubled lives.

Before I close for the day, I must share what Sats told me yesterday. He said all Indian Gods are the best insurance salesmen, Shiva being the ultimate. They promise and sell the All Risks insurance policies or Sarva Jokhim Bima as you would translate it into Hindi to their disciples but leave a small exclusion clause or two hidden somewhere in fine print which is later used to deny claims. Take for instance, Hiranyakashyapa. He was granted a boon that neither man nor woman would kill him, neither will he die during day nor at night, no man or god will ever destroy him….he was given almost All Risks cover. The Gods then created the exclusion clause called Narasimha who was half man and half lion and who kills Hiranyakashyapa at the twilight hour. Claim of invincibility denied! The other fascinating tale is of Bhasmasur, the demon, who got the boon, once again from Shiva, for all the austerities the demon had performed. According to the boon, anyone on whose head Bhasmasur were to put his right hand, he would turn to ashes. Bhasmasur created quite a scare till Vishnu created an exclusion clause hidden in the form of Mohini who entices Bhasmasur and agrees to marry him provided he dances the way she would do. And during the dance, she puts her right hand on her head and the demon does the same….willful misconduct as the marine insurer in me would pronounce….claim denied…demon demolished!

So please do not go out looking for Godmen and Gurus in the caves of Himalayas or the serene climes of Haridwar and Bangalore, they live among us….all you need is to seek and you shall find!

SS

Happiness Is...

 It was still dark outside but she quickly got out of bed and in no time was ready in her school uniform. She even found time to rub off the dust from her black shoes that were lying under her bed for months together. She walked up to the mirror on the wall, adjusted her hair a bit and smiled….I did good!

She then walked into her parents’ bedroom and went straight where the mother slept. She removed the thin wrap and gently tapped the sleeping mother on her bare hand. “Wake up Mama and make me my breakfast.”  A startled mother woke and couldn’t believe what she saw before her…her little one, all dressed up in school uniform and her packed satchel on the floor.

“Pinky, go back to bed. We do not have to go anywhere for school now…not now and not anytime soon. We have brought the school into our house and will continue to do it on the computer screen as you have been doing for months now. “

“No Mama, I want to go to the school. I don’t like this computer school. I want my friends. I want my teacher. I want my games. I want my school bus. I want my tiffin box,” said a five year old toddler, almost in tears.

The mother got off the bed and hugged the little girl and kissed her tight on her chubby cheeks and then on her forehead. “Babu, I know you like going to school but because of this bad and dangerous disease all around us, the school is shut. The teachers are not going there. Your friends are also not going. No school bus is plying. Everything has come to a standstill. Yes, but I can make you some nice snacks and put it in your lunchbox to be had at home when you are hungry.”

“No Mama. I hate this school from home. I even checked with some of my friends who have all agreed to go to school today. I am sure they are all going and I am not going to be the one to miss all the fun. Please Mama, take me to school,” said a pleading Pinky.

“It is not safe outside. How can I allow you to go? I love you so much and cannot see you fall sick. Now that you are ready, we will have breakfast and by then it will be time for your morning online assembly and PT class.”

“No, no, no…I will not do PT before the computer screen. I will do it standing on the school lawns.”

“At school the teachers punish you and even smack you at times for not doing your homework. So when you are at home, you are safe. The teachers cannot even scold you now. It is so much better studying at home. And Mama and Papa are there with you all the time.”

“I like my teachers. They love us and they never beat us. They only tell us good things and get angry when we make mistakes. They even get goodies for us and often play with us. I cannot have all this when studying at home. Why don’t you understand Mama, I want to go to school.”

By now the tears had started pouring out and the commotion woke up the father who was pretty startled by the scene before his eyes…a crying daughter and a sobbing wife! He rubbed his eyes to check whether he was not hallucinating. “What’s happening to my beauties? Why are you both crying?”

“Your darling wants to go to the school and is refusing to do the home study. I have explained everything to her but she is like you…headstrong and never strong on logic…ab sambhalo isko…I am tired and going to the kitchen.”

After a while, the father and a smiling daughter walked into the kitchen to the utter surprise of the mother. “We are all going to the school together…Pinky…Pinky’s Mama and Pinky’s Papa.”

Outvoted, the mother agreed. The parents quickly changed into semi formals and all of them had a good breakfast together. Today, the girl did not have to be told to eat quickly or else she would miss her school bus, she did not even have to be told that she had to finish the hard edges of the bread and sip till the last drop of milk in the glass was over….she did it all on her own…and did it happily.

Pinky put her bag on her shoulders and slung the water bottle over one arm as she confidently opened the back door of the car and happily allowed her mother to sit in front, a seat that was permanently hers all this time. The mother, too, was surprised at the change but without making any fuss, strapped up the seat belt as the father started the engine.

In no time they reached the school. There were a few more cars that followed as they got off the car. Pinky was excited as she stepped ahead of her parents. Four other kids also reached the school gate at the same time. A masked security guard standing inside gave the kids a big salute and the kids stood in a row to return the salute….Jai Hind!

“School toh bandh hai…you cannot go inside.” There was a lock on the gate which saddened the kids as they peeped inside through the slits in the rows of wooden planks on it. Inside they could see the school building and the pathway, all of which was empty. They then saw the playground. It was kept so nice and green. The grass was mowed perfectly and there was not a drop of dirt around. All around the playground were beautiful flowers blooming. Their eyes then went to the gardener who was tirelessly working to keep the flower beds trimmed and tidy. The old gardener looked up and saw the peeping kids and with a broad smile he waved at them. The kids put out their hands and waved him back….Mali Chacha Namaste…Namaste Namaste…

The father walked up to the security guard and requested if he could open up the gate for a little while and allow the kids to play on the ground. “Sir, I will do it but if the principal comes to know about it I will lose my job.” “Don’t worry, no one will ever complain.”

As the guard went to unlock the gate, the kids were already pushing it hard with all their might…and when it was opened, they rushed towards the playground. As parents stood together with masks on their faces, you could not see their smiles but could clearly see the watery eyes as they saw their kids rolling on the ground…running after each other….shouting….singing….and then the kids were joined by the guard and mali chacha as they went round and round in circle singing….ring a ring of roses, pocket full of posies…

Life regained. Happiness restored.

SS

A Tale of Two Queens

“Ah! then if mine had been the painter’s hand

To express what then I saw;”- (Wordsworth, Nature and the Poet)

You might have seen this plain and common cactus growing in a pot in many a home.  You may be surprised to find it growing in your own homes, may be as an indoor plant or in a small pot on your window sill or even in the balcony or terrace of your friend or neighbour. Wherever you may have seen it, it is common, nothing great to look at; just a cactus which you may not care to give a second glance. It generally remains unmarked, unnoticed. Oh just an insignificant, prickly cactus clump growing in some old and shabby pot!

We, too, did not notice ours much as it never really needed any care or attention. It proliferated on its own growing prickly tubercles and mounds till it kind of filled the pot. The areoles were made of brown hooked centrals with radial spines. It remained lost among the other more attractive plants which drew both attention and admiration with their beautiful foliage and blossoms. One day, while kind of emptying the last drops of water on it from the can as an afterthought, I was about to move on when I noticed what looked like a bud growing on it. I never gave another thought to it.

One morning, in mid-June, while trying to shut the window since the menacing clouds had gathered on the western and southern sky heralding the onset of monsoon and the first rains, I noticed this beautiful yellow flower with radiating star-like petals. The first blossom on my cactus in what seemed like ages! This uncared for, hardly ever admired plant had grown the most beautiful flower and I wanted to share it with everyone but by then all had left home. In a city like Mumbai people generally have to leave early to make it on time. Fortunately, my mother was still with me to share that priceless moment.

                                               

Later, in the afternoon, when I came to look at it again, the petals had begun to close up. This beautiful flower has a life of only five or six hours. All I could do was share a picture of it clicked on the cell phone with the others. After two or three years, the cactus again gave two beautiful blossoms but this time Ma, though lying there clinging on to the last thread of her life in a state of coma, was really not there to give me company. The Day Queen wilted away once again. The Creator had given it a life span of only a few hours.

I am waiting for it to bloom again. May be next year, or the year after, or when Mother Nature decides. Who knows who will be there to give me company when the Day Queen makes its brief appearance?

Later, I did some research on  the net, since I am no horticulturist or botanist, to find that, in all probability,  this plant is Mammillaria beneckei , a native of Mexico and South America, now found in our country too, popularly  known as  the pincushion cactus or nipple cactus because of the pin-like spikes and nipple like tubercles on it. The flowers bloom early in the morning to completely close up by afternoon once or twice in two or three years.

The Epiphyllum oxypetalum, also a native of Mexico and Sri Lanka, has another story to tell. It was brought into my house a year or so ago by mali bhai. He told me that in Marathi they called the plant Brahma Kamal and that it flowered once for one night only in the months of July to September. He added that it brought good luck and happiness to the household where it grew and they were truly blessed. During the entire summer this year, as I watered my plants through all phases of lockdown and unlocking, this plant, belonging to the family Cactaceae and commonly called Orchid Cactus, did not show any signs of flowering.It had succulent green leaves with serrated margins. What drew my attention was that one leaf grew out of another. In the height of summer, as some of the edges of the leaves were turning yellow, I thought it would not survive the season. 

Though I could see the clouds rising up every evening and gathering together to form a dark canopy, there was hardly any rain the whole of June this year. Then, all on a sudden, the heavens opened up the floodgates and the rains poured day and night. More than half the country was flooded. As July made way to August, the rains intensified and temperatures lowered. For days, as we opened our eyes to the grey, foggy mornings with clouds and rains all around, it felt as if we had been transported from this concrete jungle to some hill station in the Himalayas. This city suddenly became more bearable and pleasant. All around the foliage burst into different shades of green and the concrete blocks got a much needed shower.

This plant, which was more a cluster of leaves attached to each other on short stalks, has no stems or branches, too turned a beautiful shade of green and suddenly, one day, from one serrate margin of a leaf, a pendulous stalk grew a bud. For the entire week I kept observing the bud as it grew nice and big. Initially, it was hanging down and then the stalk bearing it slowly turned upwards and gradually grew out laterally.No wonder another name of this plant is the Dutchman’s Pipe.It was one of the largest buds I had ever seen on any plant.

One night, post dinner, while watching the news anchors on different channels blaring away in high pitched voices, clamouring for attention despite churning out the same old stories, SS got fed up and walked to the window to watch the rain instead. Next moment he rushed to get his cell phone and asked me to come to the window. I had not seen a flower of such size and beauty in a long time. The giant bud was just opening up. As the rains continued relentlessly, the Queen of the Night was spreading its petals in all its majestic beauty. By the time it fully flowered it was nearing mid-night. As it bloomed we could also take in its sweet and mesmerizing fragrance which helped to lure the nocturnal pollinators like the moth and insects. No wonder it is also known as Nishipadma and Nishagandhi in some parts of India. I was so excited that I could hardly sleep that night. I kept getting up to take one last look at this rare flower. By five in the morning we could see its petals closing up and by seven in the morning it had completed its life cycle.

Another variant of this magical flower, also called the Brahma Kamal (Saussurea obvallata), is a native of the Himalayas and grows in the northern states of Himachal Pradesh and Uttarakhand. It is the State flower of Uttarakhand and is offered to the Lords Kedarnath and Badrinath by the devotees. This, too, is a nocturnal flower which blooms from dusk to dawn but, I believe, its smell is stronger and wilder, and its bud and blossom too show some variations. It belongs to the family of Asteraceae and grows at an altitude of 3000-4800 metres. The buds with their purplish tips are covered with layers of papery boat-shaped bracts to protect them from the cold winds and harsh climate of the mountains.

Innumerable legends and myths are associated with this Himalayan flower. Mythology has it that Lord Brahma, the Creator, uses the Brahma Kamal as his seat and holds one in the hand. Brahma, the Creator of the Universe, is also said to have been born from a huge white lotus. Another mythological story associates this flower with the birth of Lord Ganesha. When the head of the elephant was attached to the body of Ganesha, life restoring water was sprinkled from a huge lotus created by Lord Brahma. Legend also has it that in the epic Ramayana when Lakshman was revived by the herb sanjivani, the Lord showered flowers from heaven as blessings. These flowers took root and still grow in the Valley of Flowers in Uttarakhand. The plant is also attributed with medicinal properties by the locals.

May be, some day, while ticking off the bucket list, I will find myself on a trek to the Valley of Flowers and Hemkund Sahib Lake and come across a field of these sacred flowers growing on the grassy patches of the mountain slopes among the rocks and boulders.

DS

Hate you MSD

“Thanks a lot for your love and support throughout. From 19:29 hours, consider me as retired.”

This tweet was followed by social media going crazy and even prompted the Prime Minister to write a two page long letter eulogizing MSD and, among other people, the Infy founder, Narayana Murthy, telling us the leadership lessons corporate India must learn from Dhoni. I wonder why do some people have all the luck and I am not one among those lucky few. So I hate you Dhoni…many times over.

I hate you Dhoni for having been born in Ranchi. The PM makes a hero of you by saying,” rising from humble beginnings in a small town, you burst onto the national scene, made a name for yourself and most importantly made India proud. Where we come from does not matter as long as we know where we are headed - this is the spirit that you have exuded and inspired many youngsters with”. Is it my fault that I was born and raised in Delhi, married in Kolkata and lived in Mumbai? Maybe had I been born at Cherrapunji, I would have got noticed more. Incidentally, Infy and Dhoni were both born on 7^th July 1981.

I hate you MSD for your success. See how many things you have won….the World T20 in 2007, ICC World ODI championship in 2011, Champions Trophy in 2013 and to add to it three IPL and many more. And when I look back , what have I won…some medals for running, a few trophies and some certificates at school, college and at work place but nothing to really write about. You achieved so much more in just fifteen years while I am still slogging for over thirty long years waiting for my place in the sun!

I hate you MSD for being so calm in all crisis like situations. On the day of the T20 final, 24^th Sept 2007, against Pakistan, India had scored 157. Pakistan was at 145 for 9 when the last over started. The well-set Misbah-ul-Huq was batting confidently on 37 with three sixes. Out of nowhere you brought in Joginder Sharma to bowl. Misbah hit a six off the second ball. Everybody was tense and though the match was lost. Off you went and spoke to Joginder to calm him down…maybe you said Oye Jogi chinta na kar. In the very next ball from Joginder, Misbah scooped it up and Sreesanth took a well-judged catch. India had won! Mahendra Bhai, when faced with a difficult situation, I feel like hiding, procrastinating and quitting and often the fear of losing makes me miss opportunities. I remember a situation in an inter-college football match, I got an opportunity to head the ball into the net and take my team to the final and I missed. How many times have I missed penalty shots and failed my team and self….situation gets the better of me but not you.

I hate you for the being one of the most successful captains and for taking India to the top of the world charts in almost all formats of the game. Narayana Murthy says, as a leader you crafted a grand vision, articulated it, and raised the aspiration, confidence, pride, hope and enthusiasm of your people and went on to achieve great success. You know MSD, I never had a Gary Kirsten to support me or else I, too, would have turned the dipping fortunes of my business charts to ensure the grand plans created moved up and not down. Anyway,as someone said, “Success has a proud parentage and failure is a poor orphan.”

I hate you Long Hairy Creature for your dependability in tough situations and your style of finishing matches. Who can forget the last ball of the World ODI Cup Final in 2011 between India and Sri Lanka? When you hit that helicopter-wala sixer on your way to an unbeaten 91 and won the match for India, a billion hearts erupted in joy. And the great Gavaskar said that he would like to spend the last minute of his life watching you hit that winning six in that 2011 World Cup Final and joyfully leave this world. I am a starter and not a finisher. Often, I start many a thing good, take them to a plane but, somehow, have never been able to hit the ball so high to take it over the ropes. There is always someone there at the boundary line to take the catch and get me out. There have been high points for me as well but yet to have a Gavaskar like encomium written.

I hate you for being able to balance your personal life with your professional priorities. Almost at all major matches, I can spot Sakshi watching you play and cheer for you. It seems the Prime Minister himself remembers, “Seeing a picture of you playing with your cute daughter even as everyone around you was celebrating a victory in a particular tournament!” I have never known, in over three decades of working, what is this business of balancing life and work. Work outweighs all personal priorities and, somehow, don’t remember my wife and kiddo watching me play and celebrate.

I hate you for not just being a good player but also for being a great ambassador of the game. Why did you have to recall Ian Bell in the summer of 2011? Technically the batsman was out but you showed your sportsmanship and recalled the man. The ICC Chief Executive Haroon Lorgat, said "The initial appeal and umpire decision may have been acceptable to the letter of the law, the decision by India captain MS Dhoni and his team - as well as the Team India coaching staff - to withdraw the appeal shows great maturity”. When I was young and got out on a controversial decision, I would take my bat away and made sure the game ended till I was recalled…not really upholding the spirit of the game. But so what, “jiski laathi, uski bhains!”

There are many more reasons for me to hate you….you could keep your Goldilocks hair but in my Irish Brothers’ school they would put chewing gum to make sure we could return next day with a crew cut…you are a Lieutenant Colonel in the Territorial Army and I flunked my NDA exam killing my dream of wearing the army fatigue. But the most important reason for me to hate you was when you suddenly became my daughter’s idol… a huge poster of yours entered my house. No father can accept anyone replacing him as the ultimate hero! And as luck would have it, one fine day, I was at a hotel in Mumbai where CSK team was putting up when a friend said he could get your autograph for my daughter and there it was before me a miniature bat signed by the one and only MSD! How come my daughter never asked for my autograph till date? No wonder my hatred for you knows no bounds!

I am on the lookout for those two hundred people who pulled down the walls and pillars of your under construction Ranchi house in 2007 after Bangladesh Tigers beat your team at the World Cup at Port of Spain. The day I find them Col. Dhoni, I shall extract my pound of flesh. Till then O Captain My Captain, I shall pray and cheer for your victory at the Desert IPL…Salute O Thala Dhoni…there will never be another you.

SS

What’s in an Age?

Let us just cancel 2020 from our calendars…we will not add it to our age, one year that everything happened, and nothing did.

But age has always been more than just a number, hasn’t it? More of a milestone for some, a burden for others. I, for one, have never really given it much of a thought. I just look forward to birthdays and wish they would come more than once a year! But recently, my five grey strands are no longer shy and have been making more than special appearances. And that got me thinking, am I getting old?

“Baba, I cannot believe you went and played. After promising last year, you still went. You said you will only watch. No, but you played all the matches. You are not in school or college anymore. If you break a bone or pull a muscle, then what are we going to do? Do you know how long it’s going to take to heal? Anyway, nobody ever listens to me, but I am supposed to listen to you people. Doctor banaya hi kyun if you never plan to listen to me. I am not talking to you any more…”

Just a glimpse into the numerous “conversations” I have had with my dad when he would come back after playing a football match. While the sentences change their order, the gist remains the same. If, for a change, we do manage to force him not to play a company match or go run a marathon, using every possible scientific and emotional argument, that will be the day he will sulk. He will hardly talk, watch news, be as unanimated as a child who has been asked to finish his homework instead of going out to play. 

While he has been at home during this lockdown, he sent me a photograph one day that triggered an exponential reaction to this. Him doing a shirshasan!!! Within a matter of 15 seconds, I had sent possibly 30 messages. When I called in the evening, I told my mother, “Please don’t give the phone to him, I do not wish to speak to him. He doesn’t know where to stop or act his own age! I will not say anything else, let him do what he wants!” 

Of course, all these end before we go to bed with my father having pacified me with promises of him being careful and not doing it again.

And as I lie down on my bed, I think whether it is right on my part to stop him at all? Should I not be happy that he did this, that he won a match, that he managed to perform a headstand? What if he had done it at 35 instead of 53? Would I have reacted in the same way?

It was the summer of 2009. My mother and I got onto the lift, along with a kid from our building and his mother. He had circular glasses slipping down his nose. “It is my birthday tomorrow,” he announced to me. “Oh, how nice! A very happy birthday to you! How old will you be?” “Nine and a half,” he said, proudly! “What? I think you mean 9,” I laughed. “No, last year I was eight and a half, so this year, I am going to be nine and a half!”

Smart boy, I didn’t really have an answer to that and just nodded my head in agreement. Till today, my mother and I call him ‘Nine and a half’, we really don’t remember his name!

“Wait, I will take it out myself,” she said, as she expertly slipped out her prosthetic eye so that I could examine the socket. “Do you take it out and put it back yourself?” I asked as a cleaned her eye gently. “Yes, I do,” she said as I quickly glanced at the mother, sitting on the one side of the clinic room and she smiled and nodded in agreement. She was seven years old, had retinoblastoma in both eyes, the most common eye cancer in children, diagnosed as a baby, had received chemotherapy, laser treatment to the tumour, multiple sessions of examination under anaesthesia. One eye had to be enucleated or removed while for the other she had to come for regular check-up to make sure that it was completely regressed. She let me examine her retina, looking wherever I asked her to, without complaining about the bright light that I was flashing in her eye, scanning till the periphery for any sign of recurrence. “Do you wear your glasses at school?” I asked, as I was drawing the diagram of her retina. “Yes, and during my dance classes, and when I go to play, because it is important to protect my other eye,” she replied. When she left the room, having replaced her prosthetic eye herself, she just left me amazed. When 27, 47 and 67 year old patients leave you struggling and exhausted with their non-compliance to simple instructions and non-cooperation during examination, these kids not only brighten up your day with their understanding and maturity but also restore hope that all that you explain is not always lost!

12 years BC (read Before Corona)-

“Two tickets for ‘Life in a Metro’ please, the 12.45pm show.”

“Sure ma’am, can you please show me the age proof of your daughter?” said the lady behind the counter.

“Why?” my mother pretended to be surprised, while all along we had expected this question and had decided to just act nonchalant. I had even worn my high heels and carried a purse.

“This movie has an ‘A’ certificate, we have to check.”

“Oh, well, she is going to turn 18 in 6 months now,” as I stared incredulously at my mother! Really? That is your ‘We’ll go confidently and get the tickets, let me talk, you stand behind me mode'?

And that is the story of how we ended up watching ‘Mr Bean’s Holiday’…

8 years BC-

It was my first trip abroad! Having soaked in the beauty of Langkawi, my dad and I had reached Genting. We had done the rides during the day, clicked pictures at the models of Eiffel Tower, Statue of Liberty and the Canals of Venice and visited Ripley’s. 

“Let’s try, na,” said Dad. 

“You know they won’t let me go, you go inside, I will wait here,” I said.

“If they don’t let you in, then even I am not going, but let’s take a chance,” he urged.

“How old is she?” The security guy at the entrance of the casino asked the most obvious question.

“She is 17, her birthday is next month. She will not play, she just wants to see.”

“You know I cannot allow that,” he smiled as he looked at my passport.

“I assure you, she will not play. Let her just go in and take a look. I give you my word.”

“Well, you will be 18 in a few days…alright, as long as you keep that promise. Go on kid!” he grinned.

Being asked my age and which class I study in, have never been surprising questions for me. While initially it would irk me and I would reply sternly, I started enjoying later. The look of astonishment, jaw-drops and fumbled apologies became quite fun as I would tell them I have finished school and am doing MBBS, or I have become a qualified doctor. Even patients sometimes find it hard to trust junior doctors and I don’t blame them. Most of the times even we do not generate much confidence in them, but at times it’s quite amusing to see them being taken aback when you tell them your age and that you are also a doctor!

Movie halls, autos, patients and building aunties have become routines and I am quite used to it…or so I thought!

Corona Times, year 2020-

After a case presentation on zoom, our Sir had ordered some food for us. He had asked me to take it from the delivery guy outside. I could not find anybody at the hospital gate so I came back. “Hasn’t he delivered?”

“No, there was nobody,” I said.

“But he called me that he had reached…wait let me call him back,” he said.

“Alright, I will just go outside and check,” I said and went out.

The delivery boy was there this time and he was on the phone with my boss, I supposed. As he handed over the packet to me, I heard him say, “Yes Sir, ek bacchi aayi thi lene, maine de diya!”

I stopped dead on the track and spun around…the words still sinking in and before I could think of a rebuttal, he had left!

Whether you add 2020 to your age or not, smoothen out your wrinkles with multiple injections, wear your mother’s heels and lipstick, or dye those silver strands, your age comes out no matter what you do because none of these truly reflect how young or old you are. So, I shall flaunt my greys proudly, maybe they will make me look older…or I may go one day and get them dyed purple! 

MS

The Cup Runneth Over

Licence to Live

Meet Mr. Mukherjee, a man in his mid-fifties, of a medium build and a fair complexion. He was said to have a business of his own of which I never asked him. I met Mr. Mukherjee, over five years ago, on my infrequent visits to Prayas, an NGO that works for educating 300 odd slum children. The children go to municipal schools but Prayas gives them the educational assistance since they do not find anyone to help them at home. There are no rooms where the children study but they sit under the open sky, outside shops which have not yet opened, on mats or in a local municipal park….monsoon classes are left to your imagination and a feeling how fortunate we were and our children are. This is truly a street school.

Mr. Mukherjee would come to Prayas every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday in an auto rickshaw. He carried with him two huge steel dabbas which were filled with khichdi which he would pick up from ISKCON, Juhu. The children would bring with them a tiffin box each and at the end of the class hours they would queue up while Mr. Mukherjee poured into each container a handful of hot fresh khichdi. The children relished the good food and then left for home thanking the teachers. There would be a little bit of khichdi left behind every day in the dabbas which went to the woman who washed the utensils. She has three small kids and this would be one good meal for her family as well.

Talking to Mr. Mukherjee, who was fondly called the Dabbawalla and had a permanent smile on his glowing face, I came to know of the concept of Licence to Live. He said that every morning when he woke up, the first thing he did was to take a handful of bajra and put it in the small bowl kept on the window ledge. This bajra was for the birds that come during the day in search of food. Our Dabbawalla said that by doing this every morning he felt he had earned his licence to live for the day.

If life is a journey and driving on the road needs a valid driving licence, Mr. Mukherjee believed, he needed to renew his licence to live each day. Life is all about giving and sharing. We are fortunate to have a good life and each one of us can do a bit of good every day. The Dabbawalla firmly believed that what he did for people beyond his own family brought him good fortune, the fortune of a smile from a stranger somewhere which he felt kept him going. Six months ago Mr. Mukherjee, went off on his eternal journey but his one thought left a huge impression on my mind and I often ask myself, “Have I renewed my licence to live today?

Proof of Life

Thimmakka was born in Tumkur District of Karnataka. She had received no formal education and worked as casual labourer in a quarry. She was married to Chikkaiah and the couple could not have children. She and her husband started grafting saplings from the banyan trees which were in the vicinity of their village. In the first year they planted ten saplings along a distance of five kilometers near the neighbouring village of Kudur. The next year fifteen saplings were planted and in the third year twenty. The couple would carry four pails of water over a distance of four kilometers to water the saplings and also protected them from the cattle by putting up fences of thorny shrubs.

Today, anyone driving from Kudur to Hallika, a distance of 3 kilometres, will find himself under a beautiful green canopy of tall trees. Thimmakka’s efforts not only earned her domestic and global recognition including Padma Shri in 2019 but having done something good not just for herself but for others and future generations gives the centenarian lady the greatest joy. She has been given the name of Saalumarada which means ‘rows of trees’.

“I planted 1,000 saplings then, and save a few, all of them have grown to be strong trees. They are like my own children,” says a smiling Thimmakka. “As we were unable to have our own children, we thought we should leave something behind as our memory. What better than plant trees that could give shelter to humans, birds and animals?”

Last line: In a time when life is endangered and most of us are hiding in the safety of our homes, we need to ask if we are doing anything for others to earn our license to live and leave behind the proof of life….and it does not take too much education or money to do it.

SS