the deplorable state of cops in AP (in particular Hyd)

here, I reprint a letter written to cmap@gov.in many moons ago.
There was no response; on the other hand, cops camp in Raj Garden (read story below) and put me under 'observation'. Ho hum.

All the while I thought big brother is not bothered to watch (over) me. Glad He does!

==
[To
Right honourable CMAP Shri NKK Reddy garu]

Sir,
It is with great regret that I report an incident that happened an hour ago.

The youngsters, and a lot of oldsters, were out on the streets celebrating India's cricket victory. I was out there too. I was cheering the guys, at the same time - making sure that the traffic was not disrupted. I was telling the guys to let the vehicles go on, after a brief stop - say cheers and all that.

The kids were taking up half the road, so I was indicating incoming traffic to move to the middle or even right, so they could pass along.

This is Vidyanagar, at 11.30 PM. My name is Sankara Sastry Rajanala. My (rented) house is opposite Raj Gardens function palace in the lane opposite AMS hospital; you can tell your cops to find me - that should not be difficult.

You can also tell your top cops to find out who was on duty at that hour (about 11.30 pm after India won the world cup).

All I did was to indicate to them - they were on bikes - to stay clear of the left side and go in the middle or to the right. They were very impolite, "abe, ja yahan se'

I was doing my part as a responsible citizen, keeping peace and quiet and order, in the midst of this crazed youth.

and I get this rudeness in response to this.

You cannot run a state of 8 crores with less than one lakh cops: you need decent citizens like me to keep things in order, at least until the cops arrive. And when they arrive, they give me abusese?

This is not fair.

The police department cannot do anything about the anti-social elements of the state, and they target innocent, well-meaning citizens like me.

And that leads, and adds, to the conflict between decent citizens and the law-and-order folks.

I hope you can do something about that.

The least I expect is an apology from those two boys (the cops) who said nasty things to me.
Else, you are adding to the disgruntled intellectual property of your state.

God bless you and your government. God save it from bad cops.

Is YSR A Congress Leader Or Jagan’s Father Only?

revisiting lanes thru which one has been

The following is a year old. It was inspired by Jagan's craving to eat out of his father's soul. YSR, they say, had a soul. A decent soul.

One time on television when Tushar Gandhi was claiming royalty for some US corporate using Gandhi's name, one man in the audience said: If there is any royalty, it should go to everyone in India because he is the father of the nation. [I agree; Tushar, I don't think as your grandfather, he is worth even char-anna.]

In short, Gandhi can either be Tushar's grand-dad or the father of the nation; not both at one and the same time. In the same vain, if YSR had a decent soul and acquired the warmth of the people, the credit cannot all be 'inherited' by Jagan. At least, the Congress party would like a piece of the action. That is what happened over the past one year.

Now read on what I said a year ago:

First the big story: the Supreme Court decides to reopen the case against Union Carbide – the company responsible for the Bhopal massacre. The charges against the accused may be changed from criminal negligence to culpable homicide; just may… This is good news, but it seems that Warren Anderson is gonna go scot free. And Dow Chemicals will wash its hands off the episode – with scents from Arabia if necessary. Yes, the ‘itr’ from the middle east (and the oil) can wash any stain! Even Lady Macbeth's bloody hands....

When Tushar Gandhi Was Baffled

There was a show on one of the national channels some time ago (It was a discussion of aam janta with some big shots from media and politics and so on – with big-mouth Barkha Dutt moderating it). Among the experts, or stars, of the show was Tushar Gandhi – a grandson of Mahatma Gandhi. The issue that was debated was the use of Mahatma Gandhi’s name by some U.S. company. There are a lot of ads in the U.S. (on bill boards) issued in public interest which say: Mahatma Gandhi – what did he have? Soul… Pass it on. That kind of stuff is ok, but commercial use of Mahatma Gandhi is not acceptable, to Tushar Gandhi. He said that the company should pay royalty to his kith and kin. One guy in the audience responded to it roundly: “Is Gandhi your grandfather or the father of the nation? If he is your grandfather alone, then he cannot be the father of the nation. If he is, on the other hand, the father of the nation, then the royalty should be shared by all Indians.” This baffled Tushar Gandhi and he retracted his claims.

My Father’s Son…

Mr Y S Jaganmohan Reddy is caught in a similar predicament. If the late lamented Dr Y S Rajasekhar Reddy is his father and his father alone, then he can claim his legacy. On the other hand if YSR is a Congress leader, the entire party has a claim to his legacy. This is precisely what the Congress high command wants him to be clear about right now. All this while, Jagan’s followers said that there is no clear directive from the high command: but 10 Janpath has responded to the poser Just In Time. It is now up to the dirty dozen who are behind Jagan to respond. Do they want to pay homage to YSR as a Congress leader, or as Jagan’s father? [Over the past year, the number swelled to 29; but I think that includes some MLCs too. -Ed.]

The AICC made it clear that on the occasion of YSR’s first death anniversary, district-wise meetings would be held, where the local MPs and MLAs participate – along with the district Congress presidents, and distribute Rs 100, 000/- to the next of kin of those who committed suicide after YSR’s untimely death. The amount is much higher than what Jagan has been doling out. At the same time, this is an ‘official’ ceremony which no Congressperson can miss. As the MP of Kadapa, Jagan himself is expected to take part in the meeting in Kadapa: that is the Lakshmana Rekha which he cannot cross. And if he does, he will be leaving the party of his own volition.

A brief history of what transpired in the past two months: Jagan meets the supremo with his mother; the boss tells him not to go on the odarpu yatra, that the party itself will conduct meetings. Jagan goes public with the dialog with Madame, and asserts his intent to go ahead with the yatra. “Soniaji said No, but I am going ahead with the yatra”, he told the press and media people.

YSR is a Congress leader to be cherished as such by all Congressmen and Congresswomen, such legacy as he had is not personal property. [But if Jagan insists on it, then the legacy will be proven to be dirty money, was the threat then. Now proven. -Ed]

Therein lies the rub: the Congress owns YSR and disowns his son who is defiant. And I always maintained that the supremo will not waste her breath talking about a nonentity called Jagan.

In tennis, a game can be won in four serves – 15; 30; 40; game. This time around when the high command serves (say, a show-cause to Jagan), that will be game, set, and match for Mrs Gandhi.[[Actually, Jagan capitulated even before the show-cause was served. -Ed.]

May God grant Madame Sonia good health and long life.

==

on a personal note

The less science we have all round, the better off we will be. I think Gandhiji said something of that sort. In fact the fewer humans we have on earth, the better for the planet: that is what the Voluntary Human Extinction Society tries to propagate. I am not a card-carrying member of that society, but there is something in what they say: check out www.vhem.org.

Tailpiece: Where do ants go in summer? Ant-arctica.

biologically, why doesn't the coconut fall on you?

As god willed it, the coconuts are supposed to grow within 6 km off the seashore. That is about all. You should not plant them in Hyderabad (or you should worry what happens if a coconut falls on your head). I don't know if the coconut's curse, aforementioned (http://sankarar.blogspot.com/2011/08/coconuts-curse.html) applies to trees (and fruit thereof) which took root in Hyderabad.



This is what happens ecobiologically. The whole idea of breaking apart env and bio is disgusting: so here is the example.

The coconut grows and yields fruit. Month after month, you have a person coming by and shaking up the loose ones, with one hand. You collect them and sell them: if you mix it with white rum, you get wonderful coconut white rum. In America and the west, they make it with the brand malibu. Booh hoo. I wanna make Masula Masala. About masula, a little down this blog.

Then what happens is only the dry ones remain, after the fruity ones are shaken away. The dry are swept away in a wind. Even the shakiest of them would not budge unless there is a strong appeal from the sea. The old and the bold.

They would never fall all over other people. They lived high up the top of the palm head. Heady?
Headstrong, maybe. But never hit your head.

Even in Hyderabad, I have seen an old coconut falling right in front of my eyes and I did not bat an eyelid. I picked it up, and kept it aside, because it is a good seed.

That is how we had a supply of coconut back in the agrahaaram.

Watch this space for Jayakanthan's "The cat in the agrahaaram".

Masula, as the Greeks Knew it

An excerpt from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Masulipatam

The town has existed since the 3rd century BCE (Satavahana period) when, according to Ptolemy, it was known as Maisolos. The Periplus of the Erythraean Sea calls it Masalia in the 1st century CE.^[2] The port is located on the southeastern, or Coromandel Coast, of India. Situated in the mouth of the River Krishna on the Bay of Bengal, the Masula port saw flourishing sea trade. It was a 17th-century port for French, British and Dutch trade. The port has a medium-size fishing harbour which can accommodate 350 fishing vessels and an active carpet-weaving industry. The other products from the town include rice, oilseeds and scientific instruments. This town is a railway terminus and an important educational centre.

==

the coconut's curse

back in the agrahaaram, in Machilipatnam, where I grew up, we always had many coconut trees in the backyard. Later we tried to plant some in the front and some by the side; of the four, only two survived. One died early, the other had to be butchered because it bent onto the terrace (or so my brother said: as far as I looked, it was way off the plinth.

what if a coconut falls down on one of us?

I used to sit in the backyard (the front was west-facing and obnoxious) among all the adults, and wonder if a coconut falls anytime! Another thing I was scared of was pralayam; they made it sound like it was irrational. Before Layam, pralayam has to happen. I don't worry about that much now.

back to the coconut grove

It almost looked liked that to me because on all four sides, for as long as I could remember, there were these overarching coconuts in the backyard and me wondering if one loose coconut would fall - on anyone of us... that would be enough pain for a life time. Later two lightenings hit us and we lost count; let us keep this biological and not make it a soppy boiblog.

The question is, what if a or the coconut falls? Who do I ask? Amma...
mother do you think the coconut will fall? If no, why no?
[mother do you think they'll try to break my soul...]

Mom told me that the coconut had a curse

I heard it first and the only time from my ma; I am not sure if this curse is a blessing, really; my biological explanation will follow, either in this piece (later on) or tomorrow (or later on).

Once upon a time, many people died of coconuts falling on their heads, and they suffered a lot. Palm trees did not cause trouble because they were tended to daily. But coconuts were a wild lot. And so the people who lived in the vicinity of coconuts prayed together; god appeared and asked what is the problem. They said here it is - in your creation are trees which grow wild and bear fruit which make no sense, and on top of it, they keep falling on our heads and it is a pain inded, me Lord.

The good lord thought for a bit and said, "Hereby
I curse the fruit of coconut not to fall on heads
human or cattle; they are free to fall when no one is watching
I ordain that they grow old and fall when there is a big wind to carry them farth
My diktat to the trees is not to bear such fruit as would fall on any passing-by head."

Thereby, said amma, there is no fear
The coconut will never fall no matter what be

There is no historic evidence of coconuts causing damage
Whereas palm-wine did much noise in the past and now

==

Jagan will eat chippa koodu

I think perceptive readers would remember the title (as above or something similar) some time ago in Bottomline. It was printed and published.

There is, alas, no search button in blogspot; I have to fit in some metadata myself, I guess.

What is common between Vive Kananda and Ramanujan?

They both vanished early. That is what they did, at different points of time. Osho put a stone on his grave saying he visited earth briefly (for all of 80 years)? And the whole of sex-crazed America is still looking for God and ecstasy.

Subash Babus is said to be alive, and May He Well Be Alive, in Viet Nam or someplace. His mission, whatever it was, is still unfinished. That is why you have Bharateeyudu even now.

But what did Vivekananda do? He came, he saw the parched earth, and he said: even god dare not appear before a hungry man except in the form of bread (roti). Gandhi then gave off his upper cloth to a woman whose child was hungry.

All of it, he did in 40 years and flew off. If you know what you wanna do and have a plan how to do it (a mission, as they say in the corporate world), you will do it in a quarter of the time it takes other people to mess around with others' lives and achieve nothing and vanish into thin air.

Vive, the bird, flew into outer space; and onto other planets. Holier than ours, maybe? More wretched than this earth? Maybe...

But before he left, he planted some earthquakes here: watch this space for late-breaking news and popular tsunami videos. When people realize God in the form of food security, remember it was He who awakened mother earth, and her children, to yield. More...

So did Ramanujan

In school we were told that Srinivasa Ramanujan planted a lot of landmines in math. This is what http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Srinivasa_Ramanujan#In_popular_culture is perceived as:
==

* An international feature film on Ramanujan's life was announced in 2006 as due to begin shooting in 2007. It was to be shot in Tamil Nadu state and Cambridge and be produced by an Indo-British collaboration and co-directed by Stephen Fry and Dev Benegal. A play, First Class Man by Alter Ego Productions, was based on David Freeman's First Class Man. The play is centered around Ramanujan and his complex and dysfunctional relationship with Hardy.
* Another film, based on the book The Man Who Knew Infinity: A Life of the Genius Ramanujan by Robert Kanigel, is being made by Edward Pressman and Matthew Brown.
* In the film Good Will Hunting, the eponymous character is compared to Ramanujan.
* "Gomez", a short story by Cyril Kornbluth, describes the conflicted life of an untutored mathematical genius, clearly based on Ramanujan.
* A Disappearing Number is a recent British stage production by the company Complicite that explores the relationship between Hardy and Ramanujan.
* The character Amita Ramanujan on the television show Numb3rs is named after Ramanujan.
* The novel The Indian Clerk by David Leavitt explores in fiction the events following Ramanujan's letter to Hardy.
* An episode of Ancient Aliens produced by The History Channel mentions how Hardy met Ramanujan. It goes on to mention that Ramanujan's work has application today in String Theory and might contain insights into future applications in science including multiple dimensions, wormholes, levitation and more.
* On March 22, 1988, the PBS Series Nova aired a documentary about Ramanujan, "The Man Who Loved Numbers" (Season 15, Episode 9).

Dushman na kare dost ne woh kaam kiya hain...

zindagi aur bataa tera iraada kya hain?

I don't suppose I can rest before I get this out of my system: Shabana said that people were 'interrogating' her rather than interviewing her.

The applicant sitting across the table is not a sinner or a criminal, or a woman of loose morals. And definitely not my girl friend.

I lost my job at Tumbleweed because they shut shop in India; I was put on PIP at Cisco for not being able to do excel sheets. Is that a crime?

aap ka kya hoga, janaabe ali?

I feel let down not because my judgment about Shabz - apparently - is wrong; but because I thought she would get a decent trial.

I was told during my inquisition that I am not good technically, to be a writer. Now I feel insecure!

That is several years after http://download.oracle.com/docs/cd/B11454_01/11.5.9/acrobat/igs115api.pdf

An excerpt: Oracle Student System Open Interfaces User’s Guide, Release 11i
Part No. B10522-02
Copyright © 2003, 2000 Oracle Corporation. All rights reserved.
Primary Author: Sankara Rajanala
==
One of the contributors, Carl Vadnais, is now VP or above.

sweetness and light

There is too much tamas in this world; it is not darkness, as many think: tamas is materialism. Whether it is of the capitalist (consumerist variety) or the marxist type (long live the shackles of the proles).

Tamasoma jyotirgamaya: from materialism towards light. Wow. From 'being' material to eternal life, eternal light. Because light is the ultimate constant.

Because light is energy. Because light is the life force.

We will discuss sattva and rajas another time; suffice it to say now that rajas works out to something like 'work' sans energy. Routine, compromise, adjustments, squabbles, confrontations, skirmishes, and wars. And ruins...

Satva: the sublime; the formless, the light, the caring and the big deal!
I am not qualified to say anything more now.

==
oh black-eyed girl, what kind of a boy do you want?
I will set up the exact match tomorrow morn
when you wake up he will bring in tea to your dressing table
would you like it black and chini kam? with ginger? maybe chinese herbal...

songs of innocence
raj kapoor can be forgiven for killing directly or indirectly many women; notably, Dimple Kapadia. You would think it was Rajesh Khanna who did it but it was Raj K.

But he also sang (on screen): I learnt everything but to be clever. Hoshiari.
It is true, folk of the world, that I am unclever and choose to remain so.

songs of experience

I have anguish; angst.
I suffer pain in my worldview.
weltshmertz. Hunger
I suffer agony and ecstasy

==
end game

the moon shone on mrs potter and her daughter
who drink vodka with soda water
--
and beware his flashing eyes and floating hair
for he on honeydew hath fed and laid in his lair

for long. and now is out
to kill a mocking bird

who is paromita?

or, remembering paromita

What was she like? She was healthy and dark. She smiled adequately
Paromita cooked some veg things and all, and did dishes

Paromita Dev ruled the precincts she inhabited
Paramita? I never thought there was a negation of aparimita

Limited; is it a good thing?
Perhaps, in a limited way.

oh well, wasn't this supposed to be about 69 and woodstock?
or is this gonna be about maya chiburdanitze

believe me, I will talk only chestnuts now
no more interlectual coins and doubloons

it rained in the after noon

and the brother offered us an umbrella to get into the dining hall
that was after a look at the skyview palace from ground zero
sipping tea.
with me...

shabz liked it and said so but i am not sure
after we met harry at eflu which was after a trip to

The arts college;

beete hue lamhon

don't say good bye now friends
never no when we meet again

the kasak of yesteryears will remain
maybe in dreams we meet again?

-
father, oh daddy
show up once in a reverie
-

==
my youtube halts every minute; and it works fine for me
my translation and typing speeds are just enough to catch up
==

And so we stood on the platform from which krish shrikanth addressed us;
and one guy in the crowd says: ek cigarette de re (krish had a packet of wills in his transparent shirt pocket).
Around there and about then I listened to gaddar
And perhaps then the sarfaroshi and all that?

==

==

it is a long way and there will be a night
and so we went to the arts college station

the days of friendship and bonding we had during these colorful years
these faces and books and looks and the youth and the wings [winds -ed]

wherever we go the mehek will remain
and haunt us again and again

then before that was the chandelier, there was that argument about the blurb
and a possible bet; a threat. Babe if you lose, how can I win?

--
keep it like flowers in your heart
keep the fire of memories burning

it is gonna be a long distance
and there will be night [said before - ed.]

--
The time we spent together is the wealth
wealth of feeling and thoughts together
wherever we go - the mehek and kasak
will remain forever and ever again


and

Of Rakhi Brothers and Cousin Sisters…

In north India, it is common for girls to tie the Rakhi on a boy of her age for whom she has a sisterly affection, and call him a Rakhi brother. In the south too, this happens these days but not to the extent to which it happens in the north.

It is said jokingly

... that some boys avoid meeting girls on Raksha Bandhan day (the full moon day in the month of Sawan or Sravana - this year, the 13th, about last week: I was planning to go to Vizag, to get looted. My sis is reasonable, but her daughter is very demanding - and dr lalli, the sis, says, ok, sankanna, whatever your darling niece wants; and the niece is into big-time fleecing!).

There are a lot of jokes about boys with romantic designs on a girl being thwarted by the girl by tying a Rakhi on him. Interestingly, the convention of Rakhi cuts across religions: I have a friend who is born and brought up as a Hindu, but took to Christianity after marriage (to another friend of mine). One Rakhi day five years or so ago, I met her and her husband, with their children, and she naturally tied the Rakhi on my hand. It is much more meaningful than the friendship bands which are in vogue these days. It is much more expensive too - when someone ties the Rakhi on you, you have to give money, however less or more.

I have said recently, and I repeat, tie a friendship bond before the girl ties a rakhi on you: keep the relationship clean, but open.


This year, another girl I have known for years sent me an SMS saying 'I think of you as an elder brother'on Rakhi day. She could not tie the Rakhi since we were in two different cities. She is a muslim and Rakhi is not a part of their culture. Therein lies the greatness of India: that people across communities follow common conventions. It is sad that these common conventions tend to be the Hindu customs, but there are exceptions.

Years ago when I was in Singapore, I had a close friend who was a muslim: I kept the fasting (roza) during the holy month of Ramadan, just to keep him company - although I did not follow it to the T. I used to have coffee and tea during the day.

Talking of inter-communal harmony, I must mention this episode: Years ago, my good friend Salahuddin Tak was playing with color on Holi quite vigorously and one person on whom he was going to put color said don't do that - I am a muslim. Tak saab went ahead and put color, and said: "So am I." I can never forget the enthusiasm with which he used to celebrate diwali. He had a thing against New Year, however: he said it had nothing to do with India. May his tribe grow!

Cousin brothers

In south India, it is a common thing for cross cousins to get married to each other: cross cousins are your maternal uncle's son or daughter, or your paternal aunt's son or daughter. However, it is sacrilege to marry a parallel cousin (your paternal uncle's son or daughter or your maternal aunt's son or daughter). So much so that you address the parallel cousins as cousin brother or cousin sister. In the north of course, all cousins are considered brothers or sisters and marriage with any of them is anathema.
It is quite common in India to ask people when they say My brother works in Bangalore, Is it your own brother or cousin brother?


In Telugu, there is no word for 'bhanja' (a brother's son) or 'banji' (a brother's daughter): your brother's children are your children; they are your sons and daughters - not bhanjas nor bhanjis. So, when I propose to marry off my daughter next year (yes I am old enough) don't think it is my "own" daughter; it could be one I inherit from a brother.

Stop reading, if you don't have a stake in Andhra and pardesh...

Tanguturi Prakasam

It is not the case that I forgot to write about Shri Tanguturi Prakasam; it is just that I don't know much about that great man, except that there is a district in Andhra Pradesh named after him, and that he was the first Chief Minister of the composite Andhra Pradesh state. There is also an apocryphal story, which is likely very true.

He was a great trial court lawyer and on one occasion he was in the midst of an argument when he received a telegram. He is said to have looked at the contents of it and put it in his pocket and continued with his case. People came to know later that the telegram contained news of his wife's death. He was a man of steel and the Sardar Patel of the south.

May we have more districts in his name, since we cannot obviously have more of his tribe.

How about Dr J Geeta Reddy?

This is an open letter to Mrs gandhi jr. (gandhi and jr used deliberately to contrast with the Senior Mrs Gandhi)

apropos: appointment of Dr J Geeta Reddy as chief minister of andhra pradesh

But before we get to that, a re-look at an old post (on Bakr-id). Now it is Ramzan, but this one (blog) seems to be one I can carry into my corpus oeuvre.

Bakrid Greetings from Bobby George Abraham

Bobby George Abraham is a friend in the technical writing fraternity - based in Trivandrum, Kerala. He is a god-loving (not god-fearing) Christian. As always, as it happens with Bottomline, the Bakrid issue went out without greetings (without the feature itself, in fact). This morning, however, I received Bakrid greetings from Bobby George Abraham. It did not matter that he was a Malayalee Christian and I was a Telugu Hindu. The festival stands for sacrifice, sharing, and charity.

Eid al-Adha (in Arabic) or Bakr Id (in India) is the "Festival of Sacrifice" which is an important religious holiday celebrated by Muslims worldwide to commemorate the willingness of Abraham (Ibrahim) to sacrifice his son Ishmael (Isma'il) as an act of obedience to God, before God intervened to provide him with a ram to sacrifice instead. [Remember Tukaram, who was so engrossed in his praise of the lord as he was stomping on the mud for making pots that he did not see his little son getting into the melee and getting crushed? Remember how God returns all that he lost because of his unflinching faith in God? "Vithala, Vithala, Panduranga Vithala! Sarvam (all) neevani (you are) thalachiti (I thought). Karun-inchavemayya (why don't you pity me)?"]

Back to Bakr Id: the meat (of the ram) is divided into three parts: the fambly [I love that word more than family] retains one third of the share; one third is given to relatives, friends and neighbors; and the other third is given to the poor and needy. Or, the needful.

Holy Ramzan, Bobby George Ibrahim.

The piece on Tukaram above is added today; that is what happens when you revisit your oeuvre before it becomes work.

Has the time come for a change of guard in AP?

[At the time of writing the following, Kiran Kumar Reddy was not 'decided' as the cm of ap. In Bottomline, the column I wrote for about 6 months for Trust News, I recommended Dr J Geeta Reddy as the appropriate candidate. The idea then did not catch on: I think it is time for everyone to relook at that suggestion. I have not changed anything from the earlier blog, just to retain the 'topicality' of it. Read on...]

Speculation is rife that someone from Delhi will take over as the Chief Minister at the end of this week. In the Indian National Congress (INC), it is unusual for a minister or a Member of Parliament to be sent to the home state as CM. But we just had a deviation from that good tradition in Maharashtra. So also, people say that Mr S Jaipal Reddy can be deputed as CM of AP. I beg to differ: Mr Jaipal Reddy is not a true-blue Congressman: he dallied with the Janata party and then the Janata Dal for quite some time. Mrs D Purandhareswari is required in Delhi.

It is going to be a local, very likely a Telangana woman. If Dr J Geetha Reddy is nominated, remember that you have read it first in Bottomline – Trust News.

[This prediction did not come true, of course. I don't really care: it was not a prediction; it was (and is) a suggestion.]

work life integration; friendship day

First, friendship day

Guys, if you don't wanna end up with a rakhi on your on 13, from a special someone, now is the time to act: put a friendship band on the girl you are interested in. Later it can turn to love and such fun stuff.

But first off, a friendship band would warn the girl that you would not like a rakhi.

Limited offer on virtual friendship bands (until stocks last). Act now.

work-life integration

management gurus talk about work - life balance. That is a load of scum.

The real thing is: work-life integration. What is work? It is action. And life? I tend to think that life is what you know of this world. Karma yoga (work-life integration) is the situation when all your action proceeds from your life (understanding of the world).

Then there is no question of prioritizing your tasks: every task is a part of your life, your work: all of it has to be done.

What that leaves you with is a bit of help in time management: I don't suppose god almighty intended to pack more than 24 hours into a human day.

Give or take 5 seconds.

the day after the carnage

when we are gone we burn on
we evaporate from body to the sublime

We who care for the do'es and the don'ts
for the Jews and the dolts

for a hairpin, a fancy one, lying on the bank
of the road beside the mall; what hair did it curl?

==

go away into the space that you belong
that is the trick: not to cling on

not counting greenbacks nor hunting green pastures
--
running with the rabbits and hunting with the hares

like when esther's mom cooked salad
that tasted like dental surgery

==
a propos nothing
oh shut up: if you haven't heard prolegomena
===

never heard of stonehenges nor crusades
and master tom i have lived a good life; thank you

why does it always have to be you
alone with me when I am alone

==
why do I cling on?
and on...

none other than macaulay said this: no more public money shall be expended on the chanting at the ...

I hold this lac of rupees to be quite at the disposal
of the Governor-General in Council,
for the purpose of promoting learning in India,
in any way which may be thought most advisable.
I hold his Lordship to be quite as free to direct
that it shall no longer be employed in encouraging Arabic and Sasnscrit,
as he is [free] to direct that the reward for killing
tigers in Mysore shall be diminished,
or that no more public money shall be expended
on the chanting at the cathedral.

minute points on education and etiquette

Once upon a time there was a traveling salesman. He used to tell the Vedas on retail basis. He used to prasang [indulge in discourse] at various venues, for a fee. Introduction to rig, two-hours, 3 cents for firangs. (4 annas 4 Indians). The books were for free. Merriman Webster was thrilled about the deal and booked (let us call him now and hence, Sankara) for four seasons.

In summer, Sankara fired Chile for 2 dollars an hour one season. Book signing was extra. Tattoos for free. It was like Woodstock, it was like campus life. It was like youth and love; and like the one act play called waiting for tomorrow.

Sankara used to collect only so much as he required for the day. When his bowl was full, he would say No Thanks, to anyone who offered him more. The checks for signing books and for providing private tuition went to merriman and the devil. And to Daniel Webster.

And so he lived happily ever after, in the footnotes of Gita translations. Those who love stories with a happy ending (those who love love stories with several happy endings) can sign off now.

[the following is not for the weak-willed; tune off now!]

Mainly, Sankara used to travel and talk a lot. He traveled all over India, America, and the far east. When in India, he used to call himself Sankara [good catch: I thought I was the one who named him, as the author. Not so.]; in America, despite his protests, they called him Vive! Kananda. And in the far east, they know him as the laughing Buddha. All his life he spent talking, in travel, with no time to laugh or to forget. Still some call him the clown.

He was a pensive, inexpensive traveling salesman of the Vedas: 5 cents for a two-hour discourse on desire in mid career to 2 dollars an hour at the peak of his power: 4 a.m. on days the full moon is about to sink. He talked about Maya.

when time approaches you, your grammars and styles
[duhkhinkarana-s] will not save you Wren

Boy did he preach, did he prasang!

He would preach the bible like a preacher full of ecstasy and fire
He was also such a lovely creature, women would desire
Rasputin and Lenin, russia’s greatest love makers did aspire
One day to steal promethean fire; he [them] did inspire

In his able salesmanship, the Vedas found followers in lands far afield, found favor with beautiful women; notably: Jane Fonda [yoga is action: hatha (body in action); karma (ergs/energy: therefore work and action); bhakti (knowledge-driven action)] and Julia Roberts. Of whom, more later.

Lenin is said to have been inspired by Sankara (but we are not sure about this. Perhaps it was Raj Kapoor who shaped Lenin’s imagination in an obverse fashion).

For himself, Sankara had a loin cloth, a charpai, and a kettle for boiling noodles. He was known as the two-minute chef. He was also known for his two-hour speeches. Sankara, in short (or in briefs) was a happy man. Oh well, in his loin cloth. In times when the moon shone, Sankara spoke legibly.

Those who like happy endings, love or no love, here is where you get off.

[By the way, this is a retelling of Mohandas gandhi’s story of how he went to Pitts and learnt to play the violin. If you read on, I promise you will be a wiser, if sadder human.]

One day a mouse enters the ashram. The vedic salesman did not mind sharing his abode with ganesha’s mount. And shortly after, he found that his loin cloth had holes in it. He had to get rid of the mouse, and so he gets a cat.

Now the cat needs milk so he begs the people at the prasang for a cow. To take care of the cow, especially when he is away traveling on offshore speaking engagements, the prasangis offer him a cow and a woman whom marries and ends up with four children. [Those who like sad endings can end it all here.]

And he lived happily ever after? Maybe. But is it right for a vedic salesman to retire and lead a happy life – back from vaanaprastha to gaarhasthya? Who will keep the Vedas dry until a generation of intelligent people take shape on earth, if vedic traveling salesmen were to disappear from earth? Who will take care of the cow?

Will the wisdom of yore be buried under the earth for the dearth of salesmen and wandering speakers? for want of walkers and walkmen?

==
Take a while to ponder over those questions. And be back, in a while, to listen out the story…

The whole story takes an ugly turn now. Instead of traveling around the globe, Sankara decides to speak at home. He thinks his children would take the four Vedas to the pinnacle of their applicability and productivity – in good time.

But Macaulay had other plans. He wrote a minute document that ruined Indian psyche. See the Minute on Indian Education: http://www.languageinindia.com/april2003/macaulay.html#minute

But he also said these lovely lines, did Macaulay:
"To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods?"

Enough digression; back to the epic/legend of satguru sankara

So Sankara’s children did not care for saama, rk, or yajuh. The fourth child, given to technical gizmos, whom Sankara tried to put into marketing toy cars and AK 47s – even that boy did not show any interest or aptitude for adharva, the practical veda.

Sankara was disheartened and produced two daughters. One went on to become Miss India, sadly. She spent all her life selling Charity. She could have taken tie-and-dry clothes to prada and donna karan, but she chose charity shows.

Sankara, naada sareera para; veda vihara hara; what of the sisters who sell dishwashers and dishwater [pespi, or is it phanta?]

The other went over the cuckoo’s nest.
Can KG replace pound, Ezra?

when summer comes, can monsoon be far behind

when anguish comes, can tears be far behind?
and when winter comes, can sprint be far behind...

==
very crazy, very crazy about you
yes, believe or not, love you I do
the whole entire time
at compiling and at runtime

===
Jenny is jennifer. Jenni also indeed
the one who could ride a horse at speed
i am a mere cavalier, a liar
a rogue and a layer

my donkey sally was good-looking
and chic. She derived from the bible
Rosy M Banks wrote romantic novels
rosy the elephant drank beer
==

and gutter water?
Nah, not Rosie, who likes it with soda water
and the moon shone and all that - the solitary clock in the sky
a pain in the heck and in the eye

==
Now let us translate afreen, afreen...

let me see if html tags work

Not possible to praise her beauty in words
the body is like ajanta; like a poem, a fragrance
a blooming garden, the first ray of dawn; sandally
and marbly. Sandali sandali, marbly marbly...

are they eyes or dreams
it is night when the eyes look down
and dawn when the eyes look up

and what is nargisi?

oh wo weilest du mein doktor tak?
remembering salah before I go on to tell another tale.
==


==

when you speak plainly of your father...

so when I speak of my father, should I not tell you about my ma. Cool as a cucumber, ever.

two things - both funny.

Ma had a cerebral haemorrhage, a mild attack. Dr Lalli (of whom you will hear more in coming blogs), my sister, was at hand. She administered the appropriate poison, and they shifted Ma to Hyderabad nursing home. Lalli was then working there, I guess. The doctors told Lalli that she did the exact right thing needful at that minute, and that ma is safe. Cool as cucumber, as you will see.

The doctor comes to check ma the next morning. Ma is drowsy after a night of sedation. The doc wants to check her alertness: "Who is this?" (pointing at my sis). Ma says, proudly: My daughter! The doc says: What is her name? Ma turns to sis, saying - Eh, you tell him your name. Well, as it happened, there was no one on record in the hospital who did not know the charismatic Dr Lalita (and it was ma's snub to the doctor: if you don't know her, then you must be a total clown!)

Or so I think she meant. She does not explain herself. Like most mothers. Like all mothers?

==
Then there was the time when Dr Tak and I were working at good ol' OL. We had two flats in the same block in amrita enclave. The big Ashwin, then a toddler, was with us. Ma went onto the terrace, and the door got locked. She goes to the neighbors and calls up office: I confer with Tak saab. It was around 3 pm. I wrote about this before, but what the hex - I will repeat it. "Pandit," says Dr Tak. "I have to meet a printer in panjagutta at 4 pm, so I will go give keys to ma and then proceed to the printers." So he was to leave after an hour or so. A few minutes later he comes around: Hey, I will go now. Ma is locked out on the terrace and it looks like it may rain. I give him the keys and he is off.

Later that evening, Tak is rolling on the floor laughing. "You know what, pandit? Ma is so cool. When I came here, it was drizzling on the terrace (ma was under cover). Little ashwin was playing and she was watching amused. I said I got the keys. [Ma knew no Hindi or English.] She told me in Telugu to keep the keys there - indicating the top step leading to the terrace."

Dr Tak did not stop to show his concern that achwin was getting wet. Oh well, into each life, some rain must fall - right? he thought, and rolled down the stairs into his flat, forgot about the printer he was supposed to visit, and was laughing - until I got there and restored him to his senses with a bit of old monk. Then he sobered up.

==

my ma's son

I am fond of telling this tale, of my unshakable spirit. It was a month after the Latur earthquake. There were tremors (aftershocks) in Hyderabad. In some parts, people came onto the streets - I was told. I was shaken, too, out of sleep at least. It was after the men, women and children of the house left for their pursuits of the day. I was pursuing nothing in particular, so I was alone at home. Waking up, I remember looking at the roof wondering if it would fall. The next question was whether to get out of there or wait for some imponderable collision of plates to fall upon me.

The important thing is to give yourself time. Before I could think of logical and efficacious plans, to deal with the situation, the tremors stopped. Now, all that is moot?

===
Often have I been stirred into thinking
but never into action. never emoting

Ma tujhe salaam

let eyes meet maybe once in a time

kabhi to karib aao

--
ok then, hand to mouth...
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I42_0nxUc54]

for a rainy day; smile and vigilante moon
it made him crazy; jimmy blew them off
baby on a door step; needs a mother for mother's day
just another hooker happens everyday [she loved the little baby]

i believe in the gods of america
I believed in the land of the free
noone told me that the gods believe in nothing
so with empty hands pray

[censored]

somebody shouted "Save me!"
hand to mouth; hind to mouth
and the big white door step
Somebody shouted "Maybe"

==
she went to the arms of another mand
and she kissed the powers that be
and they told me the gods believe in nothing; maybe
they don't?
==
what is unsaid, is difficult to understand
but is it impossible that we are crazy about you

and yet we adore you
all the while, we do

==
it takes long to happen
why is it so hard to shapen

==
humne tumko dekhtehi dil diya
and what did you do with it, yaar?

dont break me heart; we are outta our head
so meet the eyes that try to meet you, ahead

==
but the bloke is like going on:
I have seen your face in a crowed place

==
touch your hairsplitting questions
with my heartstrings; let the music play
and why are so many of us crazy about clay
come and be near, sometime if only in dreams

===
we end this section with a link to
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m50p-XScreM

when the time comes, I will talk plainly about my father...

only we make you drunk with our eyes/looks...
while there are many bar bars around the town

==
you wanna threaten this light of the sky
with a tiny storm; many a lightbug borrowed from this eye

==
oh well, if you wanna listen to the whole tune:
[and see Bhanu Rekha, Ray, darling of the masses]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXdJJvpgTvw

and this one: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kWK61iHYc4Y
before you get a taste of the best lines of this number...

==
To walk away with my heart - what all [minnats] appeals she made!
And then when it was all hers, how she looked away, ignoring me!

two times I had hard times: once before you came in
And twice [I mean, the second times], when you left...

==
I will leave you to prod through the text [http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John+16&version=WE] (strange-looking URL but it gets you there), and find:

"I have told you these things by a story. The time will come when I will not talk by stories. I will tell you about my Father plainly."

I said I will talk plainly of my father; it is time for it. Much as I admire him, this one incident stands out as a pain point. God, what did you mean by that?

Around 7 a.m. my father comes to the kitchen door, with no histrionics: "Is this coffee?" he says quietly; and throws the coffee glass in the general direction of my mother. It luckily hit the wall behind her. He walks off. Mother goes on to make another coffee for him and sends me to give it to him (in the verandah). She doesn't ask, or know, what is wrong with the coffee he threw at her: too hot, not hot enough? She just makes another coffee and sends it. I hated him for that for about 20 years, until once I opened up to a friend and mentioned it: the moment I said it, I realized what a silly grudge I was holding against this one quarter god of mine: mother, father, guru, and guest making up the four quarters - not trinity - of God. Now when I look back, there was nothing else in that mild-mannered demigod-human I knew that I could fault with. But then, God is supposed to be immaculate (not demi not half crown; half human half clown)? It is hard to come to terms with the fact that your parents are human: it is heartbreaking to know that God is - in a way, human too (because we shaped Him thus).

==
you been late in coming but thanks for coming
i was not disheartened or shaken but was stirred a bit

ghabraye the: a bit anxious, a little

rays, rainbow, chhandra-ma, and clouds
stars and songs; lighting and flowers

what all is not in that hair of hers
locked in her locks! Locked up...

==
if only my dreamly youth
were to repeat briefly...

but thanks for showing up
albeit a bit late

a little late, a little lazy
a bit of business and boredom

==
it had happened to us (not hearsay nor heresy)
flowers bloom out of fire
when desire
sets one afire

==

Good morning, Hyderabad...

It is about 4 30 am. [Now as I end this, it is 5 15 am here.] Since this will be on my blog, I will keep it generic.

The first thing was the article by Deepa D.
[For the benefit of late tuners, the link is: http://deepad.dreamwidth.org/29371.html]

It is all about growing up in an English literate env., "deprived" of local/vernacular culture, "un-fortunate-ly" soaked in western culture. When I go to the site, what do I see, but this gold mine: http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story.html

Listen and enjoy! Gosh, whatever the writer was who spoke of the god of small stories was brilliant. God of all things? That rings a bell.

/single stories\
\duplex stories/

all the same to a fakir
of the thoroughfare...

==


It may take a couple reads for it to sink in. I find there are nuances that I didn't appreciate the first time.





... a huge concern for the U.S. electrical infrastructure; ... the latest Scientific American.




So, for the first one: about little girls brought up among snow-whilte stories; single stories: Deepa D does bring to forth some unspoken issues. I have no locus standi on that.

Whereof we cannot talk, thereof we must remain silent.


Cut down on air travel, is what I would recommend. The U.S. is primitive! there are no buses or trains connecting the large tracts of land from california to cincinnati, as I discovered when i was in the u.s. I was eager to meet a friend there, and said how about if I hop on to a bus? He laughed and said: that will take you two days to get here!

Ho hum!



False hopes are north; reality is west
empty dreams are east
and I think Louisiana is south
-- No kaddish for Weinbrenner

for the uninitiated...

This is poetry composition 101.

I write one line and explain in ten lines [for my Telemachus]

"I did not realize that I carried more monkeys on my back;"

So there is this story of a monkey who dips into a bottle of peanuts, OK? And then, it fills up its fist with peanuts; now, with the fist full of peanuts (a fistful of greenbacks?)

Oh well, the monkey cannot pull her/him fist out of the bottle.
The moral of the story is: We are humans. Drop the peanuts and shake your hand off the bottle.

But how does that figure in this line? Let us say there are two monkeys trying to get out of this bottle-neck situation: let us say you feel for them; then, unless you know how to speak with them you cannot say, dahling, let go of the peanuts.

That was the ten-line paraphrase for tele0.

The following line needs no explanation:

"it is now time to say it all (oh yeah, other people are watching):"

The following might need explanation, but I am not in the mood to provide it:

"there exists, in the northerly direction, in the godly presence [once known as himalayas; since gotten into bad repair] someone praying for a 7-life promise of happiness"

OK, whatever you say, my own Boswell? Explicating mine own lines;
Did not kalidasa cry not to be in a trap where talent is shortchanged?

"there exists one who prays, who dreams; who preys: shivji, the yeti.
aka sankara

oh I know how you suffered...

Was I so far gone that I did not realize that the f was getting coded as r?
Well, I am sorry: it is to be read "safar-ed" and not sarar-ed.

What do I talk of tonite, U499?

About the girl who walked by wearing a shirt with U on it? What does that mean?
Do we talk of safdar hashmi and farida zalaal and aamir khan:
I wonder why the venerable asad/owaisi does not call him a non-muslim
No, let us not digress from edward who said:
fuck imperial america. orientalist europe. I say: Once More.

++
Share my dream share my coca cola
Always the real thing!

What dream and what is the real thing?
Which is coke and which is cock, damn it?

++

babe, you gimme a tour plan when you come a-visiting
and I will try and arrange for some excitement
if that is what you want: for my small tummy,
I want the protection of Lord Rama. Oh Srividya, shut up!

==
oh it was nigel not joseph? [the other brother]
Indeed: not gerian but the bolder one??
==
nor onions no garlic; no chicken nor fish [eat well, sleep well]
learn to be a tambrahm: which you should have, could have - easily

whose fault is it that you fell for mallu teachers
and angloindian bastards? "I fathom it would be a long way, dear!"

===

not too late. do you want me to bash the dali[ght]s out of you?
I could do that; but there is time for a hundred revisions, no?

- come back and be good. send the pants to the pantry
- come back and behave, if you can. else, stay put [in canada or boondocks]

You got a 'warm' welcome awaiting you in Hyderabad
Game for it? write to sankarar@gmail.com

==

for all those who sarar-ed with me, thus far

You heard about my mom, in these blogs. You read about Sankara Sastry Rjanala Sr, my grandfather, whom I detest. You know a good deal of what I have been through and have been at. Now that you suffered me, sarar-ed with me thus long, thus far - here is one straight from the heart. man to man. father to son. what? son to father.

Actually, it is father to son, as my father gave it to me.

We go on a two-day trip from delhi to hardar and rishikesh. I told him, after we had a dip in the ganges in Hardwar - thought it was safe now - that one has to take (according to the custom in delhi then) as many dips as there are family members. My father already took the usual three dips and we were vending our way home. We stay overnight. The next day, the plan was to go to rishikesh, have a dip and return to delhi by evening. My father had other plans.

He said: Sankara, yesterday I did not get the satisfaction of dipping in the Ganga. I knew what was coming; he wanted to do 30 dips for the united hindu fambly, of which he was god. I said let us go to rishikesh, it is less crowded; we can dip as much as you like. He said, No. Hardwar is a holy place and rishikesh is a sporting hub. Here is where I want another holy dip. He told me I could go back and wait at the ashram for them. I was hot: No thanks, I said. Take your 30 dips, old man! And I counted all thirty.

He was back ashore from the crowd and the muddy ganges, all smiling. He was a wicked old man. Onward we went to risikesh: and right in he went into the waters. I said this is just the beginning. Next year, we will go into char dham.

He said: kid, this is the end, for me.
That was it...

Just a few lines of ol' Patrick's today....

Oh, she walked unaware of her own increasing beauty
That was holding men's thoughts from market or plough,
As she passed by intent on her womanly duties
And she passed without leisure to be wayward or proud;
Or if she had pride then it was not in her thinking
But thoughtless in her body like a flower of good breeding.
The first time I saw her spreading coloured linen
Beyond the green willow she gave me gentle greeting
With no more intention than the leaning willow tree.

Though she smiled without intention yet from that day forward
Her beauty filled like water the four corners of my being,
And she rested in my heart like a hare in the form
That is shaped to herself. And I that would be singing
Or whistling at all times went silently then,
Till I drew her aside among straight stems of beeches
When the blackbird was sleeping and she promised that never
The fields would be ripe but I'd gather all sweetness,
A red moon of August would rise on our wedding.

October is spreading bright flame along stripped willows,
Low fires of the dogwood burn down to grey water,--
God pity me now and all desolate sinners
Demented with beauty! I have blackened my thought
In drouthts of bad longing, and all brightness goes shrouded
Since he came with his rapture of wild words that mirrored
Her beauty and made her ungentle and proud.
Tonight she will spread her brown hair on his pillow,
But I shall be hearing the harsh cries of wild fowl.

Saluting Salah... Revisiting Pragati Nagar

In the year 2011, during Ganesh festival, there will be more clay Ganeshas in the city of Hyderabad - than there were last year. Last year itself, because the comrades in Pragati Nagar arranged for the delivery of clay Ganeshas in the entire village, at least those many toxic Ganeshas did not get made; the brothers convinced people, with a convenience to boot, to use clay Ganeshas. May their tribe grow (Let us have more clay Ganeshas and more sociable subalterns.


In fact I never visited Pragati Nagar. But I said revisiting in the sense of going back to what one has written earlier. At that time, I mentioned the ban on plastic ordained by the communist regime in Pragati Nagar; I did not know then that what Pragati Nagar does today, the rest of Hyderabad does tomorrow. We already know that plastic is banned in Hyderabad. The good work of the comrades running the gram panchayat deserves to be commended. And bottomline never begrudges the devil its due. In the previous blog on Pragati Nagar, I did not say Lal Salaam, though I do remember saying the brothers are doing good work. But I meant to; well, now, I say it: Salud, komarads!
Salahuddin (henceforth, Dr Tak) was a jolly soul from the valley of Kashmir. He was at once childish (almost riotous on occasion) and imperious. Witness this: on a certain Holi morning, he was playing with colors at CIEFL. He throws a good measure of color at a bloke (a student of Arabic and Muslim in appearance) and the young fellow says: Bhai saab. Stop it. I am a muslim. Dr Tak (at that time pursuing his doctoral degree) says: Main kaun hoon? [Whoami?]. The boy says I don’t know.
This is where Dr Tak’s aristocratic background comes to play: “Have you heard of Salahuddin?” The boy definitely heard the name, though he never met the most dashing foreign-languages scholar of the CIEFL campus of that timeframe. So he says Yes, I heard the name. Dr Tak, in a most urbane tone says: I am he.
Salute, Salah! Give me ten Dr Tak’s and I will show you harmony in the face of fury in the valley.
==
Everybody started living hand to mouth [and so on and so forth....]
She believed in the Gods of America; she believed in the land of the free
Someone told me [and so on...] that the gods believe in nothing
And the Gods believe in nothing
==
Does Shiv-ji live on mount kailash
The answer to that question is two-fold:
- Wherever Shiv-ji lives, is Mount Kailash
- Whoever lives on Mt Kailash is Shiv-ji
So there, I got you into a catch 22 situation: Shiv-ji is the Yeti we read about; the snowman. Very few people have seen him. But we have geographical evidence in the form of Parvati river. The moon shining over the valley through which Parvati flows is real. As real as the hot springs in which people cook rice bundled in rumaals.
As real as the myth of Parvati, enamoured of Shiv-ji, going into deep meditation. And as real as the heat that engulfed the three worlds because of the intensity of her desire for Shiv-ji. For months and years she did not eat even a leaf: a-parna (no-leaf; she did not even eat a leaf).
Parting shot
In Hindu texts, there is a mention of the ‘ideal wife’, who has six qualities:
- A slave, in daily action (karyeshu daasi)
- A counsellor, when consulting (Karaneshu mantri [mandarin])
- A mother when serving food; and an Houri in bed
- Lakshmi to look at and patient as mother earth
The last two (roopecha lakshmi, kshamaya dharitri) are not very popular: and the poem closes with – Shatkarma yukta kula dharma patni. “The one with these six qualities be thine common-law wife!”
My sister chimed in: What are the qualities in a man, then? Indeed there are no lines that specify what qualities make a man an able “man”. I threw a random guess: Someone, a girl with these qualities, let us say, is choosing a man for herself. What can we say what all she looks for: dress sense, cash in bank, vintage of car, whatever it takes. Some girls I believe look for a sense of humor 
I don’t know what good that does. As Yeats said, we would never know why beautiful women choose crazy salad.

yesterday or tomorrow is the day before full moon

qal chaudvi ki raat thi [will be?]

All night long there were altercations
some said it was the moon before midnight
some yelled it was your face behind clouds
Loud and clear arguments poured forth from breezy brethren

i was there too and the jokers asked
[me too] [who] kept queit, and smiled
I did too: Wonder but not aloud. Thought
better you remain under cloud cover...

who do we meet in this town? I mean, I
we [I] gave up mehfils and meetings
every brother talks of you and is crazy about you
and i cannot argue with blokes with an aesthetic eye

specially when I am and you
are both high...
you up in the sky
and me with an uproarious eye

the whole crowd is talking of you
[yeah, you are the talk of the town]

we are faqirs of the high road; oh well, I am
stopped your way once or two and held your hand
in my dreams [yeah babe, those were the nightmares
you had; blame it on the guy who never made it home]

oh painless-one, wanna listen to a good line or two:
now listen up
your admirer, your disgrace, your own poet
and your wish [am I]

Let us say I leave your frontyard and become a yogi
so what; the jungle is yours, lord
and the mount is yours; the downtown is all yours
so is the hinterland: call it the boondocks?

my sweatheart is perhaps a little angry this morning...

mere mehboob shaayad aaj kuch

My darling is angry at this early hour
Perhaps? With me: perhaps...

however intimate I try to get, it [God?] moves off
Is my God angry with me: doesn't want me back?

at all? never again: isn't that nirvana
or what judie felix calls cuba or havana?

ok, back to work: got lost in transliteration
and yet s/he (it/God) moves away from me - in disgust

or in disguise; calling pro, promo, mom, and the presidunk of the newly
united states of India: the real federation. Real friendship and freedom

back to work again: there is so much to listen to...

==
my darling is perhaps - today - a little angry
with me; as much as I talk, God no reply. Y

==
he or she came into the conference and kept silent
the whole time; who was my darling until yesterday
does not talk - to me or anyone at all...

==
i am afraid this coldshouldering will take my life off
what to do with this burden of unseeing the brightest bulb in the harbor?

==
perhaps today a little
angry?

==
looks like good times will come none too soon
the haveli will brigthen up on seeing my heartthrob's oncoming

==

and yet s/he remains so aloof: is that fair, I ask
perhaps; God is today angry or on vacation...

--
I said to Akbaruddin (or will tell when time comes)
That there are two gods: one God and One Goddess.

==
There is goddest but that has to wait until another blog
My applepie is waiting, to be tested...

wasteland revisited

come under the shadow of this rock
and I will roll you into a question mark

For the uninitiated: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ocyeWt_shCI
That is ecstacy, and I don't mean the drug. It is sublime

And the opening lines mean:
You, after meeting {you}, we somewhat transformed {we are}
Started reading and humming [tunes of solitude and bliss]

The tranliterated text is:

aap se [you-object] milke [met {after}] hum [we] kuch [somewhat] badalse [transformed] hue [we are]

sher padhne lage, gun gunaane lage
poems reading {we} started; hum-humming {we} started
==
The following lines are freely translated:

once upon a time was famous our gravity
and now I keep smiling all the way
wherever you see me; whenever.
--
And this is mine own line:
coz i see U in every being, critter, and rock

==
Heavy? Ask someone who is carting it up the hill
what fun it is: to be; to be in love; to being love...

--
Not getting the drift?
You are not misunderstanding me well enough

uma thesaurus: now that the beast has been named...

Oh yeah, what is this four-legged beast called love,
Shank (she said); "what a waste!" she cried...
Looking at the moonlit sky (with me beside)
circa 1989: who knows, U499, and who cares?

Celebrate, she said. He too said, did not he?
Go forth and enjoy! Did not He...

In godskingdom there are orangelemondrinks aplenty
Orange Lemon drinks are being supplied at authoritative rates (here):

gemini circus

Come on, folks, and rally aroud if you hear
a battle cry for core humanity and chores
and peace of a piece of mind; the 'jerk'?
>>hiding behind clouds?

forget it

no, there is no way i can say this
other than in those words I spat
at her; at you. at myself and God
uber alles, der self: mit grief

--
no, I don't know what is grief (or I don't know what is bliss?)
in german/deutsch; just an aryan touch, I thought would help.

==
Bitte ein bitchen ind-utva. Howabout
A bit of saffron with biryani, maybe?

Why fake it: Forest Gump and when harry met sally...

OK, let us address the three points mentioned in the title of this 'blog'.

Why fake it?

So, how can one 'fake' or faint (almost?) for one half hour on skin fliks? Isn't it obvious? It is all fake. So, cut out the ugly nasty games and get closer - heard of the word "intimacy"? Oh, I did not know that Vatsayana drew pictures: wasn't he a sociologist or something?

Check it out on www.m-w.com for intimacy. Maybe there is a site called intimacy.com?
You never know...

As children, we grew up on a curriculum of Caligula Caesar and Last Tango in Paris: where are the children of today headed (or heading?)

More recently, Sherwood Forests: a dash of feminism and a touch of jung
Eric fromm und Angst Vorm Fliegen

==

The next item on our agenda for tonite, babies (ok, boys and girls) is: Forest Gump
--

Why not? Shit happens...

Do we have to subject our kids to "oh god I am coming" scenes to put them into regular schools rather than special schools; what is wrong with special teachers who can deal with differently capable kids? Oh no! No son of mine is going to a special school; I will face (or fake) an orgasm for it...

God creates or 'delivers' imperfect models to us (Gump - for gods' sakes): if you apply the 6-sigma rule, [a hell of a lot more than] one out of a million is born with one of the following 'incurable' conditions(in alphabetical order):

-- asthma (genetic)
-- bronchitis (genetic + env)
-- cancer (see also: fraud; freud)
-- death (chiefly caused by life)
-- eating (eating house of delhi)
-- fasting (unto death; remember bobby sands and potti sriramulu)
-- haste
-- illegal sex
-- java code dysfunction
-- kaput breaks
-- lumpen elements throwing errors at your screen
-- monotony - I mean, monogamyam
-- nano cars, when pushed from begumpet to bengaluru
-- peculiar hair styles: gosh, keep that outta my hair
-- quwwalis, but of course; your are one with God. Wanna die or later?
-- rss can kill too
-- suspended disbelief (Negative Capability)
-- turpentine (more expensive than ganneru)
-- uma thurmon (killed many already)
-- volks, also known as folks: they smother you with love
-- wagons of all manner: volkswagens, wagonRs, railway wagons, station wagons,
and gypsys - if you get in the way. Bloody marys along the way, if you like...
-- xantheppe: did she kill old socrates?
-- Y am I writing still when everyone has gone...
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Ok, the third thing is simple: watch When Harry Met Sally:
Don't fake; it helps noone!

[yeah, the skinfliks will bloom...]

goodnite folks - or volks....

Remembering Rajanala Sankara Sastry Sr

That was my grandfather. Why, he IS my grandfather. And then came my father and thence me. RSS Sr told me once a story, of a Brahmin on his way to another village. The other village is farther than he thought it was, and around noon, he is desperately hungry and thirsty. He comes across a house in the middle of that nowhere, and the man of the house asks him in, and offers him food. The Brahmin eats with haste, without hesitation. The gent then offers him water (the Brahmin is now satiated). Says: “Paapi (sinner), you want a pure Brahmin like me to drink your unholy water?”

I had a huge disagreement with RSS Sr (henceforth, grandpa). I said: “If a man is hungry and thirsty – alphabetically, hunger (aakali) comes before thirst (dappika). But isn’t it more logical for the Brahmin to have a little water, to have taken rest for a bit; maybe converse with the house-holder on matters spiritual and sacred? Having eaten off the house-holder’s kindness, why not drink a little more of his hospitality?”

Grandpa tried to argue it out on the grounds that hunger is a greater evil than thirst. I am still in two minds on that issue.

==

My uncle tells me that RSS Sr took sanyas, practically, when my father – his eldest or oldest son – refused to learn Smarta; my father, apparently wanted to go for English education, which – as it turns out – is smarter. And so RSS Sr went into what I like to call vaanaprastha (life in the wilderness; “life in bewilderment?”). Poor sap did not know what hit him between the eyes: shit hit him!

And so the breed got smarter and smarter. I can drool in coils and drawl faintings. Ha ha.

==
Ah, there is still the main point of this blog, which makes it a truly weblog. I was talking to my uncle this very p.m., who told me about RSS Sr listening to VividhBharati. There were a barrelful of commercial advertisements, said uncle. And he said: “Grandpa asked: ‘Will all these ads make people want more?”

Huh? Or duh?

==

Boys and girls, I am Rajanala Sankara sastry (that is already a mouthful, so I prefer to not use the Jr tag at the end of my name; suffice it to put sastry with initial lower-cased s.)
==

I have similar questions as did Rajanala Sankara Sastry Sr. About the world as it exists, about the way things are shaping up. Or down…

Reposting: Wardrobe Failure In The Empire Of Prada

Oh well, in the previous post, I said: beautiful women and girls have a greater appeal than boys and women; I meant - 'boys and men'. Oh well, in this day and age - does it matter, I mean the gender? Old women of both sexes, said Uma. oui ma!

==
here is the revised retold Grimm's tale of wardrobe malfunction in the empire of Prada:

==

Many years ago there lived an Empress who was so fond of new clothes that she spent all her money on them in order to be beautifully dressed. She did not care about the arts or the theatre; she only liked to go out walking to show off her new clothes. As it is often said of an Empress, “She is in the boudoir,” they always said here, 'The Empress is in the wardrobe.' All this, by the way, happened in the great Empire of Prada.

One day two excellent weavers arrived from the land of China; they said that they knew how to manufacture the most beautiful cloth imaginable. Not only were the texture and pattern uncommonly beautiful, but the clothes which were made of the stuff possessed this wonderful property that they were invisible to anyone who was out of sync with contemporary fashion. I mean, folk who don’t subscibe to the Vogue…

The Empress thought: I could distinguish the fashionable and trendy from the stolid and dull, if I wore those clothes! And she gave both the weavers much money, so that they might begin their work.

The weavers placed two weaving-looms, and began to do their work; they also obtained the finest silk and the best gold, and worked at the looms till late into the night. And beyond: they slept in the midnight rooms. Infyrior companies call them ‘dorms’ (as in “bunker beds in which DORks sleep @ Midnights.”) After a while, the Empress thought: 'I will send my old and honoured girlfriend to the weavers. She can judge best what the cloth is like, for she knows fashion and sub-edits Vogue.'

The Empress’ girlfriend went to see what was cooking (or being woven) and thought: 'Dear me! I can see nothing!' But she did not say so. As a matter of fact, the weavers put nothing on the looms. [It is said that they could fit the “whole nine yard” in a match box, but that is another tale – another day.]

'Dear, dear!' thought the Vogue’s sub-editor: ‘Can I be so unfashionable? I have never thought that, and nobody must know it! Can I be not fit for my job? No, I must certainly not say that I cannot see the cloth!'’

'Have you nothing to say about it?' asked one of the men who was weaving.

'Oh, it is lovely, most lovely!' answered the chick who appeared on Vogue in her youth and sub-edited it later in life [and wrote Sultry Deys]. 'What texture! What colours! [So earthy… and so forth.] Yes, I will tell the Empress that it pleases me very much.'

'Now we are delighted at that,' said both the weavers, and thereupon they named the colours and explained the make of the texture.

The weavers now wanted more money, more silk, and more gold to use in their weaving. Sure enough, they got all that...

The Empress soon sent a worthy gay designer [let us call him Rohit Balls] to see how the weaving was getting on, and whether the cloth would soon be finished. It was the same with him as with the girlfriend [let us call her Ms Dey]; he looked and looked, but because there was nothing on the empty loom he could see nothing.

'Is it not a beautiful piece of cloth?' asked the two weavers, and they pointed to and described the splendid material which was not there.

Under peer pressure, the high priest of fashion and gaiety praised the cloth which he did not see, and expressed to them his delight at the beautiful colors and the splendid texture. He said the texture was full-bodied.

Now we have something ‘earthy’ [according to the girlfriend] and ‘full-bodied’ [according to the gay high priest of fashion]! Full-bodied, indeed, as you will see soon.

Soon, everybody in the town was talking of the magnificent cloth. Now the Empress went to see for herself while it was still on the loom. The weavers were now weaving with all their might, but without fibre or thread on the loom. The Vogue sub-editor and the gay designer started praising the colour and texture of the cloth; and started pretty much a chorus: earthy, full-bodied, subtle, sublime, sunburnt, sunbathed, pastel, plastered, and blah…

'What!' thought the Empress: 'I can see nothing! This is indeed horrible! Am I not trendy? [And quickly figured out that the two fashionistas could see something that she could not.] And said: “Oh, it is very beautiful.” And then she nodded pleasantly, and examined the empty loom, for she would not say that she could see nothing.

The following day, the Empress plans a procession in which she would display the new acquisition to her wardrobe: the weavers were up and were working by the light of over sixteen candles. The people could see that they were very busy making the Empress’ new clothes ready.

The weavers (who were also tailors – I mean, fashion designers, actually) cut the cloth with huge scissors in the air, sewed with needles without thread, and then said at last:
“Now the clothes are finished!”

Everyone said: “Handspun clothes are so comfortable that one would imagine one had nothing on at all; but that is the beauty of it!”

“Will it please your Highness graciously to take off your clothes,” said the weavers, “then we will put on the new clothes, here before the mirror.”

And so they dressed the Empress in empty clothes.

'Yes,' said all the courtiers, but they could see nothing, for there was nothing to see, by way of a dress. Let us not talk about what they could see.

You know the old yarn, right: The Empress went along in the procession under the splendid canopy, and all the people in the streets and at the windows said, “How matchless are the Empress’ new clothes! How beautifully the dress hangs!”

A thirteen year old girl in the crowd chimed in: “Mom, I want those fine clothes, can I please?” And the whole teen crowd in the city wails: “Mom/dad/honey/dear, I want those clothes and appear on the cover of Vogue. Please…”

[With apologies to the Grimm brothers, to excellent weavers of East Bengal and China, and teenagers who don’t know the difference between the Naked and the Dead. Check out: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Naked_and_the_Dead_(film)]

Indra Nuyi Said Nothing New: Read Robert Frost First

“What is work, what is play; what is life, what is career: it is all one and the same,” or something to that effect, I was told, said Indra Nuyi of Pepsico. I go with that view: in today’s world, as in Robert Frost’s, the big thing is to enjoy your work, play at work, live at work, and work at home. Sounds all confusing?

OK, let us start disambiguating this with the lines from the big daddy of American poetry, Robert Frost:

My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes,
Is the deed ever really done.

==
Avocation, according to www.m-w.com is:
a subordinate occupation pursued in addition to one's vocation especially for enjoyment : hobby [it is a diversion, a distraction, according to Webster’s; but be that as it may…]

Let us say my avocation is blogging, which gives me enjoyment, and it is my hobby. And if, for some reason, I get paid for it – wow, is there anything better than that in life?

Vocation, according to that veritable source of definitions, once again, is:
the work in which a person is employed [namely, the work for which a person gets paid].

Is that now somewhat clear: you do things you love to do, and you get paid for it. But how on earth is that possible? Any work you do and get paid for becomes abhorrent, for the very reason that you get paid for it, no? You would rather sit at something fishy and drink beer (for which you have to pay). You would rather play skittles all your life, right?

==
But then, look at Sachin Tendulkar…

Sachin loves cricket: whether you accept the fact that he is the god of cricket or not, you cannot deny that he loves what he does: playing cricket. That is his vocation and avocation; that is his distraction, digression, hobby, and career.

Can all of us play cricket as well as He does? Isn’t that a tall order? [The Sachin is not very tall…]

My point is not that we should all get into cricket and enjoy it and become cricketing gods: that is Sachin’s job (or life or career). But if you work at it (the only worthwhile work you should be at), all of us can find deep within us a line of activity which syncs up our soul’s desire and bodily abilities.
For my part….
I found that I like editing and writing; I don’t get paid for the writing I ‘indulge’ in; sometimes I get brickbats for what I write. However, my writing ‘feeds into’ my editing skills, for which I get paid.

I think I have found the right work-life integration (not balance).

I write this particular blog for the benefit of my horrible boss. If she were not such a beautiful woman, I would have thrown him in to the lake near my office.

==
Let us face it: in India, girls and women who manage to get past the sex-determination tests do have an advantage over boys and women. Look at the crowded male compartments and the spaced out ladies compartments in the local trains in Hyderabad. The ladies compartment is much better than the first-class compartment.

==
Glass ceiling and all that; oh well, I got to review Camille Paglia’s Sex, Art and American Culture another day and talk about feminism and Sushi Tharoor. Suffice it to say for now, More Power To Women!

Mr Perfect: A Clean, Family Entertainer*****

I give this five-star rating for the following reasons:
- Kajal Agarwal’s outstanding performance – when she smiles, she is irresistible; when she cries, being a man, I cried like a baby, with tears rolling down my cheeks!
- Prabhas’ cool outlook and clothes (though he wears a Donna Karan sweatshirt once; wonder if that was intended to appeal to a queer audience!)
- Tapsi in full costume, except in one ‘item’ number: my god, she is cute!
- A fresh look at love, romance, and marriage (and the Hindu undivided fambly), never before seen in Telugu films – or even bollywood flicks. Karan Joker be damned!
- Kajal Agarwal (forget about her performance). Period!

Well, there is a sixth reason, which is this song (forgive my feeble attempt at translating it):

It is chilly, and my mind turns toward you
It’s brilling and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe...

Raindrops are falling on my head and my mind is hopping hither thither
And my youth suffocates me...

Small, small hopes are pinching me and pushing off
And small little thoughts pierce my head and kill me, almost...

I feel as if you are with me; as if you are my shadow
As if you are looking at me all the time...

In my dreams you are inside my head whispering sweet nothings
I dream that you are my breath and cause of my breathlessness...

We started off with little fights and bonded over bigger ones
We think different and our styles differ so much...

And yet, and yet, as we go along, we get along so much...
What is it with me and with you? Why, oh why is it such?

==
At this point, in this superbly choreographed number:

“Come on and get into the rain,” says Kajal
And Prabhas mouths a silent “No way”.

And promptly, meekly gets into the rain
Where else do you see this in Telugu films?
==
[The answer is simple: It is a typical K Vishwanath film. I wonder if K Dasarath is somehow related to the great man. But definitely, K V was not just an actor in the movie. He surely had a bigger role to play in the making of it. Consider the ]

I feel as if I am slipping into a valley, as if I am floating into the sky
As if the stars are approaching me, I feel as if something is going on inside of me...

Without hesitation I could show my anger at you in front of all
But now, all alone with you, why am I feeling melee-mouthed to tell you of my love for you?

As if I am moving away from me, when I remember your mischief
And when I want to get back to myself, I feel your steps reaching toward me

==
Folks, get ready for the show of your season. Bombabes, watch out! Kajal Agarwal is gonna hit hard where it hurts – your callsheets and pay checks.

==
Good show, Mr K Dasarath; well done again Dil Raju garu. Keep it up Mrs Anita (and Venkateswara creations)! Let us have some more of these wonderful family entertainers. We are thirsty!

Did satyasai ever produce a jackfruit out of his lungi?

Need and Greed: Gandhi and God

So, was Mohandas Gandhi, the Great Soul, God? Is or was he bigger than Satya Sai or Shirdi Sai? What did all of them teach? Was Gandhi well read? Did he practice what he taught?

Look at this episode, which you all would know…

A woman goes to Swami RamaKrishna, with her son; the boy is fond of sweets and forever hankering for more of them. RamaKrishna tells her to come back with the boy the next day. She does; Swami tells the boy that eating sweets is not good for health, etc. so stop it. The woman is confused: says, “Swami, I thought you would perform a miracle to save my son from this affliction/addiction to sweets; and you simply say – ‘Don’t eat sweets.’ You could have said that yesterday?”

Swami RamaKrishna, the story goes, said: “Well, lady, until yesterday, I was eating a lot of sweets too. I stopped since you came to me, and now I can tell your boy to stop eating sweets. Not otherwise!”

Can you believe that? Did Swami RamaKrishna actually say/do all of that? But, isn’t it a wonderful thing to illustrate the ‘do what you preach’ theory?

OK. When Jesus walked on water…

He was a sailor in a boat? The lake was frozen? Or was He walking on the plank that protruded into the lake, to which people gathered unto in boats: I was told that the high priests among jews were into that kind of preaching, and Jesus doing it (being none other than a son of a carpenter) was a big deal. So the whole nine yard about walking on water; I don’t know if Houdini did that, or Satya Sai even tried; but if the big man of Puttaparthi wants to, he could have produced jackfruit out of nowhere. Believe me: seeing is believing and believing is seeing. Ask bishop Berkeley. Or maybe I spelt something wrong; wow, do you care? (As in, “Dude, I don’t; and don’t bother me neither.”)

I go off the track again: in Razor’s Edge, W. Somerset Maghum has this to narrate: the protagonist of R-edge visits (let us assume Sri Ramana) and says: ‘Guru-ji, I heard this story about a great man in my travels across the country. It seems that an old sadguru wants to cross the river, and asks the boat man for a ride. The boat man asks for 2 anna’s; the sadguru does not have the money and the boat man says sorry, guruji, I cannot take you in my boat, if you cannot cough up the money. So the sadguru, apparently, walks across the river and gets to the other shore.” Maharshi Ramana says: “Yeah, what is the question you had in mind?” The westerner (visitor, likely Maghum himself) says: “Well, is it possible to walk on water? How does one go about doing that kind of stuff?” [You could call someone across the globe on your computer using something called Lync and headphones and mic, in case you did not know; so what?”

Bhagawan Ramana smiled and said: I assume you have come to India in quest of Nirvana, Mukti, and such silly stuff; in those terms, walking on water is as good as the 2 – anna’s that the boat man asked from the sadguru. Two anna’s will get you across the river as well as walking on water.

When Jesus walked on water, perhaps he was a sailor? [Leonard Cohen]

Need and greed

Gosh, oh Gandhi Almighty, forgive me, for I have swayed away from the topic too far. The thing is the long lecture I gave to my niece: in short, it is as follows…

“You have three watches; one titan fast track; but you tell me to get one more anyway, because you can have it. But desire/need is something different altogether: when you want something badly, you will kill (trying to get it) or die. And when you get what you want, whether it is two or three watches, you will not look at the 4th. You started out to get three, and you don’t care if there are 3 million; you wanted 3 and you still want those 3. Let others take the rest. That is desire. If you cannot get three, well, go on, fight to the finish and go get them – whatever it takes.”

I think that is stupid of me to say to a child of 13. I make up for it by writing the blog, which I hope will be read by a cross-section of people averaging more than 13 years.
Need and Greed: Gandhi and God

So, was Mohandas Gandhi, the Great Soul, God? Is or was he bigger than Satya Sai or Shirdi Sai? What did all of them teach? Was Gandhi well read? Did he practice what he taught?

Look at this episode, which you all would know…

A woman goes to Swami RamaKrishna, with her son; the boy is fond of sweets and forever hankering for more of them. RamaKrishna tells her to come back with the boy the next day. She does; Swami tells the boy that eating sweets is not good for health, etc. so stop it. The woman is confused: says, “Swami, I thought you would perform a miracle to save my son from this affliction/addiction to sweets; and you simply say – ‘Don’t eat sweets.’ You could have said that yesterday?”

Swami RamaKrishna, the story goes, said: “Well, lady, until yesterday, I was eating a lot of sweets too. I stopped since you came to me, and now I can tell your boy to stop eating sweets. Not otherwise!”

Can you believe that? Did Swami RamaKrishna actually say/do all of that? But, isn’t it a wonderful thing to illustrate the ‘do what you preach’ theory?

OK. When Jesus walked on water…

He was a sailor in a boat? The lake was frozen? Or was He walking on the plank that protruded into the lake, to which people gathered unto in boats: I was told that the high priests among jews were into that kind of preaching, and Jesus doing it (being none other than a son of a carpenter) was a big deal. So the whole nine yard about walking on water; I don’t know if Houdini did that, or Satya Sai even tried; but if the big man of Puttaparthi wants to, he could have produced jackfruit out of nowhere. Believe me: seeing is believing and believing is seeing. Ask bishop Berkeley. Or maybe I spelt something wrong; wow, do you care? (As in, “Dude, I don’t; and don’t bother me neither.”)

I go off the track again: in Razor’s Edge, W. Somerset Maghum has this to narrate: the protagonist of R-edge visits (let us assume Sri Ramana) and says: ‘Guru-ji, I heard this story about a great man in my travels across the country. It seems that an old sadguru wants to cross the river, and asks the boat man for a ride. The boat man asks for 2 anna’s; the sadguru does not have the money and the boat man says sorry, guruji, I cannot take you in my boat, if you cannot cough up the money. So the sadguru, apparently, walks across the river and gets to the other shore.” Maharshi Ramana says: “Yeah, what is the question you had in mind?” The westerner (visitor, likely Maghum himself) says: “Well, is it possible to walk on water? How does one go about doing that kind of stuff?” [You could call someone across the globe on your computer using something called Lync and headphones and mic, in case you did not know; so what?”

Bhagawan Ramana smiled and said: I assume you have come to India in quest of Nirvana, Mukti, and such silly stuff; in those terms, walking on water is as good as the 2 – anna’s that the boat man asked from the sadguru. Two anna’s will get you across the river as well as walking on water.

When Jesus walked on water, perhaps he was a sailor? [Leonard Cohen]

Need and greed

Gosh, oh Gandhi Almighty, forgive me, for I have swayed away from the topic too far. The thing is the long lecture I gave to my niece: in short, it is as follows…

“You have three watches; one titan fast track; but you tell me to get one more anyway, because you can have it. But desire/need is something different altogether: when you want something badly, you will kill (trying to get it) or die. And when you get what you want, whether it is two or three watches, you will not look at the 4th. You started out to get three, and you don’t care if there are 3 million; you wanted 3 and you still want those 3. Let others take the rest. That is desire. If you cannot get three, well, go on, fight to the finish and go get them – whatever it takes.”

I think that is stupid of me to say to a child of 13. I make up for it by writing the blog, which I hope will be read by a cross-section of people averaging more than 13 years.

Osho and Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan: Indian Philosohy and the Wild West

Osho says the most beautiful word in the inglis lengvage is ‘fuck’ – it is a verb, it is a noun, it is an objective (he means; adjective). He rants on that way for 10 minutes; there is canned laughter in the audio I listened to.

What is the west up to? They know he is a buffoon. Why do they make him out to be a ‘guru’ (if only of sex)? What is the big conspiracy here? This is what it is all about: the west wants to showcase Osho as the greatest Indian thinker of the modern times; and prove that he is a clown; and ergo, all Indian philosophy is nonsense. Sounds like a good plan? Well, it sure worked. Then on, there are a whole lot of other jokers who made it big in the American landscape.

The sad part is that, young people in India find that Osho is a great thinker. It is sad and it is bad. Sex and love have to go together; didn’t Rekha, the movie star say that? “If two people say they are in love with each other,” she said, “and don’t go to bed together – I don’t call it love”. Elementary, my dear Whatson? Osho goes on for a half hour talking about love of the mind (romantic love), of the body (sexuality) and love (which is really sex). Ho hum! Did he ever do it? Did he produce children? Why should you have sex if not to produce children?

Osho is a sham that the west picked up to prove that Indian philosophy is all balls. It is like picking on Any Rand to show how apologists of capitalism are shallow. You must talk to the best of the breed; as I said – Dr S Radhakrishnan; we will return to him in a bit. In the meantime, just look at some ugly things Osho was involved in: fraud, biological terrorism, and false prophecy. Read on…

“In 1981 the increased tension around the Pune ashram, along with criticism of its activities and threatened punitive action by the Indian authorities, provided an impetus for the ashram to relocate to America. On 1 June Osho travelled to the United States on a tourist visa, ostensibly for medical purposes…
“According to Susan J. Palmer the move to the United States "appears to have been a unilateral decision on the part of Sheela." Gordon (1987) notes that Sheela and Osho had discussed the idea of establishing a new commune in the U.S. in late 1980, although he did not agree to travel there until May 1981…. Osho never sought outside medical treatment during his time in America, leading the Immigration and Naturalization Service to believe that he had a preconceived intent to remain there. Osho later pleaded guilty to immigration fraud, including making false statements on his initial visa application.”
This gets really ugly, as you can see:
“The salmonella attack was noted as the first confirmed instance of chemical or biological terrorism to have occurred in the United States. Osho stated that because he was in silence and isolation, meeting only with Sheela, he was unaware of the crimes committed by the Rajneeshpuram leadership until Sheela and her "gang" left and sannyasins came forward to inform him. A number of commentators have stated that in their view Sheela was being used as a convenient scapegoat. Others have pointed to the fact that although Sheela had bugged Osho's living quarters and made her tapes available to the U.S. authorities as part of her own plea bargain, no evidence has ever come to light that Osho had any part in her crimes. Nevertheless Gordon (1987) reports that Charles Turner, David Frohnmayer and other law enforcement officials, who had surveyed affidavits never released publicly and who listened to hundreds of hours of tape recordings, insinuated to him that Osho was guilty of more crimes than those for which he was eventually prosecuted. Frohnmayer asserted that Osho's philosophy was not "disapproving of poisoning" and that he felt he and Sheela had been "genuinely evil".
Osho's imprisonment and transfer across the country took the form of a public spectacle – he was displayed in chains, held first in North Carolina then Oklahoma and finally in Portland. Officials took the full ten days legally available to them to transfer him from North Carolina to Portland for arraignment. After initially pleading "not guilty" to all charges and being released on bail Osho, on the advice of his lawyers, entered an "Alford plea" – a type of guilty plea through which a suspect does not admit guilt, but does concede there is enough evidence to convict him – to one count of having a concealed intent to remain permanently in the U.S. at the time of his original visa application in 1981 and one count of having conspired to have sannyasins enter into sham marriages to acquire U.S. residency. Under the deal his lawyers made with the U.S. Attorney's office he was given a 10-year suspended sentence, five years' probation and a $400,000 penalty in fines and prosecution costs and agreed to leave the United States, not returning for at least five years without the permission of the United States Attorney General.”
What do we have here? Visa fraud, sham marriages, bioterrorism. And Osho International Meditation Resort – strictly for the rich and famous.

Has anyone heard of Dr Sarvepalli Radhakrishan?

No one I am sure reads his works, but has anyone even heard the name? If you cannot approach Adi Sankara and other great thinkers of India – take a look at the work of Dr S Radhakrishnan.
“Dr. Radhakrishnan stated that Western philosophers, despite all claims to objectivity, were influenced by theological influences of their own culture. He wrote books on Indian philosophy according to Western academic standards, and made all efforts for the West to give serious consideration to Indian philosophy. In his book "Idealist View of Life", he made a powerful case for the importance of intuitive thinking as opposed to purely intellectual forms of thought. He is well known for his commentaries on the Prasthana Trayi namely, the Bhagavadgita, the Upanishads and the Brahma Sutra.”
The west chooses to go gaga over the buffoon Osho. And debunks him and sends him to prison. And they have no clue that the real giant of Indian philosophy is Dr Radhakrishnan.

Osho probably never managed to get up his member and kept talking about the F word, just to show that he was in the game. Come on, it happens to the best of men; with or without a fleet of Rolls Royces. No amount of talking is going to put fire in the loins. May his soul rust in piss.