Dharma, in Hinduism, refers to the inherent nature of everything. It’s the cosmic law which sustains the universe. It is the guiding principle of individuals and society. It is the moral compass in humans. It can also mean the ethics of profession. In one word it refers to the ‘right way of harmonious living’.
As is with all multidimensional concepts the word dharma too is given to a variety of interpretations based on individual understanding.
Recently, this word cropped up in an unusual conversation. I and my neighbour were cribbing over how highly priced the vegetables were especially the ones sold by our mobile vegetable seller, Kalu. He enjoys a monopoly as he is the only one who comes to the Block to sell vegetables door to door.
To this Kalu replied, “ Yeh to mera dharam hai.” (This is my dharma).
I wondered what he meant by dharma. Did it mean that he had a right to sell the veggies at a higher price ? Did it mean he had a right to earn profit on his own terms? Did he mean in a monopolistic situation he had a right to call the shots in so far as pricing of the product was concerned?
We did not continue the conversation. But I am still wondering.
Mrs. Brown was our middle school Math teacher. A martinet. She never smiled. Her salt and pepper strands were knitted in a tight knot at the back of her head. She had a few synthetic sarees which she regularly repeated. Her grey eagle eyes spotted the disruptors in class at lightning speed. And she was given to “ensuring dire consequences” if anyone failed to give the correct answer to convoluting algebraic equations. In short, she was a terror.
She had a wide range of “antidotes” for the inattentive deviators in class which varied on a day to day basis. Someday it was squatting before the class, some day it would just be standing at one’s seat for the entire period and some day it would be accompanied with holding of the ears by the hand. On certain hard days it would be an echoing slap. The head bashing came as a kind of an extreme measure – an under-the-belt punch which landed unexpectedly on a miniscule few. What triggered it I have not been able to fathom but it was done with great expertise as none of the ‘victims’ ended up with a bruised or blackened forehead or a constant ringing in the ears. There were mild swellings with a conspicuous redness which evaporated after a while. But the thud of the collision reverberated as much as in the student’s consciousness as within the four walls of the classroom. I guess it was to just jolt the repeated offenders out of their unabated stupor.
In her class every student thus sat ram rod straight and still unflinchingly focussed on the blackboard whether they comprehended the subject or not. However, her corporeal punishments were never a cause of parental uproar because teachers in those days were considered GODS. They were NATION BUILDERS and tomorrow’s CITIZEN GROOMERS.
Those who got routinely “chastised” by her in class let it pass with a mischievous chuckle after the bell rang. Her “physical abuses”, in modern parlance, never stayed. Rather there was a pool of sympathetic rationalization of her “roguish” behaviour amongst pupils.
“She is a widow.”
“She was ill treated in life.”
“Her son does not stay with her.”
“She had a short, unhappy marriage.”
And such other imaginary backstories persisted and transmitted down from seniors to juniors. She was undoubtedly a very fine teacher (in so far as the art of transmission of knowledge was concerned) looked upon by us with dread mixed with respect.
I remember a rare occasion when she praised me in class for securing 60% in her subject – a quantum leap for an average middle bencher.
I wonder whether we were tougher material who survived the likes of her unscathed than the ones who have to now undergo therapies and counselling at the drop of a hat. The very recent and disturbing trend of suicides by children in Delhi and Jaipur on account of harrassment by educators who treat them as pawns in the rat race to secure a “position” for the school leading to vehement protests by parents and students alike is a case requiring serious investigation, penal action and corrective direction for the future.
The news reports state that the Delhi boy’s suicide was preceded/abetted by days of humiliation, threats of public shaming and even issuance of a Transfer Certificate. The Principal and the concerned teachers have been suspended from the school for their outrageous behaviour towards the hapless child.
But of course, a comparison between our educational upbringing and contemporary style of schooling is not relevant because the word competition had not then made an insidious inroad into career modelling. I don’t remember my parents pressuring me to become an “A-lister” in school. Neither do I recall being mocked or bullied by the monitor and wiz kids of the class for being poor in any of the subjects. The term “achiever” had not entered our dictionary. Nor was I castigated ever at home for not scoring a certain percentage in Mathematics. And that made me quite cosy with my arithmophobia pre and post Mrs. Brown.
This is a quick and in-the-face uptake on the burning issue of students taking their lives which is plaguing the society at present and not an elaborate anatomical analysis of its causation.
Though the educationists, consultant psychologists and child behaviourists have started an incessant rant on how the “psychological narrative” of the children is being overlooked by the “education enforcers”, yet what is more significant is to understand that every child as an individual has a specific, ingrained potential which is required to be identified and nurtured instead of following a uniform pattern of herding the flock in a convenient in-vogue mould.
In case of such spate of incidents with macabre fallouts it’s the perspective and vision of the educational institution which largely comes under question than the aptitudes of the students. It is pertinent to mention that many school/college drop-outs are better placed career wise than the potentially remarkable ones. Those in between and also nowhere in the row of wizards and whacko talents usually find an anchor down the line because kids in general today are more informed, innovative and enjoy greater exposure than we did at our time.
So, in place of carving clones out of human clay it’s better to let them grow on their own. At best the schools can be instrumental in providing appropriate and encouraging platforms for locating and honing individual skills and not become concentration camps of spartan training in a bid to outrun each other.
It’s highly debatable whether the stomach is the gateway to a more nourished soul. A happy stomach is undoubtedly a mind booster. Our ancient sages say that the purification of body and mind is essential for an upliftment of the soul. Taking a cue from that I’ll say a satisfied and well functioning stomach is a lubricant for the mind and coolant for the soul. 😂😂
After the multiple surgeries of the intestines I have become very conscious of my body, specifically, my stomach. Though my surgeon complains that I listen too much to my body. That apart, it is his strictest instruction to see how my stomach reacts to food. If it revolts then I need to exclude that particular stuff from my diet. It’s easy to keep a tab on my tummy as it responds immediately.
That said I do not believe in depriving myself of the savouries. I eat them in small quantities now and not too often. But there are certain cravings which I have to consciously save myself from. First and foremost, the incorrigible salivation for sweets. Please do not expect me to save a box of sweets for days in the fridge and have little by little. I simply can’t.
After every meal I need my tongue to roll over something sinfully sweet. I know why. It’s because I like chatpataa khana ( I make them accordingly) which leaves a tingling taste in my mouth. To balance it out a dollop of sweetmeat is a must.
But the problem is it doesn’t stop there. The day before yesterday I got a small box of motichoor laddus. Lo and behold! It’s finished in one and a half days!! Ohhh 😦😦
The next red flag is junk, especially, chips – thespicier the better, nutcrackers – crunchy, tangy masala peanuts coated in chickpea batter – fried of course and such others!! But I have found a way to minimize the consumption. I buy the smaller packs now – Rs.10/- or Rs. 20/- a packet – which is half empty. The vendor says that we are actually paying for the air inside the tetra pack. But that’s fine for gluttons like me. 😁😁
I am pining for street food which is absolutely banned for me. No outside food. But we do have branded outlets for these sinful savours. The surgeon has even given me permission to have them once in a blue moon. Though with a caveat, “Try once and see how your gutbehaves.” And that’s what has stayed me put. The fear of the outcome. 😨 😨
But what is life without a little bit of deviation. And one such detractor is Maggi – the 2 Minutes Instant Noodles – Masala or Chicken flavour – any. I just can’t get over them. No saving here. But again I am groaning under self imposed embargos – only once or twice a week. That’s all. 😆😆
And then the crispy samosas with lipsmacking chhole and green mint chutney and red tamarind sauce !!! Haven’t had them for aeons. 😢😢
Near the local vegetable market there is a street stall which sells the most awesome bun tikka or burger with a filling of crispy potato tikka with a side dish of onion and cucumbersalad and the yummiest red sauce. I don’t visit the market anymore. So no more bun tikkas. 😭😭
Well, it’s better to have minimal quantities at longer intervals rather than total renunciation. The latter may make me healthier but at the cost of psychosomatic repercussions. So I give in to the former. 😛😛
And it’s not that I am emptying out all my savings on them. Just a wee bit though.
Moral of the day : Be wickeder to deal with life’s wicked challenges WITHOUT an iota of guilt.
As I have said in my earlier post I am into Christmas movies now. You are supposed to enjoy the breezy happily ever after romances without employing your grey cells much. But my problem is I start analysing what I see after a point.
Broadly the plot of these movies revolves around the barren, boring lives of either of the lead pair finding solace in heaps of work post heartbreak or in the absence of/unsatisfactory love life or in case of a just not into romance kind of scenario. Then there’s a friend/sister/niece/business partner who acts cupid and suddenly the pair realises that they have found true love in each other. Operation Mistletoe follows this oft beaten track.
But Renovation Romance goes one step further. Reality Show co-hosts who are also lovers in real life help mend relationships of couples on the brink of falling apart unable to cope with the pressures of house renovations. Now who has heard of that?
While bringing such a couple together on a Christmas Special Episode the hosts realise they are no longer in love with each other. The movie ends with swapping of partners…well almost. Here the bickering couple says goodbye to each other and there you have the just-out-of-relationship man eagerly kissing the hostess of the Show professing forever love – all back to back. Now how long such a relationship is going to last I wonder !!
As much as I love Pakistani Serials, in a recent watch, an ordinary middle aged Professor is made to believe by his female colleague that he is in love with his much much younger student who is also the daughter of the city don. Socially, culturally and mentally there is no match between the two. The lady who is compelling the man to fall in love with a girl fit to be his daughter is actually in love with him. That’s how complicated the plot line of Main Manto NaheenHun is. Seriously…???
In the slow cooked Serial Biryani a boy of rich feudal background falls in love with a self made middle class girl. He proposes to marry her while keeping the fact a secret that he is already married to his cousin who is five years older than him. Now comes the twist.
The cousin marriage is a sham because neither of them have been able to get over the sister-brother bonding. They are friends sharing secrets. The wife knows the husband is going astray and encourages him to do so because she too wants to be out of this unconsummated marriage or so it seems. In a bid to free her spouse of this suffocating togetherness she goes all out to coax the other woman in his life to accept and get married to her husband. Well…what do you call it ? Supreme sacrifice or a convenient connivance ?
The last but not the least is the playboy turned stalker harassing a medical student from an educated family of doctors in the name of again …. love. The poor rich boy hails from a dysfunctional family where parents behave like personal rivals. There’s a wise, loving, grounded grandmother too who keeps appearing on the screen to do her bit of moral policing but fails entirely. The entitled brat does not know the value of money or relationship because he has been taught neither.
However, what’s bothering about the serial is that we know the girl, though at present resisting, will eventually fall for the bad ‘un. It’s quite apparent. The question is why ? She is beautiful, intelligent, educated and belongs to a loving family deeply rooted in values. She has nothing in common with the guy who has loads of money and faltu time to spend hours in front of her house. He burns down their new car purchased with hard earned money in a fit of vengeance. Next you know he buys the same model out of turn with an exorbitant additional amount to reinforce his puppy love for her.
He is also instrumental in breaking up the girl’s elder sister’s engagement. After all these fiascos the girl’s heart is going mushy mushy little by little over this scoundrel because women are intrinsically caring, loving, nurturing, self torturing and believing that they can actually transform a spoilt punk into a noble character. Isn’t it an insult to modern empowered womanhood ? Where is her celebrated cerebrum gone?
Meri Zindagi Hai Tu which literally means You Are My Life raises concern about the kind of man woman relationship the Serial envisages when an adult male confuses obsession for love and obstinacy for romance…
As is with me, I have to translate a story written in Bangla into English though it is never an exact copy. I do add or subtract bits and pieces here and there but retain the essence.
The link to the Bangla story is given above.
That brings me to the serendipitous find that the footfall on my Bangla Blog Space (https://vanderloost.blogspot.com) have crossed one lakh!! I am immensely grateful to all those readers who have made it possible.
Now coming to the story. Here it is…to be taken with a large pinch of pink salt.
😂😂😂😂
***
My land line…yes, you have heard me right. I do have a medieval landline which does not come of any use. It just rests on the side table indolently. But as is with me, it too generates work for itself.
And starts ringing at the oddest hours of the day. I pick up the receiver but no one replies from the other end. Then who makes it ring?
Maybe the call is from light years away…
Once upon a time I was plagued by this very strong feeling that one fine day an extra terrestrial being will definitely get in contact with me.
There came a day when my sister and brother-in-law made my fidgety self sit patiently and explained in detail the difference between real and unreal, life and fiction, scientific and unscientific and fact and fancy.
Yet a slim ray of hope kept nudging my heart.
Even today the phone rang.
Early morning.
I picked up expectantly.
“Hullo…Hullo…” I shouted at an unimaginably high decibel.
Which met with icy silence.
” O! Dear friend
Speak up my name
Open up to me
Am waiting at this end”
Emotionally charged , I became poetic.
Perhaps those tear sodden lines will melt the glacial voicelessness from the rear end of the universe.
After the recent attack of cervical spondylosis I realised screen time management was an imperative for me. The pain, swelling and stiffness in the shoulders did not permit even holding the mobile in hand for long. I took a break from blogging.
As I got better I thought of resuming but a little pressure on my hands brought back the pain, swelling and the dreaded vertigo. I am much better now but my shoulders are weak and need constant monitoring, care and exercises.
I have resumed blogging. I post sometimes twice even thrice a day. If I have something on my mind I don’t let it sit or fade away. I take it out of my system. Its therapeutic. So no compromise on that. But I have fixed a routine. I choose a time which does not affect or hamper other daily chores or important works. I let the thoughts out and then keep away the mobile from my vicinity.
I only receive calls from family and known callers. If I miss out on any messages and notifications I always respond back later. I am not a WhatsApp person. I check the mail periodically and reply. I am off reading on Kindle at present. But I do devote some time to read/like/comment on the posts of fellow bloggers.
I have restricted OTT watch to an hour a day. I am not using laptop for certain medical reasons but hope to do so in good time in a restrained manner. The biggest change that I have consciously adopted is keeping away from mobile at bedtime. No scrolling in bed. Instead I put on an audio story or a mind stimulating talk which acts as a great sleep inducer as well.
Post retirement I am consciously following a minimalistic lifestyle. That curbs the desire for unnecessary online browsing and shopping.
Having said that there are cheat days. To err is human. The big thing is to realise that you are cheating and make amends.
I do not believe in prolonged digital fasting which in today’s time is impractical. But I do follow an intermittent schedule of digital detoxification. I call it Digital Doori or Digital Distancing.
How about you all? How are you maintaining sanity in this era of overwhelming digital dependence? Please share if you have some good tips for improvement.
This year I am writing a lot on November. Though I must say till now it was a month I never bothered about much. For me autumn ended with October.
Yesterday evening in the park I suddenly realised that flowers were still in bloom (given the fact that this month is the threshold for the cruel winter). But there was something amiss about them. As though they were ready to go. They knew they had to go.
I don’t know the name of this red flower. But they looked quite pleased with themselves.
However, the sadaabahaars were an exception. They twinkled and glowed true to their name which means evergreen or forever.
This huge tree in the middle of the park always gives me the creeps. Look at its roots. Ugh!!
Nature presents all the nava rasaas or the nine fundamentals of emotions which includes even the vibhatsya or the grotesque or extremely ugly which invokes fear or disgust.
The AI describes the concept of nava rasaas thus :
The nava rasas are the nine fundamental emotions or “aesthetic essences” in Indian Classical performing arts, such as dance and drama.
They are:
Shringara (love)
Hasya (laughter)
Karuna (sorrow)
Raudra (anger)
Veera (courage)
Bhayanaka (fear)
Bibhatsa (disgust)
Adbhuta (wonder) and
Shanta (peace)
These emotions are conveyed through bhava (facial expressions and gestures) to evoke a corresponding rasa (emotional state) in the audience.
Shringara (Love): Evokes romance, beauty, and devotion.
Hasya (Laughter): Represents mirth, humor, and joy.
Karuna (Sorrow): Expresses sadness, grief, and compassion.
Raudra (Anger): Conveys fury, wrath, and outrage.
Veera (Courage): Embodies heroism, bravery, and valor.
Bhayanaka (Fear): Represents terror, horror, and dread.
Bibhatsa (Disgust): Evokes revulsion and aversion.
Adbhuta (Wonder): Expresses amazement, awe, and surprise.
Shanta (Peace): Conveys serenity, tranquility, and calmness.
Nature in its quiet imperceptible ways demonstrates all these bhavas or emotions.
Do you agree ?
But I am still grappling with the right word to denote the emotion that the November Blooms evoke – the acceptance and even an eager wait for the end…the eternal passage or crossover.
What emotion or state of mind does it bring up in you?
For me, ideally it should be an all encompassing feeling of all the good deeds done to satisfactory completion. No loose ends remaining it’s time to tidy the table, put off the lights and leave the room quietly…no remorse …no looking back…not the smallest urge to stay put.
