Friday, November 2, 2012

The Mango Man of India !


Lately, the word mango has become the most used reference for a common man in India. The Government of India brands a common man as a “Aam Admi” in official national popular Hindi language. The media has translated “Aam Admi” as a mango man. Mango is called “Aam” in Hindi. I am still not sure whether the media has tried to upgrade the status of a common man or it is just a satirical synonym. However, the surface area of the  graph of this 21st century mango man optimizes for the middle-middle class Indians as this category is the primary reason for the prosperity of media by raising its target rating points (TRP). The graph tapers down on the negative side where the poorest of the poor lurk like jungle grass and radiates at the grass root on the other side captured by  the upper middle class category who are going berserk to get themselves identified among the rich and the affluent.
Now-a-days, If one compares the Indian politicians with a street dogs , many people put strong objections to it . They rightly feel that this is an insult to street dogs.
I have also strong objections for calling a common man to be a mango man. I treat this to be a great insult ; not to a common man but to a mango tree. Only Indian “Mahatma” or the world class saints could reach to some of the qualities, virtues and wisdom of a mango tree.
A mango tree ( Mangifera indica) has a life up to 300 years. Though some dwarf varieties are also being grown, a fully grown mango tree could be 100+ feet tall with a crown radius of 30+ feet. Its leaves are evergreen. The Indians use its leaves and wooden branches for religious rituals. Its fruit called mango is a stony flesh. It is eaten while unripe and are pickled to various tastes. Its ripe fruit has a wide range of sweetness from slightly sour to deeply sweet and come in multitude of flavours, sizes and shapes . On an average, a mango tree gives around 200-1000 fruits during onset of the rainy season weighing 1-10 quintals.
The Hindu dominated India shows a ripe mango held by Lord Ganesh, the symbol of attainment. Mango blossoms are used for worshipping the goddess Sarasvati, the symbol of knowledge. The goddess Ambika of the Jain is traditionally represented as sitting under a mango tree. In several places in the world its fruit and leaves are used as floral decorations at auspicious ceremonies.
Having written all this, try to visualize such a tree standing majestically for centuries, giving shelters to birds, shades to  tired, fragrance to passers by, delivering delicious fruits in quintals without making any distinction among poor of the poorest and rich of the richest. If you happen to look through a speeding train window, these mango trees look like in meditation but with a difference. The Saints and the yogis do also sit on meditation but for a while. The mango tree stands rooted for centuries never going a-begging from one door to the another with a bowl but is fully satisfied with what its root , leaves and barks can adsorb and absorb. It never preaches but fans out fragrant breeze to freshen the air and the environment. 
A common man anywhere around the world has the same credentials. It has as many vices but a few virtues. Right from when he takes birth, he takes more than what he gives. He consumes more than what he could easily give. He never loves to stand as one family bound to each other with love and respect. He does not understand the power of honesty, sacrifice and service. He fights among each other rather than becoming a courageous and disciplined army. He never believes that the service to the nation is the service of the Lord of the Lords nor that the devotion to the people is the devotion to the supreme self. He loves only himself.
This universe and the Earth has born from imperfection. The dirt and debris collected by a black hole get unified and goes on to become a red star, a dwarf star and to further annihilation. On Earth, the nature has over a long period of time, slowly and steadily made flora and fauna to come closer to perfection. Only this common man is promoting those forces and people who are polluting the environment and trying to undo what the nature is ever trying to attain.
This common man has to choose whether he shall side with the perfecting forces or the annihilating forces. Both the measures have the same Greek tragedy. A perfect state ceases to react and becomes passive. The synonym of passiveness is death. A state full of anarchy also culminates to chain reaction leading finally to dirt and debris. But “Nirvana” or “Moksha” is certainly more beautiful than an explosion with implosion integrated.
While “Nirvana” is what a mango tree attains, the opposite is true for a common man.
However, the nature creates anything with a perfect objective in its mind. A measured amount of dirt is necessary to sustain a friendly atmosphere so is the grass which is not created for trampling but to make thge walk pleasurable and healthy; but to make the Earth green and devoid of desert. These dirt particles and sand goes on to make concrete and bricks that has created the modern world. Where there is grass, there is no desert.
A common man alone is like a dirt particle in a glass of drinking water. But when he conglomerate and corporates it becomes a brick and then a wall and then a building and then a city and then a metro. When the common man unites he makes a square either Red or Tehrir.
This common man is the reason behind a nation going democratic or autocratic, socialist or capitalist. He selects Lincoln and Nehru, he develops Napoleon or Hitler. He catalyzes a single party rule. He builds capitalist countries like America. He is the reason for a country favoring terrorists. He makes a nation a failed state. He catapults Gandhi to the peaks of a "Mahatma" and he pushes Gaddafi to the gutter.
Rise and awake – you mango man. Become aware of your latent power and become a “Hanuman” . Every common man alias mango man has an important role to play in building a paradise on the Earth.

Friday, September 21, 2012

भारत २०२५


कुछ दिन पहले मैं थोक में कुछ किराना सामान लेने मंडी गया. वहाँ मैंने देखा कि सेठ ने अपने बगल के फर्श में एक 6X3X3 फीट का एक पिट बना रखा था . वह पिट ऊपर से एक लोहे की जाली से ढंका हुआ था. उसमें सैकड़ों रंग-बिरंगी पोटलियाँ रखी हुई थी. लोग आते थे.  सेठ पहचान कर उन्हें उनकी पोटलियाँ दे देता था. कुछ लोग पोटलियाँ रखने भी आते थे. सेठ उनपर एक टैग लगाकर उसी पिट में फेंक देता था. मालूम हुआ यह प्रथा चिरंतन काल से चली आ रही है. लोग आज भी इस तरीके की बैंकिंग में पूरा विश्वास रखते हैं. उस पिट में हर समय करोंडों की संपत्ति रहती है. सबकुछ आज भी ईमानदारी से हो रहा है उसकी यह जीती-जागती मिसाल थी.
मेरे हाथ 1949 की किराना की एक रसीद लगी. उस समय शुद्ध घी का दाम 1 रुपये 25 पैसे था.  दस प्राणियों के परिवार के लिए 40 रुपये की रसद पर्याप्त होती थी, जिसमें घर की बाई, नौकर भी शामिल रहते थे. आज वही घी 200 रुपये का हो गया है पर यकीनन शुद्ध नहीं है.   
मुझे एक 1957 की रसीद भी मिली. मुझे याद है, जब मैं 9 वर्ष का था तो माँ मुझे किराना से खुदरा सामान लेने भेजती थी. 8-10 सामानों की फेहरिस्त मैं मुह्जबानी याद रखता था और चन्दन राम सेठ के पास एक सांस में दुहरा दिया करता था जिससे भूल न जाऊं. सेठ सब सामान दे दिया करता था. पहली तारीख को उधार चुकता कर दिया जाता था. न सेठ ज्यादा लेता था न हमलोग कम दिया करते थे. हाँ, जो पैसा चुकाने जाता था उसे सेठ एक-दो टाफी जरूर दिया करता था . 1957 में ईमानदारी का यह आलम था.
1963 में हमलोग कुछ साथी पिकनिक पर गए. सबने लीडर साथी के पास खर्चे का पैसा जमा कर दिया. पिकनिक में लगा कि लीडर ने सभी समान काफी सस्ते में लिए होंगे. बाद में उसने हमलोगों को फोटो के प्रिंट्स भी दिए. बहुत बाद में उसने बताया कि उसने कुछ 10% पैसा अलग से लगाया था जिससे कि हमलोगों को किसी बेईमानी की शंका न रहे. ऐसा भी होता था.
1992 में, मैं दो महीने की ट्रेनिंग के बाद कलकत्ता से लौट रहा था. रांची रेलवे स्टेशन पर मालूम हुआ कि उस दिन हड़ताल थी. बड़ी मुश्किल से दूर एक रिक्शावाला दिखा. मैंने तय किया की उसे वाजिब 10 रुपये भाड़े की जगह मैं 20 रुपये दूंगा. मैं रिक्शा पर बैठ गया और उसे कालोनी ले चलने को कहा. रिक्शावाला थमक गया और बोला’ “ हम पहले बोल देते हैं, दस रुपये से एक भी पैसा कम नहीं लेंगे.” खैर मैंने घर पहुंचकर उसे 20 रुपया ही दिया. रिक्शावाला चाहता तो हड़ताल का हवाला देकर मुझसे कुछ भी वसूल कर सकता था. कुछ दिनों बाद जब मैं ट्रेन से लौट रहा था तब एक नवजवान टिकेट कलेक्टर से भेंट हुई. उसने मुझसे वेटिंग लिस्ट से स्लीपर कनवरशन के बिल्कुल सही पैसे लिए और रसीद भी दी. हाँ, वह छुट्टे के 50 पैसे भी लौटाने आया था.
अभी कल ही की तो बात है. मेरा एक सीलिंग फैन से महंक आने लगी. मैंने उसे ऑफ कर दिया. पास के रिपेयर शॉप से बात की. मैंने कारीगर से वाईंडिंग का रेट पूछा. उसने बताया कि आजकल रेट 325 रुपये है. मैं वह पंखा लेकर उसके पास गया. उसने मुझे बैठने को कहा. उसने पंखा खोल कर देखा और बताया कि वाईंडिंग ठीक है पर एक-दो जगह कटी हुई है. मुझे रिपेयर के मात्र 125 रुपये ही देने होंगे. वह चाहता तो पूरे 325 या उससे भी ज्यादा रुपये ऐंठ सकता था.
मेरे घर से पूरब की ओर पैसेवाले रहते है. उधर आप जैसे-जैसे आगे बढ़ते जायेंगे सब्जियों का दाम बढ़ता हुआ साफ़ नजर आएगा. घर से पश्चिम का इलाका गाँव की ओर जाता है. उस तरफ आप बढ़ते जाईये और ताज़ी सस्ती सब्जियों से मुलाकात कीजिये.
हमलोग बहुत दिनों बाद अपने घर लौटे. कुछ लोग मिलने भी आये . इस गहमा-गहमी में मेरी श्रीमतीजी का सोने का चेन खो गया. मैं घर की बाई पर कैसे शक करता जो जब कभी भी बुहारू करते समय कान की रिंग अथवा सिक्के गिरे होते हैं तो उसे उठाकर सामने रख दिया करती है. हमलोगों ने किसी से भी कुछ नहीं कहा.
मुझे जीवन में बेईमान लोग भी मिले हैं पर उनकी संख्या अबतक ईमानदार लोगो की अपेक्षा नगण्य सी रही है. जो एक-दो लोग बेईमान मिले वो न तो मुझसे नीचे के तबके के लोग थे और न मेरे साथ के लोग थे अपितु मुझसे ज्यादा समृद्ध थे.
2010 में भारत के एक प्रसिद्ध अस्पताल में मेरी एंजियोप्लास्टी हुई. दो स्टंट भी लगे. सब कुछ ठीक-ठाक हो गया. दुःख केवल इतना है कि पैसों का इन्तेजाम करने में दो घंटे लग गए और उतनी देर मुझे ऑपरेशन टेबल पर लिटा कर रखा गया. मुझे एक तीसरा स्टंट लगाने की भी ताकीद की गयी थी. मैं पुणे के एक प्रसिद्ध अस्पताल के बहुत ही प्रतिष्ठित डाक्टर से मिला. मैंने उन्हें बताया कि मुझे एक स्रोत से रियायती दाम में ब्रांडेड स्टंट मिल जायगा. पर डाक्टर ने सीधे नकार दिया क्यूंकि उसमें मिलने वाले कमीशन से वह वंचित रह जाता.
आज समूची राजनीतिक पार्टियां देश का भला करने में लगी हैं खासकर आम आदमियों की जिंदगी  खुशहाल करने की कसमें खा रहे है. सत्तारूढ़ पार्टी ने 5 लाख करोड का घोटाला किया है और डीज़ल तथा गैस के दामों में पुरजोर वृद्धि करके आम आदमी को खुशहाल कर दिया है. अब अगर कोई दूसरी पार्टी सत्ता में आती है तो वह बिचारी पिछले 10 सालों से भूखी कम से कम 20 लाख करोड का घोटाला तो करेगी ही और आम आदमी की जिंदगी को कुछ और ज्यादा खुशहाल कर देगी. 
आम आदमी कम खायेगा तो स्वस्थ रहेगा, रुखा-सूखा खायेगा तो ज्यादा स्वस्थ रहेगा, पैदल या साईकल पर आना-जाना करेगा तो बिल्कुल स्वस्थ रहेगा, छोटा परिवार रखने के लिए शादी न करने का प्रयत्न करेगा और प्राणायाम (हवा खा-पीकर) पूर्णरूपेण  सुखी हो जायेगा.
भारत की आबादी बहुत जल्द ही 1947 की 35 करोड तक आ जायेगी. २०२५ तक परिष्कृत और नवीनतम  तकनीकें नानो-टेबलेट्स से बाजार भर देगीं जिससे प्रत्येक मनुष्य स्वस्थ और भरा-पूरा  रहेगा . शुद्ध घी 1 रुपये किलो और बासमती चावल रुपये का 5  किलो मिलने लगेगा. 
पृथ्वी पर अगर स्वर्ग कहीं होगा तो वह यहीं  होगा, यहीं होगा, यहीं होगा !  
   

Monday, September 3, 2012

Thanks ! Ms. Singer .


When I returned back to my home after over 9 months, I found that the biggest casualty had been the Singer sewing machine inside which rats have mercilessly carved out their residence. I took up its cleaning and servicing on top priority. After a relentless working upon, the machine retained its lost identity, but forgot to sew. My wife told me that she had changed the bobbin case bought from the local market. The bobbin case was not fitting properly. I called a servicing man, and meanwhile I fed the machine’s serial number to the Singer at singerco.com. In the intervening period I tried to recapitulate the life history of this hand driven sewing machine.
My father was transferred to the steel city Jamshedpur (Tatanagar) sometime in 1949. I was 2 years old at that time. My father was the single person from State civil service among the locality of Bengali engineers working in the factories. My mother became extremely popular within a short period of time. The reasons were many. First, she was the wife of a magistrate having 2-3 peons always at her behest, the services of whom she readily shared with her neighbours. Secondly, she used to give homeopath medicines to anybody who came. The good part was that her medicines used to give immediate and sure results. Thirdly, my mother was a lady of letters. She used to guide neighbourhood children in writing prose and poetry. But the trump card was her hand operated Singer sewing machine. At that period of time, women normally stitched their clothes themselves mostly by hand. A sewing machine was a blessing in disguise more so when the owner was more than ready to share and sometimes assist in complicated stitching.
I used to hear the buzzing of machine during daytime everyday. I had a good looksee only when one day in 1952, my mother was stitching a half pant for me and a full pant for my elder brother. Sometimes, my mother used to let me turn the handle of the machine. The machine was given to my mother by her mother who herself purchased it sometime in the 1930’s. 
10 years after, I was allowed to use it to do patch work on my torn trousers or for stitching lace for my pajama and secret pockets. My two younger sisters had become expert in stitching. My third little sister was only 4 years old when she began assisting my mother in her stitching work. The help included threading the needle, filling the bobbin, straightening the stitched cloth appearing from the other side of the machine and of course bringing glass of water and cup of tea for my mother.
One day a very terrifying mishap occurred before my eyes. My little sister was helping my mother as usual by straightening the cloth from the other side when suddenly the needle pierced through her little finger across the nail. If one liked to give example of reflex action and bravery then that was my mother. She within a flicker of a second unsaddled the needle from the machine, took the needle between her teeth and pulled out the same. My little sister did not get time even for shouting and crying. By evening, she almost forgot.
I was the only engineer son of the family. In fact, in my nascent years of learning, I damaged more than I repaired. I was nicknamed “Uncle Podger”. However, the  family had no other option but to depend upon me for day today damage control activities. I used to service and oil the sewing machine once in a year. This practice lost its way when I started living away from my parental house after I got a gainful employment in a heavy engineering factory at Ranchi.
Once, after my marriage, when I went to my paternal house at Patna, I found the sewing machine lost in dirt and sitting neglected in a corner. My mother told me that in absence of routine servicing, it runs with some good effort and hence is not in use since long. Before returning, I bought a new sewing machine for my mother and took the old Singer sewing machine with me to Ranchi. After due cleaning and servicing it started working beautifully again. When my mother came to my residence during Puja vacation,  and found the machine to be running well, she urged me to swap with the new machine that I gave her. But, I made her believe that this old machine might again start giving her trouble in absence of routine servicing by an expert. In fact, I had and have a great attachment. The sound of the running machine did not let me feel the absence of my mother. It was a sound of music more so when my mother is no more.
Well, the above was a long history laid down in as short narration as possible. The repair/serving person changed the bobbin case, and the machine was again its self to our utter joy. The repair person told me that if I so wished, the machine could be heat painted and given a new brief case style housing. It would become completely new in its look.
But I like its vintage look and motherly affection similar to as I like my greying hair.
Meanwhile, the Singer Company at singerco.com wrote to me that the machine was manufactured at Clydebank, Scotland in April, 1933.

Monday, August 6, 2012

Animal Instinct

When I see a crawling child smashing a passing by cockroach, I am convinced that I might have killed several when I was a nappy child. This conviction grows stronger when I glance through my past life as a growing child later attaining adulthood and then migrating into the other side of the age.
When I started walking and could throw a stone, my first causality was a frog. It used to be an easy target but it seldom got hurt. Most of the time, it leaped away even after being hit by a stone of its size.
At the age of ten, I gained expertise in using a catapult. Basically, catapulting was meant for felling mangoes and guavas but if a bird came into the eyesight , it had to fly before my stone bullet reached it. I must have injured and killed 5 to 6 sparrows, a mynah and finally a crow. The last was a nightmare for me for days to come. As soon as , I came out of my house, crows started to cry hoarse and tried to injure my head and face. It continued for more than a month. That was the end of catapulting.
Next in line were the stray dogs. We used to take pot shot from a distance. After getting hit, the howling of the dog gave us immense happiness. This foray also stopped when my house got a pet and a passing boy hit it with a stone when my pet was relieving itself outside the gate in the bushes. I could not stand the cry of my favourite.
My father used to give his 0.22 bore rifle to his workers to kill stray dogs suffering from hydrophobia. Once in a while, he used to correct his rifle’s sight by aiming and hitting a target which normally used to be a fruit on a tree.
When I was 21, I accompanied my senior colleagues to have a look-see of a shikar party. We went to a nearby jungle with 0.22 bore rifle. One of my colleague bagged a rabbit while another used his splinter gun to shower splinter on a bunch of pigeons. He killed two.I did not fire even a single shot.
My Muslim friends took delight in slitting the throat of chickens in slow motion which they termed as “Halal”. I am a non-vegetarian. I generally favoured the meat of a goat whose throat was slit before me to be sure of its freshness and masculinity. Once, I took my 3 year old daughter to such a sight. She became vegetarian thereafter.
When, I was thirty, I was given an opportunity to kill a goat . In fact, 11 goats were purchased for the purpose of serving NV delicacies to the guests of my brother-in-law marriage. I was told that this was the prevalent Rajput tradition there and the sister’s husband was honoured by inviting him for the first kill. I was given a hereditary sword. I was instructed the way I would operate the sword. I was successful in parting the head from the body in one great blow. That was the turning point.
Suddenly , I found myself turning my eyes from goats getting beheaded or chicken getting their throat slit. Even felling of fully grown trees started giving me uneasiness. I owned the hobby of gardening. I had turned 50.
It was 1998 when my son brought in a puppy. It was a mixed breed so I started teaching it to fetch balls and obeying some small commands. Once, when I threw a ball towards it, the ball hit the pet on its face. From that day, the pet just backed down when I tried to give him any command. I hit it with a chain. That made it still more afraid of me. I could not stand its misty eyes. From that day, I never inflicted pain on any creature. Rather, I would sprinkle some grains on the terrace for the birds and bought bread and biscuits to give to pets living in my vicinity. By the time , I had two pet dogs with me.
In 2008 my 1998 born pet ran out of my house panicked by the  bursting fire crackers seven days before the Deepawali(light) festival. Last year, my second pet died of injury inflicted on its stomach by a big dog. While dying, he left my house and sat near the portico to take its last breath. I vowed never to keep a pet.
My younger brother who lives in the main house inside the campus has 5 dogs of different pedigree. They come in the morning to demand a piece of bread from me. My day begins with such a good note.
Apart from animals, the plant and the trees also respond. When I came to live in my present abode, the mango tree by the side of my room seldom gave fruits. But once I started living with my family , it seemed to have a company. It is a fully grown tree planted by my late mother. I have never done any rearing or watering but yes I always watch it affectionately. It started giving the most delicious mangoes and is by far the most fruit laden tree in any year.
This year I was away since eight months and returned only in mid-July. This is the time when mango trees are fully relived from fruits. On my way home, I prayed that I would like to see only one mango still hanging on the tree. The next morning, I went upstairs. I looked up towards the tree.. There was one fruit still there. Five minutes later , a parrot came . It plucked the fruit. It sat on the roof by the side of the tree. It took ten minutes to eat that fruit which I would have taken 1 minute to devour. The longest enjoyment that I ever had of eating a fruit of that size.
How true are our holy books which says that in the beginning there was only stone and debris. Then there were vegetation. Thereafter came the animals. The social animal called "Man" was the logical progression. And in the end there is the humane, , the exact specification to reach the doors of the Almighty.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

The News Paper


My first tryst with a piece of news paper was when I was 5 years old, and the roadside vender gave me peanuts wrapped in it. My father used to read news paper when he took his breakfast. The title of the newspaper “The Statesman” always fascinated me.
My real rendezvous began with the search of photos related with cricket in the sports page. My serious confrontation started when my father began giving me passages to read, write and discuss.
Then there was the first student disturbance in 1957 at Patna. When hearing the voice of the news paper vendor, I ran to the door, I found my elder brother already clutching the newspaper and escaping to a remote place in the house. The competition raged with time. Sometimes , I got beat up for not backing down or handing over the paper to my brother. He never liked taking one or two pages to share reading. He wanted all. The most surprising thing was that I never found him abstaining from waiting for the paper at the door or the outer gate as the case might be. It only subsided after 15 years when my brother went to Delhi to oblige an employment.
My father was an ardent reader of  NJ Nanporia, Pran Chopra and particularly S. Nihal Singh. He used to ask us to read their articles so that our command over English language strengthened. My brother reaped the harvest, and he opted for master degree in English and his English could easily be ranked with top notch of the time. It seemed that I was more interested in teasing my brother and making a hollow competition, the result was my English never reached the second step of the ladder. 
The fight for getting the print first remained alive with my younger brothers lining up with me , sometimes ahead of me.
I went for higher education in the science stream and took Masters degree in Physics. But my appetite to stand erect before my elder brother never succumbed. I learnt and relish one Latin phrase in Science, and that was Q.E. D.(quod erat demonstrandum, which translates as "which was to be demonstrated") . I chose only those matters to write which have a punch and that finish with a triumphant QED.
When, I was of my own, I remained a regular reader of “The Statesman”. When, my children became of age and needed some brushing up and keeping pace with advancement in various fields, I began purchasing “The Hindu”. This news paper had more educative material as compared to others in the 90’s.  My son, who used to go to catch the school bus in the morning, sometimes took the paper with him for reading during the long bus ride. 
Only last year, in 2011, my friendship with print media began diminishing as at 66 , my eye sight does not   relish small prints, and then there is the online media with the latest in happenings with YouTube to complement.
However, the crave always draws me to the gate now captured by sons of my younger brothers and their pet dogs. The dogs love to play tear-tear. Most of the times, when I used to return from my morning walk, I found news papers loitering on the pathway inside the gate. Sometimes, the dogs relished biting and tearing. To stop this nuisance, I instructed the vendor to position the paper on top of the cemented pillar of the gate so that the dogs have not their day.
I returned to my native town Ranchi after a gap of 9 months. The TV channel had to be revived ; the internet had to be reconnected. Next morning, I found two news papers waiting to be availed on the pillar of the gate. But I resisted my temptation. The papers remained there for almost two hours after which I found them to have been removed.
For several days when I returned from my morning walk, I used to find news papers kept at their assigned place on the pillar. One fine morning, I could not resist. I was sure that my nephews would need it after two hours. I assured myself that I would place back the papers after glancing through only after 15-20 minutes.
I reached my open verandah. I sat on the chair. I wore my reading glasses. My wife gave me my first cup of tea of the day. I took up the first news paper. That was  “ The Times of India”. And there was that big news,”India Against Corruption: Team Anna eyes 2014 polls, to call off fast today. Suddenly a shadow fell on the news paper. I raised my head.
My young nephew was smiling, and his pet dog had a puzzled look in his eyes. Now people having concern with newspaper are getting up early in the morning.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

A Pilgrim Odyssey


Indian temples and places of pilgrims gain importance and reverence in order of their location; more tough is the path- more valued is their worship and more possibility of reaping rewards from such pilgrimage. Swami Shankracharya had , therefore, stamped four temples in the four corners of India of which one is at the top North.
My friend Ashok, when he became a senior citizen, opted for the life of a pilgrim. It seemed that the Gods were also with him. He always found the way to pilgrimage paved for him. While going to Puri, his next berth traveler in the train was from Ram Krishna Mission. The later arranged for his stay at Puri for free. When he went to Trivandrum, his taxi driver was from his village. He took him to his home and to all places of worship without asking for any payment. At Hardwar, he stayed at a lodge operated by a person who was his class mate in school.
In his journey to Amarnath Caves which was at an attitude of around 4000 meter and 150 KM from Srinagar, he had no such assistance and had to be of his own. It was a nightmare when terrorists attacked and all the pilgrims fled away helter and skeltor. He had one blanket with him when it became dark and very cold. He somehow reached the place of temporary stay in tents. He was very tired and shivering with cold when he saw row of tents. He slipped into the first tent . There were twelve people sleeping there. He did not bother for food though he was very hungry and slept a good sleep.
He only arose when he heard voices. There were Indian soldiers talking over his head. One was asking others as to how the hell there were thirteen corpses when they had brought in only twelve.

Friday, July 27, 2012

Laughter Is the Best Medicine


Laughter is the best medicine. When I saw this title on the Reader’s Digest, it attracted me at once. It is a fact that I have lived with laughter since I was a child. Whenever, we brothers and sisters used to cry, it became routine that one of us used to crack a joke. In 9 out of 10 instances, the crying child used to join in the laughter that erupted. In the playing ground also, we used to get hurt. Somebody among us used the same medicine of cracking a joke to bring back smile in a crying face. When I became young, this shameless laughter used to mitigate our miseries for a while. Even a tragedy such as love lost ended with a Charlie Chaplin style recoup. Have you ever slipped on a busy street? People laughing all around forced you to smile back and you proceeded ahead in no time. I remember of a feature film in which a cancer patient on the operation table laughing hilariously from tingling of the fingers of a nurse who was preparing him by sponging his abdomen which needed surgery. He was cured of all his miseries. He died laughing. Have you noticed smile on a person getting relieved of all his pains, agony and misery once he dies ?