As the world’s greatest quadrennial event, the Olympics winds to an end. For the second most populous country in the world it’s that time of the year when the whole nation deliberates, celebrates, and ruminates our small victories and major losses in yet another Olympics. If only deliberation, celebration and rumination were part of Olympics we would have returned gold in all three.
To borrow Viru’s phrase ‘Shoba de ya na’ we should accept that we are a long way from being a sporting nation. Blame it on Nehruvian policies, as is the trend these days. 70 Years ago when a nation was trying to find its footholds, all that the founders thought of, was to create institutions of academic excellence rather than creating athlete producing factories. We never believed in mass production except in one field, unlike our equally populated neighbours, who though are placed at a poor 71st in the medal per capita rankings even with 58 medals against their name. They are unfortunately in that position due to the larger numerator while we are last on the list because of a poor denominator.
With one Bronze and a Silver we are currently ranked 61 in the medals tally. I would like to compare/ analyse our performance with a couple of teams who have fared better than us, Jamaica (16) Kazakhstan (20), Iran (33), Indonesia (41), Ethiopia (43) and Independent Olympic Athletes (49). The number against them represents their rankings in the medals tally with all of them having secured at least one Gold Medal or more.
We are a developing country ahead of most of them listed above except probably Indonesia and Iran (by virtue of their oil wealth). What are we doing wrong that they are doing right? I would like to analyse the peculiar case of Jamaica, part of the West Indian group of nations who have outshone their neighbour Trinidad & Tobago in producing world class athletes. Trinidad and Tobago being part of West Indian archipelago produced the greatest cricketer I have ever seen (and yet to see) I V A Richards. The same geographical, political and economic conditions prevail in both nations yet Trinidad and Tobago are medal less in this Olympics. Ethiopia always a country on UN’s famine radar produces excellent long distance runners ranked 43 with 1 Gold 1 silver and 3 Bronze medals. I’m not sure what separates us, is it training?, the genetic makeup?, that fire in the belly? or simply the bureaucratic interventions that cripple our development.
We in India pride ourselves in producing CEO’s of big firms and celebrate the success of anybody remotely connected to India. We have been on a Mars mission. We are part of the select Missile Group. Wonder why one of us can’t do a 100 M in less than 10 secs??? Why are we not able to produce an Olympian sprinter, jumper, thrower or a swimmer? It’s not about resources if you compare us to the countries above us. I believe it’s more about our attitude to sports. Thanks to our quota raj, even a talented sportsman thinks of using his talent to land an engineering or a medical seat on sports quota and then use the same platform to secure a government job. The real passion for sports is what is missing; it’s missing because a career in sports does not guarantee a secured life in India. The scenario is changing with the advent of private leagues in Cricket, Football, and Badminton.
Physically I believe we are on par with most of the other nationalities above us on the tally. What ails us, among many things, is structured training. We also lack in identifying and nurturing talent among our 1.3 billion. We pride our self as a nation that nominates a rich citizen to the International Olympic Committee but one that cannot afford to send an athlete with his or her trainer on a business class ticket.
We are a nation which deliberates over the unfair result meted out to us in a fairly judged result. We are a nation who ruminate on what went wrong for the next four weeks and repeat the same every 4 years. What keeps us going, is making it to the top 10 in the medals tally at the Asian Games, the top 30 rankings in the Commonwealth games and above all the topping the table at the SAARC Games.
We often come up with fancy programs like the one titled ‘Road to Rio’ and we might also come up with ‘Train for Tokyo’ but it’s high time we evolve as a nation who think beyond ‘had it not been for this’ or ‘had it not been for that’ and stopped being referred to as a country that sent a contingent of ‘also rans’ but a country that refused to step down from the podium.
This Blog is a tribute to the three ladies who have made us proud this Olympics. P V Sindhu, Sakshi Malik, and Dipa Karmakar who deserves a special mention as the first female gymnast and the first gymnast to represent India in 52 Years. Wish we wake up soon and create many more Sindhus, Sakshis and Dipas before 2020.
Friday, August 19, 2016
Friday, August 5, 2016
Star ratings will do no justice to a Constellation!
The title, I know, sounds sycophant to the core. What more can you expect when a movie called Kabali is whipping up the frenzy in India and beyond cutting across regions and languages. Social Media, FM Channels, Print,Television have been raising their TRP'S by indulging in either Kabali eulogising or Kabali bashing episodes. Not want to be left out; yours truly has joined the bandwagon too to revive this dying blog. But as an ardent Rajini fan who is yet to see the movie I have decided to take sides of Kabali even before I watch it. I would be watching the movie in due course but don’t believe that it’s going to change any part of this blog. (Well I’m posting this after I have watched it, and believe me, without making any changes to the story below.) I know most of you who are reading this are already suffering from a Kabali fatigue and wouldn’t go beyond this paragraph. I dedicate this to those hard core Rajini fans (First Day First Show at Albert Theatre types) like me who would continue to read it.
This blog is neither about Rajinikant nor his acting skills, but about the experience of a Rajini movie. You simply need to watch a Rajini movie to fulfil your theatrical obligations if you happened to be born south of the Vindhyas.
As somebody who was learning to walk as he made his Kollywood debut and having the privilege of watched most of his films over the last four decades, I bestow upon myself, to be the judge and the jury (A la Arnob Goswami) in the ongoing debate.
While the likes of a Nettrikan or a Moondru Mudichu, gave an insight into the acting skills of this legend. A Billa, or a Thee made you fall in love with the everlasting Rajini mannerisms, this was followed by the punch dialogue era of Padayappa & Basha. Then came the millennials, and the 50 year old Rajini had to be re-sold to the millennials, this was attempted with the help of some effective use of professional tools both on the technical and the marketing fronts. The era of Sivaji, Enthiran, Kochadayan, were targeted at the millennials by repackaging an ageing Rajini, which in my opinion was not well received. Kabali is for those fans like me who grew up watching his movies and wanted to watch one last one that featured a graciously greying Rajini that gave us more joy than a ‘orru koodai sunlight’ or a ‘orru Koodai moonlight’ Rajini or a Robot Rajini.
My only advice is don’t ever write or read a review on any of his movies. He is not worth any reviews, he is beyond that. Don’t complain about directorial flaws, the producer, the story, the cast, the acting etc. His movies are entertainers; experience facilitators, feel good providers.
The millennials who scorn at a Rajini movie today should know that collecting Pokémon collectables was in, when you were a kid but today it doesn’t impress you anymore since you need to enable your data package and need access to the GPS to enjoy your Pokémon Go. Both of which are a constraint on you as you grow older. No such constraints limit our version of entertainment. We still love the gravity defying cigarettes landing on his lips after behaving like a trapeze artist midway; the bullets from his gun take detours on their projectile defying all laws of motion thereby confusing, but landing on its intended target.Well, for all those Imdb rating hungry, angrezi movie freaks out there, if we enjoyed watching a trigger happy Tom Cruise in the Mission Impossible series from 1 to 5 without complaining, the same applies to our son of the soil Rajini too.
The title is what impressed me the most. Kabali which is a short for Kapaleeswaran derives from Kapalam (the head of Brahma) + Eeashwarar (Shiva), basically born out of an episode of Shiva the auspicious one (read lucky) challenging the creator Brahma. Rajini has just been doing that all these years. He has been challenging the creators of his movies to push him to the limits. Limits not for his acting skills but in testing his humility outside the celluloid world, a deglamourized, bald, greying Rajini is what we get to see unlike his counterparts in the other ‘woods’ who desperately try and look the same in real life too. He has never coaxed us to buy a soft drink or use an after shave or told us that the secret of his energy lay in that chocolate drink.
He is an un-solved conundrum that stardom and humility can be juxtaposed.
This blog is neither about Rajinikant nor his acting skills, but about the experience of a Rajini movie. You simply need to watch a Rajini movie to fulfil your theatrical obligations if you happened to be born south of the Vindhyas.
As somebody who was learning to walk as he made his Kollywood debut and having the privilege of watched most of his films over the last four decades, I bestow upon myself, to be the judge and the jury (A la Arnob Goswami) in the ongoing debate.
While the likes of a Nettrikan or a Moondru Mudichu, gave an insight into the acting skills of this legend. A Billa, or a Thee made you fall in love with the everlasting Rajini mannerisms, this was followed by the punch dialogue era of Padayappa & Basha. Then came the millennials, and the 50 year old Rajini had to be re-sold to the millennials, this was attempted with the help of some effective use of professional tools both on the technical and the marketing fronts. The era of Sivaji, Enthiran, Kochadayan, were targeted at the millennials by repackaging an ageing Rajini, which in my opinion was not well received. Kabali is for those fans like me who grew up watching his movies and wanted to watch one last one that featured a graciously greying Rajini that gave us more joy than a ‘orru koodai sunlight’ or a ‘orru Koodai moonlight’ Rajini or a Robot Rajini.
My only advice is don’t ever write or read a review on any of his movies. He is not worth any reviews, he is beyond that. Don’t complain about directorial flaws, the producer, the story, the cast, the acting etc. His movies are entertainers; experience facilitators, feel good providers.
The millennials who scorn at a Rajini movie today should know that collecting Pokémon collectables was in, when you were a kid but today it doesn’t impress you anymore since you need to enable your data package and need access to the GPS to enjoy your Pokémon Go. Both of which are a constraint on you as you grow older. No such constraints limit our version of entertainment. We still love the gravity defying cigarettes landing on his lips after behaving like a trapeze artist midway; the bullets from his gun take detours on their projectile defying all laws of motion thereby confusing, but landing on its intended target.Well, for all those Imdb rating hungry, angrezi movie freaks out there, if we enjoyed watching a trigger happy Tom Cruise in the Mission Impossible series from 1 to 5 without complaining, the same applies to our son of the soil Rajini too.
The title is what impressed me the most. Kabali which is a short for Kapaleeswaran derives from Kapalam (the head of Brahma) + Eeashwarar (Shiva), basically born out of an episode of Shiva the auspicious one (read lucky) challenging the creator Brahma. Rajini has just been doing that all these years. He has been challenging the creators of his movies to push him to the limits. Limits not for his acting skills but in testing his humility outside the celluloid world, a deglamourized, bald, greying Rajini is what we get to see unlike his counterparts in the other ‘woods’ who desperately try and look the same in real life too. He has never coaxed us to buy a soft drink or use an after shave or told us that the secret of his energy lay in that chocolate drink.
He is an un-solved conundrum that stardom and humility can be juxtaposed.
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
Journalism – It’s all about fewer words and more numbers!
I am an apolitical citizen of India and this is an essay addressed to a journalist of repute as described in the title.
After a stressful day, living miles away from my homeland the first thing I do to unwind is by switching on to your channel over dinner. The house is brought alive by your lively debates. I get into a sadistic high as I watch Indian politicians being grilled for accountability, or in my Middle Eastern parlance being made a shawarma. When you have guests from across the border I am even more elated with the sadistic pleasure of watching your guests being high on Masochism. It’s a rare show where sadism and masochism are juxtaposed.
In fact I switch off the lights at home when your show begins, because late at night I love the flashes from the screen reflecting over the dull walls of my house. I love it when the fire in your belly is reflected on the screen, which in turns warms up my evening. In short you bring about a nice night club effect, in an otherwise dull and boring end to another day in my life….a kind of a just another day in paradise feeling!
I keep telling my family at home, in my next incarnation I want to be you. The energetic you, the you, who makes everyone accountable, the you, who is the judge and the jury. The you, who is super fit, never have I heard you hoarse with a sore throat nor with a nasal tone from a blocked nose. You epitomised loudly to the world who or how a Journalist should be.
You were not only a man of words but also of numbers, 4 years on the top, 1 Mio odd burning tweets, thousands of telephone lines jammed as soon as you open them up. You are definitely a man of numbers more than words.
But words and numbers belong to two different hemispheres of the brain. God made it that way, who are we…. oops sorry who am I to change that configuration, pardon me for the brevity as I counted you among us mortals. But remember, when you go in pursuit of one, you need to compromise on the other.
Circa 2016, 27th of June. Like any other day I switched on my television with the hope of checking out the scores…yeah, you are right, yours is the only news channel that I look for scores. Not the espn’s or the Star Sports. Scores are settled or thrust upon at the innocent and the convicted with the same fervour…The only channel where I can back the winner every time and go to bed being relieved that the nation is in safe hands. Viola…What did I see that day! I saw an abnormal you! Thought it was just a bad hair day at office since your hair on that day was unkempt too. You, who I aspired to be, was not the you, you were every night. I thought the world had ended since I saw a timid, dull and boring you. I thought you were just extending the initial pleasantries honouring your guest. The pleasantries did not seem to end. Frankly speaking, I went to bed a sad man that night. It is here that I felt that you had pledged your words for numbers. Ah you mortal man…Numbers maketh a man, not words! No wonder why the Wall Street is more popular than the Stratford-upon-Avon.
The next day being addicted to being a statistic that adds voice to the cacophony of justice you mete out at dinner time I tuned in hoping you return to your normal self. Wow…I wasn’t surprised you were well and truly back in action. The walls at home are once again lively. Thank you for making my day.
Unfortunately, I was told later that though you made my day, the previous day, the 27th of June will go down in history as a day when journalism was as invertebrate as a jelly fish.
After a stressful day, living miles away from my homeland the first thing I do to unwind is by switching on to your channel over dinner. The house is brought alive by your lively debates. I get into a sadistic high as I watch Indian politicians being grilled for accountability, or in my Middle Eastern parlance being made a shawarma. When you have guests from across the border I am even more elated with the sadistic pleasure of watching your guests being high on Masochism. It’s a rare show where sadism and masochism are juxtaposed.
In fact I switch off the lights at home when your show begins, because late at night I love the flashes from the screen reflecting over the dull walls of my house. I love it when the fire in your belly is reflected on the screen, which in turns warms up my evening. In short you bring about a nice night club effect, in an otherwise dull and boring end to another day in my life….a kind of a just another day in paradise feeling!
I keep telling my family at home, in my next incarnation I want to be you. The energetic you, the you, who makes everyone accountable, the you, who is the judge and the jury. The you, who is super fit, never have I heard you hoarse with a sore throat nor with a nasal tone from a blocked nose. You epitomised loudly to the world who or how a Journalist should be.
You were not only a man of words but also of numbers, 4 years on the top, 1 Mio odd burning tweets, thousands of telephone lines jammed as soon as you open them up. You are definitely a man of numbers more than words.
But words and numbers belong to two different hemispheres of the brain. God made it that way, who are we…. oops sorry who am I to change that configuration, pardon me for the brevity as I counted you among us mortals. But remember, when you go in pursuit of one, you need to compromise on the other.
Circa 2016, 27th of June. Like any other day I switched on my television with the hope of checking out the scores…yeah, you are right, yours is the only news channel that I look for scores. Not the espn’s or the Star Sports. Scores are settled or thrust upon at the innocent and the convicted with the same fervour…The only channel where I can back the winner every time and go to bed being relieved that the nation is in safe hands. Viola…What did I see that day! I saw an abnormal you! Thought it was just a bad hair day at office since your hair on that day was unkempt too. You, who I aspired to be, was not the you, you were every night. I thought the world had ended since I saw a timid, dull and boring you. I thought you were just extending the initial pleasantries honouring your guest. The pleasantries did not seem to end. Frankly speaking, I went to bed a sad man that night. It is here that I felt that you had pledged your words for numbers. Ah you mortal man…Numbers maketh a man, not words! No wonder why the Wall Street is more popular than the Stratford-upon-Avon.
The next day being addicted to being a statistic that adds voice to the cacophony of justice you mete out at dinner time I tuned in hoping you return to your normal self. Wow…I wasn’t surprised you were well and truly back in action. The walls at home are once again lively. Thank you for making my day.
Unfortunately, I was told later that though you made my day, the previous day, the 27th of June will go down in history as a day when journalism was as invertebrate as a jelly fish.
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
Operation Just Cause – By the Fourth Estate
There was nothing much happening around the world to inspire the dilettante writer in me pen a blog. The prime time and headlines on the national front were dominated by mundane uninteresting debates and editorials on beef, booze, dress, and general calls to Freedom of everything, from or within, dominated by the right to speech and the right to eat. The International news was once again all about the gory face of hatred showing up everywhere.
Actually I missed the good old days when the prime times were intellectually engaging. They used to debate on technical stuff like Spectrum licenses, 2G’s, 3G’s, large sized Howitzers, Submarines , Helicopters, Mining licenses and the ways to get them etc. , and yes there were the occasional fodder talk too. Well, when there is a lot of bullshit happening all around we need to talk about fodder too, isn’t it? But, we did learn a lot, in fact I had learnt how a spectrum works even before the 3G’s and 4G’s popped up on my smart phone screen.
So you see there was nothing inspirational to write about, until the mother of all breaking news beamed and flashed across the world a couple of days ago. The Panama Papers they called it. Apparently spilling the beans (or more than beans) on the rich and the famous from across the globe. This was a rarity in the media world, news breaking across time zones with enough local content to keep the viewers / readers hooked. This was also a moment of voyeuristic pleasure for a middle class citizen to see the riches of the super-rich being hauled up, especially in India since it came close on the heels of a member of the uber–wealthy fraternity giving us the slip a month ago.
Panama, a Central American country that connects the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans has created quite a storm across seas over the last 48 hours. It’s rather ironical that the word Panama also means ‘many butterflies’, quite a lot I would say, now in the tummies across the world. For a change these are tummies filled with Caviar and Chardonnay. My memory connects with Panama in a rather vague couple of things, mugging up its rather easy capital Panama City and marking the Panama Canal on the world map, or wearing a straw hat bought at Mahabalipuram that was sold to me as a Panama hat and the impressive packet of Panama cigarettes that used to feature in old Tamil movies.
With my half-baked knowledge in finance, all I have understood is the rich and famous have managed to stash their wealth away from the eyes of the daft people like you and me who simply believe in paying the taxes before earning them. One article talks about how a husband used these means to hide his wealth from his wife just as their relationship headed south, thereby saving a couple of hundreds of millions of dollars in divorce settlement. There is also an instance where the wife had done the same to protect her wealth. One of the synonyms of wealth is Mammon. How true when you hear all this.
If my wife and I were to part ways I would probably walk away with my leftover Old Monk and she with her bottle of wine. Yes I do stash away my wealth too since the day I started earning, I had the habit of folding a couple of hundreds and ‘stash’ it away in the hidden recesses of my wallet and conveniently forget it, so that, it comes in handy when I’m digging deep into every hidden hole at times of need.
I am no expert in corporate law or personal finance however I feel embittered by the happenings and the sight of astronomical figures doing the rounds. I am not preaching Robin Hood here but my feeling is that even a 3rd or 4th decimal fraction of the figures doing the rounds would go a long way in the process of alleviating poverty across the globe.
The Americans invaded and bombed Panama in 1989, dethroned Gen Manuel Noriega and claimed they were fighting to combat drug trafficking for the world’s sake. They called it Operation Just Cause. Twenty seven years later thanks to the selfless and concerted efforts by a group of 70 odd journalist sharing data across countries and cultures are combating another evil in the society called money laundering.
This time around the operation is for more than a just cause and has gone on to prove that the pen is definitely mightier than the bombs.
Actually I missed the good old days when the prime times were intellectually engaging. They used to debate on technical stuff like Spectrum licenses, 2G’s, 3G’s, large sized Howitzers, Submarines , Helicopters, Mining licenses and the ways to get them etc. , and yes there were the occasional fodder talk too. Well, when there is a lot of bullshit happening all around we need to talk about fodder too, isn’t it? But, we did learn a lot, in fact I had learnt how a spectrum works even before the 3G’s and 4G’s popped up on my smart phone screen.
So you see there was nothing inspirational to write about, until the mother of all breaking news beamed and flashed across the world a couple of days ago. The Panama Papers they called it. Apparently spilling the beans (or more than beans) on the rich and the famous from across the globe. This was a rarity in the media world, news breaking across time zones with enough local content to keep the viewers / readers hooked. This was also a moment of voyeuristic pleasure for a middle class citizen to see the riches of the super-rich being hauled up, especially in India since it came close on the heels of a member of the uber–wealthy fraternity giving us the slip a month ago.
Panama, a Central American country that connects the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans has created quite a storm across seas over the last 48 hours. It’s rather ironical that the word Panama also means ‘many butterflies’, quite a lot I would say, now in the tummies across the world. For a change these are tummies filled with Caviar and Chardonnay. My memory connects with Panama in a rather vague couple of things, mugging up its rather easy capital Panama City and marking the Panama Canal on the world map, or wearing a straw hat bought at Mahabalipuram that was sold to me as a Panama hat and the impressive packet of Panama cigarettes that used to feature in old Tamil movies.
With my half-baked knowledge in finance, all I have understood is the rich and famous have managed to stash their wealth away from the eyes of the daft people like you and me who simply believe in paying the taxes before earning them. One article talks about how a husband used these means to hide his wealth from his wife just as their relationship headed south, thereby saving a couple of hundreds of millions of dollars in divorce settlement. There is also an instance where the wife had done the same to protect her wealth. One of the synonyms of wealth is Mammon. How true when you hear all this.
If my wife and I were to part ways I would probably walk away with my leftover Old Monk and she with her bottle of wine. Yes I do stash away my wealth too since the day I started earning, I had the habit of folding a couple of hundreds and ‘stash’ it away in the hidden recesses of my wallet and conveniently forget it, so that, it comes in handy when I’m digging deep into every hidden hole at times of need.
I am no expert in corporate law or personal finance however I feel embittered by the happenings and the sight of astronomical figures doing the rounds. I am not preaching Robin Hood here but my feeling is that even a 3rd or 4th decimal fraction of the figures doing the rounds would go a long way in the process of alleviating poverty across the globe.
The Americans invaded and bombed Panama in 1989, dethroned Gen Manuel Noriega and claimed they were fighting to combat drug trafficking for the world’s sake. They called it Operation Just Cause. Twenty seven years later thanks to the selfless and concerted efforts by a group of 70 odd journalist sharing data across countries and cultures are combating another evil in the society called money laundering.
This time around the operation is for more than a just cause and has gone on to prove that the pen is definitely mightier than the bombs.
Friday, March 11, 2016
Rum, Rumi and Rumination
The first quarter of the year is a time for introspection. In this social media age you are swamped with unsolicited gyan, be it Whatsapp or facebook. Virtually every other person is a guru and guru production is practically a cottage industry today in India.
Wonder where the Rumis, the Mahatriyas, the Sri Sris and the Sadhgurus were when I was growing up. It would have helped me attain nirvana and bring about a spiritual awakening in me. I did have my fair share of spiritual awakening (not sure if it really woke me up). Osho and Maharishi were my favourites. My spiritual awakening was limited to listening to Osho discourses on audio cassette players , attending Transcendental Meditation courses of the Maharishi and reading a couple of books on Sufism, Taoism and Zen Philosophy, while actively practising the religious beliefs I was born into. This gave me a balanced outlook to life or so I believe.
Unfortunately I grew up in a period; you were branded a prodigal pariah if you followed Osho or a Maharishi. I had to even lie to my parents to attend an initiation session of Transcendental Meditation, for which I had to buy, Flowers, Coconut other offerings that made the ‘dakshana’ , in spite of them being the most liberal of parents. As you see, my pursuit of gyan did not come easy.
These are days you see words of wisdom dished all around, and rarely get to see people of wisdom. You wake up to motivational messages wishing you a great day if you stay positive or go to bed with messages of wonderful dreams and promises of a better dawn that makes you forget that none of the morning messages came true. The gurus tell you things you knew all along which you always considered trivial. Suddenly the same stuff has more gravity when spoken by a guru and would bring about a spiritual awakening in you. ‘Wake up in the morning, close your eyes and hold your wife’s hands’. Now, if I said that, you would brand me a moron. Imagine the same being narrated by a guru in a nasal tone or a deep hoarse voice, with an unruly facial hair, clad in, white, saffron or a green robe. There is a tectonic shift in the effect that the very same statement has on you.
Finally when a Sri Sri proclaims an event on teaching you the nuances of how to live, it becomes an event where you have 3.5 Million people flocking to the venue. I believe you don’t need a white / Saffron/ green robe (My apologies if I have missed out other colours, it was not intentional or discriminatory to the other colour) and a black beard (since this feature is a common factor I’m happy) to teach the art of living. One can learn it from an unemployed educated youth wearing a trouser worn out at its helms and sporting a soiled white shirt, or from a rickshaw puller sporting a colourful lungi and a well ventilated vest. You my friends,can learn the art of living from the above gentlemen drawn from different strata of the society. Lend a ear to their hardships, and I bet you end up learning more than any of the discourses you may listen to by the so called acclaimed self-proclaimed gurus.
Take a deep breath and feel the moment, love a fellow human irrespective of his cast, creed and religion and be at peace with what you have, voila you have already mastered the art of living.
Living is not an art but a conglomeration of intuitive actions that takes you through to the next minute of your life, the day you understand that, you are an artist who has mastered how to live.
You might wonder why the title made no sense. I simply used Rum to Ruminate on Rumi.
Gurus come and go!!! Be your own guru!
Wonder where the Rumis, the Mahatriyas, the Sri Sris and the Sadhgurus were when I was growing up. It would have helped me attain nirvana and bring about a spiritual awakening in me. I did have my fair share of spiritual awakening (not sure if it really woke me up). Osho and Maharishi were my favourites. My spiritual awakening was limited to listening to Osho discourses on audio cassette players , attending Transcendental Meditation courses of the Maharishi and reading a couple of books on Sufism, Taoism and Zen Philosophy, while actively practising the religious beliefs I was born into. This gave me a balanced outlook to life or so I believe.
Unfortunately I grew up in a period; you were branded a prodigal pariah if you followed Osho or a Maharishi. I had to even lie to my parents to attend an initiation session of Transcendental Meditation, for which I had to buy, Flowers, Coconut other offerings that made the ‘dakshana’ , in spite of them being the most liberal of parents. As you see, my pursuit of gyan did not come easy.
These are days you see words of wisdom dished all around, and rarely get to see people of wisdom. You wake up to motivational messages wishing you a great day if you stay positive or go to bed with messages of wonderful dreams and promises of a better dawn that makes you forget that none of the morning messages came true. The gurus tell you things you knew all along which you always considered trivial. Suddenly the same stuff has more gravity when spoken by a guru and would bring about a spiritual awakening in you. ‘Wake up in the morning, close your eyes and hold your wife’s hands’. Now, if I said that, you would brand me a moron. Imagine the same being narrated by a guru in a nasal tone or a deep hoarse voice, with an unruly facial hair, clad in, white, saffron or a green robe. There is a tectonic shift in the effect that the very same statement has on you.
Finally when a Sri Sri proclaims an event on teaching you the nuances of how to live, it becomes an event where you have 3.5 Million people flocking to the venue. I believe you don’t need a white / Saffron/ green robe (My apologies if I have missed out other colours, it was not intentional or discriminatory to the other colour) and a black beard (since this feature is a common factor I’m happy) to teach the art of living. One can learn it from an unemployed educated youth wearing a trouser worn out at its helms and sporting a soiled white shirt, or from a rickshaw puller sporting a colourful lungi and a well ventilated vest. You my friends,can learn the art of living from the above gentlemen drawn from different strata of the society. Lend a ear to their hardships, and I bet you end up learning more than any of the discourses you may listen to by the so called acclaimed self-proclaimed gurus.
Take a deep breath and feel the moment, love a fellow human irrespective of his cast, creed and religion and be at peace with what you have, voila you have already mastered the art of living.
Living is not an art but a conglomeration of intuitive actions that takes you through to the next minute of your life, the day you understand that, you are an artist who has mastered how to live.
You might wonder why the title made no sense. I simply used Rum to Ruminate on Rumi.
Gurus come and go!!! Be your own guru!
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