Desicritics Category: Culture: Philosophy

A-vivek of N-Arundhati

Vivek Sharma — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 10:32:16 EDT

When Narundhati treks through the jungles as a guest of Maoists, her biases
ignore the blisters on her city feet. The mosquitoes that relish blood, heedless
to the age of their victims, serenade to her, in a 'thousand star hotel'.
What Narundhati says is part fact, the part where she describes guns
and explosives in a region termed Pakistan by leaders and policemen --
a Pakistan within India where followers of Mao seek a bloody revolution!

When she quotes a Harvard returned politician or a Naxal leader verbatim, she stays partly
in right, stating their high-headed thoughts about cost of progress and freedom at midnight.
I root for her when she describes the plight of farmers, counterfeited by a green revolution,
or when derides the blind march into globalization or the abject immorality of the corrupt.
When Narundhati asks if a fact is a fact in her fiction, or if our judgment of Maoists is right,
or suggests that India need 'feral poetry', she is enchanted by her wordplay. Her fiction
writer’s instincts laud her, as she pens lines lyrically in a cinematic setting to die for (not in)
and her protagonists are Davids fighting a 'higher caste, fascist' Goliath-state.
In episodes that trek her journey with lilting rhythms, every typed word is paid for, is wanted
by a popular magazine, and she anticipates the applause she will get from the Eastern left,
and the Western right.

She is partly right when she describes how CIA's jihad
of late eighties in Afghanistan finished off Russian communism and spawned
Taliban style communalism in Afghan & Indian territory, bringing Kashmir its tensions
(and some intellectuals their liberal pretensions). She appears partly bright
when she describes the rise of Hindutva as a political force in that nineties disquiet.
Since her writing is tight, she urges connotations to bare themselves and subtleties
of diction in this colonial language, appeased by her 'hysterical rhetoric', look like ecstatic,
climactic arguments, but what interests me always is what escapes her,
or what she omits or leaves out.
Like Kashmiri Pandits, who don't feature in her computation of what went wrong in 1988-
89, though historically speaking, those lands belonged to those hundreds of thousands:
now refugees in their own country, driven out by 'Azadi guns'.
When she forgets is that in this Indian Palestine, the oppressed is the Hindu, whose homeland,
memory of forefathers is being wiped out, and there is no Darwish to sing of this loss!
But her reading of the historic is undone by her histrionics. She ignores
what she dislikes, and in her surreal imagination, Gandhian protest is a vice.

Hinduism, which gives her name, but deserves only her distaste, is the problem she must cite.
Her unintelligent comments about Kashmir or Taj Mumbai siege (as Rushdie called them),
her howl: "justice or civil war" reflect she’s Narundhati: yet her prestige persists in spite of her sleights,
for a country she calls a Nazi-like police state by tolerating her, belies the atrocities she cites:
while she sees only death and shadow lurk on our stage
Isn't she surprised, why she is still unscathed and alive?
Truth is seldom as black or white, but my stanzas seem stunted for I am imitating Narundhati's style.

See I am stumped by her contradictions, though as an Indian, I am deemed capable of reconciling
the opposites. Narundhati, the embedded journalist, describes rapes, arson, murder by police as malice,
yet urges us to sympathize with Maoists who count mutilated corpses as a prize.

Years back, on the shores of Narmada, she cried hoarse with non-violent protesters,
"Narmada bachao, bachao" "Narmada bachao, bachao"
and now in Maoists camps, she despises those methods.
"Lal salaam comrade! Guns uthao, uthao"
She cites Charu's and Mao's affection for gore, and tells us, in her Delhi accent...
O don't be a bore,
look at these tribals dancing, look at their songs and folklore...
who'd think they have killed a score.

When she writes, "I tell them Delhi is a cruel city that neither knows nor cares about them,"
she forgets that the Indian city destroyed the most number of times, never though by pacifists,
is the city of Hindu memories, of Ghalib, Mir and Sufis, of Sikhs and seekers of many faiths,
but our city-girl thinks cities as contraband
and like Mumbai, her 'karmabhoomi' is ostracized from her skies.
Likewise, millions of children born into consumer cultures, are vultures
as per her writing, which insists world markets are ulcers, progress = prosecution,
pro-Hindu idealism = fascism, police = thieves/rapists, leaders = hate-mongers. If her arithmetic of India,
America, World is really that simplistic, and caustic, I wonder, what qualifies her to be a critic?

As a teenager, I volunteered one summer for teaching the slum children in Delhi. As a reward
for my sincerity, I was led into a small, unlit room one afternoon, to talk to a high-ranking Maoist.
"We must rid our nation of these intellectuals, professors, politicians, landowners, high castes,
scientists, and wipe out the rich.
Blood is the only water than can wash the strains of anguish
that distinguish my people," he said. He quoted Marx, Majumdar, French revolution, Russians, Mao.
I looked like an ancient cow quoting Gandhian or Buddhist or Hindu philosophy,
and the forgotten principle of Christian non-resistance: of turning the other cheek.

I tried to decipher why I was an enemy. "You represent the worst of elitists, Sharma;
studying in a fancy engineering college, Convent educated, Brahmin, or course you’re a fascist".
My distinct unease told me I was condemned by the prejudice of this self-appointed jurist!
I lacked potent phrases to debate with him, so I described how I had toiled hard all my life
under extreme family pressure and my success was fruition of the daily, honest sweat
of my parents who had risen from Himalayan poverty, which doesn't ask your caste
when it affects you, though employers cite it when they reject you.
"Many innocents must die too. The fire of sacrifice, the Goddess
calls for a bloody revolution."

That three hour meeting still baffles me. I am at loss for words,
it hurts. For him, Chinese excesses or Stalin's policies are justified. The morbid horror of it,
rages within me, and as I devour literature from all times -- Tale of two cities, If this is a Man,
Doctor Zhivago, Train to Pakistan or Manto's stories -- I realize every activism and ideal
that strives to reverse biases, by justifying repressive policies and atrocities of present day
in the light of past excesses, rationalizes exactly what it criticizes. War begets war, lust, lust,
hate spawns hate. I agree markets lack compassion and conscience, but collectives can be callous
as well, Dickensian crowds can turn into mobs and guillotine,
and Achebe’s tribals are capable of being innocuous or fascist!
If only we had the right acumen, we would triumph over ourselves and turn human,
but we lay down a landmine, we turn our holy lands into Palestine, we outline
new charters of hate, wiping Jews or Tutsis or Hindus or Red Indians or Muslims
or Cambodians, or Tibetians or Armenians, priests and pilgrims, ultra-rich and urchin,
wiping whole generations off our slate!

I don't know why Narundhati's mother thinks India needs a revolution, or why
Narundhati listens to grasshoppers and they speak her mind, about 'democracy
as a demon-crazy'. I lived in Chekovian villages, in beat-up small towns,
in places where people don't worry about abstract isms and nouns,
rather stick to their daily needs, banal fancies and follies, ageless celebrations and strife.
We are the poor or middle classes, our daily living supplies more solace and sorrow to our lives
than the craving rich can conceptualize.

When I read dream-like sequences of rural, joyful life, I realize,
even Tolstoys can lack the facts, and that ignorance leads to lies.
See the Soviet history, witness its birth, youth and demise!
Yes Naom Chomsky's is a learned man, and Howard Zinn knew his People’s history,
but when N-Arundhati talks their language, she lacks their informed gallantry,
their reverence for their national ideals, their ability to denounce propaganda, backed with facts.
Not every ape is a Hanuman, for it takes a lot of spirit, guts, grime and gyaan.
To be a Zola, rather than a bhola, requires more than a kurta and a jhola!

In Narundhati's analysis of India: there is a civil war-like situation
between Muslims and Hindus, tribals and corporations, Maoists and state machinery,
dam builders and those displace by dams. And of course, Narundhati is the liberal star
smug, satiated, saturated by her own self-defined idioms of calamity and causality.
Her writing shows, how she deifies the episodes of carnage, and her urge is to disgrace
the land on which she stays. In her prose, terrorists get rationalized, and as she breaks
into outbursts, aimed at foreign readers, buyers of her books, admirer of her looks,
who lap up what she writes, especially her calling much maligned Hindus -- fascists,
or thinking of Kashmir as Palestine or her support for bloody revolutions. Half-truths are half-lies,
and my lament is... many trust her, and thrust biased policies on Indians using her near-sights.
Her rhetoric: 'Mumbai people asked for it, people who are neither in government, nor rich,
nor Maoists asked for it, Kashmiri Pandits asked for it, Hindus & Sikhs killed in past centuries
asked for it, the children of twenty-first century asked for it, Americans killed in 9/11 asked for it,
the races and regions continuously misrepresented by colonial mentality Orientalists like her
asked for it, asked for it, asked for it".

Why Suyodhan is called Duryodhan, why my write-up is full of A-Vivek, and why N-Arundhati,
who I support for her activism on many issues, is the locus of my ardent criticism?
While Narundhati has a Booker and I haven't even won a cooker, I still am an argumentative
Indian, as Amartya Sen would call me. Trust me, it takes more than a token speech to appall me.
Tell me, if I can be considered discreet if in my words, there is no middle ground, no layers, no gray.
Too much talk, and too little thought, too much debate, that too without consulting the proletariat!
Too many victims, too little praise, too much rhetoric, without perspective of the current or the historic!
Anger is easy, but solutions are harder, and in India, where bureaucratic cobwebs usher
answers at the pace of a lazy snail and facts are files buried in dust or disgust somewhere:
her urging us to burn down our the storehouse and file-keepers too leads us nowhere.

My voice falters in any discourse. My lament: I am innocent. If I cite Hindu philosophy,
I am labeled fundamentalist; if Islamic, labeled terrorist; if Jewish, Zionist. If I state
my thoughts, my name says I am a Brahmin, also my education was in Catholic school.
I am my father's son, so related to the government. I live in United States, so I represent the empire.
I am a poet means I am fanciful; an engineer, which implies I limp in humanities,
and by the sheer luck of being the son of a honest man, and a scientist, after a lifetime of toil,
I am still struggling to earn a foothold on our soil. But while I cannot even represent
my own self, how and why does a Narundhati triumph as a correspondent?
If Maoists win their mineral-rich forests, Kashmir gains independence, minorities and castes vanish,
will we reach the state of param-sukh: absolute solace and prosperity, will it be end of our anguish?
If democracy isn't right for us, how do we know unlike in Russian heydays, comrades will fight for us?
Why don't you forsake it Vivek? You don't know what you don't know. Half-truth only parasites on us!

(Inspired by: “Walking with Comrades by Arundhati Roy”)

NOTE
1. (A-vivek: Absence or lack of the ability to determine what is right and wrong, fact and fiction, fair and unfair, sacrosanct and rubbish, ephemeral and eternal. Arundhati was Vasistha’s wife, and name of a vine; but it also means ‘kundalini‘ or supernatural facility, and N-Arundhati therefore is a negation of the Arundhati; i.e. lack of faculty to look at the factual and at the intellectual, and since Arundhati is associated with fidelity, N-Arundhati also has lack of fidelity as a meaning).
2. Arundhati Roy gave a lecture tour after the article in Outlook, and my poem was written after hearing a lecture at MIT, where it was clear that her content and concern were, for most part, motivated by grabbing attention.
3. The poem like this one is considered politically motivated by most poetry journals. Most newspapers cannot publish it for my own political affiliations are unknown, and I come with no recommendations.

Poem: The Human Landscape

Kashkin — Mon, 12 Apr 2010 12:02:09 EDT

Gathered they have from all quarters,
Today is the day we will find,
Our voices, our hearts in one place,
Today we will find solutions
To all our problems and issues
Hangs in there, in silence,
The old murmurs and whispers
Wrapped up in disguises
The old habits and behaviours

Will we achieve all?
What we have announced
Hear they will our concerns
Hear they will our suggestions
Let go those hands and anger
Hear I steps closer to those beats
"You are to be removed"
You don't belong here,
Ask you all the wrong things
Ask you all the wrong questions
Fine words, but they don't mean
Much to us, deaf we are to your pleas

One more try, let's try it again
Our hearts and voices in one place
You will hear, words that carry
The great promise, to my muffled voice
Walk away, the old heart in its tune
Walk away, it's not worth it,
Too much at stakes they have
The emptiness to worship,
Opinions to be corrupted,
Few ounces of light still remain
In wilderness, they have opted
To spend, the entire existence
Respect now gone, from their hearts
Only mind and its fury, the constant burns

The landscape altered, this human cost
And on this alter, all at stakes
The pride and passion, the egos and conscience
When will they change?
Hear they not, the steps from another dimension
In choking silence, they depart,
Hang in there in its wisdom, the old silence
The old murmurs and whispers
Wrapped up in disguises
The old habits and behaviours
Walk they with you as those steps roll
To find your voices and hearts in one place!

Bhagwat Purana Skandha Three, Part One - The Beginning of Creation

Dr Bhaskar Dasgupta — Fri, 9 Apr 2010 23:04:30 EDT

The third Skandha begins with Krishna sitting next to the sea, all the Yadavas having had died. Krishna’s cousin, Uddhava finds Krishna there and knows that Krishna is planning to leave this mortal world. Krishna teaches Uddhava the Brahma Vidya and then Bddhava left to travel to Badarik Ashram on the Gandhamadana mountan. While travelling to the Badarisk Ashram, Uddhava realises that Krishna has also died from Jara’s arrow shot which hits the sole of Krishna’s foot. The arrow was cursed and it was destiny otherwise how else can a Vishnu incarnation die? Vidura happens to meet Uddhava and hears about the end of the Yadavas and upon knowing that he is now in possession of the Brahma Vidya, begs to learn it. But Uddhava demurs, suggests that Vidura go learn the Brahma Vidya from Sage Maitreya.

Vidura reaches Sage Maitreya’s Ashram and begs him to give him the Brahma Vidya starting with the story of how creation began and Vishnu’s incarnations. A brief overview was given in Skhanda two but this is much more detailed. And then began a fascinating story about the beginning of creation. A Mahapralaya happens. A mahapralaya is a fascinating event. Thinking more about it, it is philosophically challenging to even imagine. Think of a situation or an event where the entire known and unknown universe is annihilated. Existence of time, space, consciousness, all dimensions vanish. Physical matter, memory, Dark Matter, souls everything is no longer in existence. You might well as inquire if that is mahapralaya, then what is pralaya. Well, if I understood it correctly, this roughly corresponds to significant cosmic events such as a star / nova / super nova explosion or the destruction of a solar system. A maharalaya is the mother of all pralayas so to say. This event marks the end of one and the beginning of another cycle of a mahamanvantara, a cosmic cycle.

Now take a step back and imagine this kind of philosophy being discussed thousands of years back. I find it difficult to comprehend and hold the concept in my mind, much less visualise this and these fellows were not only discussing the concept, they were describing a whole mythology around it. So after the mahapralaya happens, all creation is now dissolved into the primordial sea, Naara. Now this is where I am a bit confused. If all creation is annihilated, then where is this sea coming from? It might be primordial but this means that the sea is outside the realms of creation. Is this in some other dimension that Vishnu has? Something to think about, eh?

The reason why I think it is another dimension is because the Purana now talks about a serpent, Adisesha, which is floating on this sea upon which Vishnu is sleeping. It says that all creation has now been withdrawn into Vishnu. Ah! Ha!, so my guess was right, Vishnu exists outside of creation. For a long unbroken moment, everything was perfectly balanced and nothing stirred. The three gunas, sattva, rajas and tamas were in equilibrium till Kaala, the spirit of time, disturbed the balance.

Before I go on with the story, here is another incongruous statement. How can something external disturb something that is inside Vishnu? If Vishnu is the lord of all including time, how is it that Kaala (which isn’t time itself, but it is the spirit of time) can disturb the balance? The only way this can happen is if there is method in the madness. In other words, this disturbance was part of Vishnu’s design. So time is really not external to Vishnu at all.

Following this, a lotus stalk emerged from Vishnu’s navel and then an immense lotus flower bloomed. Vishnu’s spirit rose in the stalk and emerged in the flower in the form of Brahma. He thought of himself as Svayambhuva, born of himself, knowing all the Vedas, and looking at four directions through his four heads. The waters of the infinite sea whispered to him “tapa, tapa, tapa”, which lead him to tapasya, or deep meditation. After hundred cosmic years, he suddenly saw Vishnu, immediately attained enlightenment and knew the purpose of his existence, to be the creator.

Brahma created the four Kumara Rishis from his mind, Sanaka, Sananda, Sanatkumara and Sanatana, and told them go forth and multiply. Typically, the kids refused to do work and wanted to go in search of Moksha. The Rishis said, we want to attain enlightenment as well while you are asking us to work to create the universe. I have to admit I had a bit of a chuckle. Even the gods have problems with their kids. I feel better now.

But guess what? Even Brahma feels anger. He was utterly furious. Well, I am not surprised, it is not like he is asking for a cup of tea, you really cannot get any more important than the task of creation. So while he controlled himself, his anger was seething. This anger of his manifested himself in the form of a howling child. Brahma named him Rudra and asks him to go dwell in the heart, senses, life, sky, air, fire, water, earth, sun, moon and tapasya. Quite an interesting time, those few moments when Brahma was getting on with his work of creation. I am a project manager and while I also create a project starting with a project plan or business plan, it’s a tad different from what Brahma goes through. At least no children spawn off my forehead even though some veils might pop.

Brahma created ten more sons from his body, Atri, Angiras, Pulastya, Pulaha, Kratu, Bhrigu, Daksha, Marichi, Vasista and Narad. Not just sons, but metaphysical concepts such as Dharma, Adharma, Desire and Anger were born from his body, soul, heart and brow. His shadow became another son called as Kardama.

Then he really got down to the nitty gritty by issuing all the physical matter in the universe, the galaxies, the stars, the planets, the cosmic dust, etc. The four Vedas emerged from each of his faces and merged into one. Brahma divided himself into two genders, male and female called as Svayambhuva Manu and Satarupa who in tern produced Akuti, Prasuti and Devahuti (daughters) and two sons, Priyavrata and Uttanapada. People of tender dispositions look away now, because Brahma gave Akuti to Ruchi (who seems to appear out of nowhere, who is he? Where did he come from?), Devahuti was given to Kardama Muni (I guess her uncle) while Prasuti was married off to Daksha Prajapati. These six people, three couples, are the ancestors of mankind.

A rather simple straight forward tale but truly cosmic in conception and imagination. While I had read that Brahma had created creation, I did not know about the details. Some of the relationships are a bit fruity, eh? But then again, from a metaphysical basis, when everything is part of Vishnu, you really do not worry about mere aspects such as Incest or genetic problems of consanguineous marriages. Good start, made me wish to keep on going. In the next part, I will be talking about Varaha, the cosmic boar who brought the Earth to Humans, Rishis and Gods.

All this to be taken with a grain of piquant salt!

Fiction: I Am Jill's Spare Tyre

IdeaSmith — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 11:28:42 EDT

The long journey from nursery to rhymes was fraught with heartless atrocities inflicted on those that built the heart in the first place. It was an old story but then, they all were, weren’t they?

The Pharaoh had ordered the fingers chopped off every workman’s hand, that had chiseled and pulleyed and caressed the stones that would pay homage several centuries past to the important dead royals. So also, the petty workers, the small masons of imagination were destined to fall and be crushed under the feet of grander ideas that flew on the wings of classroom marks.

The writer, he sat, in deep comtemplation of the worthiness of his works. He was writing a prologue, a worthy diatribe on how he hoped to make the ugly world a little better, with his ideas. All at once, an image intruded into his mind and made the words, thus far marching in perfect order, run into one another. He growled in annoyance and then looked about furtively. Loss of control was not permitted in his world and what was he, master of imagination, if he could not control his own mind?

He took a deep breath and exhaled softly. Balance, balance, balance, he chanted to himself. Extreme actions led to disarray. That had been the subject of his book. Moderate politics, the need for the middle ground. But just as he got to that part, the image flared up again.

With a howl of frustration, he realized a little man was standing in front of him.

“Who are you?!” he thundered.

“Don’t you know me? You remember us.”

He wrung his hands, trying to say something that would not unleash the panic working its way up his throat. He wanted to yell that he had no idea. But how would that look, admitting that a total stranger had materialized right before his eyes, inside his own house? His reputation for cool rationale, for objective viewpoint would be completely ruined if he admitted to such things.

“We are not strangers, Jack.”

“Who…who are you?”

“I’m Jack, too. Come on, you do know us. Don’t be so strange. Don’t be a stranger!”

Jack gulped, looking at the other Jack. Yes, he did know the man. It was impossible but he did remember. A flash of nostalgia, not entirely pleasant swept over him. It had been years, many, many years.

“We used to be your favorite poem, Jack. Till you decided that you only wanted to read the big people.”

The little Jack stared back accusingly at the big Jack, his words forlorn. The plump matron behind him waddled forward and took his hand. She had been there all along but they’d been standing so close it was like they were one person. With a shock, Jack (the bigger one), realized that she was at least thrice the size of Jack (the smaller one).

“How did you get here? I mean, what are you doing here? I had forgotten about you.”

“It was a difficult journey. First the sea of words that came and washed us all away. And then troops of rote-learning. But the real monster was the scourge of routine when you left the walls of learning.”

A loud harrumph sounded next to the little man. Jack patted the lady’s arm and continued.

“Walls of learning, indeed. Barbaric marauders, all of them. Such a peaceful, fertile land we all lived in, until you let those horrors in. We lost most of our numbers in the first ten years.”

Jack could barely believe what he was hearing but he sat transfixed, rooted to his chair and a hapless victim to the visions that the other Jack was running before his eyes. Yes, yes, he could see the atrocity of cramming in all those new ideas, dislodging the previous tenants. At that time it had felt exhilarating and he hadn’t spared a thought for what was being scattered. His mind, after all, was not a container but a bottomless sea that could house many different beings.

“Yes, maybe. There was enough space at least initially” said the other Jack, clearly seeing the big Jack’s thoughts swim through the visions he was conjuring up.

“But,” he continued, “They didn’t seem content with that. They had to vanquish every one of us, obliviate us from your memory in order to exist. An idea that eats up another idea isn’t an idea at all, it’s a parasite! And you let a horde of them take us over!”

“The right idea won out at the end. It’s the way of the world. Survival of the fittest.” said the Big Jack.

“Ah, that one. That’s one of the Darwin guy’s pets, isn’t it? And what did he know of imagination? What did he do except live with his head in the past and explain how things were then? What good did that do to your kind?”

“He was right. The better idea won, after all. If it couldn’t stand the test of reason, it didn’t deserve to exist.”

A loud gasp escaped the fat lady and the little Jack quivered in his miniscule shoes. When he spoke again, it was in the gruff voice of his grandfather.

“Bite your tongue, boy! A warrior will kill better than a poet. But a treasurer will pull a kingdom through famine in a way the warrior never will. Have you forgotten even that one? The golden edict?”

Jack’s puzzled expression grated on Jack’s nerves but he patiently, if not petulantly enunciated,

“There is a place for everyone in this universe.”

It was simple, it was profound and it was true, Jack knew that. In fact, wasn’t that the very premise of his new book? An acceptance of differences, embracing the variations rather than trying to do away with them…that’s what he prescribed as the way to govern the new integrated world.

“Finally. HMMMMMMPP. He used to be-HMMMPH-such a bright boy. Took him this long to get here. HARRRUMMMPHH”

The woman’s harrumping seemed a tad more sensible now as they were more words than sounds.

“Okay, yes, you are right.”

“And??”

“I’m sorry. Very sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Hmph. That. Hmmph. Much. Harrum. Is. Hmph. Obvious.”

“Give him a chance, m’love. He’s coming around.” The other Jack patted his wife’s meaty arm with his bony fingers.

“But how did you get here? How did you survive?”

“Like, I said, it wasn’t easy. The soldiers threw us into jail first. But I passed through the bars easy-peasy and got us out of there.”

As he spoke he turned and the big Jack could now see that in profile, the little Jack was lean to the point of flatness. He was no more than a card, a paper cutout of a man.

“And then?”

“We hid inside your sleep and only one of us would get out at a time, to forage for food or a way forward. You see, we’re only visible when we’re together. All those times, you woke up and your guard-thoughts passed us off as stray dreams.”

“But how did you get out of my mind?”

“That was the nub, it was. We almost got caught. We nearly ran headlonjg into a mountain of rational thinking. But that’s where my lady showed her true worth.”

It was rather difficult to think of the matron as a superheroine. As Jack had that thought, a vision of her in spandex tights flashed and she directed a look of extreme hostility at him. In irritation, he swatted it away, aided by the guardian host of tidy thinking.

“None of that. I’m telling you the story.”

“So what happened then?”

“I wrapped myself around her waist and she dropped her apron over me. And then we rolled down the mountain. As you can see, she’s well suited to rolling evenly.”

The grin he gave his wife, was one of pure devotion and the lady, brimming with rage only a second ago, was all smiles again.

“But what about the last vestige of control?” said Jack, picturing the foot soldiers at the base of the mountain, the impenetrable (or so he had thought) fortress that no beings such as Jack should have been able to penetrate.

“Gave her a full search, didn’t they?” chuckled the other Jack. The lady was laughing too now, trumpeting in bursts.

“When they felt around her waist, she jiggled so much that it alarmed a few of the guards. Then she said that she had always been chubby and the last few meals that you had been having, especially the lobster, were causing extra tyres and other strange eruptions. Which is why she had to get out of your consciousness before she burst.”

Jack was stumped. He had had a splitting headache when he woke up that morning which he had put down to too much of rich food for dinner and lunch the previous day. Obviously that was the very time, the renegade Jack and his wife had been outwitting his carefully erected barricades. He sighed.

“What now?”

“You are asking us?”

The lady Jill trumpeted at him but her look was triumphant.

“Okay, okay, I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, it’s about the book, isn’t it? That’s what has been missing. Opposites can be complementary.”

“Yes, look at the two of us, Jack. Weren’t we meant for each other?” said the other Jack, a blissful look on his face as he kissed Jill on her meaty jowl. The other Jack nodded and turned.

It took him a fair bit of searching but when he finally found what he was looking for, in the back of his son’s cupboard, he knew exactly which page to turn to.

Jack Spratt could eat no fat.
His wife could eat no lean.
And so between them both, you see,
They licked the platter clean
When he returned to his desk, the couple had gone. Back into his imagination, ensconced in their rightful home with all correct formalities. He turned to his work. That prologue would not be needed now. He scrolled to the top of the document and deleted the bold line right at the top. He had a new title. He typed it in and read it. Then he backspaced and interchanged two words. The lady had saved the day so it was only proper she be mentioned first.

A Meal For Jill & Jack Spratt hit the stands two months later.

Ideart: Good Karma, Bad Medicine

IdeaSmith — Fri, 5 Mar 2010 17:17:30 EST

A few days earlier I had a thought. The words

Good karma, bad medicine

just formed themselves in my head. I can’t quite explain the thought. It was one of those ideas that just showed itself and vanished before I fully explore it further. It still sounded interesting. I put it up as my Twitter/ Facebook status to see if I could glean anything from it from seeing it in print. Still no luck. It was one of those things that you can just about see from the corner of your eye but never quite catch it straight-on. That’s when it occurred to me that the best way to communicate this thought may be visual and not verbal. And I realized that it had been awhile since I wielded a paintbrush.

The minute I had that thought, the image I needed flashed before my eyes.That was just it. The idea was a picture, not a sentence or story. After that it was just a matter of executing it. Luckily I had a plain black singlet handy and kept waiting for just such a time. A budding artist learns to store away material that could come in useful.

This is a tank top, that I picked up the first time I saw it because it is the thin, stretchy tee-shirt cotton material. There are no big logos or pictures on it and the cut is basic but curved along the sides rather than the straight up-and-down of unisex tees. I hate those since they hang and tug alternately.

The first thing I had to do was figure out a way to get rid of that little logo in the corner (little as it was, it was still in a white rubberprint and stood out) since that would certainly not do with the idea I had in mind. I was out of black paint so I tried dark blue and dark green but the rubber print of the logo showed right through both of these. Finally I coated it with Fevicryl Pearl Black no. 306.

I wanted the picture to be exactly in the middle of the visible area of the tee-shirt. If you are painting a tee-shirt for the first time, I recommend putting it on and marking off the area while still wearing it. Otherwise, one is used to the stark, solid borders of paper and too often the artwork goes over the visible area or looks too small or big. Clothes fall on each person’s body differently and ideally you should always see the garment on the wearer before painting on it. This area usually comes to about 8in x 8in or 20cm x 20cm on my clothes (and I rather smugly report that it turned out a perfect square without using a ruler or even pencil sketching!)

I started with a swirly line using a thin brush and Fevicryl Pearl Spring Green no.311 and then Fevicryl Cerulean Blue no.32. But I realized that a psychedelic design with multiple colours would need to have broad strokes for each colour to be visible and not get lost in too-intricate strokes so I switched brushes. After that it was a random selection of colours applied in strokes, splashes, squiggles and splotches. I painted over in a number of places and in other places I also used the same brush in multiple colours without cleaning the brush. This last gives the effect that you can see to the right of the second dot on the right. The yellow and pink run parallel for a bit before the yellow strikes out on its own. The colours must not be too liquidey if you want this effect since otherwise they’ll merge into each other.

This is one design where red (my favorite colour) was not the most striking note. On the contrary, the red quite got lost in the gloss of the other pearly tints so I used it as background in a number of places. When I had covered the entire square, I dabbed on circles with the Fevicryl Pearl Spring Green no.311 and you can see the colours beneath through the thin veneer of the green, in places.

I originally intended to paint the words over this design in black or white. But I realized the paint area was too small to fit in words and besides, it was too striking to waste as background. Besides, there was enough room above and below for lettering.

I tried for a digital-looking font and a religious-looking orange (Fevicryl Metallic Red no. 356) for the words ‘Good Karma’. In contrast the words ‘Bad Medicine’ at the bottom are in a more graffiti-like font in a Fevicryl Pearl Lemon Yellow no. 302.

Finally I noticed that the painted-over patch over the logo in the bottom right corner had dried and was standing out against the black. So I painted on a stretch in the same colour across the tee-shirt, a sort of rough underline the way one would highlight a graffittied sentence.

I’m not sure whether the finer points like font and colour would be noticed but I’m guessing they would register at a sublimnal level. The message just is one of those things. I wore this with worn-out blue jeans, a silver chain double-looped around my neck with a New Age faerie pendant. It got some appreciation. :-)

[
Garment: Sleeveless ladies tee-shirt

Material: Hosiery cotton

Background colour: Solid Black

Paint colours used:

Fevicryl Pearl Black no. 306

Fevicryl Cerulean Blue no. 32

Fevicryl Crimson no. 04

Fevicryl Pearl Spring Green no. 311

Fevicryl Pearl Pink no. 303

Fevicryl Pearl Lemon Yellow no. 302

Fevicryl Pearl Metallic red no. 356

Bhagvata Purana, Skandha 1

Dr Bhaskar Dasgupta — Tue, 2 Mar 2010 22:40:03 EST

I have to admit that I did not even know about this book till somebody told me that the Bhagvata Purana is also known as the fifth veda. I further saw references to this Purana in the Dharmasahastra book by Kane and then figured, it is high time that I actually take a look at this book praised by so many, but not discussed enough. And once I actually got my hands on a couple of copies, I think I figured out why this is relatively obscure (compared to the Vedas, Upanishads, Shruti’s and Smritis). Depending upon the version, the books range from 1500 to 2240 pages in length, containing north of thirteen thousand Sanskrit verses. One needs to be very dedicated or locked up for some serious time to really go through this. Nevertheless it is a beautiful book with lovely tales and I thought of reviewing it, as I really could not find any good reviews elsewhere.

Before I start, first some background and logistical points. I used the following books:
1. The Bhagavata Purana: v. 7 (Ancient Indian Tradition and Mythology) by J.L. Shastri and Ganesh Vasudeo Tagare (1994)
2. Bhagavat Purana by Ramesh Menon (2007)
3. A Study of the Bhagavata Purana or Esoteric Hinduism by Purnendu Narayana Sinha, 1901.
4. Srimad Bhagavata Puranam, Sanskrit, 2004.
5. Bhagavata Puranam, Sanskrit, 2006 (under revision)
6. Srimad Bhagavatam (Bhagavata Purana) by Swami A. C. Bhaktivedanta Prabhupâda.

Quite a lot of the versions are different in formulation, usage of English and the so on. If one wants to be true to the Sanskrit versions (which themselves differ a bit), then the Prabhupada version is good, as it has the original Sanskrit, a word by word translation and a summary. In any case, my knowledge of Sanskrit is barely intermediate and I wouldn't be comfortable in dealing with a review based upon that language based book. Reading Sanskrit is one thing, but reviewing in pure ancient Sanskrit? No Sir. If one wants to have a bit more colloquial English usage and more understanding as per modern usage, then I suggest the Menon version. Rest of them use a bit of archaic English and can be a bit difficult to digest. So this review uses the Menon version.

So how do you review such a monumental book? I was struggling with the answer. I could have reviewed the full book down in one long essay but then this would have missed out on giant parts. Doing a translation is simply out of the question. So after discussing it a bit, I hit upon the idea of writing a summary per Skandha (canto or book) and then highlighting any interesting points that popped up in my mind. This means twelve rather long essays, but I think I can live with that on my conscience that one has done justice to it. If you want to rather get a quick overview of the purana, then the wiki entry is a good place to start. Without further ado, lets crack on.

My first impression after I finished the book was that it was mainly about love, very very intense love. Extremely emotional love. Something that makes you weep uncontrollably. Not bawl, but weep. Not sure if you have experienced this, but it's like none of your emotions (speech, sight, touch, smell…) are able to express it and tears are the only way to do so. I felt like this when I first held my kids in my arms. Or when I used to dance in front of Ma Durga during Durga Puja back home with the Dhunuchis. This book is an expression of very intense love towards Vishnu or his incarnation Krishna. Have you read Rumi? The feeling I got was a bit like what I felt when I read Rumi. Rumi, though, is a bit more earthy and this is a bit more esoteric, although some parts of the purana are quite earthy. It is Bhakti personified.

The purana is roughly dated to between 500 to 1000 AD, but it has gone through so many changes, accretions, embellishments, etc. that it is tough to date it correctly. Plus let us not forget that these are stories and generations of scholars and teachers in a vast land have told these stories in a variety of locales and to a huge number of people. It is a miracle that we actually get to a version in the first place.

The first Skandha introduces the purana, which written by Veda Vyasa, who writes this after completing the vedas and Mahabharat. The main reason behind writing this was that the Vedas and Mahabharat do not satisfactorily deal with the highest goal of knowledge and that is devotion to God (Bhakti). Another reason for for writing it, is to assist us in handling the Kali Yug, which came into being when Krishna died. When people begged him to leave something of him behind so that they can cope with the Kali Yug, Krishna poured his essence into the Bhagwat Purana.

Narada Muni is a key participant in the beginnings of the BP. An interesting story is said about him. Narada is disconsolate, because he is wandering around in Kali Yug and is observing the breakdown of divine order. While wandering on the banks of the Yamuna, he notices a young woman sitting next to two very old sick men, while being surrounded with many other young women. The young woman turns out to be Bhakti and the two old sick men are Gyan (knowledge) and Vairagya (detachment or renunciation). The other young women are the sacred rivers such as Ganga, etc. who are trying to provide comfort to Bhakti. The Kali Yug has devastated her two sons even though it spared her. Narada blesses her by saying that Bhakti will be the only way to salvation and then tries to rescue her two sons by chanting the Vedas and Upanishads in their ears, singing the Bhagvad Gita to them. They improved, but not completely. On beseeching the Lord to provide him with some guidance, a voice from the skies tells him to go speak to certain Munis. On searching and leter finding them, Narada asks the Munis about how to cure the two sons of Bhakti? The Munis state that he has to recite the BP to them and since it contains the essence of Lord Vishnu, it will revive them. So he does and Bhakti and her two sons are also revived.

But this was not the first time that the BP had been recited. Thirty years after Krishna died, Vyasa’s son Suka recited the BP to King Parikshit, grandson of Arjuna, son of Abhimanyu, who succeeded Yudhistra to the throne of Hastinapur. But this story is for later. The second great recitation of the BP happened two hundred years after the Kali Yug had started by Gokarna Muni.

The BP then embarks on a long tale of how a childless Brahman begged for a boon of a child from a Sanyasi. The Sanyasi gives a blessed fruit to him and asks his wife to eat it, keeping a vow of truthfullness, kindness and charity for an entire year, not eating more than one meal per day, and if that is done, then a pure golden hearted pious son will be born. But his wife did not want to ruin her figure or go through the pain of childbirth so she hatched a plan with her sister. The fruit was given over to their cow while her sister’s new born baby was smuggled in to be shown as the Brahman’s son called as Dhundhukari. Three months later, the cow gave birth to a human child with golden skin and eyes like lotus petals, but with cow ears. Hence his name, Gokarna (or Cow Ears). Both grow up together, but Dhundhukari turns out to be a devil in disguise, a disgusting sinner, while Gokarna is pure as the snow on Mount Kailash. The Brahman is at his wits end and Gokarna advices him to cultivate dispassion and renounce the world, which he does. Gokarna also leaves on a pilgrimage. Dhundhukari commits terrible crimes, beats up his own mother, steals, whores and lies and at the end, the whores decide to kill him and they do. Unfortunately, Dhundhukari remains behind on earth after death as a spirit. Gokarna senses Dhundhukari’s death and the fact that he is not truly dead, but is still a tortured spirit. Gokurna performs a shraddha at every holy spot, but it does not release Dhundhukari from the earth and finally he returns to his hometown. Dhundhukari begs him for help to be released and Gokurna then embarks on a deep dhyan (meditation) to Surya Deva (Sun God) to learn how to address this. The Sun God advices him to recite the BP as that is the only way Dhundhukari’s soul will be released. So Gokurna starts the recitation with many many people attending the week’s worth of recitation and when he ends, Dhundhukari is released from his earthly bounds.

The others who were listening, though, do not get their sins washed away. Gokurna is told by the sages that Dhundhukari fasted for seven days and he listened to Gokurna’s recitation with all his faculties and might. This is the reason why Dhundhukari was released and not the others. When the others learnt this, they begged Gokurna to recite the BP again which he did. This allowed all the listeners to also be washed free of their sins by Vishnu who appeared after a great conch shell boom in a blaze of light.

Thus ends the first book. I had to consciously lay aside my erupting cynicism. The first book tries hard to explain why the BP is so important and how it helps to wash away the sins. I thought about self praise? However, as I kept on reading, I realised that I was reading it as perhaps a professor wanting to write a book review and not as a worshipper or a person of faith wanting to learn. That switch was not easy and I found myself slipping back into the cynical, doubting persona many times. The apparent inconsistencies about the origins of the purana bothered me as well till I spoke to my father. He told me, if Vishnu is indeed the world, then how does it matter if one manifestation or another wrote or spoke what? What matters is the content. And that made perfect sense.

What was also a bit frightening for a grown man like me was the underlying concept of letting go. Letting go of everything and with tan, man and dhan (body, mind and wealth) and concentrate on the pursuit of Bhakti, devotion to God. I am not sure if I have achieved that and am very far away from the ideal. It felt quite strange reading about people who can be so dispassionate that they are able to walk away from everything that they hold dear (for me it would be my family, my iPhone, my books, etc.) and devote their all and everything to being in love with Krishna. I am not sure if I can ever do that and it was very humbling to find that I do not have the courage or guts to do so.

What a fascinating journey into a wonderful book which is raising more questions than answering them.

Book Review: A Nameless Place

Pallavi Hallur — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 10:20:05 EST

India is an extreme place, an intense place. I feel the spiritual energy in India accelerates the pace of our personal journeys. There is so much going on here.

I was born in India, and I have been writing all my life. I lived and studied in the UK for most of my life, where I have had two poems published. In 2007, I came to work and travel in India. This is when I started writing my first novel, A Nameless Place, which has just been published.

The novel deals with culture, spirituality and identity, as understood by Laxmi, a confused and frustrated British Indian girl. The experience of falling in love (with a man, with India, with life) takes Laxmi on a revelatory journey. The story is very simple, but for me, its themes are very deep.

Laxmi's experiences in India reveal to her that there are certain laws governing her life, that what we think and feel has a direct impact on the reality we experience. But understanding this on a theoretical level does not make any difference; a person has to apply and live by their understandings in order to notice a shift. Gandhi said, 'Be the change you wish to see in the world', and this has a spiritual relevance for Laxmi, who begins to change herself through expanding her awareness. Falling in love and learning to let go of the 'object' of one's desire is one of the ways Laxmi gains her freedom - from possessive notions of love and into a realisation of universal love. Laxmi's struggle involves redefining her values and overcoming cynicism, a habit she realises does not serve anyone.

I can't say much more about the plot, but if any fellow Desi Critics are interested in reading the novel, it is available at most major bookstores in India and can be ordered online from anywhere in the world from Pustak Mahal.

Editor's Note: This is a preview of the author's own book, if anyone would like to review the book itself, please contact us/the author

Liberate Our Students From Sexual Repression

Golden Boy — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 08:49:50 EST

My decision of taking up the Profession of a Spoken English Trainer came with its own pros and cons. On one hand it meant I would have had to settle for less money, on the other hand I found out that it could be a deeply satisfying experience as it meant I could work with young people, helping them learn a language that could open for them not only a door to a whole new world of expression but also free them of the cultural baggage of their mother-tongue.

In my experience as a Spoken English Trainer, I have discovered that two things compel Indians to learn the language: One, the whole new vista of better job prospects that the knowledge of this International Language offers; and secondly, the characteristic of English language as a tool of self-expression which is used across the globe in a growing community of forward-looking people who belong to the realm of progressive thought.

Being able to speak and communicate in English is the key to adopt a whole new culture based on freedom from archaic traditions imposed by religion and society. It is THE medium now for universal brotherhood, the language of the Global Citizen who does not believe in boundaries of narrow nationalistic ideologies.

"Experience in the Classroom"

Even as I struggled to find my own ways and means to teach a foreign language to young people who largely belonged in the age group of 17-24, in an attempt to equip them with a skill for financial betterment, I was soon to discover that I was also dealing with their psychology in some way.

Knowing a particular Indian language as your first language can bring with it its own luggage of past history and cultural ideologies and limitations

Very soon in my career as a Spoken English Trainer I found that my students were basically shy, non-expressive, self-repressive, and carried a baggage of puritanical ideology, all of which was evidently not their own baggage but the heritage of their mother tongue which was the symbol of a particular lifestyle and psychology that their elders belonged to.

People from Hindi and Marathi medium schools are basically unexposed to the ideas of Individuality and Liberty. The Cinema of these languages are hugely influenced by a sexually repressive and narrow Nationalistic mentality which has been the heritage of a country like India, a country that has historically been subject to foreign onslaughts, and was subject to major religious influences (Indic, Islamic and Victorian) which believed in suppression of one's sexual energy.

Even as I struggled to help them learn a foreign language, I noticed that just knowing the nuances of the language was not enough.

The struggle lay not as much in teaching them Grammar but in giving them a voice to express themselves, a voice that had been silenced over generations by forces- religious and imperialistic that wanted the multitudes of this country to remain quiet and adhere to the Ideology of Suppression

Talking openly in the classroom about Sex or anything remotely to do with sexuality, even about being attracted to the opposite gender, could be termed as a major diversion from my duty as a Language Trainer

But what can be more liberating than tapping into one's sexual energy for the purpose of freeing oneself from the mentality of suppression? And what better way to expressing oneself than tapping into a space within which is hugely sexual in nature, in order to free individual expression?

Everyone knows that even the most loyal of Elephants goes wild when in 'heat' i.e. the period of 'heightened sexual desire', when the animal struggles to break away from its shackles.

What lies beneath all our highly held ideologies of Liberty and Freedom as the basic Human Right enshrined in every progressive Constitution today, is this sexual energy. And if it is tamed or suppressed in any way, be it religious or societal is an abuse of the most pervert order.

What I have found in my classrooms is that families go to an extra mile to suppress the sexual energy of a growing child, even to the extent of depriving them of Attention as a means of manipulation of their sexual life-force. Lack of validation for the Individual in them, due to the archaic family roles and duties in India, makes Individual Expression even more repressed.

How can an Individual speak the language of the Free when he/she has to bend down under the weight of his own cultural baggage? How can he even start expressing himself in English, when self-expression itself has been muffled in every home in this country for generations?

It is time to wake up and think!

My God Cannot be The God

Suresh Naig — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 14:31:19 EST

Recently I was engaged in conversation with a person on the hype created by the doomsday theory as per the Mayan calendar. He is one of the contemporary gullible, who believes in the prophecy of the new age soothsayers - the English electronic media people, be it elections, economy or weather. When I refused to buy the arguments - Mayan calendar or not, he argued that even many scientists in the program believed in it. When I delivered my sermons about the fallibility of doomsday theory and the credibility of the electronic media, he realized that I was adamant - which I am on many things, he thought he threw a bombshell at me by saying,

'Do you agree that if God decides to destroy this world he could do it without fail?'

I told him, 'that depends on your perception of God'.

'What is your perception of God?' He asked me.

I said, 'I wish I knew it'

He thought that I am an obstinate idiot and stopped the argument realizing the futility.

When I pondered over the point, I was knocked down and started seeing stars.

What is God and who could be God?

If God had created the earth - one of the planets in its solar system having its outer planet Pluto removed from its Sun by 5.9 billion Kms in the milky way galaxy, with several such solar systems and planets in one galaxy, several such Galaxies making up the ever expanding Universe - the limited neurons in my head failed to conceive the limitless superbeing called God.

The more I thought about the limitless God, the more I realized our fallibility.

The first and stark reality was the fallibility of religions, since the religion has limited the limitless by a name. Having confined the limitless GOD to a limited frame, religions have further narrowed our thoughts and forced us to believe in their GOD as perceived by someone. Organized religions, instead of encouraging individuals to perceive God in broader terms, have restricted the vision of individuals to narrow practices. While every religion claims superiority of its practices, mocks at other religious practices, without realizing that all practices have stemmed out of our limited knowledge and folly.

The second fallibility is attributing benevolent and malevolent attributes to God. We have downgraded the stature of GOD to a HR manager, appraising individuals on their good and bad deeds. An individual should indulge in good deeds and refrain from doing anything bad, only as a social requirement and not as a religious dictum.

Usurping is a tribal mentality; most religions classify usurping as a dreaded sin, but encourage and sanctify usurping in the name of GOD, belittling the limitless God. When religions try and define a magnificent being which is beyond definitions, into a narrow human firmament, the folly of the human mind is laid bare.

With all the apparent achievements we boast of, no human laboratory could create a living creature as simple as protozoa. When such is the limitation of our knowledge, I am amazed at our capacity in creating the Creator and attributing different names to our creation.

We Create, Christine, Cherish, Celebrate, attribute infallible attributes to our own creation, organize the ways and means to appease our creation, and finally get disorganized to fight to protect our GOD.

If it is GOD, yes, the limitless and if it is MY GOD, it cannot be, because it is limited.

Gems of the Planet: Infinite Vision

Somik Raha — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 07:25:36 EST

In the fourth installment of the Gems of the Planet series for Desicritics (others were on Krishnammal, Sandhya and Dr. Bindeshwar Pathak), we embark on the incredible and inspiring story of Dr. Govindappa Venkataswamy, or Dr. V as many called him.

Dr. V grew up in a village in Tamil Nadu, and was inspired to become an obstetrician, after being deeply saddened as a child to see a lady next door pass away during childbirth. He joined the army as a medical officer, but was discharged after contracting rheumatoid arthritis, that left his fingers permanently crippled. That is when he came into the field of eye surgery, and then went on to perform more than 100,000 successful surgeries.

After working as a government eye doctor for all his professional life, he retired at the mandatory age of 58. Unlike so many others who feel they are done with life, for Dr. V, life was just beginning. He decided to tackle the problem of needless blindness, or cataracts. A simple sight-restoring surgery can fix the problem. Yet, due to lack of access to healthcare, millions in India live blind, and are unable to feed themselves. Dr. V started an 11-bed clinic to tackle this, and called it Aravind, after Rishi Aurobindo, whose philosophy deeply inspired him.

He also encouraged, trained and coached his family members to get into the field of eye care with him, and several members of his family served at Aravind when it first began (and are still with it). In the beginning, as he went around doing fundraising, people were unkind and suspicious, and thought he wanted the money to lead an easy retired life. Dr. V was deeply offended by that, and determined not to ask for donations, and instead serve people with whatever he had. His belief was that if value was created, money would automatically come for expanding their work.

As part of their operation, Aravind does not charge those who cannot afford surgery. Paying patients cover the cost of two patients who cannot pay. Both paying and non-paying patients would get the same level of eye care from the doctors. However, after the surgery, paying patients would get their own AC rooms with TVs, while non-paying patients would be put up in dorms. This unique mix happened right from the beginning, and their entire system was optimized to handle large volumes of patients. This is a unique factor that distinguishes Aravind from other philanthropic eye-care ventures - Aravind does not take any donations and is entirely sustainable from their service to paying patients.

Not only did this model work extremely well, Aravind also made enough money to invest in R&D, through which, they were able to reduce the cost of an intra-ocular lens from $200 to $5. Today, these lenses are exported to various countries around the world to help others bring down their eyecare costs.

One of Aravind's big strengths is their paramedic team, which comprises of women who are recruited from villages and trained. One of the criteria for hiring is that the women should have had someone to serve at home (like parents), thus implying that they knew what service was about. The paramedics absorb the time needed for many tasks that don't require a surgeon's attention.

Today, Aravind Eye Hospitals are known for the largest volume of eye surgeries anywhere in the world. Their care is considered world-class, and foreign interns often come to get experience and learn. Its headquarters are in Madurai, but they have additional hospitals at Theni, Thirunelveli, Coimbatore and Pondicherry.

All of this success, I feel, is not because of their external strategy, which is open-source and known to all. They don't consider the other eye-hospitals as competitors. Instead, their goal is to remove the problem of needless blindness, and they see all other eye hospitals as partners in this goal. They help these hospitals make their operations more efficient. Recently, they have moved to managing hospitals in the north and bringing their famous efficiency with them.

The big factor that underlies this tremendous success is their focus on service as their spiritual mission, which in India, many people would know as karma yoga. By understanding that the patient's suffering is their own suffering, they take medical care to spiritual heights. And the universe responds as it is bound to, for what goes around comes around. Paying patients are attracted to this hospital not because of their philanthropy (Dr. V forbade using this to attract patients, so it was not mentioned), but because the doctors had tremendous experience and gave great value. When the volition of service is pure and non-violent, the mind becomes calm and joyful and is able to recognize the way forward with great clarity. All strategies necessary for success become evident.

Today, Aravind's management style is the subject of case studies in the leading business schools of the west (see Harvard Case Study). Not a single member of the original founding team has left the organization. What's more, three generations of this family have helped this work in some way or the other.

Dr. V passed away in the year 2006. His life has been immortalized on film by his granddaughter, Pavi Mehta, in her award-winning film, "Infinite Vision." George Bernard Shaw famously stated, "The reasonable man adapts himself to the conditions that surround him. The unreasonable man adapts surrounding conditions to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man." In a sense, Dr. V fit this description really well as one of his colleagues stated in the film, "His vision of what was possible was way beyond what was anything reasonable." Watch Infinite Vision below:

One tip - watch till the end after the credits - there is more footage and a lovely quote from Dr. V. (While the entire film can be watched for free above, you can also get a high-quality Infinite VisionDVD on Amazon.)

Since the film, Aravind has grown in leaps and bounds, and here is a recent TED-talk by Aravind's current Managing Director, Thulasiraj Ravilla, that is not only eye-opening, but also shows several innovations (when did you last hear of telemedicine being used to help the rural population in India?).
TED is a conference that brings together thought leaders from the fields of Technology, Entertainment and Design, and the best of the talks at the conference go up for free at ted.com.

To end, I loved the quote that Dr. V cited in the film,
"Intelligence and capability are not enough. There must be the joy of doing something beautiful."