132- Rediscovering Premchand.

132- Rediscovering Premchand.

As i opened my old school trunk, just as i always do during the annual pilgrimage to my village during diwali vacations, which houses infinitely more treasure than its humble capacity, i chanced upon the 8 novels by Munshi Premchand - the giant of Hindi literature. In hindsight, why did i read them as a school kid, when i possesed niether the linguistic proficiency to understand him, nor the maturity to comprehend it, still baffles me. Knowing myself, i am sure it would have been some early strains of narcisissm or a crass display of showing off. That not withstanding, i decided to re-read 'Godaan' (Cow - donation) - his last novel and perhaps the most brilliant one.

Godaan has three broad set of characters, each depicting the then socio-cultural mileu of 1900-1930's. Each of these set of characters depict the complex web of social relations that existed within thier classes and also with each other - carrying with them hundreds of years of social history, its peculiarities, the colossal sanction for exploitation availabale to higher castes and classes and the early signs of redemption that an individual initiative could provide.

Hori is a poor small farmer who is caught in a web of usurious debt to pay off the cost of everyday existence like buying seeds, marrying children, bringing up an extended family and who personifies the helpless life of an Indian farmer - emboldened by hope of good times but razed down by oppressive social and economic circumstances. Dhania is his loudmouth, bitter, complaining but well meaning wife, who is burdened by Hori's sense of duty, innocence and naivete, but who does not hesitate to back him up in the most trying of circumstances, particularly those which were morally right but socially blasphemous, like giving shelter to his unmarried pregnant daughter in law and literally selling off thier young daughter to a much older but rich groom.  The plot is thickened and brought to life by a broad set of characters. The money lenders of all castes, the patwari, the village priest, sahukar, so on and so forth, who had money but no moral compunctions, who broke all social laws and sought comfort in the shudhikaran(purification) ceremonies avaliable to them but not to the poor. The sense of outrage and tragedy is difficult to miss in the turn of events. Hori has but one ambition - to see a cow in his house.

The second set of characters revolve around the Raisaab - the feudal lord who owns the villages, has the right to tax them, ask for gifts and donations - only to maintain the standard of life and pretence that is traditionally the forte of the class of Raisaabs. While the politics of pre indepence india gets depicted as a sub plot, it wholesomely bares the hypocrisy of this class - who are torn between thier traditional penchant to exploit and yet participate in the lofty ideals of liberation of the downtrodden. The helplessness of Raisaab to let go of the comforts of his stature with the accompanying rights to  exploit his aasaamis (constituency)and to still be seen as THE RAISAAB is comical but piognant.

The third set of characters include Mr Mehta - the fiery idealist, professor of Philosophy, who is driven by a higher purpose in his life, bound by social duty, uncorrupted by money and charms and who has clear views about the role of women in the society. The second character is the charming, beautiful and educated Miss Malati, who has no compunctions in using her education and charms to get her way in a manner unthinkable for women then, but who goes through her own discovery of ideals, morals and sense of social and national duty in the pursuit of the hesitant Mr Mehta, who is the only one who refuses to be bewitched by her charms in the beginning.  This is an engrossing depiction of the tussle between the traditional role of women, thier angst in the fight for liberation and thier discovery of meaning somewhere in between.

Godaan is a must read for many reasons - again and again. Vernacular literature gives more insight into the complex history of our society, more authentic, more lively and more nuanced. It opens us to a world that English literature may not be able to do ever. As Hori dies on the last page and the everyone cries for a Godaan - the ultimate daan for a chaste Hindu, Dhania cries, gives off a thread of cotton as daan - that being the only material possession they are left with - alongside Hori, a part of you dies, 2011 not withstanding.

Guru

131- Monday Musings - Run

131- Monday Musings - Run

Around three weeks ago, i ran my second marathon, called the Kaveri trail marathon in the Rangapetta bird sanctuary, sandwiched between the cities of Mysore and Srirangapatnam. I am a late bloomer as a long distance runner, as anyone who has known me for some time will testify and so writing about my experiences of long distance running is particularly significant and cathartic.

Kaveri trail marathon was different from the Mumbai marathon in many ways. It was a natural trail on the banks of an irrigation canal and through the bird sanctuary. As a little over a thousand runners ran through the lush suganrcane fields, thick foliage, with massive trees as bystanders, under the canopy of clear pristine sapphire blue sky, it was difficult not to be carried away with the surreal settings. Every mile or so farmers looked quizzically at the runners and bullock carts got stuck on a trail which had only that much space. If one would not have been overwhelmed by the challenge of staying on course for 21kms, one would have liked to pitch a tent and just tried saying 'statue'!

I came back and watched a brilliant video on the net by Christopher Mcdoughal, who opines that mankind as a species was born to run. He uses anecdotes, historical and sociological evidences to claim that man was quite literally 'born to run'; that running is a natural human state - being stationary or sedentary is abnormal to our sense of being. He uses pre civilisational conditions, and present day African and Mexican tribes (who are the closest to the pre civilisational conditions that we can find today) to suggest that running comes naturally for human beings like breathing and the ability and habit of running has played a huge role in our journey of existence. I dont know if i all that he says can stand scientific scrutiny - and i hope it does, but i can surely identify with the the joys of running that he describes. When you run, that is the only thing that you do. The world and its worries recedes. The mind clears. The soul sings. Every muscle in the limbs make its presence felt. For those like me for whom running does not come naturally and have to summon every ounce of energy and courage to stay the course, running is also an experience of deep personal victory over limitations of the mind and body. 

So to everyone who does not run, i recommend what Christopher Mcdoughal says - Running is the natural state of being. It may look impossible to begin with but the end of it all, its a deeply moving and uplifting experience.

Run - as if your life depends on it.

Guru

130 Monday Musing - Man and God

130 Monday Musing - Man and God

Someone asked me the other day what my view about God was. I was temporarily taken aback by the colossal nature of the question, the import of which far exceeded the age and agenda of the person asking and the person asked. But a question it was and so begged for an answer.

The notion of God and His place in the overall scheme of things varies with culture. There is a significant difference in the notion of God in the eastern and the western world. Within our eastern worldview too there is an amazing diversity in the notion of God and more importantly how to reach Him. Some belive we should be 'God fearing', others believe in 'surrendering to Him', while yet others belive in 'Loving' him - either which way there is an unique and personal relationship that gets established between the worshipper and the worshipped.

I recognise my own inability to believe that God created man and his universe as a distinct event, almost like a divine project - and despite having been born in a culture which did propagate man's essential subservient position vis-a-vis the divine, i recognise my inability to relate to this notion of God. I am also growing to believe that in all likelyhood, man needed God, in its various avtaars, more as an explanation and support to tide over the vicissitudes of existence. God many not have created man, but man had definitely reasons to create Him.

Nothing scares man more than uncertianity and ambiguity. In fact i believe all of human civilisation is a story of mans relation to uncertianity and ambiguity. What we cannot control or predict, or what we are unsure of, scares us. What we cannot explain or put a rational cause and effect relation to, worries us. The mere thought of future as a place we cannot have cut out to follow a particular script worries us. Just as the cave man could not explain thunder, shower and lightening, the modern man cannot explain career and family uncertianities - and both need an anchor to hold themselves to. So we have nature Gods for the caveman and we have numerous godmen for the modern day man.

Some may not believe in any notion of God, but are surely scared of the unknown and believe its advisable to keep him in good humor. It is better to have God on your side when the tide turns adversarial. So if following a set of rituals either prescribed thorugh generations or through new found faiths, provide a sense of security, why not!. It is not uncommon to find many, if not most, to go through these rituals of fast, pilgrimages, darshans and worship, as a routine, as soul-less steps of an algorithm, without really relating to it, or connecting with it as a spiritual experience. They still do it, so that the unknown does not get offended and withold his benediction and blessings. It is almost like an all encompassing, all powerful insurance cover one buys for life itself.

I am also growing to believe that while most do not understand and experience God as a truly soulful experience, it is still better to be a believer in the notion of God, because it lends two things so essential to survive - stability and hope. In the worst of circumstances, in the bleakest of things, God provides an inexplicable hope of correction, redemption and improvement. That hope lends man courage to go on, to keep moving, to keep living. And in an otherwise hopeless, cruel, and infinitely disturbing web called life, that hope is worth calling God.

Guru   

129- Driving Growth through Changing Palates

129- Driving Growth through Changing Palates

I have been liking the Cadburys, 'Kuch meetha ho jaye' campaign for a while now. The TV commercials are warm, tell a story, softly tugs at your heart - whether its the eloping daughter TVC or the young teen wanting to walk the girl to her house or the young couple sneaking a conversation at the dinner table amidst family members. Over the last year or so i have also witnessed increasing instances of people giving or recieving the chocolate packs during festivals and other occassions instead of the traditional mithai-boxes. The marketing wallas would probably call this product growth through expanding usage. Within expanding usage it would be a case of expanding the number of occassions that the product can be used or consumed. I think this is a brilliant marketing campaign, which has already made a dent on the established social practices - and if the cash registers at Cadbury's are ringing, i am not surprised.

Every product we are told reaches maturity where its growth plateaus after the initial surge forward. India by all accounts traditionally has not been a chocolate consuming society. The chocolate revolution so to say, either as a sin food, or a food (if at all it can be called as food) indulgence has been a recent phenomena. Not many years ago, it was an item for the elite, particularly those who returned from the foriegn shores. Our sweet tooth was satiated by traditional mithais or sweet dishes - whether its the rice kheer and sewainyas of the north, or the pooran polis of the west or the paisam and mysore pak of the south and the innumerable milk based sweets of the east. Every region and community has its signature sweet dishes, which apart from being sweet also had some or the other food value. But chocolate is a different creature. It has limited food value, but much to the chagarin of the many with bursting waist lines, a very high calorie value. The last two decades has made chocolates the most common indulgence for children - and when they grow up, the chocolate mania in them refuses to grow up - mostly.

How does the marketing guy expands usage? Well, he gets an Eureka idea - how about chocolates usurping the space which traditionally has been occupied with the sweet dishes/foods. Imagine if after food people start having chocolates instead of jaggery or kheer or sandesh. Imagine if people start giving chocolates instead of sweets on every auspicious occassion as shagun. Imagine the consumption possible and imagine the market available? Absolutely brilliant piece of marketing.

I remember a marketing anecdote from my marketing classes. In a room full of marketing professionals the Coke head asks - 'Who are we competing against?' No prizes for guessing the answer - 'Pepsi'. The Head says ' No. Water is our chief competitor, so is tea, coffee and nimbu paani. We must mover from the share-of-wallet to the pursuit of share-of-stomach. Every time a consumer wants to drink something he must want to have Coke'. I don't know if the story is true or not but its another example of trying to expand product consumption through playing with the traditional stuff served. The DNA of occasions has been played with, altering the map of what is to be eaten and served. No wonder, the nimbu-paani has practically gone out of the welcome drink for the guest.

Any lessons for what we sell for a living folks? Think about it.

Guru   

128 Monday Musings - A tale of two citizens

128 Monday Musings -A tale of two citizens

They are separated by a good score years or so and so it can be safely concluded that they belong to two separate generations. The years that yawn between them encompass two stories, keeping together two lives disjointed yet connected, in the sense that where one ends that other ought to have begun.

She is lightly over 60, has very little formal education to boast of, but is well versed in the language of her ancestors. She is literate in a very limited sense, that her Hindi is passable but has no familiarity to English whatsoever. Her life revolves around her family, cooking, washing and buying vegetables. She has spent her entire life fufilling familial responsibilities like millions like her in the social mileu she inhabits. Every Republic day and Independence day she demands a tricolor be brought to her.She would then struggle to climb to the terrace of her house, which is a small hamlet in some inconsequential hinterland of this vast country and tie the tricolor to a unceremonious bamboo stick and unfurl the national flag with the TV antennae acting as the spinal cord that keeps it erect and flying. The family and the nieghbours treated this with indulgence for a while, some even made fun of her fascination, but now have come to accept the ritual twice a year. No one is sure if she understands the concept of a nation, or that there is any background of service to nation that runs in her family or she has had any experience that has drawn her to the strongest symbol of a nation - but come the republic day and the independence day she is resolute that she WILL unfurl the flag.

He is a young progeny of the liberalised India. He has flourished with whatever the country had provided - and amongst his friends is a common refrain, that they had succeed inspite of the country and not because of it. He mocks the government sector for all its shoddiness, ineptitude, callousness, lack of initiative, poor security, overburdening taxes and under delivery of governance. Luckily he is not alone in it. He is educated, articulate and aware. He has read all the history, has all his facts right, knows the major events of the Indian struggle of independence, can argue in favor or against the (controversial) role of all major stalwarts of the struggle with passion and eloquence. One might not be wrong to include him in the resurgent middle class, that is the pride of last twenty years and many argue, upon whom the future of this country depends.

This was a long weekend including the Independence day holiday. She unfurled the flag. He went on a holiday. 

Monday Musing 127- Co-Passenger from another time

127- Co-Passenger from another time

It has been a season of meeting very long lost co-passengers in the journey of life for me. Last time i wrote about my English teacher and this time i am going to talk about 'Pandit'.

Manohar Lal Purohit was my classmate during my B. Pharmacy days in the sleepy town of Berhampur, the coastal southern tip of Orissa, kissing the border of Andhra Pradesh. Tall, lanky as both were, the similarities ended there. He was extremely fair, almost pinkish, like the Indian version of a greek god - and i intolerably hairy. Originally hailing from the Jhunjhunu district of Rajasthan, he had spend his formative years in the mining belt of western Orissa, bordering on Jharkhand, in a nondescript town called Brijrajnagar. The fact that he was the only other Hindi speaking person in a class dominated by Oriya and Bengali speakers naturally brought us together instantaneously - a bond which only got cemented by the fact that we were ragged together most of the times, creating a 'brothers-in-pain' camaraderie. Since there was no hostel, five of us got together to rent a room and called it 'Sabarmati' - a decision i was instrumental in influencing, as an ode to my unusual last name. I was, however in no mood to convert it into an ashram, not in the traditional sense anyways.

Pandit, as he gradually got to be called, was going through a rough patch at that time - having lost his father and financially being supported by an Uncle, who also introduced him to the world of spiritual awakening. I am not sure if the outcome of this story would be any different had Pandit's sitiuation been any kinder to a young chap of 18. Adversity has strange effects on people and Pandit perhaps found solace in the intoxicating opiom of spirititual awakening.

He never opened his books - he had none. Every evening as others would get down to write down practical dossiers, flip through bulky reference texts, break head over complex medicinal pharmaceutical reactions, navigate through the elaborate, and frankly, extremely unromantic pharmacopoeias, he would freshen up and leave for the evening satsang in the local ashram.He would get up an ungodly hour of 4 am in the morning, around the time others would be going to bed, do his Yog-sadhna, eat his grams and be fresh as a wild cucumber as others labored to get out of thier groggy state. Exactly 24 hours prior to the exams he would enquire about the syllabus as if he wanted to study everything and then seek suggestions on the mimimum amount to be read which would give a fair chance at passing. We resented him the fact that he passed every single exam with this limited effort, while we would score marginally better than him despite late nights and excacerbated ulcers. We finally concluded that God certainly existed and that He was eminently bribable through satsangs. For every alcohol revelry we had in the house, he countered it through a equally loud Satsang, something we resented every bit, but let it be, because one God on your side always helps when facing a hostile viva-voice.

Most of us were struggling with the question of what-next after the course but Pandit was clear - he wanted to renounce the world and become a sanyasi. We were sure he had lost it, but he proved us wrong and did leave everything and joined the Bihar school of Yoga in Munger district of Bihar for future spiritual studies. That was perhaps the last we knew of him, as all of us got busy charting our own course in life. But last word was still to be spoken on it.

Pandit met a girl in the ashram he went to, who incidentally had come there with very similar ideas of spiritual journey. I am not sure if i can call it love, but something blossomed, and they decided to get married - much to the obvious consternation of family members. Niether had the quaintest idea how will they earn thier livelyhood. But married they did get and came to Bangalore and spent the next decade or so in various ashrmas, pursuing the path of spiritual awakening, living the ashram way of life. If this decade was strugglesome, as every bone in my body tells me it should have been, Pandit did not make any mention of it. Last year they were blessed with a lovely daughter, Devashree. As of now, both manage to live happily on what they earn teaching Yoga.   

I met Pandit at Bangalore after my graduation for the first time last fortnight - a very different co passenger from another life. I may have had disagreement with his way of life then, but today i am convinced that there is not one right way and more importantly he had as much right to pursue his course as much as i was entitled to.

As i look back at him and myself, I am clearly and surely inspired by his conviction to have the courage to live life the way his heart led him to; to pursue his way even at the face of extraordinary adversity, persevering with it against all odds and being happy with the choices he had made. He may have a few material aquisitions less than us, but i bet he is no less happier.

Let a hundred Pandit bloom.

Guru

126- Monday Musings – Thank You ‘Niharika Miss’

126- Monday Musings – Thank You ‘Niharika Miss’

The day before yesterday I talked to my English teacher from school, almost after two decades. She located me. As I saved her number on my cell as Niharika ‘Miss’, who is surely not a ‘miss’ anymore, but to a mind that will remember her as she was experienced well over 20 years ago, will perhaps always remain a miss.

Niharika Miss had joined our school immediately after her Masters in English literature from Utkal University in Orissa and belonged to Bhubaneswar and was one of three imports from Orissa as the school management changed during my last three years there. For an extremely ‘bihari-tribal’ mix of linguistic influence, the addition of Oriya was only to cause a bit of flutter. She was young, freshly out of her college, in hindsight I can clearly see she was nervous, though she tried hard to put a brave and confident face, into her first job and in an alien place. Her 5 feet 2 inches frame did not help much as a few of us already towered over her. To make matters worse, she was to teach us English, which to put it mildly was not quite our strength, neither was there any desire to make it so.

I remember the first spelling she corrected for me was that Bhubaneswar was not spelled ‘Bhuwaneshwar’ as I had phonetically written. I was battling with an English handwriting that was somewhere between pathetic and horrendous, so during summer break she gave me ten 100 word essays to be written. If she was not impressed by the product of my limited linguistic abilities as she should have been, then she did not let me know it. She tried to put a 25 paisa fine (the same 25 paisa coin that has gone away from circulation last week) every time someone spoke in Hindi during her class, needless to say with little effect. I remember asking her audaciously if advance payment could be made for the fines that will fall due as there was no intention on our part to talk in English.

Once I went to meet her where she stayed and she was trying to explain why we should be reading English books and I spotted a small book on her table with a girl and a boy picture on its cover – something that made that book quite read-worthy to my young mind. When I asked her if could borrow it, she looked a bit flustered but gave in. Many years later I realised I had attempted to read a Mills & Boons title. Thank God I did not complete it.

It was a very happy day for me to talk to her – after all those years. As years went by, I did fall in love with the language and went an extra mile to develop a working proficiency in it. I have no doubt in my mind that the seeds were sown much earlier in a manner inconspicuous enough, that only a great teacher can do.

Thank You ‘Niharika Miss’. I owe you more than you can ever imagine, and more than I can ever tell you. 

Guru