My Stint in a Government Organisation

To describe my stint in a government organisation, I fear I cannot do it more succinctly than what I picked up from a book of Murphy's Laws:

 MORE AND MORE TIME IS SPENT ON REPORTING ABOUT THE LESS AND LESS THAT YOU ARE DOING;

PERFECT STABILITY IS ACHIEVED WHEN YOU SPEND ALL YOUR TIME REPORTING ON THE NOTHING THAT YOU ARE DOING!

Something of that sort has been cleverly captured in a Dagwood Comic Strip:

It reminds me of the inflated talk I would do when it was demanded of me.

Money is not a problem, No?

My wife and I happened to visit a huge mall near our home where they've announced a grand sale for the past week. My wife chose the opportunity to buy a few dresses for herself. On entering the mall we headed straight to the women's section, and as we entered an enclosure where the products of a particularly expensive trade-name were being sold, the salesman accosted us.

I told him that my wife was looking for cotton dresses. The salesman led us to a stack of dresses and asked superciliously:
                 "Money is no problem, No?"
                "To be honest, it's very much of a problem !", I replied.

He was rather disappointed. I realised that it is a trick that these salemen play. Once you say 'It's no problem', you are hamstrung. They show you only the expensive ranges, and having boasted that it is of no consideration, you would only be too eager to prove to him that you can indeed excel his expectations.

Even with the reply that I gave him, he initially kept on displaying only the more expensive labels which is kept well ahead in the front, and he even kept on prompting us that as one leaves the current stack and ventures further inwards, things got only more expensive. He seemed to give the impression that the best bargains were available right there, and it would be a waste of effort to scan further around the shop.

Luckily for me, my wife couldn't find any outfit that was to her liking, and when we went around, we found much more attractive pieces at much better bargains inside.

In these matters it is better for men to rely on women's methods because, men neither seem to have the patience to go around looking for better stuff after they spot something they have fallen for, nor do they have the hardness of heart to reject a persistent salesman who puts on a doleful face as you walk out rejecting all his wares. Women are rather made for it.

The Dangers of Art & Literary Criticism

I should know about this. Specially so after the experience I've been having in the past many days. For years I have not been too sensitive to the feelings and aspirations of people, and true to my zodiac sign, I've lived like a bull in a china shop. It is only in the last few years that my sensibilities to the psychological needs of human beings have been aroused, and there have been brief investigations on my part by looking into my own mind, about what an artist is venturing to do by creating a work of art. Since I am not too well read on the philosophical basis of aesthetics or various past theories on aesthetics, it may well turn out that what I am trying to say is out and out banal. Yet even if it is banal, I am compelled to spell it out clearly at the present moment, because it expresses my most ardent need at the present.

Any work of art, as everyone knows, seeks to express the artist. A dancer performs a well rehearsed dance only in order to please her audience, and what she ardently seeks in return is, first of all, acceptance. And if it is there, she would be gladder if there is praise.  The artist feels somewhat incomplete within himself, and in a desperate bid to seek completeness puts out his product. The very fact that there is a work of art is an indication to all people that there is a person seeking acceptance. The least that the public can do is to give it to him in whatever degree one is capable. It is only after satisfying the initial and most basic level of acceptance, may a genuine praise be given if the artistic piece deserves it, or in the event that it does not deserve it, just leave it at that. Criticism, if it has to happen, could be in the form of 'suggestions' to help improve the technique, or refine the work presented. In fact, a good critic can invest a meaning into a work of art even when an author obviously didn't even intend it! The only negative spin-off that this approach can have is that the author could become terribly self-important and that would be harmful to him.

Quite often, criticism can be quite scathing, and I myself have been guilty of having indulged in such an activity. There have been instances where I have been quite caustic in the past, and it is only in the recent past that I am trying to improve myself.  I draw attention to the fact that the critic too is seeking acceptance - only he is doing that by using the product of another man's soul, rather than present an expression of his own soul. The critic too seeks approval on the grounds that his criticism is 'deep', 'perceptive' , 'innovative' and so on.  Unfortunately, there is not much business in the 'art of criticising a critic', and he usually gets away scot free. A critic get his psychological sustenance when he is discussed and talked about and also when he is quoted, but his product is in a way parasitic, and feeds on another man's soul.

Yesterday I was witnessing what I would have dismissed earlier as a very badly made film. The actors were overacting, the humour was mediocre and crude, and everything was overstated in many aspects. Then again I realised that the author of the film may be trying with all his heart to seek acceptance. If a critic summarily dismisses the piece as 'not worth considering' we may be making a big mistake in humane terms.  A prickly  plant like a rose bush may be ardently seeking to express its beautiful aspects by putting forth a striking crimson flower together with fragrance and nectar, inviting bees to befriend it, but if the bees reject the flower just because the plant has thorns, that would be a travesty against nature. Hence even while criticising a work of art, it is necessary to consider the humane aspects and be subtle and moderate in the criticism.

Each man and each woman is seeking acceptance in this world, and I feel the world would be a much better place if it is given freely without witholding. Then again, what is given should be genuine and presented as truthfully as possible, and in instances where nothing pleasant can be stated without being untruthful, the critic may be advised to restrain himself and keep his opinion to himself.

The Way to a Woman's Heart

Some people say the way to a woman’s heart is through her brain. Some others say the way to a woman’s heart is through her mouth. Some feel the way to a woman’s heart is through your purse. But I say the way to a woman’s heart is only through the heart and nothing else.

If a woman feels that the way to her heart is through your purse, it is her problem. Don’t make it your problem. Same for a woman who feels that the way to her heart is through her brain. Only a sane woman who knows herself, realizes that the way to her heart is through her heart. In fact such a woman will know that the way to her brain is through her brain and a way to her stomach is through her stomach (not her mouth, mind you, and that goes for men too, for people who think that the way to their stomach is through the mouth (tongue, taste) will overeat and be fat like me!)

I was a fool when I was younger. I thought the way to a woman’s heart was through her brain and repeatedly kept on making the mistake of trying to become an ‘intellectual’. I had to learn the hard way that for a woman to feel loved, you should only love her. And when you love her, you’ll see that it needs no effort to ‘understand’ her. She starts off being understood! And such a woman is not mysterious at all and there is no such thing as: ‘the enigma called woman’!

Today (January 18th 2011) I add that where man mainly fails with a woman is that instead of loving her, he tries to impress her. In my first encounter with a woman, I made the mistake of keeping on trying to impress her instead of making her feel loved. In my heart of hearts I knew she was already impressed. But due to a feeling of inferiority in me due to my slightly disadvantaged economic circumstance, I felt that the only way I could keep her is by keeping her continuously impressed. And this I reckoned I could do by being an intellectual. But even now I am not a hundred percent sure, because I feel I really did a lot to show her she was loved, and inasmuch as I continue to feel that I in fact showed her she was loved, but yet got nothing in return but traumatic experiences, I guess the 'Enigma called woman continues'!

But then what is this love? Frankly I don’t really know how to describe it. At present I think I have it for one person, but life has taught me – ‘Never be too sure!’ If I feel too confident and haughty it may vanish.

I’m saying all this with my experience of two women. But I’m not too sure if I can generalize –“ The world is too complex a place for your simple philosophies…” and Man has repeatedly made a fool of himself.

As an aside, I add that any man who thinks that the way to a woman’s heart is through his purse will soon realize that, in fact, the way to a woman’s purse is through his purse - by the hefty alimony settlements he would have to make.

P.S.  "It takes a very unusual mind to understand the obvious"  (A quote in Bangalore Mirror, 18th Jan, 2011)


Perhaps there is a really principled way to a woman's heart - but to the heart of a principled woman who is lion hearted. Given below is a link to a TED Talk by Kiram Bedi IPS (Retd.) who had the guts to give a Parking Ticket to Indira Gandhi's car. Please click on the link AND GIVE A MINUTE FOR THE PROGRAM TO LOAD AND PLAY.

http://www.ted.com/talks/kiran_bedi_a_police_chief_with_a_difference.html


Deepak Bellur

On Jousting

There was a time in the late seventies and the very early eighties when I had ‘contempt’ for a certain class of people. The target of my contempt were not people who were poorer than me economically – no, I didn’t have that in me for some unknown reason (actually I know the reason: it is because I didn’t have any money myself), but I decidedly nursed contempt for people who I concluded had lesser intelligence than me. Then when I got it in the place where I deserved to get it for such an attitude, I lost the ability to nurse a contempt on any grounds for anyone – how could I ?, when I had a very strong suspicion that the whole world could be more intelligent than I was !

In a way it was good that I lost that intellectual snobbery for I learnt to enjoy the company of people as they came. In fact, coming to think of it, is intellectual snobbery any better than economic (social) snobbery? On a careful consideration of various people who have come into my life, I realize that everybody is superior to me in one way or another – my father has a more powerful will, is not felled by setbacks, some of which were truly very, very dire which he faced boldly. At ninety-three he has a zest for life that I don’t possess at fifty-eight. Some friends of mine are more street smart than me and have established successful businesses despite having practically no capital when they started off. Others who are just mediocre like me have the ability to take life as it comes, without complaint that they are less fortunate than their more shining peers – an ability that I would love to possess. Many are more strong and robust than me. So I conclude that in some way I am inferior to everyone.

With this experience I have lost the ability to feel contempt, but I do feel anger. In fact, these days, having suppressed my anger for years, am looking for ways and means to dissipate it. Writing a blog is just one of the more peaceful ways, and I hope it remains the only way.  But then I am known to have crossed certain limits, and when I lose myself I act without restraint. Fortunately this has never happened except for a very few times in my life, and tragically could even have been avoided.

I think there is some sense in the advice that anger hurts the person who feels it. But swallowing anger is more dangerous than dissipating anger. But how can one dissipate anger if no one is prepared to tolerate the  ranting of a wounded personality? How can one not feel anger if one is constantly invited to joust in a field that he is somewhat incapable? For instance, I may be somewhat incapable in the field of literature but I may be more capable in boxing. Now if a man who is more capable in literature keeps on inviting me to joust in literature, is it wrong of me to invite him to joust with me in boxing or swimming or any of the sports of a more adventurous kind if I am better at it? The rules of the society are rather unfair! To be fair to all I call for a total ban on jousting of any kind! People of the world unite you have nothing to lose but your chains and so on…

An Encounter in The Desert - by J. Swami Nath

In the mid-fifties, we were a trio who were assigned work in the blazing deserts of Rajasthan. First it was me - J. Swami Nath, abbreviated as JSN. Then there was J.G. Krishnamurthy - JGK. And the third was G.J. Chandak - GJC. We were to work in the Jaisalmer district - the name also having the letter 'J' in it, and the rocks around the area were of the Jurassic Period - also with a 'J'. An astute colleague remarked that there were too many 'Js' in the whole project and it was most likely that the results of the work would also have a 'J' in it and would most likely be 'Junk'!

Geological and geophysical work in this region was undertaken as the country was seeking to achieve self-sufficiency in petroleum and to explore for oil and gas. As there were no one inch to a mile maps available, nor were there any air-photos, we had to take recourse to tape and compass traverses along almost horizontal strata (gently dipping at 2 degrees) making the foot upon foot, mile upon mile traverse rather monotonous.

In the course of one such monotonous traverse, JGK and I, very early  one morning, came across an East-West shallow gully that was about thirtyfive feet wide and about seven to ten feet deep. Both walls of the gulch were vertical.  On a monotonously plain terrain, we found this small feature to be exciting as there was a possibility that it could point to a structural geological feature. I asked JGK to remain on top of the valley and that I would venture to examine the depression. Choosing a sandy spot on the river bed that was free of fallen boulders, I leapt into the valley and landed on all fours. I scanned the southern wall and later turned a whole 180 degrees to examine the northern wall from where I had jumped and froze at the sight I saw.

I know not how long I might have stood blank and motionless - JGK surmised it might have been a couple of minutes - even as he was loudly asking from the top of the cliff what was wrong. I scarcely heard him, and getting no response from me, he too jumped in. He too was bewildered at the sight.

Beneath an overhang on the north wall was a niche - a small cavern in the Jaisalmer limestones, at the mouth of which lay a string cot - charpoy as it is locally called. On it sat a gigantic figure about six foot four inch tall, sturdy, and wearing a Rajasthani turban of a flaming colour that lent a radiance to his stately head. His facial  features were overwhelmed by his luxuriant coiled moustache and on his broad chest diagonally ran a cross-belt laden with bullets. His virile wrists were decorated with thick and heavy silver amulets and a little away from him were a pair of camels chewing the cud. To his right, on the wall of the cavern were a couple of glistening rifles placed slanting and menacingly which were within his easy reach. A fire was burning inside the cave.

Neither we nor him were prepared for such an encounter so early in the morning, and the suddenness of it rendered us speechless. Who would make the first move? Perhaps he sized up our pitiable situation: two puny creatures with their moorings lost! Soon a broad smile spread over his visage. Addressing us politely, he enquired what we were doing at that unearthly hour in that god-forsaken place. Most of us wore khakhi for field work in those days and we had an inordinate fear that he may mistake us for police assigned to track him. We neither had the guts, nor even seemed to possess the right to ask him the same question. We told him of the mission we were at and he summed up our replies by saying "Ah! Survey wallahs!" The frigid ice was broken.

He asked us to partake of his breakfast being prepared by his servant deep inside the little cavern. We were served 'Bajra rotis' with a dollop of butter the size of a ping pong ball. Though we were not hungry we did not display the reluctance that we felt as we nibbled at the repast, for we didn't dare to wound his feelings. Nor were we in a condition to enjoy the fare as we were in a fright. As a return gesture we offered to take him in our jeep to drop him anywhere he wanted but he politely declined our offer. We were indeed grateful for his hospitality and courtesy and above all, for sparing our lives when we were at his mercy. He said he had two fast camels that were in excellent health and further informed us that he had an important job to do at Miajhalar - 70 km away, where he had planned to pick up a rich man's son and politely ask for a ransom. The statement was made so casually as if he was to pick up bread from a baker. We did feel sorry for his intended victims, but were in no state to preach or offer advice and we set about to do our own business, which more than geology, was to thank God for this desert encounter that ended well!

The Pratapnagar Enigma - 3 (Continued...)

Editor's Note:

Sorry to say this, but the part 3 is a slight let-down really! As the author says - "That is the last of what I have to say of my experience at Pratapnagar." . I ventured to cut the article at this place in the previous post only to arouse suspense and generate more evidence that there are readers for my blog.   :-)  No one seems to be reading it!   So this trick!   :-)   Anyway, I continue with what the author has to say :

SWAMI NATH'S STORY CONTINUED

That is the last of what I have to say of my experience at Pratapnagar. While Dutt and Gaurishanker had different kinds of experiences, I had none.

A year later, at Narendranagar in Tehri Garhwal district, one night my neighbour was eagerly pointing to a white apparition walking on my backyard compound wall. It was really strange, for assuredly he seemed to be seeing it - judging from the body language - but I saw nothing. At this point I must admit that once, for a couple of nights, when my servant was away, I did hear the sound of vessels being washed. Strangely, my neighbour confirmed that he too heard the sounds. Even today I am positive I heard the sounds but as the Americans say  "I never ever saw no apparition !" My friends to whom I relate these incidents dismiss these as 'some psychic phenomena' but their arguments have not convinced me. Like Hamlet "TO BELIEVE OR NOT TO BELIEVE, THAT'S THE BURNING QUESTION"

Before I end this narrative, it may be of interest when I say that during one of my visits to Pratapnagar, the watchman said that there was a grave with a tombstone about a kilometer away. On my insistence, he even showed it to me. He said that people in the nearby villages believed it to be of an Englishman who had died a mysterious death and was secretly interred there. The watchman was emphatic that the ghost of whomsoever that was buried there made periodic visits to the annexe, particularly on new moon nights, and this was the cause of those lights, music and the noise of clashing billiard balls, which he too had seen.

Given a chance, even now I would love to revisit Pratapnagar more for enjoying the pretty landscape and not for probing the Pratapnagar enigma!

                     (Next Entry : Another story by J. Swami Nath)

The Pratapnagar Enigma - 2 (Continued...) by J. Swami Nath

These things have a way of nagging your mind and keep working like a wee worm in your thought process. Hence I decided to take steps to settle the matter. That evening, after field work, I asked the watchman to open the locked doors of the annexe so that we could take a good look inside. He readily obliged.

Behind our rooms was a very big hall with crystal chandeliers and with stuffed chairs and sofas arranged in a semi-circular fashion with a piano, violin and a few other musical instruments in a corner. They were all  covered with cloth and were thick with dust. A big carpet was rolled and placed against a wall. Dutt was watching me with amusement at my growing bewilderment. The watchman, on his own, opened a side door which led to other rooms, one of which was a billiards room!  At the very centre of this room was an authentic billiards table - its rich green baize being protected by a dusty and soiled cover. Above this table were three large oil-lamps suspended from the high ceiling. There were two rows of such lamps and all the four sides of these two rows of lamps had mirrors to reflect light onto the table. On the sides were the billiard cues standing upright with the billiard balls in wooden drawers. Dutt did not say a word and was closely watching my growing discomfiture.

I have to now stress that this was Dutt's first visit to this place and so was mine. He didn't even have the faintest idea that there was an annexe, though I, having been in the service of the state, was aware of its existence. How then did he narrate the experience of the first night? On some probing, he told me that this sharpness had developed in him due to his frequent visits to cremation grounds. I had nothing to say but had to wait for another occasion to verify this mystery.

Dutt's experience haunted me - I wanted to experience what he did. Some years later, on different field assignments, I had occasions to visit Pratapnagar twice and stay in the same room that Dutt had occupied. Despite being on an all-night vigil, I was sorely disappointed and all that was there was silence. On a later occasion, I invited a friend and my brother-in-law from Madras to spend a couple of days in summer at Pratapnagar. Another friend who was already in his late forties forced himself on us, though we tried to discourage him saying that the trek would be too difficult for him (ultimately we had to arrange for a palanquin from a nearby village halfway). So ultimately we were four in the group who made it to that annexe.

At the annexe, in the room occupied earlier by Dutt, was only one cot, and hence we left it for our elderly companion, even as we accommodated ourselves in the room occupied by me earlier. It being summer, the three of us went up to the very crest of the ridge very early next morning to experience the exhilaration of the grand snowy peaks catch the first rays of the rising sun. We might have spent a couple of hours before joining our elderly friend at the annexe for breakfast. Upon our return, as we caught a glimpse of his face, we could clearly see the ghastly look he sported. On excitedly asking him the reason of his dismay, he gave an account of his experiences of the previous night. It seems he too heard noises behind his room that left him sleepless throughout the night. And even more, he heard the sound of falling drops of water just behind him. If he walked, it followed him; if he sat, he heard it drop just near him. And no drops of water were seen on the floor! I pointed out to him that there was no water supply in the annexe, and that water had to be brought from 60 feet below. He was adamant that he wanted to leave Pratapnagar and move back to Tehri even if it meant going there alone. We hence had to cancel our plans of staying on and were forced to descend to Tehri.

                                                                                 (To be continued...)

The Pratapnagar Enigma - The Strange Experiences of Mr.J.Swami Nath,D.G.,GSI

Editor's Note

I have with me four manuscripts of Mr. J. Swami Nath, Former Director General, Geological Survey of India, who expired a few years ago.  Some time back we were thinking of publishing a brochure and sought real-life experiences from veterans of  GSI, since by the very nature of their jobs, geologists are put into weird situations that are rather strange and striking to the modern urban mind. Mr. Swami Nath sent us four stories of which I have chosen to publish a few here. If I had to be fair to Mr. Swami Nath, I would have to reproduce the manuscript verbatim, but as I identify this blog as something that is 'mine', I take the liberty of effecting, what to my mind, are some aesthetic and stylistic changes to improve the narration. It is quite possible that such stylistic alterations that I do may render the text less attractive in other people's assessment, but I really hope this does not happen and that I succeed.

Mr. Swami Nath retired as Director General on August 1st 1982 after serving in GSI for over 35 years. He has worked in Himachal Pradesh and Garhwal Himalaya and parts of Western Rajasthan. His later service was in Punjab, Karnataka and Orissa and Kerala.

THE PRATAPNAGAR ENIGMA

Pratapnagar - an old capital of the erstwhile Tehri Garhwal State is situated in the Lesser Himalaya at an altitude of about 7000 feet (2121 m). From the ridge overlooking Pratapnagar, one could get a spectacular panoramic view stretching over the horizon, of the grand Himalayan peaks of Bander Punch, Gangotri Group, Kedarnath, Neelkanth, Chaukamba, Trishul and others. On a saddle of this ridge was located an old and now unused palace with its annexe. At the time of my first visit here in the late forties, there was no electricity or water supply. In fact, even a motorable road from Tehri to Pratapnagar didn't exist then and the only approach was by a 7 feet wide mule path over a distance of  over 14 km simultaneously involving a climb of 5000 feet (1515 m). Except for the palace, its annexe, and a few outhouses, there was no habitation in the vicinity. There was a spring about 60 feet below which was the only source of water, and there was no water supply to the annexe and the water had to be manually carried from the spring.

It was to this annexe that we arrived late one evening in the winter of the year 1948 after an exhausting climb from Tehri. Gopindranath Dutt and I were to spend about three days here examining some reported occurrences of copper along this ridge. Mr. Dutt was a newly-wed man and his wife was accompanying him. Being quite spent after the trek, we retired early to bed after a hastily prepared and even more hastily consumed dinner.

The next morning, as always, Dutt and I were ready for breakfast by a quarter past seven so that we could set out for field work by a quarter to eight.  It was then that Mr. Dutt recounted to me his strange experience of the previous night. He told me that he distinctly heard western orchestral music across the wall of his room interspersed with the sound of speeches and clapping of hands.

I had been with Dutt for a couple of weeks by then and had got used to his 'smelling of ghosts'. At that time I was somewhat amused and took his strange recountings as his strenuous efforts to impress his newly married wife of his valour. In fact, I don't know if he realised that they were also frightening her. Much later, I was given to understand that many others too narrated similar experiences in some of the other places we had camped before arriving at Pratapnagar. However, that day I was still new to all this and ignored him the first morning. The next morning he had further stories to tell. He introduced a new element of having seen bright lights in the room behind his. I had to remind him that we had no electricity and that we were working with hurricane lanterns and there was no possible way of him seeing bright lights and saying thus, I closed the issue.

The third morning he seemed even more venturesome. He tried to 'bamboozle me' by telling me that he kept hearing the sound of billiard balls as if billiards was being played! I tried to jauntily explain to him that considering the terribly poor infrastructure that existed when Pratapnagar flourished as a capital, it was quite impossible to haul a billiard table across those steep hills from the plains. He just told me nonchalantly, without feeling hurt, that I could either take his words or leave it.

                                                                         (To be continued...)

Hilarious interactions

Nothing is as funny as to see strongly opinionated people being deflated by the impersonal mechanics of the Universe that does not seem to respect opinions, no matter how sacred and hallowed they seem to be. Quite often you see an imperious man delivering an opinion only to be smashed to smithereens at that very instant. Quite a let down really! And it can be quite embarassing to the pompous pronouncer of opinions.

My father's friend's hobby is to collect the utterances of famous people. He has compiled them in a booklet just for private circulation among his friends. The second quote immediately following the very first quote in the book was:

"THE BALLOT IS MORE POWERFUL THAN THE BULLET" -
                                                                        ABRAHAM LINCOLN

And to think that poor Lincoln was shot! Could there be a better example than this irony of the Universe?

xxx



My father too has rather fixed ideas of how one should be, and has strong views on the right way of doing things. Even when I was thirty years old, and was adult enough to have my own views of things, he would imperiously expound on the 'right' way of doing it, if he found that I had a way different from his.

For instance, just because a shave after a hot bath would soften the stubble and render a smoother shave I, for a short span of a few months, was taking a shave after a bath. In his traditional approach, a shave is always taken before a bath. So when he found me doing this contrary to his set opinion, he didn't like it all.

So it happened one day that when my father's friend who is exactly of the same age as my father was visiting us and we were all seated in the living room and chatting up, my father seeking a strong approval from one of his wise peers and trying to teach the 'ways of the world' to his 30 year old immature son told his friend:

 "If every sane man takes a shave before a bath, this fellow takes a shave after a bath !"

"I too do the same thing", said my father's friend totally unexpectedly, quite innocent of what my father was expecting of him.

"Ibbaru Sarayagiddira", (both of you are similar specimens!) my father muttered in Kannada rather disappointed!

xxx

Another day a rather fiercely assertive friend of mine and I were watching a cricket match on the television which was being accompanied by a running commentary in English, when the following things happened:

I  (in Kannada) :   "Ah! Late cattu!"  (Ah! A Late cut!)

Friend            :     "Cheh! Adhu Late Cut Alla ! Late cut beray thara!
                             Adhu..."

                             ("Sheesh~! That's not a Late Cut! A Late Cut is
                                  played differently! It is...")

The commentator
on the television at
that very instant:      :    "... and he executes a fine late cut! and the ball..."

Friend sheepishly     :   "Oh! adhu late katta...?"

Are such things some sort of an omen?

There was a curious news item in the newspapers of January 5th 2011. I am particularly referring to that which appeared in the Times of India. The paper carried a bold headline:

         "In Arkansas, mystery over 3000 birds falling out of the sky"

There was a photograph too of a felled, bleeding blackbird lying on the ground very, very much dead.

At this point I quote what is written in the report:

    "Still, officials acknowledge it's unlikely they'll ever pinpoint a cause with certainty."

This incident is reputed to have happened on New Year day in the town of Beebe in Central Arkansas.

The real danger lies in the fact that the article opens with the letters "Celebratory fireworks likely sent thousands of discombobulated...  "(whatever that means! Why not confused or disconcerted?) "birds into such a tizzy that they... and so on"

With this apparent attribution of such a mysterious event to 'celebratory fireworks', a reader who reads the news is lulled into an ignorant slumber that could be dangerously comfortable.

I say 'dangerously comfortable' because actually the reasons are unknown (celebratory fireworks are taking place for years and all over the world and such things are totally uncommon) and gives a false sense of security to Man that actually, everything is o.k.

The news item says that this was "the second mass wild-life death in Arkansas in recent days. Last week, about 83,000 dead and dying drum fish washed up along a 20-mile stretch of the Arkansas River, about 100 miles west of Beebe. (Here again, it was only one species of fish that had died. Not all fish. So the people speculated that perhaps they were felled by some sort of a disease!)

Then again, the papers reported (Jan 7th, Times of India)  that more birds were struck the next day too! (was there fireworks again?). But by now, the modern human with short attention span, had relegated the news to a very insignificant three line episode that was lost in the newspaper. People had already got bored.

Such news items makes me sit up and wonder. Or am I getting paranoid?

There is a likelihood that I am being overly-sensitive because, just the day-before-yesterday, (I think it was on the 6th or the 7th of January at around 10 or 10:30 a.m.) the Udaya T.V. news channel had shown a rather long duration clipping of a green auto-rickshaw being driven at an uncommonly high speed IN REVERSE along the main roads of Bangalore. Usually a rickshaw driven in reverse, (to my mind), cannot be driven at such high speeds and that too in such a steady manner. Yet you have it!  Anyway the driver was mindful of stopping at traffic signals!

Am I being paranoid?

The Onion Chutney Brahmastra

For people ignorant of Hindu mythology, I have to explain in some detail that many Indian epic heroes and valiant kings of yore undertook intense penance and subjected their bodies and even their minds to extreme levels of physical strain to please their gods so immensely, that they readily granted any boon their devotees sought. And what did the epic heroes ask? Quite often they asked their gods such  powerful weapons that it was feared some of them could destroy the entire world. The Sanskrit word for weapon is 'Astra' and the 'Bramha Astra' or Bramhastra was supposed to be such a fearsome weapon that even George Bush - well, he represents a contemporary powerful person -would wet his pants!

And now, my friend is one of four siblings (all sons) whose mother is a very affectionate and voluble woman with a perennial genial disposition. The friends of all the four sons simply admire her for her warmth and affection and even more for her generosity. Numerous are the times when she compels us to sit with her and enjoy the food as she doles out, what in Kannada is called 'Kayyi Thuthoo'. Kayyi in Kannada means hand, and thuthoo means a morsel.  So you have it: a hand morsel. Well, this is a way of sharing food in a sort of communion, where the mother mixes out large quantities of cooked rice with Sambar, Rasam, yogurt and so on. The Sambar-Rice combo is scooped out in the palm and worked out into fairly large spherical balls that would fit in the palm and are handed out to the avid, hungry admirers squated cross-legged on the barren floor, who heartily devour the delectable fare.  The fare doled out is also accompanied by many dollops of interesting anecdotes of her village life when she was a young girl, and more interesting ones after she wed and moved to Bangalore.

The four sons have their individual tastes and each of them likes a different dish of their mother's cooking. So if the eldest son loves the 'Avarekai Saru' (a type of soup made from a particular variety of bean found in South India), the second one loves the mixed vegetable Kootu. It seems the third son prefers Ash Gourd Majjige Huli (a type of dish made from yogurt) and the last sibling loves his mother immensely just for the way she makes the Rasam. So the mother is able to hold the reins of her four horses and direct the chariot of her family ably and deftly where she wants it to go.

However there are occasional problems. The four sons are married after all, and it is quite natural to find the attentions of her sons flagging at times and straying more towards their wives. The mother is a wise woman and she lets the sons stray, for after all it is their lives, but when she finds the attentions of one of her sons weakening below a critical limit, she chooses to cook the favorite dish of that son and invites him for a lunch with a degree of nonchalance, that the son immediately accepts the invitation. On arriving at the mother's house he is exhilarated that she has perchance cooked his favourtie dish, and the sons energy levels towards the mother are recharged. The timing and spacing of the intervals of such 'Kayyi thuthoo' invitations are handled with immense restraint and wisdom.

Despite all care taken, it has happened very, very occasionally that the sons have strayed away from the mother in a rather threatening way. It has indeed happened once or twice that despite inviting all the four sons they have seemed to stray rather irrevocably. For such dire emergencies she employs the Onion Chutney Bramhastra.

To let you in on her secret, this is a dish cooked from a mixture of onions, coconut and a combination of spices in amounts that is a closely guarded secret. This dish seems to be the avowed favorite of not only the four sons but is also immensely appreciated by all the four daughters-in-law as well. This dish is prepared by her in such an exquisite way that all differences, divisions and boundaries seem to just melt away and one seems to acquire the ultimate yogic experience of 'unifying with the divine'. With the Onion Chutney-Cooked Rice  Kayyi thuthoo, peace and order and dharma is restored in the universe.

The Recipe

Onion                                      - 1/2 kg
Red Chillies (Byadgi type)     - 20 to 25
Fenugreek (Methi seeds)        - 3/4th teaspoon
Mustard seeds                         - 2 (two) teaspoons
Asafoetida (Hing)                   - one pinch
Tamrind                                  - a ball of about a medium lemon.
Jaggery Powder                      - 1 to 2 (one to two) teaspoons
Oil                                          - 4 or 5 (Four to Five) tablespoons
Salt                                         - to taste

                                      Method

1. Chop the onions to small pieces.
2. Dry roast Fenugreek and red chillies. And powder it in blender.
3. To this powder add onions, tamrind, salt, jaggery powder and make a fine paste in a blender
    without adding water.
4. In a kadai heat the oil sufficiently (for seasoning) and pour mustard seeds. After the mustard sputters, add asafoetida and the onion paste.
5. Saute the contents of the kadai in a low flame till the raw onion flavour disappears.
6. During sauteing a little oil may be added if necessary.
7.  Fine-tune the taste by a little manipulation.


Note:  This recipe is as much as my friend's mother revealed to my wife. As it is a secret that one woman has cared to reveal to another, much may still be hidden that prevents the dish to come up to the standards of the 'original' as developed by my friend's mother !  :-0