Wrath of the Heavens

While discussing life’s uncertainties and challenges with friends, they mentioned a conversation about me with a well-known Ayurvedic physician, a firm believer in astrology and a divine “super force.” They confided that they’ve started seeking guidance from astrology and Vastu, even hiring friends to perform poojas and offer incentives at temples recommended by astrological charts. I wondered if their orthodox Christian faith permitted such practices. Doesn’t this border on embracing heretical doctrines? The Bible commands, “I am the LORD your God who brought you out of Egypt, from the house of slavery. You shall have no other gods before Me... Do not make an image or likeness of what is in the heavens above...”

My impertinent question exasperated them. They had discussed my scepticism toward conventional religious dictates with the physician, who urged them to persuade me to meet him for a discussion, especially upon learning I’m an atheist. I don’t entirely embrace that label, as my stance isn’t about denying a “big brother” but questioning his existence and relevance—does it matter if he is or isn’t? We can explore that later if needed. I detest meddling in others’ beliefs and dislike being sermonised, especially when it feels like an attempt to instil fear. My convictions rest on evidence and knowledge available to me now. Who knows? Tomorrow, I might be proven wrong—or right.

I’ve never chased clairvoyants or their intoxicating comfort. Out of curiosity, I once visited an ashram and attended a yoga session with men draped in burnt-orange robes. It felt like “quality opium,” as someone aptly put it—you float like a feather, then crash back to earth, bruised. When I told my friends I’d be open to meeting this physician, they relayed the message, and he smugly responded, “Didn’t I tell you he’d agree?”

One Saturday morning, I met him at his office within his sprawling hospital and nursing home. In his late fifties, he was tall, well-built, and charming. A Padma Shri award hung prominently on the wall, alongside photos of his parents and a Hindu deity. He had clearly built upon his father’s traditional Ayurvedic sanctuary, achieving commendable success. He suggested we might have met before, which wasn’t true. He admitted that, based on my friends’ description, he pictured me as a lean, emaciated man in my mid-fifties. I clarified I’m in my fifties but not bony or skinny. We laughed it off.

He asked about my problems. I explained they’re mostly business-related, with the ups and downs of the commercial cycle lingering longer than usual. In jest, I added that these vagaries might be overstaying their welcome. When he asked if I believed in God, I said I visit temples or churches with equal detachment and don’t pray. I find peace in the quiet of a countryside temple or a sparsely attended church, not in the commercial clamour of places like Guruvayur or Velankanni. He inquired if I was a communist, perhaps overriding my traditional upbringing. I clarified I’ve never subscribed to any “ism”—communism, Hinduism, or otherwise. Since age seventeen, I haven’t prayed or visited temples to petition for favours. He asked if my family had a “kula deivam”—a family deity. I nodded, mentioning my mother’s side has a Devi temple tied to their origins, perhaps a totem. “Have you been there?” he asked. I admitted I visited once, thirty-five years ago.

He declared my professional difficulties stemmed from being a “turncoat, a renegade.” “You were a believer in your teens, then turned your back on your family deity. Her displeasure is haunting you.” I listened, intrigued to see where this would lead. Meanwhile, he had obtained my birth date from my friends and prepared my horoscope. An astrologer—a woman in her early forties—entered, paid obeisance to him, and sat beside me, laying out her traditional tools. She recounted my past and present, which I found unremarkable since I already knew them. Delving into the constellations, she claimed I’m facing the wrath of the family deity. The stars, ominously aligned, would trouble me for nine more years, though the worst had passed and would cease by April 2010. She accurately described my past (perhaps through mystical calculations?) and noted I carry burdens silently. But who doesn’t face challenges? She warned that “nemesis” lurks at my door, and only the deity’s blessings and fervent prayer could avert bad omens.

They proposed a remedy: “You’ve forgotten your Amma, the deity who gave you your mother. Visit her temple, offer wealth, and apologise for turning away. You’ll see the difference.” I didn’t go there to debate or confront. I went because it wouldn’t disrupt my life. But the encounter reinforced a conviction: bribery and corruption begin in the divine’s presence. Offering quid pro quo to the Almighty is the root of sleaze and graft.

I raised a question: many unethical people I know—embodiments of falsehood—frequent places of worship, offer prayers and lavish gifts to God, and lead prosperous lives. Meanwhile, countless others suffer in pain. Could they explain this contradiction? “Don’t think about such people,” they replied, dodging the question.

After this interaction, my beliefs remained unchanged. I’m told to live in fear, appease a “big brother” with offerings, and avoid inconvenient questions. I don’t disparage the physician’s intentions, but I wonder why people are so sensitive about my private worldview. Why must a celestial overseer manipulate cosmic objects to toy with us? Why assume we’re the linchpin of the planet’s existence? The sun will rise and set whether we’re here or not—it’s not “after me, the deluge.” If I could meet this “big brother,” I’d tell him, “You’re terribly inefficient. Retire and let us manage ourselves.”

The question of life’s meaning remains unanswered, a mystery. What do we make of it? A recent message on my phone echoed this sentiment: “A random stranger’s report: celestial bodies would agree a change in their course is overdue. People endure nonsense and sense, often beyond comprehension. How easily a cosmic shift could alter a life. Prolonged inaction burns out the urge to move, yet sometimes it sparks a wanderlust that lasts an eternity. A being pins hopes on celestial bodies to change its course and transform lives.”

The mystery persists, and I’m left wondering: what’s it all for?

With Apologies To Balakrishnan Nair

It was 1973-74. The youth festival at the Government Model High School Thiruvananthapuram was announced. And we in the IX standard – six of us got together to enter in the competition for the drama .Like in the previous year we chose the same duo as our mentors and coach. One of them is now a well known star of comedy in the Malayalam film industry. It was the very same couple who were then doing their pre-degree in the Government Arts College next doors, who chose, trained and helped us towards winning the best prize for dramatics the year before. It was then a play called “Computer Boy” by Veloor Krisnhankutty. The hilarious piece won over the much flaunted and rehearsed grim plays of heart break, debauchery, mental disorder etc of the seniors..

So the second time around, the two coaches chose a serious stuff, and the play was written by one of them. The story line was about a revered retired school teacher. The sub plot was about a delinquent student who comes back disillusioned after years in the wilderness of life. And supplicates to the teacher and beg forgiveness for his past derelictions and antipathy. The play was aptly named “ Vazikatti”. One of the current superstars of the Malayalam films was chosen for the role of the venerable teacher, and I was destined to don the role of the aberrant student.

We rehearsed under the supervision of the duo. The day of the festival and the competition dawned. On the morning of the competition we were involved in our final practice and rehearsals. This was being done in the fifth standard class room which was then towards the flight of steps that goes into the school from the Chengachoola junction

It was around 9 in the morning. The competition was to begin at 2 in the afternoon in the Drill hall. Our coaches called for a brief recess and we engaged in idiosyncrasies and  hearty laughter.

I noticed the gentleman walking up the flight of steps and cross the play ground. It was the English teacher Mr. Balkrishnan Nair. Better known as “Duplicate”. I have no idea why the pseudonym stuck on him. If it was for his countenance and temperament it had to be Tiger( kaduva) or something similar. Over buoyant that I was I shouted at the fellows and tried to garner their attention to Mr. Duplicate walking past. He was approximately 100 meters away from us. And I felt secure enough to howl and shout “Duplicate. Duplicate, duplicate”. All including the coaches began to yell in appreciation'duplicate'. Mr. Balakrishnan Nair did  seem to have ignored our salutation. We got back to our rehearsal.

Perhaps five minutes went by. Stomp stomp stomp the sound of leather boots reverberated on the granite gravel outside the class room. The class room shook as if hit by a quake 8 on the Richter. "Ethu Kazu…… monada  ariyandathu duplicate arranannnu”? (Which SOB wants to be shown who the duplicate is ) And then the thunderous vituperation went on. He was shaking like a huge tree. The rage was tempest like. He was shouting expletives and emphasising each word with the wag of his umbrella. The earth quake went on for a few minutes. None of us moved and bated an eyelid. We were almost near wetting our shorts. And as the whirlwind came, it thence stormed out..

It took a few more minutes for all of us to revive our bearings. And it did not take any longer for the rest to pounce on me. They branded me stupid and trouble maker. One of the coaches (the current comedian &  film star) accused me of betraying the group and the play. What if Mr. Balakrishnan Nair was to be in the judgment committee for the play? The prospect was haunting and a dire posiibility.’you have compromised all of us by your inexcusable and intemperate words and action”. He stated. They were unanimous in asking an apology from me. And that I must go and apologies to the Teacher himself. I was quite piqued that all was out of my doing. That scenario was very discomforting and unnerving. I protested that he might forget the incident. No they said vehemently. The coach ( the current film star) said that there is nothing wrong in aplogising to the teacher for my wrong doing and even Mahatma Gandhi have gone seeking apology from his master .I was a bit amused by the Gandhi story and moral coming from him. He began to tell me about Gandhi savoring meat against his mother’s diktat and then apologizing for his misdemeanor. He was supported by none other than the current super-star.

They literally pushed me out of the place to go in search of the teacher. I wondered what an unjust world! The act of heckling the teacher was unanimous and in chorus, though I implanted the idea. And now they shove me into the lion’s lair. I wandered to the main building of the school and went past the staff room back and forth. On one of my rounds I saw Mr. Balakrishan Nair coming out of the room. I gathered my self and stood in attention and said 'good morning saar'. He nodded and walked past me in his inimitable style. I was expecting another round of verbal or physical assault. But it became clear that in his fit of rage Mr. Balakrishnan Nair could not remember the faces that he confronted.

I walked back to the rehearsal whistling and told the group that Mr. Balakrshanan Nair appreciated my Gandhian act of remorse and repentance.

Educating the Parent

I was introduced to J. Krishnamurthy by Bal .  Prior to my knowing him, I do not remember that if I had passed through any of J.K’s writings or even remember hearing his name. That was in 1983. In any case I was not erudite in reading matters of substance.

I have only read a few of his books and do not even remember if I have read any from cover to cover. Yes, but I have read his “Commentaries on Living”, and that had enough provocative package to think. And there was this captivating appearance of his in photographs, (as I have not seen him in flesh and blood) that was haunting as his words. They make you think and not stay foolishly yawning. I may not agree with his expressions on subjects’ carte blanche. But still many times I found it difficult to defy his opinions with any logic that I could. In fact when somebody calls spade a spade it may not be even within the realms of Einstine to offer a theory or statement to the contrary.

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I missed sending Ara and R to a school run by the Krishnamurthy foundation, though I have wanted that.  And now when R expressed that she wants a change of school from the last ten years in Connoor the first choice was the Krishnamurthy foundation schools nearby. So few days back I. and C along with R went to the School outside Bangalore for the interview and selection process for admit to class XI.

The school was set in a 100 acres verdant forest land. The reserve forest was engulfing one side. The Principal in the course of our discussion expressed that they always look out for fascinating encounters with the wild life that strays into the boundary of the school.

The children were ushered into the Physics lab for a short written test. And parents along with the Principal and few teachers sat on the mattress in the thatched auditorium. A short video film on a talk by JK was screened. The topic he commented was ‘Education’.

In Krishnamurthy’s very own words,”…if you dominate a child, compel him to fit into a pattern, however idealistic, will he be free at the end of it? If we want to bring about a true revolution in education, there must obviously be freedom at the very beginning, which means that both the parent and the teacher must be concerned with freedom…” But then his views on education like his views on other matters were rubbished as impractical

 The film I presume was perhaps one of his last few public experiences .After the film the Principal invited the parents to interact and express why they wanted to seek admission for their wards in a school run by the foundation and what education they want the child to imbibe.

Quirk some were the comments that followed!!!

The first speaker parent fell head over heels – semi prostrate like they do for ‘namaz’.

“Praise to Sri Sri Sri Krishnamurthy”, he began. It was amusing and also a stunningly comical beginning to the interaction. It also immediately reminded me about the religious cults that mushroomed with the camouflage of yoga discourses and hearty living etc. I adamantly decided that this guy was from the particular Swamy’s cult. And bingo he was ha !!Then came the lectures and discourses from a retinue of parents. Discourses, ideas statements that I m certain J. Krishnamurthy never thought of even remotely. One parent began his soliloquy and ended saying that “…. so we all should work towards achieving Krishnamurthy’s dreams”. The Principal a demure looking man suggested politely that JK had no goals and dreams. The parent looked bewildered and I m sure must have decided that the Principal was definitely a nitwit to say so. I felt that the Principal was unwittingly sparking a controversy suggesting that JK never said or meant what they were wholeheartedly attributing to him.

Then a parent mother began in a forcibly accented English,” You see the strife in this world is caused purely out of our greed, our lust to achieve. We feel that a luxury car, a LED Television, a journey to Walt Disney etc is necessary. JK was different. He never asked for all this luxury….”. Oh my goodness I wondered with discomfiture this woman was making a Mahatma Gandhi out of J. Krishnamurthy.

Another parent began her discourse. She gave the feeling that she wanted to anoint JK posthumously a ‘swamy’ a ‘god- man’. Yet another suggested after his comments that we all must work towards setting up a JK country.

There were fascinating retorts subtlety stated by the Principal and another teacher. But in the final analysis I felt most  that  the parents missed out on the vital question that JK made in the film,” what kind of education do you as parent want for your child”.

During his life what Jiddu Krishnamurthy said and wrote ignited both interest and controversy. His observations on religion, nationalism, tradition, organizations, and relationships often ran counter to the convention of the day. I state this with a very basic and limited reading I have had of Jiddu Krishnamurthy’s writings. I felt after listening to the people who were there to deposit their children into JK’s lap for education that they have missed the wagon.

As he was during his life he still is ahead of his time, our time, in matters of education, religious views, nationalism, relationships etc. Sadly they missed the gentle speech of the ‘old man and insights on education. Krishnamurthy presented education as a serious activity that must engulf the whole of a child whilst people, most of them still see it as preparation for succeeding in a materialistic world. 

I came out of the school concluding that the vogue of the upper middle class including myself is pure hypo critic bonhomie with Krishnamurthy. And it is sheer vanity that expresses the sobriquet ‘JK’ nothing more, nothing less. Will the children be different?