myself and mysuru

List of my favourite food - 3

2011-11-19T13:16:00.001+05:30

This is the third list of best food that I have tasted. The first post is here and the second post is here.

Curd Rice - Kanteerava Narasimharaja Sports Club or Mysore Sports Club, Mysore
Bisibele Bath in rice - Kanteerava Narasimharaja Sports Club or Mysore Sports Club, Mysore
Bisibele Bath in wheat daliya - My mom, Smt. Manonmani
Ragi Mudde and non-veg curry - Hotel on Bangalore highway near Pandavapura-Srirangapatna junction
Pasta - Smt. Harinita Singh, Mysore
Uppittu or Upma - Smt. Manonmani, Mysore
Pongal - Smt. Manonmani, Mysore
Pizza - Smt. Harinita Singh, Mysore
Biryani varieties - Smt. Harinita Singh, Mysore
Tea - R.G. Singh, Mysore

400 Years of Mysore Dasara - Logo

2010-09-23T13:21:00.004+05:30

After staking claim to the throne of Karnataka empire and called himself ''Karnataka Ratnasimhasanadheesha' in 1610 CE, Raja Wodeyar first conducted Darasa celebrations; he least expected for the tradition to endure for 400 long years.

Cut to 2010. Secretary of Ramsons Kala Pratishtana (RKP), R.G. Singh is frustrated that nobody is taking cognizance of the importance of Dasara 2010. He tries to explain the significance of the 400 years of Mysore Dasara to few but to no avail. 'Charity starts at home.' He decides to make a difference himself. RG then asked me to design a logo to commemorate 4 centuries of Mysore Dasara. He told me that we shall use the occasion to be the central theme at this year's 'Bombe Mane' and also use the logo for the same.

So I sat one fine morning in front of my computer system with a blank mind and monitor. No idea was forthcoming. So I relied on a pen and paper instead. I wrote '400' as it is and a little bolder. 400 is a big quantity when you are talking about years, so I decided to make '400' the central design of the logo. The next question was to depict the spirit of 'Dasara' in the logo which has to be something that is easily recognisable by one and all.

It didn't take long to decide upon 'Jamboo Savari' (elephant carrying golden howdah) which is the most apt image that conjures up Mysore Dasara in our minds. But how to depict Jamboo Savari and also '400'? Next I made the '400' thicker still until the digits were sticking to each other. Lo! it looked like an elephant to me. I scribbled the silhouette of the howdah on top of it, made two human figures seated inside and a mahout. To make '4' look more like an elephant's head I added tusks and finally scribbled a tail onto the second '0'.

The rough draft was ready and I showed it to RG and MB Singh, the Executive Trustee of RKP. I redid this concept in Coreldraw with few editing in Photoshop. After a few tweaks, the logo was ready. Here it is...

When I asked RG what made him to have a logo for this occasion, he answered me that in a country of one billion people and thousands of cities, only a handful can boast of such heritage and Mysore is one among them. He added that whatever we do with love towards it is a tribute to Mysore.

To See or not to See the Moon

2010-09-11T17:09:00.005+05:30

Today is Ganesha Chaturthi, the festival of Ganesha. In many homes across south India (including mine) in the states of Andhra Pradesh, Maharashtra, Karnataka and Tamilnadu, the lovable, pot-bellied, elephant headed Ganesha is welcomed and offered 16 course worship (shodashopachara). He is welcomed, offered seat, water, food, clothes, music, love and devotion and finally bid farewell.

It is said that when Ganesha was travelling on his mooshika vahana (the mouse vehicle) with a big belly after a heavy lunch, the mouse toppled over and Ganesha fell down. It was a night lit up by a gorgeous Moon (Chandra). Looking at the scene below, the proud Moon couldn't contain his laughter and burst out cackling. Ganesha felt insulted and in a fit of rage cursed Moon to loose his charming beauty. But after much coaxing by the entire pantheon of gods, Ganesha watered down his curse. He said that whoever looks at the Moon on the Bhadrapada Chaturthi (the day on which Ganesha chaturthi is celebrated; i.e., today), he/she will be a victim of vicious and false accusations for the entire next year. So Hindus usually avoid looking at Moon on this day.

Coincidentally, today is also finale of Ramzan (Ramadan). For Muslims the festivities of Qutb-e-Ramzan, after the month long fasting during Ramzan, is heralded by looking at the faint crescent of Moon. So until and unless they look at the infant Moon, they will not partake in festivities.

So, today at one side you have Hindus who are deliberately shunning a glance at the cursed Moon while on the other side you have Muslims celebrating the vision of a delicate Crescent. This is the irony of faith.

Can Someone Invent This - 1

2010-09-10T14:46:00.003+05:30

Many a times I have thought about things that could be invented and thought 'why nobody has tried to invent such a thing?' This will be a regular column in my blog and I will keep posting my various ideas under the same heading appended with successive numbers.

My first idea:

A light bulb (or similar contraption) which will be connected to a bunched-up optical fibre cables whose other end will be connected to a dish-antenna-kind-of mirror (this can be made to track the sun, a device invented by Pranav Mistry) which is installed on the terrace of the building. The sun-light falling on the mirror will travel through the OFC bunch and will illuminate the bulb on the other end.

This way we can stop the usage of electricity to illuminate the interiors during day time.

I appeal to scientists to come up with such a thing.

Vijay Hagargundgi - Artist and a Dedicated Collector

2010-07-02T14:47:00.006+05:30

Inheritor of a unique legacy and reviver of a forgotten school of art

During the fifties and sixties of 20^th century, India was still learning to take infant steps in the world order of industrialised nations. People were being lured away from their hereditary occupations and villages to work in various industries being set up across the country. The main reason being economics, traditional craft forms were not a paying proposition as the patronage for the same had vanished in the new democratic setup. One such city migrant was Siddaramappa who along with his new bride Ratnamma, left his ancestral village of Hagargundgiand traveled a few miles away to Gulbarga to work as a supervisor in a cloth mill. Vijay was born on 1 November 1957 as the first son of this couple in Gulbarga.

Monochromatic illustrations in his school text books attracted the young Vijay more than text. The firm lines of the drawings captivated his imagination. His formal education came to a naught during his 12^th standard; Vijay headed to the Ideal Fine Art Society's MMK College of Visual Art and studied art for six years. A scholarship from Karnataka Lalitakala Academy gave him the opportunity to go to Shantiniketan. Modern trends in art influenced art education with abstract expressionism gaining momentum. Vijay was not satisfied by aesthetics, philosophy and politics of this modern art, disappointed, he left Shantiniketan after just a month.

Surpura was a small principality ruled by a dynasty of local chieftains for 6 generations before it was absorbed into the dominion of the erstwhile Hyderabad state. It was these royal patrons, local mutts, eminent musicians and rich merchants who commissioned paintings of religious subjects and portraits that led to the evolution of this school from Vijayanagar school of painting.

Vijay had visited Surpura, about 100 kms away from Gulbarga, during an educational tour, there he had come across beautiful murals on the crumbling walls of a royal mansion and mutts. Exquisite miniatures of this style had retained the original language of its forerunner, the Vijayanagar school of painting. He was drawn to it like a moth to the flame, and copied these miniatures. Since he had been taught in the contemporary painting system, he found it a hindrance to adapt to this ancient style. By then no artist who painted in this style was alive, it was road block. The inevitable stared him in the eyes; he could not pursue the art which he desired the most.

Vijay is a born fighter, who does not accept defeat easily, when there is no road to continue, he treads his own path, he did just the same in this situation. Rajasthan – famous for its miniature paintings beckoned him, he went to Jaipur and took the studentship of Dwaraka Prasad Sharma, a master of miniature painting. Vijay adapted the miniature technique, he mastered the nuances of miniatures and after two months of studentship in the desert state, he returned home. Using the techniques he learnt, he started copying the fragmented and damaged Surpura paintings. The fluid lines from the single haired brush began to take similar forgotten shapes on the paper, a new lease of life was given to Surpura paintings after almost a century.

This successful experiment created a sensation amongst the gallerists and seasoned art collectors, Vijay’s paintings were sold far and wide. Today, they adorn many a beautiful mansions, museums and collections across the globe. He has remained faithful to the language of his art; his favourite subjects for paintings are from Shiva purana, Dashavatara, Navagraha, Ashta Dikpalakas, Ashtanayikas, Kama Sutra, etc. His love for Hindustani music is reflected in his painting series of Ragamala. He is also adept at new compositions as evidenced in the illustrations he did for ghazals of Shantarasa; his miniatures can be described as visual poetry of flowing lines, solid colours and delicate gesso.

Another important facet of Vijay is revealed through his love to collect antique bronze icons and puja paraphernalia of the region. His mother Ratnamma did not discard old brass utensils or exchange them for new stainless steel ones as everyone else did. She put them to regular use in kitchen neatly arranged. Her passion for old utensils triggered similar attraction in Vijay. Old brass, bronze and copperware are sold as scrap or exchanged for new utensils in bazars even today, these junked items are sold as scrap for melting, Vijay instinctively bought these utensils and puja paraphernalia. This behaviour often invited derision and anger from other members of his family, but he never relented; these humble objet de arts form the core of his collection which has grown today to include Surpura miniatures, glass paintings, the long forgotten Uddharani paintings, extremely rare Edramay paintings, Mysore and Tanjore paintings, Bhuta figurines in wood and metal, innumerable bronze mukha lingas, equestrian bronzes of the folk hero Mailaralinga, etc.

Very often Vijay came across beautiful bronze idols being worshipped in friends' families. When he requested them to part with the same for his collection, many agreed on the condition that they should be given new ones in lieu. These folk bronzes were not readily available in market, they had to be made to order by a remaining few families of Kanchagars (literally, bronzesmiths) in the remote hamlet of Gajarkote in Gulbarga district which meant waiting indefinitely. Instead, he headed to Delhi and learnt the lost wax process of bronze casting from the accomplished artist Pushparaj Betala. Vijay became proficient in bronze casting and was able to create new idols and exchange the old ones for his collection.

Several awards and recognitions have been bestowed on Vijay by various institutions like Karnataka Lalita Kala Academy, AIFACS, Mallikarjuna Mansur Foundation, etc. Vijay has participated in 'Art in Action', which is held annually at London, for four years in 1987, 1988, 1989 and 2000. He has held several one man shows of his paintings in New Delhi (1983, 1986 & 1993), Baroda (1986), Bangalore (1983, 1986, 1988, 1990), Mumbai (1991) and Gulbarga (Vikas Bhavan 1997) along with shows at New Delhi (Art Today 1995 & Gallery Espace 2001) and London (Nehru Centre 2000). His paintings are in the collections of Lalitakala Academies of Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, Himachal Pradesh, Chennai, New Delhi, Neemrana Fort Palace, Modern Art gallery, New Delhi, South Central Zone Cultural Centre, Nagpur, Sanskriti Museum, New Delhi, Karnataka Chitrakala Parishath, Venkatappa Art Gallery, Government Museum, Bangalore, Folklore Museum, Ramsons Kala Pratishtana, Mysore and many private collections in and outside India.

Vijay Hagargundgi's contact details are as follows:

C/o Abhay R Patil, Plot no 51/1, Kotambri Layout, Behind Central Bus Stand, Gulbarga 585103

Email: vijay.hagargundgi@gmail.com Mobile: 9480942377

Kuppalli the Inspiration of Kuvempu

2010-05-06T20:46:00.000+05:30

It was my long time wish to visit Kuppalli. Kuvempu, the first Jnanpith awardee of Kannada, is the bard of Malnad. He was born in 29 December 1904. Kuppalli was not only his beloved house, it was his inspiration throughout until his death in 11 November 1994.

In the beginning of last month, I got a rare opportunity wherein I was invited along with R.G. Singh to teach board games to children attending a summer camp there. The place is quite remote for people to reach, but there is a direct overnight bus from Bangalore which will take you right in front of Kuvempu's house which is known as Kavi Mane (poet's home). Well people from elsewhere are not so lucky to have a direct bus to Kuppalli.

One has to go to Shimoga, take a bus from there to Tirthahalli and once there, jump onto another bus which goes towards Gadikallu. An autorickshaw will take Rs. 20 and 5 minutes from there to Kuppalli.

Well, anyhow, following are few photographs and panoramas I shot there. Let me know how are these...

This is the ancestral house of Kuvempu, Kavi Mane.

This is a panorama shot of the memorial of Kuvempu at Kavi Shaila. This is designed on the lines of Stonehenge which I feel to be quite lame. Why should we copy some one else? We should create original things.

This is a beautiful vista one can behold from Kavi Shaila. Just behind me from where I shot this panorama, there is a favourite rock of Kuvempu.

Sweeping Shadows

2010-05-01T19:37:00.000+05:30

I had been to Talakadu (Talkad) last February with my family. After playing in the Cauvery (Kaveri) river we headed back to our waiting vehicle. The place was absolutely crowded with people except this small patch which seemed to be crowded only by sweeping shadows of eucalyptus.

I asked my nephew Suraj to take a shot in his camera and neither did I waste time to capture the same.

Private Residential Museum - Mysore style paintings

2010-03-22T17:59:00.003+05:30

If one wants to look at the private collection of Mysore paintings of royal family of Wodeyars, then the best place in Mysore is the Private Residential Museum. This museum is inside the premises of Mysore palace, just behind the main palace, near Kille Venkataramana temple.

I went there yesterday after a gap of almost 12 years to have a look at the paintings. The entry fee is Rs. 25 (Rs. 200 for foreign nationals, I find this ridiculous). Exhibits there contain many things, objects, furnitures etc., that were used by the royal family. But my main interest was Mysore paintings which are in quite a good number.

The first gallery is around an open-to-sky hexagonal thotti. At the far end of the thotti, the walls are adorned with paintings from Bhagavata illustrating the childhood and leelas of Krishna. Unusual thing is that these are done on canvas with oil colours. The sizes of canvas vary and seems to me that these were made for decorating the walls of a temple.

Adjoining this thotti is a big quadrangle, once again the center is open to the sky. All four walls have wooden galleries for royal ladies to sit and see the proceedings in privacy. Royal robes, accessories, palanquins are on display in this hall. Two narrow rooms adjoining this central hall have Mysore style paintings. The first of these two rooms have smaller paintings. There are two paintings which are round in shape which is quite unusual. One of the corner room has a painting by palace painter Y. Sundaraih which depicts Bheema receiving the blessing of Shiva. One painting depicts Nagas (snakes) which is very unusual. All snakes bear names.

In the second narrow room there are three paitings. One is Chakra which depicts Ramayana in small niches within. The second is Tripundra with Dashavatara and Lakshmi. Third painting is Shankha depicting Krishna leela from Bhagavata. As I moved away from this painting and on to the next, I was awe struck with what I beheld! A magnificent painting of Saraswati. My mind is still reeling recalling the minute detailed work all over this painting. Artist has not stopped with the canvas, he has painted with gesso on even the frame with same finesse and detail. Undoubtedly this is a masterpiece done by a master artist. Hats off to the artist. Another painting (Mahisha Mardini) of the same artist adorn the next frame. My day was made by these two paintings.

After this I just glided through to the exit.

If you are a connoisseur of Mysore style paintings, then these two paintings are a must see.

R.G. Singh - Maverick behind Ramsons Kala Pratishtana

2010-03-22T16:32:00.002+05:30

R. Gyaneshwar Singh (b. 24 January 1967) is the second son of Sri D. Ram Singh and Smt. R. Kaladevi; he belongs to the well known family of Ramsons, pioneers in the manufacturing and retailing of handicrafts since last four decades in Mysore.

RG is an alumnus of CFTRI School, Hardwicke High School, Maharaja’s Junior College and Yuvaraja’s College. His leadership qualities came to the fore during his student days. During his college days he was actively involved in the Rotaract movement and held the post of District Rotaract Representative of Rotary International District 3180 for the year 1994-95. He served Rotary movement as a member for six years.

RG is an active philatelist and has a comprehensive collection of stamps on Rotary. He is an avid reader and prefers non-fiction. His favourite authors are Khushwant Singh, S.K. Ramachandra Rao, R.K. Narayan, William Dalrymple, Mark Tully, etc.

His considerate, friendly and easy going attitude has earned him a wide gamut of friends. His work takes him around the country; he interacts with artists, crafts persons and artisans from everywhere. With a keen sense of aesthetics and creativity he has worked with artisans across several craft clusters of the country and has created new products using various handicraft forms and created commercially successful market for them.

Gyani, as he is called by family and friends, is the Secretary of his family trust, Ramsons Kala Pratishtana - an art foundation. His concern for the languishing traditional art form of Mysore translated into a collection of Mysore style paintings which is housed in Pratishtana along with the works of contemporary artists of Karnataka.

He launched the Pratima Gallery in 2004. His passion projects, among several, include reviving the doll tradition of Karnataka and also the traditional board games of India under the aegis of Ramsons Kala Pratishtana. He is the brain behind the trust’s annual exhibitions ‘Bombe Mane’, ‘Kreedaa Kaushalya’ and ‘Deepa Soundarya’.

He, along with me and Dr. C.R. Dileep Kumar, has conducted extensive research in the field of traditional board games of

India

since the year 2000.

RG is a good orator and administrator with excellent organizational skills. He is a team player and a good leader.

Spiritual Moment with a Mango

2009-06-18T17:20:00.003+05:30

I had a strange experience while consuming a mango last year (or maybe a year before that). It was evening, I felt mild pangs of hunger and I remembered nice luscious mangoes bought by Gyani. I took one out, washed and peeled it with a knife as Gyani does. The golden yellow fruit with its intoxicating aroma was so inviting that I couldn't wait to cut it (ironically, it had taken a longer time to peel) and sunk my teeth into its sweet flesh.

The moment its divine juice flooded my tongue was like an orgasm. I must have eaten hundreds or thousands of mangoes but never quite like the one which was exploding bliss in my mouth. I felt blessed by the god of taste. Suddenly I felt guilty for savouring the heavenly fruit all alone without sharing with anybody.

I did the next best thing. I closed my eyes, with each bite I remembered everyone of my family and friends one by one with a silent prayer - the sweetness I am experiencing, let it sweeten the minds and spirits of everyone. I remembered dad, mom, my siblings, their families, my friends, their families and their families.

At the end of that beautiful experience exhilaration filled my being.

The Musical Palace

2009-06-13T18:23:00.003+05:30

Before the television laid seige to our home, our family went to the gardens of Mysore Palace every Sunday evening. Mom, dad, my sisters (Rekha, Uma and little Manji), my kid bro (Chinni) and myself were walking from our house to that of Prince's (well, he lived just two roads across, you know.)

There we took our usual place beside the Shveta Varahaswamy temple and sprawled across its green lawns, in front of the most beautiful edifice of Mysore, the pride of all Mysoreans. As the dusk faded into darkness people poured in more numbers. Peddlers of peanut (hurida kadalekayi), chikki (peanut cake) and masala puri swarmed the place and we kids had a gala time eating.

At 7 pm sharp as if by magic the entire structure of the palace lit up with thousands of light bulbs stitched along its silhouette. The crowd let out a loud gasp of excitement (that excitement hasn't vaned for me even today) and it was as if we have been transported to a fairy land of golden light.

Simultaneously music would crackle in from innumerable loudspeakers hoisted atop lamp posts across the lawns. The divine music gave an ethereal feel to the atmosphere. Invariably one particular song would be played every week.

Even after 20-25 years when I hear that song I feel as if I am back in that chaotic fairy idyll. I was under the wrong impression that it was composed only to mirror the grandeaur of the palace (I was not aware of its lyrics as I had heard only the instrumental version of the song).

That song is 'Raghuvamsha Sudha' in 'Kadanakutuhala' Raga, 'Adi' tala and was composed by 'Patnam Subramnia Iyer'.

The Butterfly (Fish) Effect

2009-05-03T16:26:00.004+05:30

I just watched a programme 'Preserve Our Planet' on National Geographic Channel in which they showed how the well being of fish is linked to our planet's well being.

First they showed the link between disappearing animals in the forests of Ghana to the depleting fish population in its sea waters. This has also caused the population of baboons to increase manifold thus creating havoc in the forest ecosystem there.

Later the focus shifted to a mysterious phenomenon in a small stretch of coastal Namibia. A nasty smell engulfs the coast with the sea waters changing colours and finally hordes and hordes of dead fish washing ashore. A marine biologist is intrigued by the phenomenon and choses to look deeper into the source while others turn a blind eye. She discovers that phytoplanktons in the sea waters, when dead, fall to the sea bed. Over years a thick layer of these dead phytoplankton is formed on the sea bed. This layer decays releasing hydrogen sulphide along with methane. When the concentration of methane has reached a critical level, the layer of dead planktons burst like a bomb releasing methane and H2S gas. The H2S gas suffocates the nearby shoals of fish, also the sulphur changes the water colour. One who has studied chemistry will obviously know how nasty is the smell of hydrogen sulphide - like that of rotting eggs. The resutling release of methane contributes heavily towards global warming.

Well, fish feed on phytoplanktons. Since the fish population is dwindling, phytoplanktons thrive in large numbers and litter the sea bed, when dead. This is observed in Namibia because the country is one among the top most fishing countries in the world. It won't be long before similar marine tragedies occur elsewhere if mindless fishing is not checked in time.

Moral of the story - Protect fish to protect our planet, our home.

Pensive

2008-12-26T21:26:00.002+05:30

Yesterday I attended the first birthday celebration of Anagha, grand daughter of G.L.N. Simha at the Sri Raghavendra Swamy Mutt, Nanjangud. There, I saw this beautiful lady with a serene look on her face.

2008-12-12T14:44:00.001+05:30

How Romantic Are You?
	You are a Romantic Genius. Your romance IQ is perfection! You are dreamy and seem to be gifted with sensitivities that most do not possess. Your heart is pure and full of true love. You treat your lover like a one-of-a-kind gem and everyone else is so jealous!
Find Your Character @ BrainFall.com

I am Mysore

2008-12-06T12:06:00.000+05:30

I am Mysore, I am old
I am mellow like a wine.
If you have an eye, I am still
beautiful, fresh and fine.

The haunt of poets and writers
is now where joggers train.
The silver jubilee clock tower,
has gone silent again.

Radio house and summer blooms
still charm at Cheluvamba Park.
Dufferin tower and market front
beneath the sky - blue and stark.

The imposing banyan tree -
a place of quiet, time to spare.
Golden canopy of my maharaja -
known as statue square.

I age with every passing day
I age with every week and year.
I want to be beautiful always, forever
Only if you protect me, my dear.

Mirror Replies

2008-11-26T19:48:00.001+05:30

Mirror mirror on the wall
Measure my heart, wide and tall!
'My fair master, evident two are shadows cast,
A life of present and a breathe of past'

Wonders of Mysuru

2008-11-25T14:25:00.002+05:30

Recently, there was quite a media hullabaloo to list out new wonders of the world. The seven wonders of the world were given a new phillip and a renewed publicity through primetime TV slots, print media, blogs and what not.

When I was thinking the about the necessity of such media circus, the fact dawned on me. These days media is cluttered with negative news, they really need to bring home a positive and heartwarming story and also the need to publicise these most visited spots of the world. Of course seven wonders of the world are the hottest tourist destinations, this fact was driven home to me when my friend Dileep visited them within a span of half an hour.

Okay, please don't stare at the monitor in disbelief. No, I am not drunk and am not blabbering. It is true; he did visit them, at least not personally. He went to all these spots by Google Earth (do I hear 'oh...'!).

Well, the point is, people are visiting these places either personally or through post cards, or Google Earth, or by whatever means they can get. This is serving one primary thing - tourism is thriving at these places.

Suddenly, my thought switched over to my beloved city- Mysuru. It is also a tourist hot spot. It has got some beautiful and wonderful things. So, why not I list the wonders of Mysuru? Well, enough of my winding introduction to the main content of this post. Here it is, the wonders of Mysuru.

Illumination of Amba Vilas Palace - Breathtaking
Chamarajendra Zoological Garden
Nandi on Chamundi Hill - Monolithic statue of bull
St. Philomena's Church - largest in south India
Lalitha Mahal
Inlay craft cluster - largest in the world
Nada Mantapa - music concerts therein
Bidara Krishnappa's Sri Prasanna Rama Mandira

Well, mine is not the last word. You can add your list too. Leave a comment if you want to add some more.

List of my favourite food - 2

2008-11-13T12:10:00.003+05:30

This is a sequel to my original post.

Kim's Chicken at Rice Bowl Restaurant of PL.A. Residency, Tanjavur (Tanjore)
Paan Meetha a sweet dish from Agra Sweets Agra Mithai Ghar, Charminar, Hyderabad
Kajjaaya a traditional south Indian sweet from the famous sweet shop, G Pulla Reddy Sweets, Nampalli Road, Hyderabad
Gudbud at 'Ideals' the famous ice cream parlour at Hampanakatta of Mangaluru (Mangalore)
Pongal at any hotels in and around Tanjavur and Kumbakonam
Alu Chat and other Chat items in Varanasi(Benares or Kashi)
Masala Dosa with Red Chutney at Bhairappa's mobile hotel, Chat Street, Mysuru (evenings only)

Harry Potter and Philosopher's Stone - Quotes

2008-06-29T14:08:00.002+05:30

Here's more on Harry Potter, my favourite character of fiction. These are some of the quotes from the first book 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone' that will make you think twice.

'It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that.' - Albus Dumbledore. The Mirror of Erised. Pg 157.

'After all, to the well-organised mind, death is but the next adventure.' - Albus Dumbledore. The Man with Two Faces. Pg 215.

'As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all - the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things which are worst for them.' - Albus Dumbledore. The Man with Two Faces. Pg 215.

'Always use proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.' - Albus Dumbledore. The Man with Two Faces. Pg 216.

'The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing and should therefore be treated with great caution.' - Albus Dumbledore. The Man with Two Faces. Pg 216.

'There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.' - Albus Dumbledore. The Man with Two Faces. Pg 221.

Negative Aspect of Education

2008-04-28T13:56:00.003+05:30

There is absolutely no denying the fact that education is a great leveller and gives immense opportunities for a person along with wider choice to choose from, in his/her life. But as with everything else, education has a negative aspect which is completely neglected.

Last friday I attended a meeting organised by the southern centre of Indira Gandhi National Centre for Arts (IGNCA) at Bengaluru. Various scholars and researchers from across south India attended the meeting to discuss traditions that are fast disappearing. I went there with R.G. Singh who gave a presentation on the 'Traditional Board Games of India'. This meeting was an eye-opener regarding the negative aspect of the present education system as practised in India (which is an hangover from our colonial past where British wanted to create a class of white-collared indentured labourers to serve their mighty empire and rip India off its riches accumulated in the primarily agrarian society).

The tradition of chanting Jaimineeya Samaveda in a remote corner of Kerala is virtually dead with only three men, in their eighties, having the knowledge of entire text and no youngster is interested to learn. Among 70 families in a hamlet of Andhra Pradesh, only three remain who can recite 20 different variations of Telugu Mahabharata. These oral traditions involve learning thousands of verses by heart along with unique way of rendition. This means that children have to learn these daily from an early age.

Nowadays children are sent to schools to be formally educated which does not allow them time to learn their hereditary traditions like chanting, recitation etc. Once children are educated they are no longer interested in learning the traditional chantings and rather work as either an engineer or doctor and earn loads of money.

The current schooling system is single dimensional in its approach and does not make room for the multi cultural and multi traditional backgrounds from which students hail from. It is wiping clean the rich, innate, culture-scapes and tradition-scapes from each student and etching common and mundane things in the name of education.

Thousands of years of ancient knowledge systems are being wiped off with a stroke of common education system. Unless checked in time, this will render our society shallow and heartless.

List of my favourite food

2008-04-07T01:15:00.003+05:30

This is a list of all delicacies that I liked along with places where I found them best. This is not a one time entry. I will keep coming back and update it or else there will be add-on posts to this some time in future. Don't blame me if you start drooling, here I go...

Masala Dosa with Benne and Saagu at Mylari Hotel, Nazarbad, Mysuru
Idli Chutney and Masala Dosa at Gayatri Tiffin Room (GTR), Chamundipuram, Mysuru
Idli Chutney at Hotel Harihara, Agrahara Circle, Mysuru
Prawn Soup at Hotel Regaalis, Mysuru (Mysore)
Pineapple Pastries at Hotel Regaalis, Mysuru
Mutton Biriyani at Sri Kanteerava Narasimharaja Sports Club, Mysuru
Mutton Shorba at Hyd Mahal, Church Street, Bengaluru (Bangalore) (This restaurant is closed)
Upma or Uppittu or Kharabhath at Vasudeva Adiga's, KG Road, Bengaluru
Fish fry at the restaurant next to Hotel Rivera, Poonamalee High Road, Chennai (This restaurant is closed)
Button Idli in a bowl of Sambar at Hotel Saravana Bhavan, Chennai
Khichdi at Surti, Kalbadevi, Mumbai
Pomegranate juice at a shop in Chandni Chowk, Delhi
Bhindi Fry at Quality Inn Hotel, Nampalli, Hyderabad
Pongal at Sri Ranganatha Swamy temple, Srirangapatna (prasada given during festivals)
Curd Rice at Hotel Saiba, off Station Road, Kolhapur
Cheese Chutney at Julie and Vivek Cariappa's farm house, near Sargur
Bitter Lime Pickle at Surya Condiments, Chamundipuram circle, Mysuru
Strong Kaapi (Coffee) at Hotel Mysore Refreshments, Near Zoo, Mysuru
Kundapura Masala Fish, a restaurant by the highway, Kundapura
Chicken Kalmi Kebab at Chirag Restaurant, Ittigegud, Mysuru (This restaurant is closed)
Hyderabadi Biriyani, at Hotel International, near GPO, Hyderabad
Vegetarian Meals (Maharashtrian Thali) at Durvankur, Tilak Road, Pune

'Yugadi' if you please...

2008-04-07T00:19:00.001+05:30

It is disappointing to see 'Yugadi' being spelt as 'Ugadi' in majority of English print and electronic media. Not only advertisements but also headlines spell it as 'Ugadi' with elan.

The word Yugadi is made of two Sanskrit words 'Yuga' meaning year and 'Adi' meaning beginning (yugasya adi = yugadi, beginning of the year). In Roman script the former word is always written as 'Yuga' not 'Uga'. If it is so then why would one write the word in question as Ugadi when it is an extension of Yuga?

If one still insists on sticking with 'Ugadi' then 'Yoga' will be 'Oga', or 'Yahoo' should be 'Ahoo' or better still 'You' should be 'Ou'.

In a similar situation about a name being written wrongly in Kannada, I told a former editor of a widely read Kannada newspaper about it. A few days later, after consulting a couple of linguists, he told that the popular usage is alright even if it is lexicologically wrong. I was flummoxed. It is the case of a lie turning into truth when told over and over again.

Now, do 'ou' want to correct the mistake or commit it time and again until it becomes the norm? As the Kannada saying goes, raayara kudure katte aagutta? Will the king's horse turn into a donkey? 'Ou' decide.

My Blog is Going Places

2008-03-11T17:52:00.003+05:30

Yeah, you heard it right! My blog is going places. Other day I came across an online article on doll tradition of south India and when I checked the 'source' section at the end, I was grinning wide at the monitor when I saw that my blog had been given a pride of place there. The article by Annapurna Garimella is well written. You can find the article here.

Childhood Jingle

2008-02-29T14:19:00.002+05:30

Avalaki
Pavalaki
Kaanchana
Mina mina
Daam... Doom...
Duss... Puss...
Koin... (n is nasal)
Kotaar...

I heard this jingle today after a long, long time since my childhood. Whenever someone farted, we kids used to sing this to embarrass them. We used to pinch close our nose and I think we were also dancing in a particular way while singing so that it sounded and looked awkward.

The jingle does not mean anything because except two nouns (Avalaki and Kaanchana) all other words are gibberish. This jingle brought a flood of memories of those years.

Encounter with an Eminent Lensman

2008-02-02T11:32:00.000+05:30

Early in the morning this wednesday, Gyani and I drove to the house of legendary photographer, T.S. Satyan who lives in Saraswatipuram. After we got the octagenarian on board, we drove to a small hamlet, Hemmaragaala which is about 15-20 kms after Nanjanagud towards Chamarajanagara. We were on a mission of photo shoot at Santana Venugopalaswamy temple there.

T.S. Satyan is a celebrated photojournalist of India; he was born in 1926 in Mysuru and after a highly successful career in photography he returned to his beloved city for good.

As an amateur photographer, I always harboured a desire to see this living legend at work. He had seemed elusive and unresponsive during all my previous encounters with him, though I never vocalised my desire which laid buried deep down inside. When Gyani told me about the trip on Tuesday evening I was like 'hey some one pinch me...'

At Hemmaragaala Satyan was in his elements. The pristine and quaint charm of the hamlet impressed the photographer and he started shooting immediately. He saw me carrying a digital camera and without me asking started telling how to compose a photograph, which angle looks good, what kind of light is better, etc. Only then I could muster myself and asked him, why does he prefer black-and-white photographs over coloured ones. Well he seemed disappointed with my question, of course it was stupid, but nonetheless explained why. It was a revelation for me.

During our drive back home we crossed another hamlet of Badanavaalu. Satyan became nostalgic and said that he had taught in that village. This came as a surprise since we didn't know he had worked as a teacher. When Gyani told him that, his reply was amazing.

In pre-independence India Mysuru was being ruled by Wodeyars and under kings like Mummadi Krishnaraja, Chamaraja, Nalwadi Krishnaraja and finally, Jayachamaraja, Mysuru progressed in all aspects, be it infrastructure, culture, irrigation, economy, literacy, etc. One among the many things that Mysuru pioneered was the adult literacy programme. For the first time in the country Mysuru initiated this concept and college students were supposed to go to rural areas and teach adult village folk. This was kind of a rural posting which they had to do for a few months in order to qualify for the graduation and Satyan was posted at Badanavaalu and surrounding villages.

Satyan revealed that along with adult literacy another movement that was initiated in Mysuru was Youth Hostel which has now grown into the gigantic Youth Hostels Association of India. He started recounting his fellow scouts and friends who went on to occupy international offices.

At this point my eyelids started growing heavy and I was lulled to sleep by the drone of the car and the breeze. Though I consciously love it, unconsciously I still seem to get bored of unknown names and dates of history. My snores betrayed my best intentions and I was later told by Gyani that they earned a look of disapproval by Satyan. Well, that's my encounter with T.S. Satyan as close as I have ever got.

Miss You

2008-01-23T21:13:00.000+05:30

Your smile has faded for me, I miss you...

My arms've forgotten your hug, I miss you...

I can't smell you anymore, I miss you...

No more of your sweet lips, I miss you...

Oh, that song again, I miss you...

You can never be mine, I miss you for good...

...

A Gift On New Year's Eve

2007-12-31T23:15:00.001+05:30

Gyani and I were driving down from Bengaluru to Mysuru this evening. At Channapatna we decided to check on the person who is working on new dolls. 4-5 months ago I had designed a set of dolls for the first time and had given them to him to convert the 2-dimensional design into 3-dimensional dolls.

Channapatna is known for the craft of lathe turned wooden lacquerware. Dolls and toys that are crafted here are cute and liked for its simplistic design and minimal decoration. Wood is turned on either manual or motorised lathe, and the colour is also applied simultaneously; only extra details like facial features are hand painted. Hence the overall look of the doll/toy is rounded and curved.

While giving the designs I was unsure whether that guy will really work on them, hence I was reluctant today to go in. Anyway I waded through the messy place to a room where he took out some pieces from a carton box. Initially they looked like some unwanted pieces of dolls thrown into waste bin, but I went speechless as I took a closer look. There they were, the dolls that I had designed in full form. Whoever had worked on the dolls had done so diligently and whole heartedly, for he had recreated the design exactly.

Hmm... I am now a designer, officially. Thanks Gyani, for introducing me to my potential. This is my new year's gift.

Babaiah the Tiger Boy

2007-12-12T23:43:00.000+05:30

Six years old Charith is the youngest and wildest among my four nephews. He has always been independent minded; even as a toddler didn't allow anyone else other than his mother to hold or cuddle him.

Last Saturday my sister called me and asked whether I can dress up Charith for a fancy dress competition at his school on Monday. I asked her whether he's ready to get dressed as he had created a racket last year and hadn't allowed me even to touch him. I could hear his stern voice in the background asserting that he's ready to dress up as anything but a female.

It was 8.00 am on Monday and I hadn't yet finalised the costume. There were three choices - a. Newspaper costume; b. Karaga carrier; c. Babaiah or Huli Vesha or Tiger dancer.

9.00 am at my sister's place, I am hoping that Charith will once again throw a tantrum and I am spared of handling the little terror. I asked him whether he's ready to be a Karaga carrier which required him to wear only a loin cloth for which he refused flatly. I was sure he will say no to Babaiah (tiger dress) since he had to wear only an underwear brief.

I was quite surprised when he said yes; he was excited with the prospect of being a tiger. Okay! the kid was unpredictable as usual. It was time for me to work without wasting time because I had only 45 minutes, the competition started at 10.00 am.

I mixed turmeric powder with coconut oil and applied the herbal paste on the scrawny frame of my nephew. His pale skin was now a glowing amber. I painted him amber from head to toe, even the face, kind of body painting.

Next was the tricky task of painting bubris. Uma, my sister, passed me the tiny case of home made kohl. With my index finger as the brush, I smudged a little kohl on it and started carefully creating bubris on the amber body of Charith. What I was dreading all this while, happened suddenly. Charith realised that he is being very calm and obedient which is so unlike him and began tapping his foot, scratching his back, stretching or stiffening limbs; it was as if he was a participant of 'Non-cooperative Movement.' All his movements were very non-cooperative for me.

In the meanwhile my bro-in-law was sent on a tiger-tail-hunt, by me. The poor chap hadn't even had his bath and was running around to find a tail for his son (how much more weird can this sound?) like Shiva went around to find a head for his (okay, this one's weirder). Well, he bought a black woolen rope which was wound with a yellow cloth to resemble the tiger's tail.

Tail was ready but the brat was not. He thoroughly enjoyed the cartoon programme on TV while I was made to go around him smudging black bubris pattern. I begged, ordered, bribed, pleaded, commanded and did everything, but to no avail. He had turned a deaf ear to me and I had to work on my own.

Finally, I smudged his nose tip black with kohl, four black dots on each cheek and red lips for a dramatic effect. The tail was tied and I asked him to be natural and just be himself on stage. I was wonderstruck when he told with a cunning grin that he will go on stage, scare the wits out of his teachers and still not be punished.

Epilogue: Babaiah or Huli Vesha means Tiger costume. Men and boys paint their body in the patterns of tiger bubris or leopard spots including their face and go out in procession during festivals or any community/cultural parade. They gyrate wildly to the virile music of crude drums and cymbals.

Happy Diwali

2007-11-08T22:14:00.000+05:30

Deepavali started today. Today is Naraka Chaturdashi, tomorrow is Amavasya - Lakshmi Puja, and the day after is Bali Padyami.

In our Bhavasar Kashatriya community, we have a cold-blooded tradition on the evening of Bali Padyami. All male family members sit cross-legged side-by-side in a line wearing new clothes. The female family members perform aarati to each man/boy. First they apply kumkum (vermilion) on the forehead and place a flower garland across the neck of the man/boy (as if to the beast which is about to be sacrificed.) Then a silver plate having two lit oil lamps is waved in front of his face (I am sure, women are masters of hypnosis) and while doing so, they sing a jingle in sync (to keep the beast calm, I suppose,) it is in Marathi which is as follows...

Adi pudi jaunde
Balee cha raaj eende
Koti Dasara Koti Diwali
Heere maanik owali

Bhendewali mhaisi kaali
Koti Dasara Koti Diwali
Heere maanik owali

Raamaa cha raaj eende
Raajaa cha raaj eende
Koti Dasara Koti Diwali
Heere maanik owali

Daridra Lakshmi bhair jaunde
Bhagya Lakshmi aat eende

After the aarati is over, the person who got it done has to present the ladies with gifts or cash (yes, I know, it is terrible but true.) At the end of this ritual each lady/girl will have amassed a solid amount of money, all at the expense of poor men who are foolish enough to feel pampered. But it is the womenfolk who have the last laugh (aah, kaise bakra banaaya.)

Later everyone goes out in front of house to waste more money by bursting crackers. This is an annual custom from which men cannot escape. Diwali is supposed to bring wealth and prosperity to everyone. In our community though, it is true only for women.

Happy Diwali!

Bombe Mane Pictures

2007-10-10T01:59:00.000+05:30

Bombe Mane is an annual exhibition of dolls started by Ramsons Kala Pratishtana in 2005 on the occassion of Dasara. This year's Bombe Mane was inaugurated by well known theatre personality, Smt. Prema Karanth in the presence of senior journalist, Sri Krishna Vattam on 5 Octber at Pratima Gallery. Here are a few pictures from this year's Bombe Mane. Hope you enjoy them.

This picture shows the main arrangement of three steps. The topmost step is reserved for pattada gombe, Raja-Rani, the traditional dolls which represent king and queen. On the lowermost step the brass icon with a scimitar and a serpent in hands is the demon king Mahishasura who was slayed by goddess Chamundeshwari. Mysuru gets its name from this demon. This icon is a miniature replica of the stucco sculpture, installed atop Chamundi Hill, the unofficial mascot of Mysuru.

This arrangement depicts the model of Mysore palace (Amba Vilasa) in front of which are small wooden figures of yogis in various yogasanas (yoga postures). The Dasara procession in the foreground is an assembly of dolls that have been crafted after the murals in the Karikallu Thotti of the palace.

All these dolls are in the collection of Ramsons Kala Pratishtana.

Bombe Habba - Doll Festival

2007-09-29T20:28:00.000+05:30

Human race is fascinated with dolls since time immemorial. Every civilization has entertained its young ones with dolls crafted from clay, wood, stone, fabric and metal. A common perception is that dolls are only for children, to play with, but it is not unusual for many adults to get attracted to them.

Dolls evoke varied emotions in different persons. A doll can be a friend, companion, a close confidante, a partner in mischief, a lovable cuddly, a plaything or even an object of reverence. Dolls are also worshiped and it is more so south of Vindhyas where they have an entire ten day festival for themselves.

The tradition of doll festival is mostly found in cities that were once the seat of royalty. The festival is celebrated, usually, by arranging dolls on a stepped platform with a pair of male-female dolls, King and Queen, occupying the topmost step while other dolls are placed on lower steps. This is celebrated with traditional fervour during Dasara as Gombe Habba of Mysuru, Bommai Kolu of Tanjavur and also Hinamatsuri of Japan on March 3rd. In north India, a unique display of dolls of Krishna leela is arranged at houses during Janmashtami.

In days gone by, kids visited houses enquiring 'ree gombe koorsideeraa...?' (hello, have you arranged dolls...?) Inviting oneself, thus, they went in excited, ogled at dolls, praised/criticised aloud, and finally scooted away with gombe baagina (presents of savouries or sweets) given to them. The display changed everyday for novelty. A pair of Keelu Gombe (dolls with joints), would be dressed as Krishna-Radha one day, next day they’d be Lakshmi-Narayana in Vaikuntha, another day they became Krishna-Arjuna in Kurukshetra and so on.

These traditions are no more practiced and over the years the excitement of doll festival has been on the wane owing to non-availability of dolls. Mysuru was once a famous centre of doll making; the tradition is long extinct now. We’ve to keep at least the tradition of doll festival alive. It’s our heritage, our pride.

Arrange dolls, keep Bombe Habba alive.

My previous post on dolls is here.

Feel The Music

2007-09-26T00:53:00.001+05:30

He is plucking the strings of my heart. Tears are welling up. I am getting goosebumps. My heart is crying.

Oceans apart, day after day...
Right here waiting for u
I will be right here waiting for u...

I am really crying.

I taste the tears
But I can't get here you now...
You've got me going crazy
Waiting for u...

I can't see the keys, tears are blurring my vision. They are rolling down, my tears... I love u sweetie...

Oh can't u see it baby
Wherever u go
Whatever u do...
Whatever it takes
I will be right here waiting for u...
Waiting for u..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQF9kpwupeU

The Middle Name Meme

2007-09-24T17:44:00.000+05:30

Sandy Carlson tagged me with the Middle Name Meme:RULES: You have to post these rules before you give the facts. Players, you must list one fact that is somehow relevant to your life for each letter of your middle name. If you don’t have a middle name, use the middle name you would have liked to have had. When you are tagged you need to write your own blog post containing your own middle name game facts. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose one person for each letter of your middle name to tag. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged and to read your blog.

Well, my name is 'H.S. Dharmendra'. 'H' stands for 'Halale' which is the name of my clan, 'S' stands for my father's name 'Shankar' and 'Dharmendra' is my given name. My namakarana (naming ceremony) was celebrated along with my kid brother's. I was about three years old when it happened. Until then I was being called by various pet names like 'Gunda,' 'Gundu,' 'Unda-bhaakri,' etc., but I was more popular as 'Raghu' (named after saint 'Raghavendra'). I am still known as 'Raghu', more so than 'Dharmendra.'

I've been called by other names, some normal and some weird. My granny called me 'Satya Narayana' after my dad's Ishta Devata. My class mates called me 'Dharam' or 'Dharma.' My PUC classmates called me 'Bond' (I wonder why?) After getting busy with my work, I was not visiting a friend's house often as I previously used to, so his mom christened me 'Vajpayee' after the then Prime Minister of India.

Inspite of so many names, I do not have a middle name. Well, no issues! I would give myself a middle name - 'Mani' after my mom 'Manonmani.'

Dharmendra...
Mysorean to the core;
Art lover;
Non-vegetarian;
In love with his camera;

I'm tagging
Claytonia at Drishyanvesh,
Raaghu at Me, Myself and I,
Vikster at I heart Bombay, Boston,and
Rubic_cube at Gift of Gab

You're Beautiful

2007-08-18T00:15:00.000+05:30

Song: You're Beautiful
Artist: James Blunt
Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Y7WDWP8WMs

I was listening to this song this morn. The initial sound of guitar is haunting, romantic. I was busy, but as soon as I heard the guitar, I glanced up and like dawn a smile broke on my lips.

The way Blunt sings you're beautiful, you're beautiful, you're beautiful, it's true is dramatic. He sounds as if he's convincing the girl with his compliment. Sweet.

Later I found myself humming that song over and again, it was like this stubborn tune stuck in my head not budging a wee bit. I was enjoying the intra-cerebral hum; and after a zillion days I was completely musick (Musick: Sickness caused due to overdose of music; Creator: yours truly.)

Anyhow, the song made me think, made me mushy. I wished some one could say something similar. Oh no! I don't want to be told that I am beautiful, rather I prefer being told that I am handsome, intelligent, creative or whatever but with sincerity and love.

Shucks... I have patience no more, to wait for someone to come along, get to know me, understand my index of romance, lure me, capture my imagination and finally sing me praises. I'd sing it to myself and get over with. Here I go...

I'm dutiful, I'm dutiful,
I'm dutiful, it's true....

Yeah, I know, it's not the same, but it does rhyme well, isn't?

Limerick

2007-08-13T17:28:00.000+05:30

Junior 'n White had a little fight,
'Go to hell' she told him uptight;
'Okay baba I'll go to hell...
You go to heaven' when he did tell,
'What is heaven' wondered Ms. White.

Four years back I was in this hotel room; woke up next morning and was about to open the door when I heard a little boy and a girl (may be siblings or cousins) fighting outside, next door. I couldn't control my laughter as the girl wondered aloud, what was heaven, with all her innocence. They soon sped away and I couldn't see the two little imps.

I wanted to immortalise this funny incident someway and tried to draw a comic strip (a la Calvin n Hobbes) but failed. Few days later, I read a limerick and regretted never writing one myself. Suddenly, I remembered the incident and wrote one based on it. Though the kids were Indian I gave them western names because it goes well with the rhyme.

The original was written in 2003 and the names were Johnny and Kim. I changed the names and rewrote it now. It sounds much better.

Initiation Into Adulthood

2007-08-11T20:50:00.000+05:30

Hey, hold on people! This post is not about me losing my (ahem... clearing my throat loudly as if to make a dramatic announcement) virginity.

For me, adulthood means freedom of choice, being adult means being free to take decisions without any compulsions. I know, I am sounding pompous and many would not agree with me. Anyhow, let me proceed with the incident which, I consider, opened up a whole new world of possibilities for me.

Rewind to 1994. I am in Yuvaraja's College, attending classes of first year of graduation. I am this gawky guy, wearing huge specs covering almost top half of my face (my dad's explanation, 'affords wide range of vision'), a moustache (dad again, 'do not shave it off'), loose baggy shirts (no prize for guessing - dad, 'you can wear them for a longer time,' but by the time they started to fit me they lost colour or were worn out) - a highly unglamourous creature in the prime of his teens. I can easily have got the highest G.R.R. (Glance Repulsion Ratio) in my class. To top it all, I am introvert and do not have anyone for a friend.

Dad: Rey! Don't scratch your crotch.
Me to myself: What the hell! Some one please tell him it's itching; I can't control it.

By now you may've got the clear picture that dad's was the last word in any and all matters.

Enter this awkward guy, Avinash from the exotic Mauritius, shabbily dressed in branded clothes. He is in the same class as me and no friends too. My spoken English is bad, I befriend him so that it gets better.

A month into our friendship, he says he's going for a movie, would I want to join him? I am excited but fall silent, as suddenly, foreseeing my dad vetoing the plan. I meekly confide about my dad's temperament and no way I wanna get in the eye of a storm. Avinash volunteers to ask dad's permission on my behalf. On approaching my dad he said, as a matter of fact, that he wants me to join him for a movie and lo behold! Dad said okay.

Theatre: Sterling
Movie: Speed
Cast: Keanu Reeves, Sandra Bullock and Dennis Hopper.

I had been to movies many times earlier but never had it felt so liberating. I enjoyed each and every frame of it. The sound, action, stunts and thrilling narrative filled me in and out. Then it dawned on me.

"If I have done or intend to do no wrong, there's no need to be scared of dad."

This realisation brought forth by the episode, instilled confidence in me and I took to skies. The next moment, I was an adult.

Innocence Lost

2007-07-31T18:25:00.000+05:30

The steel box hurtled on, up and around the treacherous hairpin curves. Deep inside it I sat crushed between my mom and sis, and elsewhere seated were my other family members including uncles, aunts and cousins. I cursed my dad for forcing me to come on this trip, 'I hate bus traveling, it makes me sick' I had pleaded but to no avail.

I was about five or six years old when I visited the hill shrine of Malai Mahadeshwara. That was my first long-trip as far as my memory goes. The journey (changing three buses) was puky, tedious and strenuous, but arriving at the hill top pilgrim centre was exuberating; the lush greenery, cool weather and rolling hills every where around elevated my spirits as much as the thought that finally I was out of the steel box with eight wheels.

The exuberance of being in such a beautiful place turned to devotion when I went to have a darshan of the lord of seven hills. All grown-ups were singing paens of lord Mahadeshwara and his eagerness to fulfill the desires of his devotees. My young innocent mind was taking in all I was hearing. The faith of many a devotees there were convincing enough, but when I heard that the place was so holy that even the soil possesses divine powers, my innocent belief turned concrete.

After a couple of days, before catching a homeward bus I surreptitiously scooped a fistful of soil from the temple premises and saved it as a holy treasure with divine powers.

Returning home I tucked away my sacred souvenir with my other treasures which had toys, beads, coloured glass pieces, marbles, etc., and forgot. Returning from the school, a few days later, I heard that my favourite grand uncle had passed away earlier that day. The news was overwhelming. I sprinted to my treasure box, took out the small packet of sacred soil and dashed out of the house.

The hope was not lost yet, for I had the most powerful thing in the universe. I will certainly bring back my grand uncle from dead. I took the magical and divine soil in my hand, closed my eyes, started praying the Lord to reverse the tragedy. 'Hit ctrl+z,' I was pleading. In the heart of hearts I was sure that the divine soil has performed the miracle and I was glad.

As it turned out, I went to my grand uncle's place only to find him in the hall, lying motionless under a heap of garlands, surrounded by wailing ladies while men stood outside refusing to see each other in the eye. That sight shredded my faith. I lost my innocence forever.

Question Unanswered

2007-04-14T21:31:00.000+05:30

Saw a lovely person
Fell in love all by sudden
Have you felt the pain...

The kiss was greatest
To have one, would I become meanest
Have you felt the pain...

The fire was burning twosome
Alas! One died and other a lonesome
Have you felt the pain...

The heart fancied a happy dream
Until a terrible nightmare scream
Have you felt the pain...

Clinging onto reed and drowning
Crying out for a little loving
Please, why don't you feel the pain...

Umm... I penned this on 23 November 1997.

Embarrassment Forever

2006-11-26T14:45:00.000+05:30

I was studying 8th standard at JSS Balajagath. Ms. Nalini was the school head mistress and also taught us English. She was known to be strict and was feared by all students.

Our class consisted of nineteen; I was one among the brightest in that small group, good in languages, including English. During one of the monthly tests, the English question paper required us to build one sentence each to ten given words.

I did well in the test and when it came to the sentence building task, I was excited. I wanted to flaunt my language skills and wrote sentences incorporating names of two of my classmates - Aruna and Chandrika - in all ten sentences. I was confident that the teacher will appreciate my creativity.

On the day of results I was beaming with confidence. The teacher walked into the class room with answer sheets. She announced each student's result by turn and when she came to me, blurted out...
'Dharmendra is so much attached to Aruna and Chandrika that he has referred them in all ten sentences.'
Suddenly, I felt as if I am nude in front of everyone, but the ordeal was not over yet. Aloud and sarcastic, she read each of the ten sentences with pauses and commas.

A sharp flame of shame seared through my being. I was red in face and squirming in my seat. Inspite of forming flawless sentences, I was humiliated in front of the whole class. I was confused and angry. I sat there embarrassed, helpless and perplexed, licking the wounds.

Whenever I remember the incident, I feel embarrassed all over again.

Eye sore of Mysore

2006-11-14T11:08:00.000+05:30

Whenever I drive through Devaraja Urs Road, Jhansi Lakshmi Bai (JLB) Road, Metropole Circle, etc., a look at the boards and hoardings there and my blood boils. Many of them have been defaced with black tar mercilessly.

Some Kannada fanatics with twisted minds have formed a group, they come out in the black of the night wielding brushes tied to a pole and carrying a bucket of black tar. They stalk the main roads of Mysore looking for English name boards of the shops. Within minutes neat, beautiful and colourful boards are smeared with black tar ruining it once and for all.

These hooligans neither have regard for other person's property nor towards the aesthetics of this heritage city and by doing such heinous act they bring shame to the city. This vandalism is not unique to Mysore but it is widespread in Bangalore too.

I suppose persons carrying out this criminal act think that they themselves are courts and justice systems on the move. Any board written in English is a criminal for them; they give instant justice and the punishment is a smear of tar on that culprit board or hoarding. When sun shines on these boards next day, it is nothing short of a shock to the proprietor of the shop.

God save the shop keepers when these self proclaimed mobile justice groups take to streets in broad daylight. They act like cheap goondas and literally force shopkeepers to change the boards. If the shop keeper is adamant enough, then the group's justice is swift and harsh, they pelt stones, pebbles and shatter glass panes causing damages amounting to thousands of rupees. Who will pay for all the damage done?

Destroying other's property is a crime. But the people who are committing these crimes are law unto themselves. Looking at the inaction of police one is forced to believe that they have deliberately turned a blind eye to this criminal act. Hello! Mysore police... rise and shine, smell the filter coffee.

The board-vandals are not doing a great service to Kannada as they proclaim, but instead they are insulting Kannada and Kannadigas. I am a Kanandiga. I love Kannada. But I am ashamed of the acts of these lunatics who claim to be saviours of Kannada. I am afraid if they are not stopped well in time, then they will perpetrate crime in the name of Kannada, like what Taliban did in Afghanistan in the name of Islam.

Infosys Mysore - An Inspiration

2006-11-11T18:52:00.000+05:30

Winding through the Hebbal industrial area, a peach coloured edifice with shimmering steel-gray glasses and contemporary architecture became visible, as our car rolled into the sprawling 230-acre campus, involuntarily I exclaimed 'Wow'! Perfectly laid and asphalted roads flanked by beautifully manicured lawns, tall, dark and handsome lampposts; my sister's Barbie doll’s flawless garden invariably came to my mind. For a moment I thought I have been transported from a world of chaos to an island of bewildering order.

Welcome to the truly world-class facility of Infosys Technologies Limited's Mysore Development Centre, 'My DC' as the Infosians here like to call it.

'Transforming business through integrated technology solutions' - this mantra aptly describes the goal of this software conglomerate, which has about nine Development Centres in India and approximately 70-80 offices across the globe with a work force of more than 13,000 employees of all nationalities.

The tea was served at the Infosys Leadership Institute, which has been built conforming to international standards. Soft sounds of water playing on granite fountains welcomed we visitors. 'Ranganathittu', 'Bandipur' etc are some of the names that are given to conference rooms here.

Promptly at 5.30 p.m. we were taken around the entire premises starting from the food-court. A lush green cricket ground sits snugly beside the food court from where almost a 1000 and odd crowd can watch the game and enjoy the food at the restaurant. A recreational wing, inside, houses a state of the art gymnasium, Table Tennis room, a Billiards & Snooker room and a rest room catering to the employees with a motto to keep them physically fit and thereby assuring their mental alertness. An ATM is also installed for convenience.

The skyline in this mini-city campus is dominated by a giant shimmering glass bubble and beside it is a moroccan style building in mellow yellow. This is a huge resort-like place which has swimming pools, restaurants, souvenir shops, gift shops, department store and also houses a Strand book stall.

Next stop was SDB1, Software Development Block One, a sleek and modern edifice facing the road; 650 Software Engineers carry on the development work for clients from across the globe.

Stepping out of the SDB1, the crimson and red hues of Sunset splattered in the sky was reflecting off the glass topped building and it seemed the building was surrounded by a golden red halo. Far across within the campus, a Tennis court, Helipad, the residential blocks and a floating restaurant stand among beautifully landscaped gardens. Grass, granite and glass seem to be the three main elements around which the entire architecture revolves. Not a speck of dirt could be seen anywhere; the roads were so clean that, a fellow visitor remarked, one could even sleep on it.

The entire campus is self-contained with a 2000 KVA generator, a water tank of 7 lakhs litre capacity, an affluent treatment & water recycling plant and an artificial lake with rain water harvesting incorporated.

World is once again at the door steps of Mysore after nearly half a century, and it is undoubtedly because of Infosys. I am a Mysorean, I feel proud. Thank you, Infosys.

Visit to AT&S at Nanjangud

2006-10-26T18:34:00.000+05:30

Driving from Mysore towards Nanjangud, a little further from the bridge across river Kapila, a road to the right leads into the industrial area of Nanjangud which sits on the southern bank. This is where the 20 acre plot of the environment-friendly Austrian Technologies and Systems (AT&S) is situated amidst the verdant greenery.

This Printed Circuit Board (PCB) manufacturing unit was started as INDAL by Indian authorities in 1989. It was bought over by AT&S in 1999.

As soon as we enter the main gate, we are welcomed by three fluttering flags - the Indian tri-colour, the Austrian national flag and the AT&S flag. A faint chemical odour hanging in the air transports me back in time to my chemistry lab classes in college. Sniff, sniff, I strain to identify the chemicals and hurrah! One among them is Ammonia. But I fail to identify other chemical aromas romancing the air.

Friendly employees attired in navy blue and sky blue uniforms ushered us into the spacious canteen which had doubled up as nice meeting hall for the day. A quick sip of tea pepped us up and our small group of Rotarians, Rotaryannes, Rotaractors and Annets were given a guided tour around the campus by an employee. Two more groups had started early before us.

We first visited the environment section of the factory which houses the effluent treatment plant. Ninety percent of process during the manufacturing of PCBs involve water along with various chemicals and metals, some of which are hazardous. Thus polluted water is treated in this plant to remove all the impurities and render the water clean which is used to quench a thousand and odd trees and a nice garden in the campus.

The next stop was at the unit where the raw water drawn from the river is purified to be used in various processes. A generator room beside this unit houses three massive diesel generators which churn out enough electricity to feed the entire power requirement of the factory. Hence the campus is self sustained in electricity.

We then move indoors where the PCB is manufactured. We were allowed to peep into the designing section where multitudes of computer terminals were occupied by their human conterparts. In this section, the designs of PCBs , as given by the clients, are checked, corrected and converted into a language that is understood by machines doing the tasks. As we were curiously peeping into the glass windows, the human subjects on the other side looked amused and perhaps felt like fishes in an aquarium.

Next we were taken inside a long airconditioned hall which had complex machines each the size of a small car (sorry you can't drive them but rather they can drive a hole into you). They were drilling various sized holes into glass fiber epoxy laminate material (board) and creating a racket. Cacophony of the machines was because they were drilling at an incredible speed of 120,000 rpm (revolutions per minute), my gosh! Listening to it my head spun for a second at 120,000 rpm.

In the next section we saw the drilled boards being sandwiched between two thin copper foils between hot rollers (anyone for a hot sandwich or two?). Next the circuit diagram is printed on these boards with an acid resistant ink. Boards were rolled into a series of narrow acid baths of about 30-40 feet long bubbling with blue, green and clear liquids. Some of these machines were sporting cool red bulbs which were going off and on at random intervals. Liquids in these baths etch out excess copper except at the places protected by the resistant ink.

The boards go through many more such massive machinery and finally are subjected to gold electroplating where a very fine film of gold deposits on copper to prevent oxidation and thus providing a long life to the PCB. We were told that (hold your breath ladies!) a whopping 80 kilos of gold is consumed every month in this plant alone (ladies, dont you think that it is a sheer waste of yellow metal? I see many beautiful heads nodding in agreement).

The boards are taken onto cutting machines (if the PCB being manufactured is small in size, then usually five to six of them are produced on a single sheet of board) and cut to the required size and shape. Thus finished PCBs undergo complete tests, first electronic testing and later manual testing for scratches or abrasions. This manual testing was being done in a controlled environment under lens and microscopes by ladies. Dr. Maya Sitaram asked our guide why only ladies were employed to do the manual testing while ladies were present in none of the other departments. Mr. Keshav gave a tongue-in-cheek answer saying that ladies are good at finding faults (well, does that mean, men are good at making faults? hmm, I guess I am no Shobha De to answer that).

Finally we were at the packing section where each PCBs are bundled in tens, vacuum sealed and packed. Back at the meeting hall, in a formal meeting Rtn. Pradeep Mehta, MD and CFO, AT&S gave a few glimpses about the vision and organisation of AT&S which was followed by a multimedia presentation by Mr. Brown. Mr. Hegde, MD and COO, AT&S was present.

Kaveri Teerthodbhava

2006-10-17T14:04:00.000+05:30

Painting: Sri Mata Kaveri
Medium: Gouache on board
Size: 20" X 24"
Artist: Sri G.L.N. Simha
Collection: Ramsons Kala Pratishtana

River Kaveri is the life line of millions in Karnataka, Kerala and Tamilnadu. She takes birth in the sylvan settings of Western Ghats amidst the picturesque hills Brahmagiri in the land of valiant Kodavas. Each year on the auspicious day of Tulasankramana (around 17th October) she spouts out of her tiny birthplace, at Talacauvery, as if reinvigorated and re-energised.

In the rich tapestry of Hindu mythology, each river has a legend about its birth and is depicted by a certain colour. Ganga is of the colour of sphatika, Godavari is shown in light brown colour while Kaveri is green in colour. Also Ganga is often shown descending from heavens and all other rivers are shown flowing, but it is only Kaveri who gushes out of earth in the form of a spring.

The artist has depicted goddess Kaveri as green in colour. She has draped a rich green saree in the typical Kodava fashion. She is adorned with a high crown, matsya-kundalas, necklaces made of gold, pearls, cowries and lotuses. She wears a waist girdle depicting the avian creatures found all along her course and the vaijayanthi is shown with golden paddy, succulent oranges, vegetation and landscapes which are nourished by her life giving waters.

Two of her hands are shown in abhaya and varada mudras, in the third she holds a kamandalu while in the fourth she holds a beautiful lotus. The goddess is depicted as springing up on vigorous waves surging from beneath. The faint smile on her green visage is reassuring and beautiful.

Among the creative and talented artists of Mysore, Sri G.L.N. Simha occupies a special place as he has pioneered painting based on dhyana shlokas, veda mantras and suktas. This painting has been commissioned by Ramsons Kala Pratishtana as a part of the series of paintings on myths, legends, fairs and festivals of Karnataka by several artists.

A Trek to Himavad Gopala Swamy Betta

2006-10-13T02:04:00.000+05:30

Frantic activities at the premises of Rotary Centre on Saturday morning was as unique as the crowd gathered there. 73 Rotaractors from various clubs of the Rotary International District 3180 assembled early at 7.00 a.m. ready to be part of a trekking expedition to the Himavad Gopala Swamy Betta.

Three vans with Rotaractors left Mysore towards Gundulpet; further 12 kilometers drive led to Hangala, and turning right through a huge welcome arch we drove 8 kilometers to a picturesque hamlet, Gopalpura, at the foot of Himavad Gopala Swamy Hills.

First two kilometers stretch of kaccha road flanked by the fields of sunflower, castor and jowar was like the calm before a storm. Most of us were under the impression that the entire trek uphill will be a piece of cake, but once we entered the Project Tiger area, there was no room for expecting a smooth ride. All the amateur hearts sunk encountering the gargantuan hill with a steep gradient, the road now wide and comfortable became just a wild narrow path winding like a snake around littered rocks and turning abruptly out of sight into alien woods.

I started chanting Hanuman Chalisa invoking the monkey god and appraising him of the situation at hand. I suppose, most of the 330 million gods and goddesses of Hindu pantheon were readily appealed to by many a fellow trekkers. Dragonflies, butterflies, dung beetles, parakeets, chirping birds, nothing could disturb my concentration on my feet; every step has to be measured, balanced and perfect, one slip and I am in deep trouble.

Fighting the heat from the Sun, off the rocks and that of body, everyone carried rucksacks on their back, drenched in sweat and listening hard to trace any unfamiliar sounds from a possible wild beast.

Halfway uphill, we came across a slopy clearing. The view across was breathtaking. The blunt peaks, continuous contours of the hills, greens, yellows and ochres of the dense valleys, silhouettes of farther hill ranges... It seemed like these giants of hills were lying exhausted trying to reach for the heavens. Rectangular mosaic of various hues of brown at the other end of the scenery marked a sharp contrast, I wish I had a camera that could capture my feelings.

Huffing and puffing we reached a site of medieval fortification at around 1 pm; huge stone blocks of perfect masonry made up this structure, which is now in ruins. It is approximately 700 years old. By now, I had naturalised to climbing and next ascent was comparatively comfortable. As I was nearing the summit, a cluster of tall trees intrigued me which was crowning the hill. Approaching it I was enamoured by them which seemed to belong to the family of Eucalyptus growing to a height of 40-50 feet.

Couple of paces more and we were at the guesthouse, our destination. It was 1.45 pm, after almost 3 hours of climbing the jungle path we had covered a distance of 5 kilometers. The feverish Sun, during ascent, disappeared at the summit, there was a sudden drop in temperature.

The guesthouse was at an altitude of 1477 feet above sea level. It sat snugly on a flat surface overlooking a shallow valley. Its immediate neighbours were weird trees with a heavy coat of moss and mini vegetation clinging on to their myriad branches which looked quite creepy.

Half a kilometer across, the ancient temple of Lord Gopala Swamy stood majestically on a high plinth. A flight of stairs leads onto a big quadrangle with a recently renovated central stone edifice built by Marasinga Dananayaka in early 14th century. The main entrance topped by a gopura leads to an inner courtyard which houses a tall flag mast and an ancient Bela tree whose branches were festooned with bits of clothing left behind as wish fulfilling offerings by the pilgrims. Jaya and Vijaya, the celestial guardians stood on guard flanking the door leading into the navaranga. The sanctum sanctorum enshrines the idol of lord Krishna, the divine cowherd, along with consorts Rukmini and Satyabhama.

In front of the temple there stands an equally ancient stone structure which must have stationed soldiers and guards during its heydays. Coincidentally, today it shelters 12 jawans of Special Task Force (this was before the death of dreaded Veerappan).

It started raining after lunch. Trekkers idled away the afternoon either in sleep or in a game of cards. Evening tea pepped up everyone and we set off for a short walk behind the temple.
We hardly covered a kilometer, there standing on the sloping gorge, the group marvelled at the creation of nature. Miles and miles across wherever I cast my gaze, hills, valleys and virgin forests beckoned my hungry eyes. A string of clouds were floating mid-air as if fluffy, snow-white cotton balls, fastened to an invisible thread, were dangling from the high heavens. To the right, a couple of clouds were nestled in the bosom of a tree-lined valley; far beyond, gray silhouettes of hillocks seem smudged-one with the distant horizon.

The word 'picturesque' sounds utterly pale to describe the drama that was being played before my eyes. Standing there, I was like a hungry person consuming the scenic ambrosia served on the golden platter of nature. The Sun was setting, changing hue of the sky by the minute. During the climax of sunset it seemed like vermillion and gold colours were splashed across the heavens, finally a flaming red Sun dipped away and took refuge behind a weird hillock.

Back at the guesthouse, with no electricity it was the blackest of nights. We had to find our way in the bobbing lights of numerous torches; everyone hopped into bed early, I snuggled cosily into my sleeping bag. We were told that elephants and bisons pay surprise visits to the place during nights, how comforting to sleep with the thought that these wild animals are roaming free in close quarters. The day's activities were so exhausting that even the scare of these beasts did anything but disturb the sleep; everyone hit the sack instantly.

Sunday started early. After morning ablutions we went on a jungle walk being towed by two forest guards. We entered core forest, it was a grassland on hill slopes, the private domain of elephants and bisons, their fresh dung littered around reminding us that we are trespassing in their domain. I saw two elephant bulls gorging on the grass, farther across the ridge two more elephants were seen with four bisons. When I snatched a glimpse at a bison through the binoculars, my heart stopped for a second… Its gaze was piercing mine, but we were very far apart, the thought of which brought blood back to my lungs.

Later, we ventured into the shola forest in one of the valleys searching for natural springs; it is said that there are 77 natural springs in this forest alone.

Returning back to the guesthouse, we packed to descend the hill. The raw heat made a hasty comeback tripling the weight of my backpack. We started down the asphalted road at first and traveled upto 3 kilometers. At the neck of a sharp curve in the road we changed our course for the scariest walk of my life. If I were to have been given a chance, I would have chosen to climb down the same path we ascended the previous day. There was no path here, absolutely nothing to guide us, only trees, shrubs, steep drops and rocks jutting out from everywhere.

Everyone was so anxious, I suppose they even forgot their prayers. The life and limbs depended on feet, balance, calculated steps and hell a lot of good deeds one had done previously. An elephant had trampled a local woman a month back in the same area. Even this wild threat was forgotten while climbing down.

After a grueling 2 hours of descent the landscape abruptly turned arid, thorny and desert like. Next 3 kilometers of walk was through this prickly stretch where the only vegetation was that of thorny shrubs and bushes packed ever so tightly together.

Fighting the darn bushes I was wondering about the abrupt change in landscape every couple of miles. Within 2 days I had encountered hilly terrain, lush green forests, grasslands, moist tropical vegetation of shola forests, rocky slopes and finally here I was, in a desert. I still wonder.

At last we came to Hangala where we had lunch, exhaustion didn't stop some of the Rotaractors from dancing, singing and having fun. The same three vehicles drove us back to Mysore.

I am scared of heights, I was scared when I had to walk on a path where on one side there was an abrupt drop, but when I saw fellow trekkers braving it, I overcame my anxiety and conquered it. The fellowship was evident throughout the programme. A small gesture of help, sharing a laughter, sharing water, sharing risk, extending a hand in support, helping a friend in distraught - it was an experience that I shall cherish for years to come.

Rotaract Bhajan

2006-10-12T01:33:00.000+05:30

The following Rotaract bhajan (anglo-hindi) was written by me for a function to commemmorate World Rotaract week at our club in 2003. I wrote it on 14th March 2003. It is to be sung similar to the tune of the popular bhajan - Om Jai Jagadeesh Hare.

Rotaract Bhajan

Om jai Rotaract hare
Swami, jai Rotaract hare...
President, members and saare (2)
Tohare charan dhare
Om jai Rotaract hare...

Secretary, directors, editor
Sergeant-at-arms and treasurer
Swami, sergeant-at-arms and treasurer...
Committee members and chairman (2)
Haath phehalaaye khade
Om jai Rotaract hare...

International, vocation
Club, community and youth
Swami, club, community and youth...
Paanch shastr ek me abhay (2)
Stage-fear nivaare
Om jai Rotaract hare

Banake nidarr bhaye leader
ZRR, President, DRR
Swami, ZRR, President, DRR...
Saathme haath badhaaye (2)
Har yuvaa kaam kare
Om jai Rotaract hare (Om jai )

Six Weird Things About Me

2006-08-03T19:31:00.000+05:30

Well pardon me if I get it wrong because I've been tagged for the first time and its by Vikas. Accordingly I am supposed to list out six weird things about myself. So here I go.

Six weird things about me.

I love Uppittu (Upma) which all my friends and most people I know detest. In fact they call it 'concrete' because it becomes compact in your stomach and you have to drink water quite often after you've eat it.
As a kid, I never watched fight scenes in the movie and also dodged out during the climax of the movie if there were fights or someone was about to die. Well, I don't do that anymore.
I cry during emotional scenes in a movie.
I still can't ride a geared two-wheeler. I wonder how did I ever pass out of the driving test to secure the Driver's Licence.
I sleep hugging a pillow.
If someone criticises me during a thing/work which I am doing for the first time, I abandon it then and there, and never do it again.

Well, those are the weird aspects of me.

Visual Clutter of Mysore

2006-08-03T02:47:00.000+05:30

Last week I had been to Bangalore with two friends and both of them were complaining of eye irritation while commuting through the traffic. As for me, I didn't experience it since I wear spectacles (as opined by one of them). Bangalore's traffic is choking the city, no doubt about it, absolutely.

Relatively, Mysore is blessed as there are no highrises and smoke, but as an amateur photographer I get irritated with all kinds of cables (electric, telephone, cable TV, etc) crisscrossing and marring the beauties of many heritage structures in Mysore. In older extensions of the city one can find that, like warp and weft, various cables have knit among themselves posing extreme risks to the neighbourhood. Add to it the modern aesthetic blunders called hoardings.

The emergence of large format digital printing at very low costs has triggered an explosion of mediocre and hideously designed posters and hoardings. Every nook and corner one can find a big hoarding carrying what seems like severed heads of local boys in bottom rows; above these a bigger row of severed heads of politicians and other prominent personalities are depicted. It looks as offerings of severed heads of buffalo and sheep to the Goddess Mariamma.

Town hall is surrounded by heritage structures like Amba Vilas Palace, Chamarajendra Circle (golden canopy circle), Krishnaraja Circle and Clock Tower. For any political rally Town-hall is the most preferred venue and eventually the two circles have to bear the brunt of these rallies in the form of buntings. Inspite of the Mysore City Corporation's rules that these two circles' beauty should not be desecrated by any person or organisation, every now and then one can see that the statues of Chamarajendra Wodeyar and Nalwadi Krishnaraja Wodeyar braving the sea of buntings that surround them.

Such things generously add to the visual clutter which is eating away at the rich and majestic beauty of Mysore.

Snore Galore

2006-08-03T01:10:00.000+05:30

I remember, as kids we siblings were going to Gaavaacha-Amma's house at Nanjangud for a long break during both summer and Dasara-Deepavali vacations. We called our mother as 'Mommy' and paternal grandma as 'Amma.' There was Mommy's mother too and we had to call her with a different name to distinguish from the one Amma at home, so we called her Gaavaacha-Amma (G-Amma) meaning Amma from village (Gaav is village).

Well, at Nanjangud, the days were full of fun because there were tens of cousins and innumerable second cousins; we kids could wander from 7th cross to 14th cross wihtout the elders getting on our throes because many houses on those streets were those of our relatives and everyone knew all the kids. Whether catching flies with your palm or playing hide-n-seek, or carrom, or going to the water channel, or the tonga ride, everything was pure fun during the day. But the nights used to be a real torture.

G-Amma's was a big family of legendary snorers. Starting right from G-Amma, to her six sons and four daughters (including my Mom), every one snored like there's no tomorrow. Until sleep completely took me over I used to feel like I was thrown onto a platform of the busiest railway junction in the world. Like the tani-aavartana in a Carnatic music concert where the Mridanga, Ghata and Morching compete with each other, my Mom, G-Amma, and uncles roaringly competed to clinch the 'Best-Lung-Powered-Person-of-the-Night-Award'.

Every inhale of theirs was like an ascending thunder ending in a gradual exhale with a swishhh... Like London's Royal Philharmonic Society, the snorers snored in sync - if one inhaled, the other exhaled and so on. No sooner it hit sack, this well orchestrated snoring ensemble snored in all octaves. Add to this hullabaloo, the grandfather's clock ticked away as if mockingly counting each second of this audio torment. Sometimes the intensity of the snore would induce fright in me, suddenly the irritability gave way to scare and the sleep would slip away as my ear drums were bombarded relentlessly. The juggernaut of the night would eventually stop and before I knew I would be in the warm embrace of sleep.

Inspite of creating a racquet and disturbing others' sleep, the snorer himself is sound asleep. One feels like banging a snorer, I am no different and I used to resent snorers and cursed them. Also felt like pouring a pitcher of cold water on the snoring-beauty. But fate had some nasty things up its sleeve and nights took an ugly turn in my life. Few years back when I had to stay overnight at a friend's place I was in for a rude surprise. The next day as I was about to leave, my friend's Mom told me that my snoring at night was disturbing everyone. She was visibly very much irritated and it seemed like I was not welcome there anymore. I felt ashamed, angry and was in a shock.

I always thought ill of snorers and here I was, being told that I was not welcome because I snore. Well, that was not the only time I have been chastised for my ear-splitting night-calls, even others have shied away from sharing my room. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde I transform into a roaring noice-monster in my sleep and hardly speak when awake.

So, beware! I snore.

Dark Symphony

2006-07-29T00:18:00.000+05:30

Music of brittle sobs
Song of cold sighs
Jingle of broken prayers
Melody of silent cries

This is the symphony of pain
Without which a man is vain

Vincent Van Gogh who lusted for life

2006-04-29T11:54:00.000+05:30

Title: Lust For Life
Author: Irving Stone
Pages: 423
Publishers: Arrow Books
1st edition: 1935
17th edition: 2001

Lust For Life is a biographical novel which deals with the life of the famous artist Vincent Van Gogh, his trials, tribulations and paintings. Author Irving Stone has written this after extensive research and has referred innumberable letters of Vincent Van Gogh. I knew that Van Gogh was a great artist but never knew anything else about him. I felt wretched throughout the book and never wanted to continue further, but I kept myself pushing till the end.

Van Gogh sold only one painting during his brief lifetime and all along he battled violently with the thought that he is a wastrel, being an artist, whose paintings are crude, ugly and unsaleable. No matter how he screwed up his own life, his younger brother Theo, stood by him as a rock, supporting him throughout his barbarious stint with painting.

My rational mind kept on cursing Vincent Van Gogh for all the blunders he was creating for himself which were completely unnecessary and stupid. Only when Vincent saw his brother crumble did he lose hope and end his life. I still can't stomach the fact that a person can go through such disasters and personal upheavals in life which are self-made.

Vincent's stay in Paris with his brother was the only time I enjoyed the read. He was very mercurial in nature when it came to sticking to one particular place. He would long to go to some place after hearing good things about it; he enjoyed the stay there for a brief while and after sometime would screw up things and make them so ugly that he was forced to get out of there. He had a knack to f*** up things. The cruel irony about him is that he was a failed man who was self-destructive and became a great artist only after his death.

Well, here are some of the quotes which I liked in the book.

You can never be sure about anything for all time. You can only have the courage and strength to do what you think is right. It may turn out to be wrong, but you will atleast have done it, and that is important thing - page 42

Many a times in your life you may think you are failing, but ultimately you will express yourself and that expression will justify your life - page 43

Perhaps God knows, and then again he doesn't - page 83

He who loves lives, he who lives works, and he who works has bread - page 137

Human conduct is a great deal like drawing. The whole perspective changes with the shifted position of the eye, and depends not on the subject, but on the man who is looking - page 197

It is the plight of most people that by a kind of fatality they have to seek a long time for light - page 234

Religion will never get people anywhere. Only the base in spirit will accept misery in this world for the promise of bliss in the next - page 297

The public cannot understand that there is no room for moral judgements in art. Art is amoral; so is life - page 299

The ordinary human brain thinks in terms of duality; light and shade, sweet and sour, good and evil. That duality does not exist in nature. There is neither good nor evil in the world, but only being and doing - page 299

There is pleasure, sure, in being mad, which none but madman knows - page 392

Aristotle said, 'no excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness! - page 412

Holy Man on Chamundi Hill

2006-03-28T16:46:00.000+05:30

I had been to Chamundi hill recently to click some snaps. While I went around the temple I saw this old man with saffron robes, red uttareeya, matted braid fastened with rubber-bands, and a Santa-esque white beard. He had this biggest and roundest red bindi on his broad forehead which gave him a very attractive look. He was sitting in front of Sri Narayana Swamy temple and was having his brunch out of a stainless steel dabari.

I couldn't resist the temptation and requested him to pose for me. Without the slightest hint of annoyance, for being disturbed, he obliged and posed for me. I took a few snaps, one of which is displayed here. I call him, the 'Holy man of Chamundi'.

Mysore to Srirangapatna in style

2006-03-21T13:29:00.000+05:30

Since a couple of years I used to dread going to Srirangapatna. Invariably the travel was by road and the mere thought of it sent shivers down my spine. The widening and four-laning of the Mysore - Bangalore road was progressing at a snail's pace and all the ancient trees that flanked the picturesque road were sacrificed at the altar of progress. The road was dug up everywhere.

The Mysore - Bangalore Highway cuts through vast tracts of farm lands and lot of natural and manmade water bodies flow across it, at regular intervals, to quench these fields. So numerous small bridges have been built including a couple of huge bridges across river Cauvery. Redoing the entire road meant re-building these bridges too. So there were lot of traffic bottle necks at the bridges that were under construction.

Inspite of the dug up road, torned down bridges, the bottle necks, uprooted trees, huge potholes, littered boulders, maddening traffic, choking fuel fumes, etc., many a daredevils zipped through the pathetic thing that once used to be a shady, cool road, with least concern to themselves and their fellow road users.

But yesterday noon when I drove from Mysore to Srirangapatna, I felt like whistling all the way.

Yes, there are no more trees that once flanked a narrow road, but there is this beautiful four-lane road which has a central divider planted with bougainvillae, hibiscus, and other flowering plants. One need not stress himself thinking about the trucks and KSRTC buses hurtling towards from the opposite direction. The road is smooth and stylish (except at the couple of places where the major bridges across Cauvery are under construction). Feels good to drive. I agree that it is no match to the Delhi-Noida expressway that I got a chance to blaze through sitting at the back of the car a couple of years ago, but the new road certainly provides a faster connectivity to road users between Mysore and Bangalore.

Watch out Bangalore! Mysore has come closer to you...

Review of the Book - Artists in Mysore

2006-03-12T18:35:00.000+05:30

Artists in Mysore is a book authored by Naramani Somanath. As the title suggests the author has written on twenty-three artists of Mysore. The Majority of the artists featured are painters in various styles while a few marquetry artists, an avantgarde non-narrative film maker, two poets, a photographer and an architect are also featured. The author explores the respective art practised by each artist and also touches upon the various social and cultural aspects in relation to the artist, there by giving a commentary on their artistic lives without being categorical.

The selection of the artists is not deliberate but rather a random choice, says the author in his introduction. The book begins with K.S. Shreehari. Even though there are many artists painting in Mysore style, the author refers to Shreehari as being the last of our traditional Mysore school painters because he has learned the art in the same old traditional way from his father and grand-father as they did from their’s. The author disapproves other ways of learning this art which is mere copying.

Mysore is quite well-known for its marquetry tradition which is derived from the Italian renaissance. So the author has deemed it fit to include three artists who pratice this art. V.M. Sholapurkar, the former Dean of CAVA deals with marquetry in the sense of ‘modern art’. K. Mohan of Mandi Mohalla has been trained under the traditional masters of inlay and his pictorial marquetry is quite appealing to the author. Eric Sakellaropoulos, a greek, hails from Canada. He has set up a workshop in Mysore and producing marquetry pieces. He is almost renewing the aesthetic of pattern marquetry with his designs.

Vishnudas Ramdas and Raghuttama Putty, both senior artists are the pride of Mysore. Ramdas is an acclaimed portrait artist who has designed more than 35 gardens across India. His contribution to the horticultural architecture remains unknown for us Mysoreans. And as for Putty, he is the oldest living artist of Mysore who still paints at the ripe age of 92. He recently exhibited his landscapes on his 91st birthday.

Girija Madhavan brings a remarkable Japanese sensitivity to her work. She learned under many people around the world and each of her paintings is a masterpiece of vision, skill and sensitivity. Her mother, Mukta Venkatesh, wiled away her hundred years on the flowers of Mysore. Our city still has what must surely be the most beautiful flowering trees in the world. Mukta used to draw and paint flowers as a detailed study.

Two artists of Srilanka who have now adopted Mysore as their home are also featured in this book. Druvinka attended Shantiniketan and fell for the charms of Mysore which rarely stirs up any emotion in we Mysoreans. She paints in several layers of different colours, one upon the other, until the painting looks greyish with hints of colours, underneath, peeping through here and there. Her brother, Shehan Madawela who is residing here since 11 years, is inspired by the local women, the flowers, the food and the light. The faces in his paintings are stark and haunting.

G.L.N. Simha is an artist on his terms. He should be happy with his painting first before anyone else sees it or else the painting never sees the daylight again. The author understands the training tradition Simha has gone through and has made a brief study of this in the article.

M. Nagaraja Sharma is an archaeologist and a photographer. Along with him, the Venezuelan poet Rowena Hill and the wellknown poet Mudnakudu Chinnaswamy are featured in the book.

N. Sjoman, is an artist with a sense of humour and a Sanskrit scholar. A Canadian national, he is in love with Mysore for the past three decades. His works are personal statements and take a dig at the existing double standards in the society. He is a writer himself and has co-authored the book ‘Yoga Touchstone’ along with H.V. Dattatreya.

The only architect to be featured in the book, Shashi Bhooshan brought a new aesthetic to the otherwise languishing building architecture of Mysore which once boasted of lovingly built beautiful houses, buildings and palaces.

Though trained in a traditional idiom, Raghupati Bhatta has explored outside the tradition and has been successful in creating tiny worlds within the stifling spaces of narrow cards. Deft strokes of colours transform magically into forms and figures. One of his Visvarupa paintings grace the cover of the book.

N.S. Harsha is a rising star on the horizon of ‘modern art’ and Mysoreans hardly take stock of his creativity. He derives his aesthetics from Mysore, its creatures and contents. A student of CAVA, his paintings and installations are sought after around the globe.

Sami Vaningen is a contemporary art film maker who keeps returning to Mysore, the city where he grew up. Among his 15 films few were shot in Mysore. Another former Dean of CAVA to be featured in this book is Ramdas Adyanthaya. He paints from his experiences in life rather than from academic training.

Babu Eshwar Prasad is articulate about his art. You can read about him in his own words in the book. The article on Penpa Yaasel opens a whole new canvas of Tibetan thangkas. It also juxtaposes the two worlds of Tibetans - their life within Tibet and the other, without.

Pinki hails from the land of Madhubani and Mithila paintings. Her paintings are a mirror to her ecstasy during her creative trance. She is an artist for art’s sake and her art spills out of the canvas into her immediate physical world.

This book is a very informative one on artists in Mysore and a pleasure to read. It opens up a whole new perspective on an undisclosed world in Mysore. Every now and then Mysore, sort of, peeps out from the book and shows a stark fact about itself which the reader cannot ignore. It is as if a single thread of Mysore’s contemporary story is told through the lives of twenty-three artists. It’s like watching a TV with Picture-in-Picture facility - you are watching a channel, you switch on a small window in a corner of the monitor and take a peek at another channel as well. And when the reader finally turns the last page he yearns for more of Mysore and more artists.

One thing that the book really awakens, a regular Mysorean, to is the fact that there are so many artists enchanted with the city’s charm. They are unseen and unheard of. They remain in the background and work like shadows lurking in the dark deep recesses of the city.

In the beginning the reader may feel a little uncomfortable with the style of Naramani. He at times seems to wander off somewhere which is unconnected with the immediate context but when he returns to the original narrative the reader is surprised when that ‘stray-off’ blends so perfectly with the original context giving it a whole new meaning.

The book contains a picture of the work of each artist and at the back, there is a CD with additional pictures on it. Like this the reader can have a broad view of the work at a relatively low cost. This book, published by the Black Lotus Books Inc., Calgary, Canada, is a snapshot of arts of Mysore in the year 2006.

Bombe Mane - The Doll House

2005-10-18T16:20:00.000+05:30

Come Dasara and Mysore becomes a bustling centre of festivities, fun and fantasy. Every night during these 10 days, a gargantuan incandescent word in Kannada - Susvaagata(meaning Welcome) - appears magically on the dark south-eastern skyline of the city where during the daylight one would have seen the expansive Chamundi Hill, the silent sentinel of the city. This is how Mysore welcomes its guests during this festive season.

But no such visual invitation is required to go to any stranger's house these days as you can just walk into any house in the evening if the dolls are arranged in that house. Every house, literally, becomes a doll house for 10 days. Dolls that are being collected since generations are taken out from wooden chests, almirahs, lofts and showcases; they are diligently dusted, and neatly arranged on temporary wooden steps that would have been constructed beforehand.

Pattada Gombe, a pair of dolls (King & Queen) carved out of the rare red sandalwood, are placed at the summit of the arrangement, while other dolls occupy lower steps. Dolls of every hue and mood vye for the attention of the onlooker and thereby taking him back to the magical world of innocence.

Sri Rama - The Best Among Men

2005-09-13T10:49:00.001+05:30

Me and my siblings have been fed with Ramayana, Mahabharatha and other stories by my granny since we were kids. She was a storehouse of myths, legends, Puranas and fairy tales. Like a TV soap opera she narrated the stories daily at bedtime and kept us five siblings from bothering our Mom. Thanks to her, though I haven't read the epics myself, I know the entire story and the characters in them by heart.

In Ramayana, the interesting part for me after the death of Ravana was the 'Agni-pareeksha' of Seetha. I was more fascinated with the miracle of fire not burning Seetha. The kid in me was engrossed in the fantastic nature rather than dwelling on the harsh realities.

As time flew by and the stories became more real than fantasy, I started looking for human stories in these larger than life epics. Enquiry replaced wonder. Questions replaced blind belief.

I am a believer in God and my personal prayer involved Lord Sri Rama among few other deities. But since couple of years I am unable to think of Sri Rama as my ideal, because he betrayed Seetha. He left her high and dry when she needed him the most.

During the hindu wedding rituals, the bride and groom take a vow, of togetherness, with sacred fire 'agni' as the witness. Rama married Seetha by promising in front of 'agni' that he will always be there with her in happiness or illness, taking care of her well being.

He went to great lengths to keep the word of his father, but when it came to himself, he turned a blind eye, abandoned the promise made in front of 'agni' and casted away a pregnant Seetha into the wilderness to the mercy of wild beasts.

To fulfill his father's promise, Rama went into exile for 14 years. He was supposed to go alone, but Seetha followed him when she, instead, could've opted to stay in the palace. She endured the hardships just to be with her beloved. She was kidnapped by Ravana and suffered great misery but the hope that Rama will come and rescue her saw her through that misery. Surely Rama came, fought Ravana and killed him only to plunge Seetha into the fire.

Rama, who once with the mere touch of his toe relieved Ahalya off her curse, now wanted Seetha to convince him of her chastity and asked her to purify herself by entering the fire. Even fire couldn't harm her and Rama, now convinced, took her back, returned to Ayodhya and was enthroned. All's well that ends well, we thought, until a washerman cast aspersions on Seetha. That's it, Rama had to dump Seetha at any cost because one of his subjects doubted the queen.

Seetha, who was pregnant at that time is not even given an explanation or a hint about what was coming her way. The least suspecting Seetha is taken to the edge of the forest and dumped there unceremoniously.

For Rama, the word of his subject is far more important than the word he had given his wife during the wedding; by sending away Seetha he was only endorsing the view of the washerman. If he was so much concerned with the washerman's words, he could have abdicated the throne, but no! He would rather dump his wife than give away the throne.

Rama questioned the chastity of his wife, took her trial by fire, betrayed the promise given to her and dumped her acknowledging a hearsay. Can you call him 'Maryada Purushottama?'

ಪಾದಸ್ಪರ್ಶದಿ ಶಿಲೆ ಸಾಧ್ವಿಯಾದಲ್

ನಾಮಬಲದಿ ಶಿಲೆ ಜಲದಿ ತೇಲಲ್

ಅರ್ಧಾಂಗಿಯಿಂ ಅಗ್ನಿ ಪ್ರಮಾಣ ಬಯಸೆ

ಮನಸೇಕೆ ಕಲ್ಲಾಯ್ತು? - ಪೆದ್ದುಗುಂಡ

(I wrote the above verse on 28 November 2008 and since it echos the same question as in this post, I am including it here. You can read this and many more of my Kannada verses here.)

To read more about Sita follow this link.

Shutter-bug At Work

2005-08-23T20:43:00.000+05:30

I am an amateur photographer who is addicted to photography. This passion in me came to fore when I got a digital camera (it is a SONY Cybershot DSCV1 5 mega pixels).

Yesterday I saw some beautiful hibiscus flowers in the garden and couldn't resist shooting. I thoroughly enjoyed the shoot.

Here's another. I love the blue of the heavens. Hibiscus, known as Japa-kusuma in Samskrutha, is called Daasavaala in Kannada. These, especially blood red flowers, are offered to the female deities like Durga, Chamunda and Kali.

A Very Hairy Matter

2005-08-20T14:39:00.000+05:30

It is mid 19th century, 1857 to be precise, a sepoy in the army of East India Company rebelled against his employer and invoked the first cry of independence. Fast forward to 2004, Mysore, a graphic designer in his late twenties. Can you believe the former affecting latter's identity nearly a century and half later?

Believe me, it can. I am that graphic designer who was affected by the life of Mangal Pandey. Well, I have to confide that the influence was only skin deep. Last year, if you could remember, there was a series of ads of Titan wrist watches featuring Aamir Khan with a flowing mane. He had grown that hair to portray the character of Mangal Pandey in his recently released movie 'Mangal Pandey - The Rising.' Before that I was toying with the idea of growing hair, but every time my hair grew more than four inches I would run to my barber and hang my head in supplication before his hair-hungry scissors.

Aamir came to my rescue as a hairy messiah and preached me the golden rule to grow long hair - have patience. In an interview he had said that his patience helped him to grow long hair. I took it as a challenge and a test of my patience and in March 2004 I decided, come what may, I will have long, beautiful hair (as a kid I always wanted to marry a girl with knee-long hair).

My hair grew and grew, first few months it was very irritating to look myself in the mirror. They were going haywire; everytime I washed my hair, I had to literally douse my head in a vat of hair-oil otherwise I looked like I had been freshly electrocuted. So on and so forth, slowly but steadily my hair grew longer and longer and everyone started ooh-aahing on my hair. I smiled to myself whenever my hair bounced. Few of my friends were unabashedly envious of my growing (literally) popularity. Proportionately grew my woes of taking care of my mane which I suffered in silence.

Daily shampooing, dryness of hair, sticky and smelly hair oil, it took nearly 30 minutes of extra time to get ready every morning. I am a late riser and extra time for my hair care meant my productive day started at 12.00 noon.

Sometime back when I was in Bangalore, I went to a trendy hair salon to get a hip hair style. The experience was more of a shock than anything else. I was advised to go in for a thorough conditioning and straightening of my hair after only which, I was told, styling the hair had to be attempted. I was all excited, but suspicion crept into my paranoid mind and I blurted out asking the cost involved for the entire process. My jaw dropped to the ground when I was told that it will cost a whopping Rs. 2500. Goodness, gracious! I can get haircuts for my entire lifetime (don't mind a little exaggeration) with that much amount, back home. I scooted out from there, not before shelling out Rs. 250 for the paltry hair-trim (it's day-light robbery, I know).

Finally, it was the day of reckoning - 17 August 2005. The satanic blades descended from their cold, dark, steely dwelling straight onto my crest. The satisfactory laughter of my jealous friends filled my ear as each and every strand of my goldy-locks were felled to the ground. Within two-three minutes it was over. My head which was like a dense rainforest now resembled the parched Sahara. The labour of nearly eighteen months lay lifeless strewn all across me; I had a final farewell glance at them and left the place feeling light headed.

Think Twice, Potter

2005-08-04T12:10:00.000+05:30

It is quite clear now, the world stands divided in two. No, the divisions are not that of wizards and muggles but one which loves Harry Potter and the other which doesn't care less about the bespectacled orphan who is pitched against his deadliest enemy, all alone (gasp). Well, I confess... I fall into the first category; my Potter mania is such that it has earned me the epithet 'Harry-Potter-dasa' which I am rather proud of (I hear some sneers here). It was the first time in my life that I ordered for any book, that too two months before its release, this May.

I suppose that gives you a fair idea of my obsession with the boy wizard. Now, something on a serious note, I came across a few sentences in the latest Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, that makes you think twice. And here they are,

'People find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right.'

- Excess of Phlegm. pg. 95

'Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies.'

- Lord Voldemort's Request. pg. 415

'Have you any idea how much tyrants fear people they oppress? All of them realise that, one day, amongst their many victims, there is sure to be one who rises against them and strikes back!'

- Horcruxes. pg. 477

'It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.'

- The Cave. pg. 529

Goal - Is it dispensable?

2005-08-01T22:25:00.000+05:30

When someone is seeking, it happens quite easily that he sees the thing that he is seeking;

that he is unable to find anything, unable to absorb anything, because he is only thinking of the thing

he is seeking, because he has a goal, because he is obsessed with his goal.

Seeking means: to have a goal;

but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal.

- 'Siddhartha' by Hermann Hesse

I came across above mentioned sayings in the book 'Siddhartha' which I read recently. This message was so strong that I couldn't resist the temptation to quote it here. The quote is very thought provoking and can be applied in our everyday life.

Sometimes we question the very purpose and objective of things we are pursuing; and many a times it remains just a question and we fear to go further. We are scared of the answer because the passion with which we are seeking, we are afraid, will look ridiculous once we get the answer.

Since childhood we are constantly fed with the idea that one should have a certain goal in life to succeed. But what if a person does not have any goal or ambition? Does it mean that, that person will have an unsuccessful life?

Why can't a person lead his life doing things without expecting anything? Isn't a goal, a passionate expectation?

I have no concrete goals. Previously when someone asked me what I wanted to do with my life, I was getting totally confused. I used to mumble something stupid and change the subject. I was a little embarassed with myself about not being ambitious; but then it struck me one day - I don't have any goals. I am not seeking anything passionately. I am just living every moment of my life as it comes. I work, design, write a bit, read a bit, watch TV, listen to music, etc. Even what I eat, I enjoy each and every morsel and not hurry through.

Whatever I do I try to enjoy the process. This has a very positive effect. The work, when it yields a good result it is exciting for me. I find success which I had not sought after and that is very exciting. In case of a failure I don't lose heart but consider it as an experience because the work itself would have been a learning process.

I am free from longing, I am happy. I have no goals, I am happy. Success comes as a surprise, I am happy.

First Impressions

2005-07-29T01:42:00.000+05:30

Well, well, well... here I am trying out something new. This is my very first blog. I am like an infant on the threshold of taking its first steps on its own. Surely, as the first steps, my posts may seem a little awkward, but yet I wanna give it a try.

I have gone through some blogs and have found them witty, funny, self critical, observant and also honest at times. I have no idea how would you, the reader, feel about my posts, but would certainly look froward for your comments.

I have christened my blog as 'contemplation' because I want to keep these posts mostly about me and my thought process.