Marking 70th Independence Day in Cubbon Park

Gentle breeze, swaying trees. Vast stretches of greenery, as far as one’s eye can see. Canine companions and feathered friends, frolicking about under the shining sun.

No, don’t worry, I have not suddenly morphed into a (bad) poet unleashing a barrage of rhyming words and alliteration upon the unsuspecting reader. It is just that I am back after a refreshing visit to Cubbon Park (CP), one of our most sought-after weekend mini-picnic locations. For those of you who don’t know, CP is an island of tranquility in the Central Business District, amidst the bustling, cacophonous city that Bangalore has become.

At least  1-2 times a month, our Sunday ritual typically includes rising early to reach the park by 7.30 AM followed by a walk/jog/cycling for forty minutes or so across its vast expanse, followed by a round of healthy juices and concoctions (made up of one of more of these – gooseberry, jamun, lemon, carrot, ginger, beetroot, அருகம்புல் – you name it and it is available)  sold by a friendly old man right outside the park and finally, winding up with a hearty breakfast at  our regular eatery on the way back home.

One reason that we keep our weekend date with CP without fail is that a good sixty minutes in the lap of nature is a rejuvenating experience is like no other. Whether you choose to amble along holding the hands of a loved one or simply take a brisk walk all by yourself, the pristine beauty of nature impacts you deeply. The greenery has been fortunately preserved well and now it is also interspersed with interesting, man-made art work and structures – including various totem poles and carvings on wood.

The dense foliage never fails to mesmerize me every time. The canopy of leaves and branches, like in the picture above, remind me of a knotted bunch of nerves, and sometimes are so thick, that sun rays struggle to penetrate.  Dotting the park are islands of rose gardens, grass carpeted mini-parks and tree lined cul-de-sacs  where you can choose to sit quietly with the family and savor the nippy mornings, or play a sweaty game of tennikoit.

On Sundays, vehicles are not allowed inside the park and that means swarms of people like us who turn up in the park early in the morning for running, exercising, walking their dogs, cycling, doing Yoga in various contorted positions or simply uproariously laughing as part of their laughter club activities, can continue their quality time with nature and each other undisturbed. One side of the park is reserved for Sunday festivities. So you would chance upon a band playing, Bharatanatyam performance, an exhibition for organic produce or a Carnatic recital, depending on what the day’s agenda is.

Today being Independence Day, was extra special. There was festive fervor all around. Fluttering tricolors, merry kids playing with green-white-saffron ribbons, and cyclists and athletes in “I love India” T-shirts. There was also a line up of vintage cars strapped with tricolored ribbons and balloons. We also spotted a few media vans, with reporters milling around trying to get patriotic sound bytes from visiting families and park employees, who were of course more than happy to comply.

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Turns out our favorite eatery was not exempt from the Independence fever either. There were special menus and waiters dressed in tricolor T-shirts buzzing across the place, serving the unusually large crowd of guests with smiles and cheer. What’s more, kids got gifts packets of savories, sweets and chocolates with warm wishes of ‘Happy Independence Day’. There were selfies galore, and joy and warmth reverberated all around.

The specials on the menu were ‘Independence Day’ Idlis and Dosas. Wow, it was certainly a sight to behold.

Soaking in the spirit of ID, I did my bit too – and added an impromptu Independent Day salad below for lunch. After all, fever tends to be  highly contagious, right?

 

Notes to Myself #2

It’s been the longest gap since I started this blog, and considering the too many goings-on recently, it is not a surprise. 2015 did not go or end all that well and when I hoped 2016 would start and work out better, turns out I was just being naive.

But then that begs the larger question, what is ‘good or better or bad’ really? These are merely subjective terms, meaningless and pointless by themselves. It it we who tinge things and events around us with these colors and label them. Everything that happens, does for a reason and there are two choices – to wallow in sadness and pity, or just look at objectively and use the opportunity to grow and mature as a person.

So remember,

• Everything, and by that I mean E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G.,  is Iswara Prasadam
• Do not give anyone the power to hurt you. Don’t just let them have it, effortlessly.

No more room for unbridled negative emotions!

 

 

 

Rubik Revolution

“Difficulty, what difficulty?” asks A as she goes about solving The Rubik’s Cube in her own inimitable style. And that involves throwing the cube down to the floor with all her might to make the colored chips come off, which she then fixes wherever she wants to on the cube, to complete the puzzle.

“But yeah, sometimes the chips can be really stubborn. It really requires a lot of force to get them out,” she admits when quizzed about where was the challenge in doing it this way.

Unity… and Diversity

History textbooks have always taught Indians to take pride in the unity we demonstrate as a country despite the vast diversity that exists in this subcontinent. And it is no surprise why. Only an Indian born into and soaked in this milieu can appreciate the mind boggling differences – some subtle and some not so – that separate us in the areas of looks, habits, culture, cuisine, language, castes, preferences and so on. And in the face of a gazillion different things that can define the term Indian, only a miracle can explain how sixty eight years after our erstwhile foreign rulers left us, as a country we have not come apart at the seams, yet. But then that begs the question – as people are we all that different really?

Let me explain. Yesterday (after what seems like ages) we cheerfully stepped out for a weekend family outing, only to be caught up in a terrible traffic jam about 10 mins after leaving home. The reason? There was a severe clog-up in one of the neighborhood areas where hundreds of Ganesha idols were being immersed in the lake and traffic came to a standstill. We took a different route on our return and thought we had dodged the traffic hurdle, when we ran into another one. A Ganesha procession  had set off, moving slowly through key roads, blaring music and blocking roads unmindful of the inconvenience caused to everyone.

But here is the thing – India (being secular and all, of course) ensures that this kind of callous behavior is not restricted to only one group or community. And that means everyone gets equal opportunity to demonstrate insensitivity. I’ve had neighbors who sacrifice animals bang in the middle of residential areas and string up the carcasses in full public view completely oblivious to how it could leave others in the neighborhood, let alone vegetarians, disturbed. And of course the recent blanket ban on meat in various states “keeping in mind Jain sentiments” and the brouhaha says enough about how these things work here.

So my point is, despite the differences teeming and bubbling on the surface, underneath we are the same people. We throw garbage on roads, we spit, we jump queues, and block roads for personal needs. When we do that, we transcend our differences and do so as Indians. So our founding fathers (and mothers) were perhaps not really off the mark when they expected unity in diversity from us.

Or should we really call it unity in chaosity? (I’d strongly vote for that word too to be included in English’s vast vocabulary. I prefer it over the bland chaos)

Is there anything at all in India that can be expected to work as predicted? The roads, the trains, the buses, the government – anything really – you name it and it can fit in here in the list of dysfunctional entities.

We have a government in Delhi that was not prepared for a terrible healthcare scare. The result? Dengue outbreak. We’ve had the government in Karnataka (and previously in Tamil Nadu) that had not planned for acute power and water shortage. Result? Extended power cuts and productivity disruptions.  Today after a five hour long power outage, continuous attempts to reach the Electricity board were greeted with an engaged line and absolutely no answers. And we are not even talking of the poorer states. We are talking of the National Capital Region and highly industrialized states. Come rains, infrastructure crumbles. No rains, agriculture crumbles. Recently was in news a sad accident in the city where a couple riding a two-wheeler ran their vehicle over a pothole. What happened next was not just unfortunate (the wife was killed and husband injured) but also bizarre – the police booked the husband for negligent driving! Okay, so it means now a license to drive on roads is just not sufficient, but what I need is also an advanced driving license to dodge potholes and strays on the roads?

(A creative protest against potholes. Read here)

How can ordinary Indians not be frustrated with all this? I have relatives and friends abroad who don’t bat an eyelid while declaring that returning to the country is unimaginable after getting used to the neatness, orderliness and predictability of the West (or East, or of any part of the world that has the 150 countries that top us in livability surveys for that matter) I completely understand their sentiments. In fact I am surprised we have foreign nationals as tourists in India at all. Patriotism and sentimentality around Indian warmth/hospitality aside, there are times when I really wonder what draws people here. Maybe their sense of adventure trumps any concerns for safety, who knows.

Okay, so where does that leave me? Will I continue to stay in India, in this chaos, in this disorderliness? I have to admit there are days when I tear my hair out in frustration and want to take a one-way ticket away from this country, away for good. But then I suppose I cannot.  Even when I travel aboard, I know that after a couple of days I start yearning to return, long to get back and be amidst the sea of familiar brown faces and familiar roads and houses.

So in a nutshell, India is family. I can fight with it, fret and fume at its flaws all I like, but on days when it enfolds me in its familiar warm embrace, I know I am home. Make no mistake, rants will continue but so will my stay at home.

Just how much is too much

Recently I read an account of Sania Nehwal’s childhood struggles before she went on to become the sports star she is today. The article described how every morning, the groggy child used to be shunted back and forth from home to badminton courts to school, day after day, by her determined parents, en route to eventual greatness and glory.  It would be no surprise if it turns out that her parents at some point then had been censured by the neighbors and relatives who witnessed this, as being cruel and pushy. Why don’t you let the poor child sleep or play with her friends instead of dashing her off to her next practice session, I am sure they were asked. Of course, today years later when the hard work and dedication has paid off, no one has any complaints. Instead generous platitudes are doled out for the sacrificing middle class parents who molded their child into a champion.

So why am I talking of all this? Because like many conundrums that parenting presents, this too is a challenging question almost all modern day parents grapple with – how much a kid should be pushed? What qualifies as a gentle nudge and what as a shove? How do you determine what amount of pressure to apply on a kid before she reaches snapping point? And like many parents (I suppose), as I learn and fumble my way through it, here is an attempt to take a good look at the question and present my thoughts.

Before I begin, I would have to hark back to my own childhood. As a child, I ventured to do a lot of things but my biggest (self-inflicted) problem was that I gave up too soon. Even at the age of three, when it was painfully obvious that I was no good at sports, the question of my pursuing any activity that involved even remote physical strain was quietly put to rest. Later my parents were delighted when I enrolled into a dance class out of my own interest, but to their dismay, I abruptly discontinued it in a few months of joining, not wanting to ‘waste’ (as I’d called it then) my precious Sunday mornings. I soon dabbled in music, but again did not bother to continue the pursuit for long. Later as a teen I tried to foray into painting, learning French, Keyboard and various other endeavors, but nothing lasted long enough. Today when I look back at those years, strewn with more incomplete and failed attempts than I could care to count, who is to be blamed? Was it just me, or do I think my parents were responsible too – at least partly, for letting me give up easily? Tomorrow, will I be to blame if my children were to find themselves without adequate exposure, ill-equipped to survive in an increasingly competitive world?

My quest to find answers led me to some interesting data.

Let me start with the oft-referenced book, “Outliers” purporting the 10K-hours theory. My idea here is to not  establish or counter the sanctity of the number 10000, but I think the emphasis needs to be on the undeniable fact that a lot of hard work and dedication is a must for someone to become really good at something and gain confidence. I like the way Mindy Kaling (who is not yet well-known in her ancestral country, I should admit) so succinctly put it in her book, “Work hard, know your s**t, show your s**t, and then feel entitled“ So if we were indeed to go by the 10K theory, and do the Math, it turns out to be roughly 2 hours of effort per day in any pursuit, every single day  from the age of four before one becomes really good at it by the age twenty. Wow, now that is something!

Let us turn our attention to another facet – via the graph below.

(Courtesy: www.quora.com)

The author points out that any new pursuit, beyond one point, starts to challenge the learner – be it a child or an adult. Once the challenging downtrend and trough is crossed, it is a fun learning-time again till we start to plateau. And once we stave off boredom and lethargy in the plateau phase and reach inflection point, it is upward trend again. I think it is important to remember this. Another way this is represented, is via this picture

(Courtesy: ‘Work, Enjoyment and Progress’ by R. L. Kashyap)

And let me reiterate, we are not talking of chasing success here. The operative word is excellence (this word being subjective, in my vocabulary I have defined it as doing our best in whatever we do) Success (including recognition, rewards, remuneration) often follows, as the by-product of a job well done. In fact I suppose this is what Satya Nadella was trying to imply when he ended up using this (rather incorrectly) in a corporate context.

Even as these numbers and theories boggle us, it is clear that children are not equipped to undertake this journey to excellence on their own. Parents are and should be their equal partners. And this means as much dedication and sacrifice is expected from the parents’ side, if not more.

So what defines my own parenting principles? I try to remember all of the above, and do the following:

1. Assess what interests the kids and where their talent may lie (I believe in exposing children to a variety of things for a while before discovering these. V believes in choosing one pursuit and focusing all energies there. He doesn’t want to spread them thin across multiple areas. Of course, we are yet to find a culminating point in our seemingly opposing theories and do have a bit of a tussle there)
2. Provide the supporting infrastructure and stand by them. If it means staying up to help them practice their abacus, or sacrificing the mall visits and movies to attend their weekend cricket practice instead, do it. Nothing signals commitment better than your own committed actions
3. Teach them that hurdles are a way of nature to test their interest and commitment. I have discussed the above principles (after simplifying them, of course) with the kids and remind them that every time they stick to their pursuit and try not to take the easy way out, nature keeps a count to reward them later.
4. Remember that moderation is the key. For every (or a few) intensive hard-work session a child puts in, she deserves a break. There always needs to be balance. Hard work and periods of break should be interspersed. Frequency and duration is, of course, subjective. More on this in the last few lines.
5. Finally, stop, if a pursuit seems to drain more than it helps. If only tears and heartbreaks remain at the end of many, many attempts, it is time to let go.

Most importantly, I try and make myself impervious to the judgement others callously pass, sitting on their high horses.

In conclusion,

We all have heard the common refrain – “let the child be”

Yes. A child needs to be. She needs unstructured playtime as much as disciplined classes. She needs to be indulged with her favorite cartoon show at times, and an occasional unhealthy pizza also, perhaps. But that too does not answer the main question – just how much is enough and how much is too much?

The answer, I believe, lies not in any parenting manual or the friendly neighbor’s advice, but inside my own head; in my beliefs and in my instincts And only in there, does it lie. I do not have control over how successful my kids turn out in future or how they rate my parenting efforts, but what I do know is I will be secure in the knowledge that at every point, all I ever did was give it my best.

Thoughts on The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

It has been inexplicably late in coming – my reading of this book, that is. Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things (TGoST) created a splash in the literary world when it was first published nearly two decades ago, and propelled its author to immediate fame with a Man Booker Prize win the very same year. And it was no small achievement, considering that TGoST was Roy’s debut novel. I had always been sufficiently intrigued by all of this, but never really managed to get my hands on a copy. I am glad I finally got to do it now.

Much has changed since 1997, the year the novel came out. Roy has grown from a well-known novelist to a well-known (and reviled?) activist and TGoST remains her only major fictional work so far. More Booker winners have graced the Indian literary scene since then and management graduate-turned-novelists have emerged to be the flavor of the season, of late. But despite all this, the allure and relevance of a masterpiece like TGoST has not diminished one bit. The novel grabbed my attention right from the very first line (“May in Ayemenem is a hot, brooding month”) and kept me hooked till the end.

The plot is woven around the potent theme of forbidden love, and the betrayal and tragedy that ensue when the untold thresholds are breached. And this is not surprising, since love has always remained a contentious topic in India. The complex norms of the society, and not one’s heart, are allowed to dictate who is loved and how much. So as the rules go, a son and his progenies get more love than a daughter does, a high class worker more than a lower class, especially untouchable, worker, and white skin more than brown skin. And typically, love within the framework of marriage is provided approval and legitimacy, but the same is not accorded to love outside it. Yardsticks, of course, always remain different for different genders. And so on.

The spotlight of the novel is on a Syrian Christian family, part-perpetrator and part-victim of this obnoxious system. The family, settled in Aymenem village, is headed by the matriarch referred to as Mammachi in the novel, who herself is a survivor of domestic violence in the hands of her husband. The others in the set up include her over bearing son Chacko, sister-in-law Baby Kochamma  and the troops of maids and workers that mill around the household and the pickle factory they run. The tragedies start to unfold when Ammu, the matriarch’s daughter, returns to Aymenem with her twin children, a son and a daughter, leaving behind a failed marriage with a Hindu. Ostracized for having chosen her own partner, and too outside of the community, she is immediately made unwelcome. The simmering tension in the household eventually boils over when the rebellious Ammu and her children make brazen, forbidden choices and unwittingly trigger a chain of catastrophic events that shatters the family and swallows lives. Even the survivors are not left without permanent scars.

“What came for them? Not death. Just the end of living”, as Roy masterfully puts it.

I was curious to find out how much of the story was drawn from the author’s own life. Tidbits from the internet and Wiki pages do allude to the novel being semi-autobiographical, but fact and fiction are so closely interwoven that readers cannot discern beyond a point, I suppose. Roy also adeptly narrates snatches of the present and the past alternatingly to drive home the point that the more things change the more they remain unchanged.

As a writer (and a debutante, at that) Roy’s wizardry with words leave the readers spellbound. Be it conveying the chilling horror of child abuse with minimal words or depicting fear through the imagery of a moth (that incidentally was the cause of heartbreak for another character earlier on in the novel) Roy nails it effortlessly. She manages to seamlessly integrate the native idiosyncrasies of the land, as well as the quirky thought processes and imagination of the seven-year old twins with the very adult-like storyline, lending a distinct flavor to the writing. I am aware that some scathing reviews have called the book ‘execrable’ and Roy’s writing ‘overwrought’, but to each his own. Although it cannot be denied that non-Indian readers (and dare I say, even Indian readers unfamiliar with the milieu) may find a lot going on that is difficult to appreciate, in my opinion, that is precisely what makes Roy stand out and her work so delectable. I for one will not mind going back to the novel, again and again, seeking fresh discoveries and new insights every time.

In summary,

Roy is brazenness personified and her work is a reflection of who she is. You can love it or hate it, but cannot get TGoST out of your system for a long time, once you have read it.

When Duty whispers low, Thou must,

What does it take to do a job well? And by job, I don’t only mean a profession or a job that pays, I am also talking about any ‘work’ that we are made to do – willingly or unwillingly, while we navigate this maze called life. Studying is a job and so is parenting. Some of these ‘jobs’ are results of our conscious choices, and some are thrust upon us by forces beyond our control.  But to come back to the opening question – what does it take to do a job well?

In my opinion, the answer is a complex one, covering myriad factors. Let me try and cover the key ones, as I see them –

Choice – This, I think, is the single biggest factor in determining how well we do a job. Do we have a choice to either not do the job or maybe, not do it well enough with no significant ramifications? If there is a yes in any of the answers to the above, then it is a clear deterrent to doing a job well.

I know that I have the choice to not drive a car in trouble-ridden Indian roads and I know fully well that other than minor inconveniences, there are no major repercussions of my choice. No wonder the existence of this option plays out and manifests subtly in my attempts to drive a car. To this day, I’ve never been able to overcome my fear of Indian roads and drive a car successfully on it.

Passion – this is as hard to come by as easy it is to understand as a factor. Passion can single handedly shatter any obstacle, however big or small. If not for burning passion, history would not have witnessed any of the greatest leaders we have known (or not known). The flip side of course we do not know how strong and for how long that passion burns.

I was a passionate employee in the first decade of my professional life. Ambitious and hard-working, I had an itching desire to climb corporate ladders, and prove a point or two to myself and rest of the world. But over time, I discovered, to my increasing horror, that the joy I derived from work started ebbing. Why or how is not something I will get into at this moment, but I hadn’t seen it coming. At least not this rapidly. So now, while I doff my hat to the very successful people who have had their passion and commitment going unabated for years, I can also fully empathize with the ones who don’t have any emotional investment left in the tasks they do and simply coast along.

Motivation – Choices and passion notwithstanding, motivation also has its role to play. In the face of options and despite a lack of passion, if there is a single reason for work to get done, that would be motivation. Be it financial, material, emotional or any other type, there is typically a carrot dangling afar that theworker’s eyes are riveted on. I put up with inconveniences, slave through the drudgery and still perform my job, simply for this carrot. Alas, this too is ephemeral. The size and nature of this prize, I have no control over. Nor can I control whether or not I will finally lay my hands on it.

And as it these were not enough, added to these so-called positive factor there is one, big, looming negative factor too – the fear of failure. Expectations from self and the people around, coupled with the pressure to perform can cripple any mighty goliath, any day. Look at any sporting legend and they will have many, many stories to tell about this particular phenomenon.

So it is abundantly clear that expecting a good job to be performed based on the presence or absence of any of the above is less than ideal. I can only imagine how wise our ancestors were, to have foretold the flaw in this kind of a system and instead devised a seemingly simple strategy instead. A two-fold method of addressing the problem, if you will

• Firstly, what it is that you would do?
• And, how would you do the ‘what’?

The What – Since choice, as we saw, is a flimsy proposition, it better be fixed what one has to do. This system would weed out the whole question of not doing something because I choose not to, level out lopsided returns for some pockets, if any and also leave no room for unhealthy competition (too many fighting it out for the same thing). Thus if I were born into a family of sculptors, I would imbibe and follow the same creative traits from childhood. If I were born into a family of scholars, I would continue the lineage. I would know no other choice but to do my job to the best of my abilities. There would be no superiority or inferiority associated with any field, and no inequality since it is a level playing field.

The How – Since the ‘what’ is pre-ordained, it automatically becomes a duty not a chore. And with the word duty comes the spirit of selflessness and sacrifice. I will stop worrying about why or how I do something or what it will give me in return. I would simply do it because I have to, and to be best of my abilities, and because that is the order of the world and that is exactly what everyone does and deserves. Job satisfaction would be a redundant phrase, tempting is it not?

Of course, we have come too far away from this arrangement to revert to it in letter, but I don’t see why it should stop us from imbibing the spirit.  So, with that I will stop blogging now and get back to my ‘duties’ rightaway!

Thoughts on ‘Sita’s Sister’ by Kavita Kane

Mention Ramayana and the image that immediately springs to mind is that of a beatific Lord Rama, along with his consort Sita and brother Lakshmana, and the ultimate triumph of their goodness over the evil represented by Ravana. The Ramayana-spotlight has always traditionally been on them and their lives before and during the trying exile, for the most part. But what was life in the palace like, during these same arduous fourteen years, especially for a new bride separated from her beloved husband? That forms the intriguing premise for Kavita Kane’s novel ‘Sita’s Sister’

Urmila, the protagonist

The only ways the world knows Urmila is as Sita’s sister or as Lakshmana’s wife. Reading the novel, one comes to understand what gross injustice this is to her, a strong-willed, talented and remarkable woman in her own right. In sharp feminist tones, the novel manages to successfully underscore this irony, starting with the very title.

As the novel begins, we are introduced to Urmila and her sisters Sita, Mandavi and Kirti as little girls growing up sprawling palace of King Janaka, ruler of the Mithila kingdom, and an acclaimed Vedic scholar of his times. The author soon establishes the extraordinariness of the sisters and the sharp contrasts not only in their appearance but also in their personalities. While Sita is the calmer, non-confrontational sister, Urmila turns out the more outspoken sibling, sharper and more intellectual than the others. As they mature into young adults, their lives inevitably entwine with that of the young princes Rama, Lakshmana, Bharata and Shatrughna, and before long we see the sisters entering the Ayodhya palace, as young brides married to the four brothers. Soon, all of them get sucked into the powerful political maelstrom that ravages the royal family eventually robbing lives and destroying the peace and happiness of the kingdom. The novel charts the trajectory of Urmila who, amidst the turmoil, transforms from a starry-eyed girl in love to the sole source of strength and reasoning in her devastated family.

(Representational Image: Lady in Moonlight by Raja Ravi Varma)

The author has done a splendid job of portraying the protagonist as a character worth rooting for (even though I found the narrating style stilted and labored in parts). The reader can sense the anguish and emotional turmoil she experiences, torn between her searing love for her husband and the need to let him go as a dutiful wife. Her courage in the face of adversity and the unflinching support she lends to her family through thick and thin causes her to gradually gain respect and admiration in their eyes. But she is no demure damsel either. Her brazen and pointed questioning of the family’s elders conduct at various points prove it amply.

“You may be the best of the princes, the perfect sons, the ideal brothers, probably the ideal kings too, but never the good husband”, she chides them at one point, leaving the princes and even their learned gurus with no answers.

The novel portrays Urmila as a great feminist icon too. She makes the bold choice to continue pursuing her passions of painting and Vedantic studies even after her marriage, and does not see the need to pander to anyone by changing herself. She also does not refrain from pointing out at opportune moments that Mithila, her father’s kingdom and not Ayodhya was a role model when it came to treatment of women.  Her statement is further corroborated when despite having fought a bitter war to bring back Sita, Rama’s kingly dharma eventually prevails, and Sita is subjected to various trials (by fire, literally) before being finally banished from the kingdom forever. Urmila’s relentless championing for her sister’s cause continues till the very end, albeit unsuccessfully.

There is no doubt that Urmila’s story is not one of a happy ending. Instead we only see endless struggles and furstrations. But there is a lesson in that too. Her grit and determination, but also exemplary code of conduct in the face of adversity are all lessons that we need to learn.

In summary,

Urmila is an icon who deserves our collective reverence. By keeping her in the sidelines, we have lost out on an opportunity to know and learn from a great Indian feminist heroine.

Thoughts on “Surely You’re Joking Mr.Feynman”

Move over, Sheldon Cooper!

There is a new contender to the title of my favorite genius (also a theoretical physicist, to boot). And it is none other than Prof. Feynman whose stories I have incidentally stumbled upon only now, a good twenty seven years after his death. “Surely  you’re joking Mr.Feynman!“ is a collection of interesting anecdotes from his life, narrated by the man himself in his inimitable style. Fun, peppy, with a dash of irreverence and political incorrectness, it is a complete reflection of the maverick professor and a total joy to read.

The early pages give us a glimpse of the genius the world would witness, when as a eleven year old, Feynman built scientific devices in his “home lab” in the outskirts of New York. As he then goes on to study and work in various prestigious universities in the US including MIT, Princeton, Cornell and Caltech, awing everyone along the way, the book regales us with stories reflecting the various aspects of his character. So soon we see a teenage Feynman working out new ways to slice vegetables in his aunt’s kitchen and then later, as a mischievous student in MIT who doesn’t hesitate in stealing the door of the dorm, sending the students and staff into a frenzied hunt. Such was the joie de vivre he was imbued with, that he took on bullies, played bongo, learned new languages, visited countries and even solved some of nature’s most complicated puzzles nonchalantly.

One of the saddest episodes in Feynman’s life was the period between 1939 and 1946 when his young wife fell sick and eventually succumbed to TB, while he was unable to be at her side, locked instead in a secret facility contributing to building of the bomb that the US would later unleash on Japan. But true to character, the book does not dwell on these depressing aspects for long and Feyman instead chooses to focus on the interesting things he got to do at Las Alamos during this trying phase, from picking locks and cracking safes to exchanging coded letters with his ailing wife.

Throughout his life, Feynman lived by his mantra of loving life (and science) to the fullest, with absolutely no inhibitions whatsoever. And if that meant visiting shady clubs or supporting strip bars, he was open about doing that too. His natural dislike for authority, formality, honors or pretentiousness of any kind is also evident – when rubbing shoulders with royalty or dealing with the high and mighty in power. His reaction on being conveyed the news of winning the Nobel Prize is priceless and needs to be read to be believed.

His website introduces Richard P. Feynman as a “physicist, Nobel Laureate, professor, musician, raconteur, and an all-around curious character.” They probably ran out of space trying to accommodate multiple other descriptions like – artist, flirt, genius, linguist, mischief-monger and so on. I’ve always found it skewed and unfair in life that heaps of talent gets disproportionately located in one place while in some places it goes completely missing. But Feynman’s story points out an important lesson – that only part of your success is about what you are endowed with, while most of it is actually about what you do with your talents, time and energy, or in other words – your attitude to life and the opportunities it offers you. Feynman was a genius in science but that did not stop him from humbly accepting that he was a novice in the field of arts and music before surrendering himself to his friends and other artists completely, as a devoted student. His persistence, hard work and dogged determination reflect in the way he pursued these not as mere hobbies but something that he needed to understand fully well and excel at. The results spoke for themselves as some of his later art work or drumming sessions would show.

There is so much that I can go on with till the cows come home, but I will wind up my eulogy with a link to a documentary where much of what is in the book comes alive, straight from the horse’s mouth. Set aside some time, and listen to the man speak. You will be inspired for life.

In summary,

There is probably no one who can match up to Feynman in blending substance with flair, but that does not stop us from trying to live honest, rich and meaningful lives, the way he did. A heartwarming and inspiring tale of one of the greatest minds of our times.

The impermanence of it all

The eighth IPL season in India is in full swing and it is absolutely impossible to isolate yourself from the hullabaloo, especially when you have ardent cricket fans under the same roof. Coming immediately after the ODI World Cup, the constant media chatter around the event is not surprising. Images of the glitz & glamor, the raucous crowds, and partying players are thrown your way liberally. Staying a short distance away from one of the important cricket stadia in the country does not help either! But amidst all the feverishness, a few incidents last week got me thinking – of the impermanence of it all. Funny that the big daddy of fleeting entertainment should remind you of something as profound as  permanence, but come to think of it – what better than the very nature of such an event to remind you of this fact?

It was the day AB de Villiers (fondly called ABD) hit a blitzkrieg 133* to take his team, the Bangalore Royal Challengers, to a crucial win. Fans and social media were singing paeans to his talent and genius, while the man himself chose to downplay it.  What struck me most that day was neither the knock nor his talent, but his words and the attitude – the humility that shone through. ABD is no stranger to praise or the attention of manic fans, but I thought that it must require a special kind of stable head between the shoulders to continue to be down-to-earth amidst the constant adulation and hype that surrounds a super achiever like him in this day and age.

Another interesting episode followed close on the heels of that one. I read an interview of Virat Kohli (incidentally ABD’s batting partner in that match wining knock), all but a lad of twenty six, who captains the Indian Test team and is considered the brightest prospect of Indian cricket at the moment. He spoke about having invested in some ventures that would help him financially in future once he is done with cricket. That left me astonished. At the peak of his success, here was a young person mature enough to realize that none of this was meant to last.

Now, by themselves these above mentioned vignettes might not mean much, but when I compare it with how humans generally tend to react to success, it makes it all the more interesting. I should admit that I am using the term ‘success’ very loosely in this context. It is a highly subjective word and denotes different things to different people, but at the risk of making it sound simplistic, let me just call it as ‘achieving pleasing, desired results in one’s chosen profession’. There is no denying that success, small or big, gives everyone a high, more so in the case of sports where the results and the gratification is instant, and more palpable. It is so easy to attribute it all to yourself – your genius, your skills and your hard work, making you completely forget that you and a string of successes belonging to you are but miniscule bits in the grander scheme of time and space in the cosmos. It is so easy to be swayed by the wins and the eulogies and sycophancy that invariably follow, and to forget two important factors – the blessings (the unseen circumstances and the untold people) that helped along the way, and the impermanence of it all, anyway. And that is where ABD and Kohli stood out, for me. While it may take lesser people many years and many a bitter experience to realize this, these sporting geniuses seem to have got it right straightaway. IPL or not, an avalanche of runs or a draught, spotlight or sidelines, it seems that they have it all sorted out. At times, I think astounding success comes to people who can handle it astoundingly well, at least for the most part.

I have been guilty of not learning this myself, early enough. Mine has been a slow ascent professionally, but when successes (small as they are, in the light of the achievements of these superstars) came, they tasted sweet, and sweet enough to make me think that I was finally making it in the big, bad corporate world. Little did I realize that things were not meant to stay that way. Very quickly tables turned and before long, I was left wondering at the waywardness of it all. But it also taught me a very important lesson – that no matter what, it is important to 1) continue doing your best in whatever you are required to do, and for whatever time you get to do it, for the latter part is unknown and 2) be grateful for whatever your actions result in, whether favorable or not. Like it is said, unfavorable results surely make us stronger, when they don’t kill, that is!

It is interesting to see heroes of many types, even amongst common people. The ones that accept change gracefully and the ones who simply cannot accept time getting the better of them. The ones that desperately cling to the crown of success and the ones who are weighed down by it. The ones who fall but also rise to learn their lessons, and the ones who refuse to admit that their moustache has mud sticking to it (translated literally from Tamil, it means that they simply refuse to admit that they had a fall) The ones who make hay while the sun shines and the ones who grapple and wilt as the inevitable twilight approaches. But amongst all, there is a rare person, like a lotus bloom in a muddy pond. Rising above the muck, he continues to do what he is supposed to – and that is simply blossom forth, resplendent and irradiant, touching lives and inspiring people, ensconced in the knowledge that successes are but mere dew drops on petals which momentarily increase one’s appeal, but roll away eventually, leaving little trace. That, to me, is a true hero.