Pink beauty

Here is a pair of lovely sweet-pea from my garden wishing everybody a love-ful day .

The mystery of disappearing things..

Yesterday evening I suddenly realized that one of my files is missing from our little study. Now the documents it contained were no way valuable but the fact that it was missing was strange. In my small house there are very limited places for a file to stay unnoticed and there are absolutely no visitors in that room . Also since it went missing, I realized I need it badly and urgently.(well , it happens!) So 11 PM in the night , me and hubby started searching the house. We even opened the freezer and washing machine to be sure .(Well, one of my aunt one day realised that her mobile phone and her specs are missing together . After two hours of search the mobile was located in the deep freezer and the specs on her eyes . ) But no , the file was nowhere . The incident was even more annoying as it is the second such ‘disappearance ‘ from the study . First was also equally puzzling. One day suddenly the cable connecting computer with my external hard disk disappeared. One moment it was there and the other it wasn’t. I searched whole house for it but … This second incident made me very irritated, puzzled …even sad. The thing is , I take pride in being ‘well’ organized (hubby would have used the words control freak ) . I am almost arrogant about my planning and arranging skills-both in office and at home . It was almost a personal blow that things(however small and value-less) went missing from my house .More than that, looking at the circumstances of the disappearance, I can’t blame anyone else . As this is no TV soap the other possibility of it being taken by an ET or a ghost would not stand either .So it must be me who misplaced the things . I was still mad one hour after the unsuccessful search operation , when I went to bed. Then me and hubby consoling each other, shared one story each from our childhood days when such disappearance of things left us puzzled . I will begin with his story . In schooldays, he used to collect cards with cricketers' pictures on it . Some uncle gifted him a beautiful dairy and he decided to paste these cards on it. That perhaps was not best of the ideas , as it made the diary bulky and puffed up . But then for a schoolboy’s eyes , it was still beautiful. Immensely proud of his collection ,he used to carry it everywhere . As it was his prized possession, he was always extra careful about its upkeep. It was time of his summer holidays and the family was going to Mumbai where his uncle was staying at that time. He was told that the diary cannot travel all the way to Mumbai as it will add additional weight to already exploding luggage . Dear boy thought it out hard where he can safely keep his diary . After two weeks of fun filled holidays at Mumbai when they came back diary was nowhere to be found. Everything else in the house was intact but diary disappeared .He obviously searched every nook and corner but to no avail. Poor boy was crestfallen by this loss . One year went by and it was another summer holiday and they were all set to go for another trip. When the large suitcase was pulled out from top of a steel almirah , with a ‘thud’ the diary re-appeared . Delighted beyond words, he suddenly remembered that last year when the family was about to leave , he thought the newly vacated top of the almirah a safe place for his diary .
My story is also similar in essence . I had once written about our craze for comics particularly for Amar Chitra Katha in our childhood.(here) Once I was ‘issued’ a comic titled Ratnavali (based on famous Sanskrit drama supposedly penned by King Harsha ) by my elder sis Anu. I gave it back after reading but soon afterwards Anu reported that it is missing. She even started doubting that I had ever returned it . This lead to some well fought sisterly fights , followed by yelling and tears from both sisters. But then with frantic searches and even cross checking by our eldest sister, the comic was nowhere. Both of them concluded that it must be me who has misplaced the comic and was now claiming that it was returned . Well, the accusation which was to be proven false later on continued on my head till one day after 4-5 months we were shifting from that house . It turned out that the comic somehow slipped between the old newspaper at the bottom of the rack and was safely lying there all the time when poor me was branded ‘careless’ and worthless creature (with a hurtful ban on further borrowing of comics)by two elder sisters .
Well , I hope soon I find my cable and my missing file also and the mystery of their disappearance resolves or perhaps , the day is come when I should also declare like Garfield-the-cat that -"Organised is my middle name and poorly is my first "

O God!

We discussed Gods and myths during lunch hour today . Surprised, are u? Yes…rightly so if you are. I mean lunch hour is meant to discuss tyrannical bosses, useless colleagues, hopeless subordinates, food, politics, traffic and weather only. That too in this order strictly. Where do the heavenly matters of Gods fit in this menu?
Actually the talk started when we started discussing the latest fad towards Buddhism. Someone said that the kind of Buddhism that flourished world over is not the puritan Buddhism which Buddha preached in his times to get rid of ritualistic and prejudiced Hinduism . This is because a normal person need symbols to worship, she argued . I casually commented that this is why in Hinduism many traits and virtues have been deity-fied . Hindus worship meaning behind their statues and the demarcation of virtues is so minute that there are many gods and goddesses functioning in a similar jurisdiction of virtues.

Just to illustrate the point I named Kuber and Laxmi- both of them are worshipped for wealth and money making . There is of course a slight difference between the two . Another colleague jumped in with the argument that the Gods and goddesses too have a hierarchical system . He claimed to be well aware of this as he has watched all mythical animation films with his 3 year old son . I tried arguing back that its not only hierarchy but also the genesis of a particular god. The gods worshipped today in what we loosely understand as Hinduism come from various streams. Some folk traditions, some Vedic gods modified to suit modern needs , even borrowed gods from other religions and of course historical persons turned into deities. If we take one God say Ganesha and start counting the myths associated with him we may find several weird and contradictory myths. But that is perhaps the beauty of myths. They touch you at some very basic level. Simple tales given status higher than that of a folktale and fables. Let us take Kuber for instance. I remember standing on the floating hotel of Kolkata (Floatel) a friend was looking at the banks of the river Ganges. It could have easily been converted into a tourist site –someone commented. There are ample number of businessmen in this Badabazar area itself who can invest in such a project-somebody else chipped in . This friend wisely commented that "well it is not the same thing to worship Laxmi and to worship Kuber. These seths of Badabazar are worshipper of Kuber- the guardian of money , they do not believe in creating wealth." Well, his comment may not be correct completely in that context but it certainly speaks a lot about the difference between the two deities.
Freshly curious about Kuber, I did the most natural thing of googling his name. The wikipeadia gave me the information I needed on this mythical, semi historical and common god between Hinduism and Buddhism.
Kuberin our myths is King of Yakshas.He is mentioned as guardian of directions. He is the Lokpal of the treasury of Indra.(That is why his statue in front of Reserve Bank of India) .He and the capital city of his kingdom Alkapuri is mentioned in Kalidasa’s Meghadutam too, if you remember . In Sanskrit literature this Alkapuri is taken to be in Kashmir and thus Kuber is rightly the keeper of North direction . Kubera is also the son of Sage Vishrava (hence he is also called Vaisravana) The banks of river Narmada is described as the birth place of Kubera, where his father Visravas, lived. It is also a territory of Gandharvas as the Mahabharata informs us. The same Kuber –in Buddhist tradition was a King of Lanka. He was banished from his kingdom by none other than Ravana –his younger brother , who succeeded him on the throne of Srilanka. So one can conclude that Kuber was a much traveled person – from Lanka he settled down to Himalayas .And why not- to facilitate his travels he owned the first aircraft –the pushpaka yan, which was later on notoriously used to abduct Seeeta . Now comes the connection between him and Laxmi, his house was supposed to be the abode of Adilaxmi – the deity of all riches. Kuber was so rich that he in south Indian traditions is also credited to have loaned money to Lord Vishnu, to meet his expenses of marrying Laxmi. (The myth also says that Vishnu is still paying the interest part only and is yet to pay the principal!)

Some of you may find it amusing , but to me these myths are captivating stuff. They speak so much about the imagination and fantasies of our ancient wise persons and common folks. Don't think that Hindus are the only ones who claim protection of 33 crore Gods and Goddesses The other day some one was telling me about deities/patron saints in Catholic traditions specially in Italy . It is a similar tradition like Hinduism and there are patron saints for horses, cancer patients, housewives and even for 'falsely accused'. Internet will give you comprehensive list of these saints and their functional jurisdictions.

Well, the discussion on the lunch table turned quite heated till finally one wise colleague (incidentally a Sikh gentleman) commented “ Perhaps that is why they made that movie-GODS MUST BE CRAZY!) and broke the divine contemplation . Later on someone quipped that had this discussion continued for few more minutes, disturbed by the fact that a group of auditors is discussing their jurisdiction , Gods would have sent down their organisational chart as reply to auditors' observations.

Hamari Amrita

(Father Daughter :one of the photograph from Vivan Sundaram's A Retake on Amrita 2001,NGMA)

I am not an art critic and except few well known Indian painters and of course some masters of world fame (Picasso e.g.) I don’t even know names of other artists.I still like Raja Ravi Verma’s ‘calendar art’ much more than the abstract paintings of modern times.Jamini Roy and M.R Chugtai's delicate lines go fine with me and I am ashamed to accept that I could not decipher Picasso's cubism. I like visiting National Gallery of Modern Art(Delhi) or Jahangir Art Gallery (Mumbai) or Jaganmohini Art Gallery(Mysore) just because of the ambiance. Without any claim of knowledge of her works, today I am going to write about a painter whose personality or may be her legend fascinates me . But first the reason of my doing so.

Hill women

Last week I shifted to a new office chamber and found her beautiful painting of Indian scholars (titled ‘The Brahmcharis’) decorating the wall behind my table. With the new year setting it and many people availing their leave , for last three days I had little work load and I happened to stare at this painting for long . The same painting decorated my room in IIMC long back (courtesy my room mate ). Just out of curiosity I started reading about Amrita Sher-gill on net . I was so moved by what I read that I decided to visit NGMA once again just to look at her paintings , this time with little bit more technical knowledge . I am fascinated by the painter’s life despite all her snobbish details(well, may be because of it only ) and am impressed by her art much more than ever. More than this, at NGMA I got to see some digitally modified photographs of hers created by her nephew Vivan Sundarm . She was definitely very stylish and very striking in her looks .Her short lived but charming story , with such lust for life (a la Irwin Stone ) is supposed to have inspired the character of the female painter in Salman Rushdie’s The Moor’s Last Sigh .
Considering that I have an inclination to romanticize short lived , controversially lived lives of proud/egoist individuals, Amrita had all elements for my liking. Young dead have kind of halo around themselves, its kind of a mystery "what if they had lived longer than they did?".

Its like imagining their life that never happened with help of the limited years they lived .(On deeper thoughts I find probably this is the reason why I like Sanskrit prose writer Banbhatta, scholar Pandita Rama Bai , Rudyard Kipling, Marie Stopes and many characters in the books I read.) In case of Amrita Sher-gill, I found another point of interest too -Shimla . The city of Shimla played a pivotal role in Amrita’s life. Her father, Umrao Singh Sher-Gil, was from a Sikh family of Majitha village in Amritsar. He was a Sanskrit and Persian scholar. Her mother, Marie Antoinette, was Hungarian with some Jewish blood and had come to Shimla where she married Umrao Singh, who also happened to be there. This couple then went to Budapest where Amrita was born on January 30, 1913. In the March of 1914 came her sister Indira.
The Sher-Gil family sailed for India early in 1921 to settle at The Holme at Summer Hill. It has a cozy looking outhouse where Amrita did most of her painting and had named it The Studio. Amrita had started learning the piano and violin and at the age of nine had played in a pantomime Pan and the Little Girl at The Gaiety. She was enrolled in a convent school in Shimla but none of the convents today call her alumni because she openly denounced all religious practices using derogatory words against the Roman Catholics. The Mother Superior had expelled her from school. As a young girl, she had a grouse against her parents too that they loved her sister more and her less because she was ugly and had a squint. This ugly duckling , was to turn out an immensely talented painter and also a sizzler, glamorous and well.. even promiscuous young lady in her youth . Some of her affairs and flings with well known personalities added to the glamour of her own looks.The most glamorous part of her personality however, was the magic she could create on canvas. Hers was a very cosmopolitan family and once the family recognized Amrita's exceptional talent of painting , they made it possible for her to go to Paris for a time, where, at just 16, she started to study at the École des Beaux Arts and soon took part in the Bohemian scene there. From the beginning, nudes, portraits and still lives were her favored genres.

At 16 ,she was already famous and her stay in Paris from 1929 to 1934 earned her more fame . She was nominated Associate of the Grand Salon, a rare honour. Returning to India , she found her real artistic mission to ‘interpret the life of Indians and particularly the poor Indians, pictorially’ because they are ‘strangely beautiful in their ugliness’. Haughty, as she was, she not only rejected a prize given to her by Simla Fine Arts Society in 1935 but also wrote a petulant letter to them.
I adore her use of colours and can understand why a professor of hers in Europe commented that she was "not really in her element in the grey studios of the West." She painted India in very Indian colours -vibrant, glowing and intense.Her paintings on Hill Men and Hill Women, The Three Sisters and many others are very much framed in their background.The plasticity and inertia of her figures, their grace and the ephemeral contact with which they graze each other, reveal how strongly Amrita Sher-Gil was impressed by early Indian sculpture. In 1936 she embarked on an extensive voyage through the country that lead her, among other places, to the Buddhist cliff paintings of Ajanta . The south Indian frescoes of Mattancheri as well as the medieval Moghul and Rajput miniature paintings of northern India were, for Amrita Sher-Gil, also a kind of artistic revelation.

This beautiful life ended quite abruptly . Amrita married her maternal cousin Dr Victor Egan in 1938 and died a mysterious death in Lahore on December 3, 1941 – perhaps of dysentery or peritonitis or a botched abortion. Her mother was also found floating dead in the swimming pool one day and since then the pool at The Holme has been converted into a tennis court and later on in a park. I passed by this house at summer hill several times and it was known to me that this belongs to her family but I never thought of taking a look inside more carefully. I must do it on my next visit to Shimla.

Now after doing my little research(I do intend to read one of her biographies soon ) , I was pondering on the question whether the fact of her unconventional life and death is a major reason of my interest in her ? The truthful answer is –yes. I am also going to be one of those who see her art in the wake of her legend. Well,I am also charmed by her use of rich earthen colours, her unusual way of painting oval shaped faces and her self portraits but after all as I said in the beginning , I am not an art critic.

On a Cold January Morning

"Bare branches of each tree

on this chilly January morn

look so cold so forlorn.

Gray skies dip ever so low

left from yesterday's dusting of snow.

Yet in the heart of each tree

waiting for each who wait to see

new life as warm sun and breeze

will blow,like magic,

unlock springs sap to flow,

buds, new leaves, then blooms will grow."-

Nelda Hartmann, January Morn

A new year (and birthday )thought

Its the first day of new year and I am thinking what people have been thinking on this day since ancient times. It is said that Babylonians first started having new year resolutions and people since that time have been making (and of course breaking) these every year. A friend asked today about my birthday wish and my new year resolution and I candidly told him that I have few constant issues in my life which come in the form of my resolutions every year ...but are yet to be completed/achieved. These are some very selfish and very materialist hopes and no earth shaking stuff. ( the list includes shedding few kilos and trekking to Tibet ) Once caught in an 'ice breaking session' during a training I was asked to list three of my most desired wishes . We were to write it out on a paper and put in on our dress for others to read while we circulate . I actually wrote :
1. To get a Booker price for my first book ...before I turn 30
2. To get my wax statue at Madam Tussuad's
3. To eventually get a Nobel for literature

These were truly my three most desired wishes at that moment. But then I realised that I was the only one in that room who was thinking on such mundane worldly level. Others thought of " making a difference to the world" , "spreading kindness and happiness all around them" and being "great persons ". Since that day I am quite scared of announcing this list . I rather prefer to make and break it secretly .

Anyways....for me its also my birthday and it is only fair for a birthday girl to make a wish. Let me think about what I want in the year to come ?To begin with I want to visit new and far off places, meet interesting people, do important work, read good books and generally be happy. Well ....I also want to own my first car in 2009 ( the incorrigible material me!!!) .
I also have another list of things I want from God . Here goes my prayer:
Dear Lord, please give me… A few friends who understand me and remain my friends;
A work to do which has real value, without which the world would be the poorer;
A mind unafraid to travel on the journey of life ,
even though the trail be not blazed;
An understanding heart;
A sense of humor;
Time for quiet, silent meditation;
A feeling of your presence ;
The patience to wait for the coming of these things,
With the wisdom to recognize them when they come.
Amen.
Just can't end this post without wishing everyone who reads this a very happy 2009 . May peace break into your house and may thieves come to steal your debts. May the pockets of your jeans become a magnet for currency notes .......... May love stick to your face like Vaseline and may laughter assault your lips! May your clothes smell of success like smoking tires and may happiness slap you across the face and may your tears be that of joy. .................May the problems you had forget your home address! In simple words ............have a wonderful year 2009.

The Railways Lore

Ask any child growing up in Indian plains , trains are pure magic moving on tracks. Trains fuel are imagination in so many different ways , lure us towards them with an unparalleled magnetism and are originator of many great stories. I think Paul Theroux echoed sentiments of generations of Indians when he said “I have seldom heard a train go by and not wished I was on it. Those whistles sing bewitchment: railways are irresistible bazaars, snaking along perfectly no matter what the landscape, increasing your mood with speed, and never upsetting your drink…anything is possible on a train: a great meal, a binge, a visit from card players, an intrigue, a good night’s sleep and strangers monologues framed like Russian short stories…. I sought trains and found passengers.”
This week I read a wonderful collection of short stories related to Indian Railways edited by Ruskin Bond . I know several other movies, novels and real life tales where trains played an important role in the happenings. Satyajit Rai used trains as a metaphor for modernization in his movie Pather Panchali. Ruskin Bond wrote the most incredible love story ‘Eyes are not there’ on the chance meeting of two persons in a train and who can forget the charming Devanand singing 'Hai apna dil to awara ...' in the Bombay local train . In many Indian movies the climax scene of separation or reunion was played on a railway platform and no wonder ,it is difficult for me to imagine how people lived when there was no Railways in India. Come to think of it…it was just a century and half that railways come to India and it seems that they were always part of us. Paraphrasing the popular ad of SAIL I dare say –There is little bit of railways in each one of us.

My first clear memory of a train is when I was 4 year old and my father was transferred from Pantnagar to Jhansi. We traveled by a inter connected train (which was a novelty for us kids) . My dad took me for a walk inside the train and at each joint between bogies my heart skipped a beat with excitement . That journey was also my first long distance train journey and hence for the first time I was acquainted with first class coupe, pantry inside the train and even sleeping on berth. Each of which was exciting beyond description for the child of four .
Train travel has come of an age since then. Trains like Shatabdi express and Rajdhani Express are much faster, comfortable and technically superior. We even have designer trains like the famous Palace on Wheels which is almost luxury of wheels. During my stay at Shimla I fell in love with the quintessential chuk-chuk gadi …the steam engine toy trains . They may be slow , may not be that luxurious but they are what was our childhood imagination of the train . Its difficult not to wave when you hear the familiar sound of these trains coming out of a tunnel or entering into another .
All kids are fascinated by trains, their tracks, their whistle and even the not-so-clean platforms . Railway platforms are a hub of activities. Some of them like Lucknow's Charbagh station, Chennei Egmore station or Mumbai CST are architectural beauties and others are just functional buildings. With vendors , booksellers, beggars, passengers ,pickpocketers , passengers and the entire paraphernalia of Railways, these stations are always game for some or the other stranger than fiction real life tale. . Some of these of course are also tales of horror , specially with foreigners ...like this one funny (but I am sure true) picture drawn by a harassed tourist -
"I thought I was intrepid
Flying 'cross the world
Till I met with Indian trains
That thrashed my bod and bashed my brains
And rendered me to curled,
pathetic Urchin-like remains
Ne'er again will I set forth
"Intrepid be my name"
I'll worry 'bout which platform
And how to step 'round rat swarms
And when to wake
And how to make out
Hindi station names"

But being an Indian and thus familiar with the rules of the game , I have received people/boarded trains at oddest of hours and even the small stations never failed me on unusual people and scenes.I feel perfectly at home in trains .Though I must confess that I have not travelled in unreserved compartments or passengers trains much. I enjoy the luxury provided by trains in terms of their swing like gait, their slow but tolerable catering and the variety of interaction one can taste during train journeys . I was therefore not surprised that so many writers chose to write stories with railways at the backdrop. While travelling across country for 'Bharat Darshan' we witnessed the variety of life at the railway stations. With every hundred kilometers the nature and attitude of the station changed dramatically. Changes were not only in the building style, the snacks available or the language but also in the behaviour of porters, interest of the onlookers and even the mood of the place .

I firmly believe that to see India in its true colours one must travel with Indian railways . It may not have the comforts of air travel and may even lack the ease of road but this is the way India travels to work, to home and to holidays .