There is an old saying “when one door of opportunity shuts, other doors open”. One lakh crore scam, I thought India was plundered of its wealth and there was no scope for more. As we thought the door for ransack is shut, there opened five more doors of Ananthapura Nagar. When the third door opened it was estimated 90,000 crores and I assume they would not have accounted the premium for antique.
As this news spread, many were Stumbled by its potential of becoming the richest temple in India. Few started looking into wiki and information portals to know the existence of this temple. Being located in God’s own country brought disappointment for many kazhagams in Tamil Nadu. This is not the first time but we already lost the Richie Rich to Andhra Pradesh Government. Or should I say we kazhaga adherents are not interested in these lowly wealth as we are born in the same land where Alwars preached passivity, objectivity, benevolence, clemency, tranquility, reparation and candor through their Hymns in our own Tamil?
Satakopan (Namalwar) sang ten verse on Anantha Padhma Nabha Swamy reclining at the temple of Ananthapura Nagar seen through three doors. One of the verse is
“ thudaiththa kOvindhanaarE* ulakuyir thEvummaRRum*
padaiththa emparamamoorththi* paampaNaip paLLikondaan*
madaiththalai vaaLaipaayum* vayalaNiyanandhapuram*
kadaiththalai seeykkappeRRaal* kaduvinai kaLaiyalaamE.”
The last line of this pasuram means, the one who cleanses the floors of the abode Ananthapura Nagar will be freed from the vicious circle of life and death. The Maharajas of Kerala were well informed about Alwar’s hymn and surrendered their wealth at the feet of the Lord on realizing that the material wealth is of no use. They realized that the only way for salvation is in Bhakti and kainkarya and swept the floors at this temple. Till day there is a practice in the temple where visitors could sweep the floors if interested in salvation, for those who believe in it. Unfortunately, the temple is immaculate, warning us that we have to wait longer for salvation.
Today, as this temple is richer than many institutions, there are bystanders, opportunists and speculators buzzing around. Security has tightened to safeguard the wealth from raiders. Government at both centre and state ready to strike at any moment. Social activists do their bit by stressing on distribution of wealth. Several ideas emerge like installation of a museum displaying these wealthy arty-crafts. Whatever be the idea is, we will fail miserably if we do not align it with the idea of Namalwar to reach Ananthapuram temple on look out for salvation. As Krishna preached in Gita, Whenever there is decline of Dharma (righteousness) and rise of Adharma (unrighteousness); To destroy the wicked and to re-establish Dharma, he manifest himself through the ages - Here he is showing a way for all those who are obsessed with wealth. When one door is shut, God has opened three doors of wealth only for us to realize Alwar’s hymns and eternity. Now that we have known the existence of this Temple, Alwar’s Hyms and what Maharajas did, let us follow them. Let us fill immaterial in several rooms with doors and leave it for our generations to apprehend when they are in need. Of course, we have several Rajas here who have the wealth to do so.
Monday, 4 July 2011
Sunday, 13 February 2011
Friday, 24 December 2010
God No God
My dear scientist, my antagonism was not directed at you, but your community as a whole (includes your grand fathers, great grandfathers - the so called spirits of science). This is my anger on all those who pose to be new age scientists, falsify the works of philosophers and represent the old wine in new bottle. If a philosopher comes up with the concept of ‘atman’, talk paramathma – jivathma, our beloved physics architect takes a cue from this, discovers atom and end of it arrogantly claims no more parama’atom’-jiva’atom’. Then establish literature to prove there is only atom and name it as their invention. They go on to define atom in such a way that common man is forced to accept it as a scientists’ creation. Worst of all they take these men away from philosophy that came to simplify things for humanity. People confused by science, ignorant of our philosophies end up in difficulty and pain
I did not have any problem with people questioning the existence of God on opting science. My intention was only to mock scientist for their science till date has come with nothing new to excite mankind. Everything around me today is only transformations of things that already existed – again the concept of old wine in new bottle.
Define God – for scientists it’s seriously a tough one. For a common man like me, with zero knowledge in science it’s all that easy. Just read few verse from the Vedas and Gita, I am able to understand God. I need not go any further.
Yes, every physics has philosophical base, you test, re-test, multi test and after several tests prove philosophers are comical nuts.
Finally, for the sake of doing it, do not hurt the not so knowledgeable. What’s wrong if a man polishes a rock with turmeric and places few flowers over it and believes that, it is that god who will give him the day’s bread? Why do you have to go about proving that …NO, that is a mere piece of lava that solidified? After all you do not have an answer too. In what way you are being better to the mankind? You make it sound like, 'when God is a tough metal even for highly knowledgeable scientists, how you illiterate folks gonna understand god?'
To conclude, am seriously not against an individual scientist, definitely not against you…you could well be one among those scientist who gets up every day seeking God’s blessing to provide you knowledge to understand him…am only saying in the name of science, do not make certain simple understanding a tough one for common man.
I did not have any problem with people questioning the existence of God on opting science. My intention was only to mock scientist for their science till date has come with nothing new to excite mankind. Everything around me today is only transformations of things that already existed – again the concept of old wine in new bottle.
Define God – for scientists it’s seriously a tough one. For a common man like me, with zero knowledge in science it’s all that easy. Just read few verse from the Vedas and Gita, I am able to understand God. I need not go any further.
Yes, every physics has philosophical base, you test, re-test, multi test and after several tests prove philosophers are comical nuts.
Finally, for the sake of doing it, do not hurt the not so knowledgeable. What’s wrong if a man polishes a rock with turmeric and places few flowers over it and believes that, it is that god who will give him the day’s bread? Why do you have to go about proving that …NO, that is a mere piece of lava that solidified? After all you do not have an answer too. In what way you are being better to the mankind? You make it sound like, 'when God is a tough metal even for highly knowledgeable scientists, how you illiterate folks gonna understand god?'
To conclude, am seriously not against an individual scientist, definitely not against you…you could well be one among those scientist who gets up every day seeking God’s blessing to provide you knowledge to understand him…am only saying in the name of science, do not make certain simple understanding a tough one for common man.
Friday, 18 June 2010
Futile Attempt
Summer holidays of 1998. We retired after a long, hard day of cricket. We played six matches at an average score of twelve. I top scored the fourth match with a twenty seven. The seventh match I won the toss and put my brother to bat. My brother played formidable defense and made one hundred and twenty seven before sun went down. Not a huge one I know for I made a three hundred and thirteen few years back with the same opposition, my brother.
My brother was a good player of the game but not good enough to match my skills, mainly because when he was off for his post graduation for two years, I got to play lot of cricket, at school, at the streets, beach and at home all alone. I would practice front foot defense seven hundred times a day. Throw the ball at the wall – go for the defense and back to position before the ball arrives again. I would do this half the day and go for back foot strokes during rest. More than that, I mastered playing limited space cricket. In a sit out of three hundred and fifty square feet with an old broken shoe rack at one corner, a huge metal frame leaning on the wall behind the bowling end and another wall of the same height behind the batsman. This customized version of cricket was played with a light tennis ball and with no stumps. Three consecutive times the ball beats the bat, one is declared out and of course one pitch one hand catches were always part of the game. Every ball struck earned a run and anything hit on the shoe rack fetched two. Anything that rose above the metal frame was awarded a six and ball hit straight back at the wall behind the bowler below the frame was granted four. Sledging was permissible to any extent but physical abuse.
Strategies ran through my mind, prayers loped in my heart; my blood was warm amid frustration, set up a sleepless night for me.
The day arrived, a fresh start, a brighter day, and loads of confidence to salvage the bat from the hands of my brother, I began bowling. The first ball I bowled, I dropped a sitter, pitching plum in front of me. I gave it my right hand but could not gather. Never the less, I patted myself for the wonderful start.
My brother scored a one hundred and fifty soon. That was the last time I counted him raising his bat at me. Within an hour from then his score was two hundred and seventy two, three hundred and four just before we went for lunch. He snatched the mango from my hand and yelled “mangoes are not for losers”. I was calm as I knew it was part and parcel of the game. I had done more than this when I scored my triple century.
Back at the field, my desperate attempt failed to get his wicket well within three hundred and thirteen, my best. I failed, lost my cool and never attempted any half chances thereafter. He was scoring everywhere. I would have swayed my hands at least three thousand times at him that day. He reached eight hundred and seventy eight.
I felt miserable that evening. He declared the score to my dad at dinner. My mom, who hardly knows the game burst with laughter for even she knows a seven hundred plus score, was comical. Until then I thought cricket was the only talent I possessed, I felt ashamed. But I did not want to give up. As soon as I picked his wicket I knew that the bat would be in my hands. So calmed myself to sleep and got up fresh the third day.
Sad, his run making flourished again. Eight hundred in a jiffy, nine hundred and he derisively did not punch his bat in the air. He shrieked “I shall take that next at thousand bro”. At least before a thousand was only a distant dream. Thousand hundred and seventy four at lunch, I almost bust out of fatigue. One last try before I give up I thought and bowled post lunch but no good gods supported.
At thousand one hundred and sixteen, I knew I did not throw the ball, but it left my hand at its will, and fell short at the pitch. My brother attempted an unintended stroke before losing his wicket by giving me a catch. I lay flat on the floor for at least five minutes with my brother brutally smiling to reiterate that it was nothing of my effort to get him out. I did not bother for bat was in my hand now Fresh energy got into my system, rushed of blood. I knew how to make big runs. I would have made it at least ten times more than my brother. I remembered all the fun I made of him when I scored my triplet. My first thought was to reach to hundred before the day ended.
Well, got out of the first ball. My brother shredded his ribs laughing at my upshot. He rolled on the floor mocking at me. I stood still, in disbelief. All that I needed was another chance, I cried foul at his genuine wicket, I protested I was not ready to face, I lost my sane and yelled, but all the while he was laughing at me. Finally, I begged him to offer me another chance to play, but, why would he? He played his turn, why would someone be interested to bowl? My brother got a call on his phone and went inside leaving me there
I fell pale and sick on the floor. I cried, literally. I was there on my knees for more than half an hour. Felt so lonely and wretched. 27th May 1998, that was the last day I played cricket at home. For the fear that I would lose the toss
My brother was a good player of the game but not good enough to match my skills, mainly because when he was off for his post graduation for two years, I got to play lot of cricket, at school, at the streets, beach and at home all alone. I would practice front foot defense seven hundred times a day. Throw the ball at the wall – go for the defense and back to position before the ball arrives again. I would do this half the day and go for back foot strokes during rest. More than that, I mastered playing limited space cricket. In a sit out of three hundred and fifty square feet with an old broken shoe rack at one corner, a huge metal frame leaning on the wall behind the bowling end and another wall of the same height behind the batsman. This customized version of cricket was played with a light tennis ball and with no stumps. Three consecutive times the ball beats the bat, one is declared out and of course one pitch one hand catches were always part of the game. Every ball struck earned a run and anything hit on the shoe rack fetched two. Anything that rose above the metal frame was awarded a six and ball hit straight back at the wall behind the bowler below the frame was granted four. Sledging was permissible to any extent but physical abuse.
Strategies ran through my mind, prayers loped in my heart; my blood was warm amid frustration, set up a sleepless night for me.
The day arrived, a fresh start, a brighter day, and loads of confidence to salvage the bat from the hands of my brother, I began bowling. The first ball I bowled, I dropped a sitter, pitching plum in front of me. I gave it my right hand but could not gather. Never the less, I patted myself for the wonderful start.
My brother scored a one hundred and fifty soon. That was the last time I counted him raising his bat at me. Within an hour from then his score was two hundred and seventy two, three hundred and four just before we went for lunch. He snatched the mango from my hand and yelled “mangoes are not for losers”. I was calm as I knew it was part and parcel of the game. I had done more than this when I scored my triple century.
Back at the field, my desperate attempt failed to get his wicket well within three hundred and thirteen, my best. I failed, lost my cool and never attempted any half chances thereafter. He was scoring everywhere. I would have swayed my hands at least three thousand times at him that day. He reached eight hundred and seventy eight.
I felt miserable that evening. He declared the score to my dad at dinner. My mom, who hardly knows the game burst with laughter for even she knows a seven hundred plus score, was comical. Until then I thought cricket was the only talent I possessed, I felt ashamed. But I did not want to give up. As soon as I picked his wicket I knew that the bat would be in my hands. So calmed myself to sleep and got up fresh the third day.
Sad, his run making flourished again. Eight hundred in a jiffy, nine hundred and he derisively did not punch his bat in the air. He shrieked “I shall take that next at thousand bro”. At least before a thousand was only a distant dream. Thousand hundred and seventy four at lunch, I almost bust out of fatigue. One last try before I give up I thought and bowled post lunch but no good gods supported.
At thousand one hundred and sixteen, I knew I did not throw the ball, but it left my hand at its will, and fell short at the pitch. My brother attempted an unintended stroke before losing his wicket by giving me a catch. I lay flat on the floor for at least five minutes with my brother brutally smiling to reiterate that it was nothing of my effort to get him out. I did not bother for bat was in my hand now Fresh energy got into my system, rushed of blood. I knew how to make big runs. I would have made it at least ten times more than my brother. I remembered all the fun I made of him when I scored my triplet. My first thought was to reach to hundred before the day ended.
Well, got out of the first ball. My brother shredded his ribs laughing at my upshot. He rolled on the floor mocking at me. I stood still, in disbelief. All that I needed was another chance, I cried foul at his genuine wicket, I protested I was not ready to face, I lost my sane and yelled, but all the while he was laughing at me. Finally, I begged him to offer me another chance to play, but, why would he? He played his turn, why would someone be interested to bowl? My brother got a call on his phone and went inside leaving me there
I fell pale and sick on the floor. I cried, literally. I was there on my knees for more than half an hour. Felt so lonely and wretched. 27th May 1998, that was the last day I played cricket at home. For the fear that I would lose the toss
Wednesday, 10 February 2010
A deadly story
A crab appears and moves around restlessly with nobody around in absolute tranquility.
A bright sunny afternoon on a lonely beach. Rohini and Shiva, newly married couple, apparent by the wetness of turmeric on her mangal sutra, sweet smell of mehndi, array of bangles and the fresh jasmine on her hair, warily playing with the sand, with her newly married husband next to her.
A distressed man comes into view out of the flashy sunlight at the beach. He approaches the waves and picks up a shabby doll by the rope tied to its neck.
‘Mahesh!’ Cries the young lady as he comes into her sight. Moves towards him in excitement. They, Gleefully greet each other. Mahesh asks ‘Rohini – how come...Here?’. Rohini replies ‘The bus that rolled down at Yercaud hills – in which 20 people lost lives…….’ as she speaks, her husband comes up to her. She stops abruptly and introduces Mahesh to him, “Mahesh, he is my husband, Shiva. He is Mahesh – you remember? I told you ………at the college”. Shiva shakes his head in acknowledgement to her words. She pauses, and all the three start walking along the waves.
The crab, now twitchy, moves about all over the place.
She breaks the silence and enquires Mahesh,” Mahesh! I heard, you committed suicide?”
Hush all around that place with only the squirmy crab quivering in the summer sands.
Inspired by a short film emitted on television.
A bright sunny afternoon on a lonely beach. Rohini and Shiva, newly married couple, apparent by the wetness of turmeric on her mangal sutra, sweet smell of mehndi, array of bangles and the fresh jasmine on her hair, warily playing with the sand, with her newly married husband next to her.
A distressed man comes into view out of the flashy sunlight at the beach. He approaches the waves and picks up a shabby doll by the rope tied to its neck.
‘Mahesh!’ Cries the young lady as he comes into her sight. Moves towards him in excitement. They, Gleefully greet each other. Mahesh asks ‘Rohini – how come...Here?’. Rohini replies ‘The bus that rolled down at Yercaud hills – in which 20 people lost lives…….’ as she speaks, her husband comes up to her. She stops abruptly and introduces Mahesh to him, “Mahesh, he is my husband, Shiva. He is Mahesh – you remember? I told you ………at the college”. Shiva shakes his head in acknowledgement to her words. She pauses, and all the three start walking along the waves.
The crab, now twitchy, moves about all over the place.
She breaks the silence and enquires Mahesh,” Mahesh! I heard, you committed suicide?”
Hush all around that place with only the squirmy crab quivering in the summer sands.
Inspired by a short film emitted on television.
Monday, 1 February 2010
Recur
Both rose with their eyes into each other. Cold wind brushed through the ventilators slipping into her damp hair. She shivered of cold. He placed his chin on her shoulder and pecked her neck. He held her close to him for a brief moment and whispered into her ear. She shook her head and gently rested her head on the wall behind. She felt his eyes on her and looked up. A tiny tear gingerly made its way down her cheek as she bit her lip.
Both rose with their eyes into each other. Hot wind blew through her dry hair. He placed his chin on her shoulder and pecked her neck. He held her close to him for a brief moment and whispered into her ear. She shook her head and rested her head on the wall behind. Memories ran in her head. She brushed away her thoughts as she picked a strand of dry hair trapped in the wall. Fears of the past clouded her mind; a tiny tear gingerly made its way down her cheek as she bit her lip.
Both rose with their eyes into each other. Hot wind blew through her dry hair. He placed his chin on her shoulder and pecked her neck. He held her close to him for a brief moment and whispered into her ear. She shook her head and rested her head on the wall behind. Memories ran in her head. She brushed away her thoughts as she picked a strand of dry hair trapped in the wall. Fears of the past clouded her mind; a tiny tear gingerly made its way down her cheek as she bit her lip.
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
On Sardars
Fallaciously quoted for their obtuse sense and onus of the jokes at them they undesire. Pages and pages of unwise craks about our very own sardars, on the magazines, word of mouth and now on the internet. sometimes it is injudicious to deride the community which has done no mistake. Infact we have few sardar greats like Vallabhai patel - the iron man of India or be it our beloved prime minister who we proudly call the 'thinking man', we might have many more to quote but the world still claims them to be exceptions. When we set in 'Sardars' in google search the first 10 results have the links of poor jokes on the great sardars. Nothing wrong. as long as it remains a joke and not hurt the sentiments of individuals. I am reminded to mention the 'Tamilian-Thayirsadham jokes' or the 'Malayalee's-chaaya shop on the moon' are also wise cracks on a particular community but are not as popular as those on sardars.
Ending this bit with an unpredictable joke on sardars that is being circulated on internet.
"Interviewer: Just imagine you are on the 3rd floor, it caught fire and how will you escape? Sardar: its simple. I will stop my imagination!!! "
May be in few decades, with more jokes of this kind spreading in the world, the sardars may be ascribed for their 'presence of mind' than their imprudent wit.
It makes me doubt if this is a calculated insertion by an inteligent Sardar to recover his societey. If so, Kudos to him, if not it is a wake up call for the rest.
Ending this bit with an unpredictable joke on sardars that is being circulated on internet.
"Interviewer: Just imagine you are on the 3rd floor, it caught fire and how will you escape? Sardar: its simple. I will stop my imagination!!! "
May be in few decades, with more jokes of this kind spreading in the world, the sardars may be ascribed for their 'presence of mind' than their imprudent wit.
It makes me doubt if this is a calculated insertion by an inteligent Sardar to recover his societey. If so, Kudos to him, if not it is a wake up call for the rest.
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