Sunday noon

Very often when we do something with intent to comfort or assist someone, ironically we end up facing retribution and scorn. This curious natural law can be seen all across the spectrum of social life, trivial or substantial.

Our Samaria intent is taken for opportunism, selfishness, arrogance and impertinence. The intent is interpreted as malicious. The pain and or effort we put in, howsoever piddling  is not noticed let alone appreciated The only comfort to the victim in this case is to perhaps stick to the advice in the Gita

“karmanye vadhikarasthe,

ma bhaleshu kadhachan”'

But how many of us would like to sit back and apply the verses of the Gita in real life? We end up wishing that we never endeavoured on any act of Good Samaritanship.

Severe rejections of good intent are many if they were to be mentioned. So let me note a little incident that made me feel like an arsehole. Yesterday noon I was driving back from town. I was reaching a quite busy intersection. That was when I noticed this middle- aged , couple, and they were half way across the road. The man was pushing his motor cycle and his spouse was in tow. He could not go back as there were speeding vehicles on the side, behind. I spotted his predicament and braked my car and waited a few feet from those folks, so that they could move on and reach the safety of the kerb. The man suddenly developed a furious expression and started gesticulating at me. He waved his hand at directions to convey that there was enough space for my car to go and why the hell did I have to brake and want to panic him. And not let him cross the road. I waved my hand and tried to tell him that I braked and stopped so that he can get to the other side and not be stranded precariously in the middle where traffic is zooming unmindfully and dangerously. He did finally cross the road, but kept the expression of fury and indiganance.

I watched him reach the kerb and I moved on..

Escapism & Love for Self.

We term certain conduct of people as escapism. This trait or behaviour is in born and practised by many.The trait can also be defined as a way of redirecting ones attention on things pleasant and savouring, on the contrary to the dire realities of the everyday life. The quality can be healthy and assisting. But in extreme forms can be detrimental too to one.

Now, but how should we discuss about people who escape closing their eyes to reality, principles, ethics and duty? These people are not refocusing their attention to pleasant things but are being selfish and forcing themselves to make believe that the fact and the problem don’t exist.

The latter group are practising the art of escapism because of their selfish character. For them call of duty, ethics, morality and love for fellow beings are not at all in their priority list. It is purely self interest that life is all about. Such people identify every aspect of human behaviour with the bench mark of commercial gain and advancement. So they see nothing, hear nothing and enquire about nothing. That is the surest way to avoid confronting realities which they are naturally duty bound to tackle.

I remember a story I read somewhere. The gist is – a highly successful career woman forfeits her career to take care of her grievously ill husband. A friend of hers while on a social call on her commented,’gracious, how unselfish you are to make such a sacrifice’. The woman was rightly and naturally incensed. She fumed and told the friend,’your remark is insulting. I love my husband and this is the most selfish thing I have ever done and ever will’.

The Fountain Pen

Lewis Waterman patented the first workable fountain pen in 1884. However, writing instruments designed to carry their own supply of ink had existed for over one hundred years before Waterman's patent. John Scheffer received a British patent in 1819 for his half quill, the half-metal pen that he tried to put into mass manufacture. And John Jacob Parker patented the first self-filling fountain pen in 1831. However, early fountain pen models were plagued by ink spills and other failures that left them impractical.

Writing instrument-Styli used in the 13 th century

On June 1 st 1969, my mother presented me with my first fountain pen – a beautiful Parker! Her father gave her a beautiful piece while she was in high school. She took care of it and passed it on to me. It thrilled me going to school sporting the pen and begin writing with an ink-filled pen. I ostensibly displayed it in my shirt breast pocket. But when I reached home after school on that fateful day, the pen was gone and only the cap remained stuck in my pocket. How and what came about, I could not explain. And my mother blasted the sheer carelessness. She was distraught and furious. I then wondered why she must fume and curse me for losing a pen, though I felt remorse and guilt inside. It took growing-up and many years of life to fathom the depth and value of a seemingly trivial instrument as the fountain pen, and her pain in my losing it.

Fountain pens were akin to a signature. It told about the person. The longer a fountain pen stayed with a person, the closer it bonded. People of the past seldom offered their fountain pen to another to use or even to pen signature. It was possessed and cared like one's child. And I recall that it was impolite to ask or borrow it from its owner.

When my grandfather used to leave home, he had just a few things to carry or take with him. His glasses, his watch, his money purse, and his fountain pen beside his grandfather's umbrella.

 Laptops, calculators, Blackberry, mobile phones, designer sunglasses, wallets stacked with credit cards, and( maybe) a ballpoint pen have now replaced the spartan things people of the past had on their person.

Fountain pens have had their death knell chimed many years ago. Ball pens and digital writing gadgets disposed of after a single use has completely eliminated the stately fountain pen of yore.

The Parkers. Schefers, Swans, the Watermans, Mont Blanc, and everyone have found to their economic advantage that disposable pens are what would thrive today in place of the ink-filled fountain pens.

Commercial possibilities and commonsense have changed peoples tastes, but it is Man who has lost his signature hold on an instrument that could in time, in the past identify its owner because the fountain pen carried his soul along with the ink.

Heaven & Hell

I was disciplined and moulded in my childhood with the stories of heaven and eternal hell. I guess many of us have been indoctrinated by the same philosophy and stories. It was by some sheer chance, call it luck, and twist of what I shall also call fate, destiny, kismet etc that I managed to break those shackles and constrictions that entangled me within till my mid teens. Interesting readings from the British Council and the Public Libraries in Thiruvananthapuram were to a good extent instrumental in that. Then, if not more of the same proportion was the influence of life since those times.

The result, I have lived the past three and one half decades or so without the fear of eternal damnation and consignment to everlasting inferno of the hell in the afterlife. And also of no fantasy of the promised and probable land of milk honey, damsels and charming gods- heaven!

Life was so long lived without tethering to the good and bad that would provide a passport to  either heaven or the nether world. Deeds that can invite damnation and transgressions may have been committed. But at the same while, deeds with the sole aim of a passport to heaven have not been done for its own sake. Because I have not found a reason that can be explained to believe or think that there are worlds beyond that fit the descriptions of heaven and hell. And that the essence and spirit of those worlds are all lived through here on this fragile “Blue Planet”.

I happened to read today an article from an old magazine. The article carried some observations and comments by the late Rajaneesh.  He said “Whenever you surrendered to existence, whenever you live in trust and love, joy, celebration you are in heaven………. because at the same time the person who  lives in heaven can fall into hell any moment. They are not afar, they are very close, separated by a tattered fence. And for centuries God and Devil have been arguing over who should repair it. The Devil is not ready, why should he worry over it? Nobody wants to enter hell.And if it is God’s worry that people in hell may enter heaven he should fix the fence. But God is a miser and the quarrel and argument goes on. One day God was very irritated that he said 'the fence has been destroyed and is under repair because of your nuisance and of the people living on your side. If you don’t repair it I’ m going to court'.

The Devil said, 'ha go to court but where will you find advocates. They are all on my side of the fence'. The Devil continued, 'hell is a state of mind, when you live in plenty yet you live in poverty, when life is such a blessing you live in sadness, when the flowers bloom you don’t see, you don’t bloom, when the stars shine you don’t shine. When the clouds are in the sky floating in freedom you don’t enjoy the freedom. When the Cuckoo calls from the distant wood you are deaf, when the peacock dances you don’t dance. This is hell and you are its creator' ”.

Interesting indeed!

This reminds me of an incident and comment of the late Kerry Francis Packer the Australian media tycoon. Mr. Packer had had more than six heart attacks that he survived before eventually succumbing to renal complications. Once, after a very massive heart attack he was clinically dead for more than six minutes. He, luckily was revived, and while he was convalescing a media reporter asked him how it was up there in heaven. Mr. Packer retorted nonchalantly, “well the sad thing is that I did not see heaven but at the same time there was no hell either”.

Rushdie,Krishnamurthy&The Incas

I was encompassed by ennui and lassitude the other day. And I tried to bring back the zest to read. There are quite a few buying of books that are untouched. And before I settled to stick to one I went through a couple other. The first one I browsed and read about thirty odd pages was the ‘Satanic Verses’ of Salman Ruhdie. I have never been a fan of his style of writing – what critics acclaim as “mystical magical realism etc etc ..”. It is true that he is immensely prolific with words and strange acrobatics in use of English language. But the reading of such a book in the state of boredom I was in was not encouraging to my state of mind. So I left the book marked at thirty plus page. The next one that came to my hand was a book, which I m certain will need a lot of patience and concentration to read.  For some it is a fad to claim having read him. And that they are bowled over in life, in words and deed by his writing and lectures.  I have read his "Commentaries on Living". And a few essays here and there. But regard his thoughts as something apart from the many nonsense we take as living and life.I glanced through the book of J. Krishnamurthy!

Interestingly a couple of question answer sections in the book proved to be live.

1-     What is prayer? In daily life, what is its importance?

Krishnamurthy replies, “I presume you really put that question in earnestness. Let us find out. Do not listen, but find out. Why do you pray and what is prayer? Most of your prayers are merely a petitioning, an asking. You indulge in this kind of prayer because you suffer, because you are alone, because you are depressed and in sorrow. You pray to God and ask for help; that is a petition, and that you call prayer. The content of prayer is generally the same although the intent behind it may vary. Prayer, with most people, is a petition, a begging, and asking. Are you doing that? Why are you praying? I am not saying you should or should not pray. But why do you pray? Is it for more knowledge, for more peace, for the world to be free from sorrow? Is there any other form of prayer than that? There is prayer which is really not a prayer but the sending out of good will, the sending out of love, and the sending out of ideas. Which is it you are doing”?
If your prayer is a supplication, a petition, then what happens? You are asking God or somebody to fill your empty bowl, are you not? You want that bowl to be filled according to your wishes. You are not satisfied with what happens, with what is given. So your prayer is merely a petition. It is a demand that you should be satisfied; therefore, your prayer is not prayer at all. You just want to be gratified, so you say to God, "I am suffering; please gratify me; please give me my brother, my son. Please make me rich." So, you are perpetuating your own demands. That is not prayer.
The real thing is to understand yourself, to see why you are asking, and not for what you are asking, to see why there is this demand in you, this urge to beg. Then you will find out that the more you know about yourself physically as well as psychologically - the more you know what you are thinking, what you are feeling - the more you will find out the truth of what is. It is that truth that will help you to be free and not beg.


2- Why does one feel the necessity of love?
Krishnamurthy- “You mean why do we have to have love? Why should there be love? Can we do without it? What would happen if you did not have this so-called love? If your parents began to think out why they love you, you might not be here. They might throw you out. They think they love you; therefore, they want to protect you, they want to see you educated; they feel that they must give you every opportunity to be something. This feeling of protection, this feeling of wanting you to be educated, this feeling that you belong to them is what they generally call love. Without it, what would happen? What would happen if your parents did not love you? You would be neglected, you would be something inconvenient, you would be pushed out, and they would hate you. So, fortunately, there is this feeling of love, perhaps clouded, perhaps besmirched and ugly, but there is still that feeling, fortunately for you and me; otherwise, you and I would not have been educated, would not exist”.

Did these passages show me the way out of ennui? Well interestingly it provoked thinking and that helped forget the stress and boredom for a time. And also I moved on to another book on “The Lost city of the Incas”.

Eulogy

Happiness and contentment are complimentary. What is happy and content for one need not be so for the other. Happiness and contentment is related to what we perceive as the state of physical and mental existence where and when we are not afraid of leaving the world and passing into history- death.

Yet not many leave the world in the sate I mentioned. Many fret and go with remorse, dissatisfaction and discontentment. For many it is the surfeit of want that predominate need which creates an unhappy and helpless end. Though our physical state is not entirely within our grasp and likeness while we are in the twilight days of our life, yet there is something that we recollect and see as the life we lived, and the moments we had which we never dreamt will be for us, to experience and relish- that gives the courage to depart in peace.

I write this as a brief eulogy to a person, a relative of mine. He was an unassuming person and with small beginnings and end. He, I felt during some twenty odd years of knowing him, was very soft spoken and unobtrusive that he may not have pained another soul, human or animal. He had his own share of penury, and hard times. Bringing up his three children with a subsistence level of income is not a wonderful experience to relish. But whenever I have been to him he has always uttered little jokes that would tickle smile and laugh from within me. One amusing comment of his has to be noted here to remember his tongue in cheek wit. He noticed some minor irritant between his son and daughter in law (son’s wife).He consoled his son with his facetious comment that, “Well we both made terrible mistakes. We both married from Kozhikode”!!!!! When the banter was in Malayalam the tone and essence was immensely amusing. (I m sure he meant no ill to the fairer gender from Kozhikode).

It was quite an amusement when I received on my "facebook" a friend request from him.I responded in the affirmative, and when I met him later I joked to him ,'uncle at last we are now friends'. In his later days he was an ardent social net worker on facebook. His nieces and nephews where his net working mates.He found subtle and effective ( I guess effective) ways to overcome his illness.

He was not false, fake and intrigue or connivance was not his world. Perhaps he was not ambitious enough to run after wealth and power. May be his chemistry was not meant for the scramble for such life. And since he was not so I guess he died peacefully in his sleep.

I have been well treated and kept in good humor by him whenever I was at his home. He used to bring out his quota of military supply of Rum to share with me. And crack subtle anecdotes and jokes. During his later part in life after affliction of cancer and slow but unsteady recuperation his children used to wag their fingers when he tried to drink a second glass of alcohol.

I met him at his daughter’s home, just a fortnight or so before he passed away. He was back from a weeklong trip to Goa, where his daughters took him for a family sojourn and fun time. That night, before dinner, I chose to be the bartender and offered him three drinks. When he mentioned the diktat of his children of limiting alcohol to one drink, I suggested, just ignore them and enjoy! Later he came to me, presumably in pleasure after the few drinks and said, “I had a wonderful time in Goa. And I have not ever dreamt or thought that I will be able to visit such places, and I'm very happy that my children took me there.I have no words to express my happiness. I will hold close to my heart the days I spend there with them”.

He died a few days after. And I m certain the little things that he found happiness like the short trip to Goa with his children is perhaps what would have seen him depart with a content heart. Perhaps his soul must be still reliving a life in Goa!

He, I feel showed that, one need not climb the pinnacle of power and wealth, need not cruise on the QE-II, race across Europe in a Porsche, and need not run around temples and churches ostentatiously proclaiming ones piety and sacrifice for the rest, but only have the heart and the mind to savor the little things that come ones way, and not hurt the ones who love you and leave the rest unhurt.. And I guess he did so.

Twenty Euros

Twenty Euros

One of the notable landmarks and locations in Amsterdam is the Dam square. The imposing gothic constructions adorn all sides, modern department stores, hotels, and pubs are scattered around. The summer palace of the Royalty cannot be missed! The Square is always thronged with tourists and the Dutch who always fancies outdoors on a sunny day. Pigeons have virtually taken over the middle of the square and the imposing old buildings around. Jugglers, ventriloquists, makeup-artists in various costumes, street performers, tramcars, and exotic horse carriages resembling the ancient especially add to the romantic air. The square itself overlooks the central Railway station just about a kilometer ahead. The Dam square bustles with life in the height of a summer day and cold rainy days. The fickle Amsterdam weather can one moment by warm and bright in the radiant sun and the next moment dreary cold and drizzling.

Further behind, once you enter the ubiquitous alleys by the side of those huge buildings, there is the famous tourist attraction- ‘the glasshouses’ and the nightclubs. The coffee shops frequented more for Marijuana and other light drugs that are legal in Holland are also about there. You can smell more of burning “grass’, than the cappuccino or the Columbian, burnt coffee. It is one of the liveliest of all foreign destinations. Not to forget the countryside which is simply laid back and exquisite

I described a bit of the square and its periphery to tell a very amusing and comical story, a joke that went practical. And when the person who was the center of the whole story told me, we laughed our guts out sitting in one of the pubs there in the Dam square. He was a Dutch gentleman in his late fifties and represented one of the garment brands in Amsterdam. He worked in Amsterdam but lived in a town called Breda some two hundred km by car from Amsterdam city. A summer weekend he and his wife drove down to Amsterdam and decided to hang around Dam square and the nearby wharf. They spent the good part of the day moving around, having occasional coffee, beer and popcorns. By late afternoon the gentleman was having rigid legs and he longed for the comfort of a pub or to park his arse somewhere. His wife was keen to do some shopping at the nearby  Bijenkorf department store. He was quite at odds with walking around supermarkets and department stores. So he told his wife that he will sit by the fountain ledge in the square feeding the pigeons while she shops at the store. Our hero sat by the fountain in the square. Sometime soon an escort girl came up to him and began to prospect. She told him that she can spend the day with him for one hundred Euros. Obviously, the girl took him for a tourist. Our gentleman friend, who by nature was a wisecracker, tried to play something funny and told her that one hundred Euros was too much for her and he can offer twenty Euros. The girl huffed and puffed before she went away in anger.

Sometime later our friend’s wife returned after her shopping and they began to walk back to the car park. And some way down the walkway they ran into the same escort girl. She came up to our hero and told him close in the face, pointing at his wife by his side, “this is what you will get for twenty Euros”.

Our middle-aged friend thence decided to be careful before he pulls a practical joke on someone.