Sorcery

A few years ago, I and C made a visit to a house of a very near relative. His wife saw us at the door and in her usual pompous style took us in. She announced that we were lucky to have them there in the house because they had to make a last minute change to their programme of journey to Puttaparathi (SaiBaba’s abode).She was in her own description a devotee of the Baba.And she attributes all her money, her collection of gold jewellery to the blessings and will of the man she calls God- “SaiBaba”. But she did not discuss or comment as to why the Baba’s prowess was ineffective when it came to her chronic diabetes and acute hypertension and that she has to constantly pour out as much money she throws after gold and diamonds after her medical bill too.

She informed us that they had to postpone their travel to Puttaparathi because SaiBaba tripped and fell in his bath and was advised rest by his doctors and also had cast on one of his limbs which fractured in the fall.

We were seated in their sprawling living room, when she summoned C into the pooja room. C winked at me to follow her as both of us were getting bored by the lady’s grandiloquent oration of her wealth and of her divine unionism with this sorcerer SaiBaba ,( oh apologise- incarnation of god).She wanted to show us a miracle that the Baba brought to her pooja room that morning. Sitting in Puttaparathi or rather laying in his bed with a fractured limb, he through remote conduct brought “vibhoothi” (sacred ash) into the pooja room in Chennai. She showed us a handful of ash lying at the foot of the huge portrait of the Baba , kept in the pooja room. We, out of ennui and forced politeness nodded to all that she wanted to convince us.

Soon, we left the house after some parting pleasantries to her and her husband. Outside the gate we could not hold back our gleeful laughter at what is called faith, which people like her are obstinate about and are intoxicated with. C in passing said that we ought to have asked the lady why SaiBaba could not fix his fracture with his divine powers while he could bring in the holy ash into the pooja room, and while he has many times over picked out Rolex watches, laddus and Siva lingams from the void.

And, back to the present-since the past few days there has been information in the news papers and TV channels that SaiBaba is critically ill and his vital parameters are not showing great response to medication. Yes what else can one expect while in the late twilight of life and when one is eight seven or so? And to the ardent fans, devotees of this “holy man”, SaiBaba, I do not hesitate to ask, why is the fact of nature and natural laws of mortality slowly tightening the noose around this man? Why is it so if he were God and an incarnate? Why could he not use his miracles and mystical powers to extricate from the laws of Nature? Remember, myth and legend has it that Sree Krishna was transported to heaven in flesh and blood after being stung by the arrow of the hunter. He did not die like ordinary men and leave his physical body. But, why, is SaiBaba bedridden and at the mercy of medicines and doctors to sustain his life a little longer. Could he not use his sorcery that he is famous (infamous) for and extricate himself from the agony of illness, old age and death that will soon happen to him ,like it will to all of us one day?

This post is to throw questions and not to encourage beliefs for the sake of faith, supernatural or superstitions. The label of “apostate” has more sheen than the pseudonym of “gullible”. Hiding behind attributed mirages, calling things inviolable and matters of faith is the easiest way to enact a “Houdini”, a great escape from reality and inconvenient questions, answers and facts. The proverbial tree of apples in the Garden of Eden was a cunning ploy to ensure “man” never questions and is tethered. The ploy seems to be working in various ways, the most effective being “fear”.

The incorrigible ones will argue that the Baba is God because he has established many avenues and foundations of charity and philanthropy. They may pin point the hi-tech and super speciality hospitals where the needy can harbour. The schools and universities in his name, so on and so forth!

But is the tag of mystic, performer of miracles and magic, divine incarnate and a life in the vulgarism of opulence, a necessity to convey the message of love, peace, and caring for the needy? Certainly not  and a humble soul like the late Mother Theresa is a perfect example.

April 2,2011

In the present times in this country when it is starved of “HEROES” and accomplishments that would bring pride, the decimation of the oppositions in the ICC World Cup was savoring and delightful. Individual accomplishments in their own spheres are not many that we can boast about, at least in the times from the not so distant past. The magnificence of a Sachin Tendulkar and the team India, the tenacity of Sania Newal, the never say die spirit of Leander Paes, the rise from nothingness of a P.T.Usha are but a few that comes to mind.The country has to eventually harbour on its individuals who excelled in the arena of sports, when all seem to be lost if not going down the abyss else where, be it politics, public or social life.

                                                                                                                                         

I was cocooned in the air-conditioned comfort of the sprawling ball room of Trivandrum Club with a few friends and our families watching with varying emotions and moods the WC final last Saturday on the huge screen that was specially erected. It brought back memories of that June night in 1983, when a dozen of us got together at a friend's house here in Trivandrum to watch the David vs Goliath finals of the Prudential Cup. Those days only a few house holds had Television sets and in color. Since there were no separate Sports channels then, we had to agonisingly tune into the BBC for the match progression, while Doordarshan enamored itself with the Samachars and News in English. And robbing us off the sensations at Lords!

Tendulkar being scooped by the odd man with odd hair and odd action sent us into almost terminal shock. The gradual but tenacious recouping of the match from then on , the measured but composed frontal assault by the captain M.S.Dhoni and the eventual  dispatch of the cricket ball that saw India lift the World Cup was a befitting end if not shall I hope the beginning of a different India, a India that stutters for resurgence?

However standing along with the rest in that room that day and applauding amidst the vociferous yells of “Bharth Mahan” and “Vande Mataram” took away to some extent, the sheen of the win. It was after all a game, a game for civilised people! The hollers and cries of “Vande Mataram” reminded me of the war cries with the very same catchwords by the kar-sevaks atop the Babari Masjid and the sword wielding arsonists in Gujart.

 Verbal descriptions of cynic, faultfinder, sceptic and much more if any will not be hurting as the unwarranted and wild invocations that was made after the memorable win.

Driving back home through the revelry on the road I felt that at last we have something rightfully worthy to exult and  relish amidst the money laundering and sleaze that this country has come to be known for. And the din of that realization will take a while to settle down or be eclipsed. Until then, “Go India Go…..”!

Commonsense

I tried a few times to be inspired, ha, ha! To be motivated, for creativity and imagination to flow forth like the gushing rapids of the mighty rivers, consigning boulders fallen eons ago from exploding stars and  the land around, into awe. I tried, awaited with curiosity, but in vain! And kip engulfed me at all such instances, mastering my senses and physique pushing me gently into sanguine comfort and gay abandon. To wake up at dawn, an ordinary mortal more conscious of one’s limitation  Nature assigned. I tried for those moments of hallucination that great men of letters and art are alleged to have underwent, triggering their imagination and lay down in words, and visuals that we commoners devour, enjoy, cherish and fantasize.

Absinthe was consumed by Somerset Maugham. Did that help him in his literary exploits? Did the “Moon and six pence” evolve out of the hallucinations Absinthe might trigger? It is alleged that Lewis Carol had his moments of freakish fantasies. And “Alice in Wonderland” was the offshoot of such bouts. I could not find in my brief reading of his biography that he was assisted externally in his fantastic imaginative creations. Eric Clapton’s affairs with Vodka are too fearsome to look into. I wonder if the spirit stimulated him to be creative or if it was intimidating. Nearer home we have had the famous lyricists Vayalar Rama Varma and Kannadasan who it is said had to be enslaved by the spirit to produce creative diamonds, which they did while alive. The late John Abraham was one such who had to be influenced by external stimulants and the late poet Ayappan. Yes indeed the films and the poems that were created by them were too powerful for it to be the bizarre work of intoxicants.

And it happened the inspiration arrived and dawned as realization. Sitting back one night after a few glasses of whiskey, it was vivid, “and the moral of that is—Be what you would seem to be—or, if you’d like it put more simply—never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.” (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland)