Peacocks and other birds/animals on my terrace/gate

Teachers’ Day 

        Every year, 5th September, is celebrated as ‘Teachers’ Day’ in India. It coincide with the birthday of Dr. Sarvapalli Radhakrishnan, Ex-Vice President of India, who insisted to identify himself as teacher. The other dignitary, Dr. Abdul Kalam, Ex-President of India, also liked to identify him as teacher.

        The place of teacher, respectfully addressed as ‘Guru’, is important in the life of people here in India, particularly among Hindus. They do not miss to chant,

‘GURUR BRAHMA, GURUR VISHNU, GURUR DEVO MAHESHWARA,

GURU SHAKSHAT PARAM BRAHMA, TASMAI SHRI GURVE NAMAH,

very frequently. In this Sanskrit Shloka, Guru is described as the God in every form and therefore, bowing down to Guru means bowing down to entire eternity.

        I do not intend to go in detail about the history of Guru tradition, nor do I intend to interpret the real meaning of Guru. I may do so later if chance occurs. My intention is limited to remember my Gurus who had contributed in developing me as an individual.When I was studying in primary school in my village, I was fortunate to have benefit of personal attention of my teachers, different persons in different standards, there. Not only inside school and classes, but outside school also they were following what I do and how I behave. Personal tution was not the practice in those days; still some of them called us to their house and helped us a lot in various subjects we were supposed to learn. They never expected any consideration for this extra service. Their sole objective was to see that we learn well and fully, what we are supposed to learn and make sound base for further studies. I studied seven year in this village school and completed 7th standard.
        As there was no high school near our village I was compelled to get enrolled in 8th standard in a high school in nearby city to continue further studies. Means of travelling were limited. I had to start from home between 7-7-30 in the morning, catch the train, wander from 9 to 11 am and then again from 5 to 7 pm (as there was no train available in between) and return home by 8-30 or so. For a boy (better use the word child) of 11-12 years, this was too much and there were all chances of my becoming a spoiled child. I had to bear this situation just for one academic year, thanks to some elders who managed to open a school near my village. This development completely changed my career.

        The school was new, there were only two classes, viz. 8th and 9th. There were only 50-60 students in all. But the teachers, particularly the Principal and his wife who was also the teacher, were Gurus in real meaning of the word. This couple, not only taught us what we were supposed to learn as per syllabus, but also much more about ethics, culture etc. I stayed in this school for 3 years. Number of students increased year by year, and being first students I and a few of my friends remained in front row in all the activities. This couple encouraged for writing, take part in school dramas and many other activities. They took keen interest in me, my studies and other activities. If I go on writing about their contribution in my career, I may go on and on to tens of pages, which I do not intend to do today.

        When I left the school, they continued communication with me and I am proud to say that even today I get their blessings once or twice in a year by a mail. I live far away from them. He died last year at the age of about 90+. I was fortunate to meet him few months before he left this world.

        I did not attend college for my graduation as I did it as an external student. So there was no chance to know any teacher in college personally. However, when I was doing my post-graduation in Law, I was impressed by one of the professors, who also was principal of the college. He used to teach us in unique style.  Instead of class room style, we used to sit on chairs like we do while hanging out with friends in a restaurant or elsewhere. And over a cup of tea the topics were discussed.

        I have not mentioned names here, because the readers do not know them and I wish to keep them in my heart forever as Gurus.

Some more pictures of the monument - Adalaj Vav, near Ahmedabad

Good Girl

        

        I was reading some ‘blog’ containing poetry on one website. I liked one poem very much. It was very nicely worded, impressive poem. I wrote my appreciation in comments. After a few days I received a mail in my mailbox informing me that somebody had written comments against my comments. I opened the blog again and saw the comment. It was a reply from the person who had uploaded the poem. I was interested in knowing more about the person, so I checked the profile.   

        There were only few lines of introduction. Name: Nafisa, age 22, residence Lahore, Pakistan, job in a government office. Nafisa had written in her reply that she was not the writer of the poem. She had copied the poem, because she had also liked it very much. She did not even know the name of the poet. She had written, ‘if the words of a poem touches our heart, what difference would it make, whoever is the poet..’ It appeared she had seen my profile while reading my comments. She had further written, ‘uncle, it appears you are also a lover of poetry, like me. Can I write you mails sometimes?’ 

        With this, we started communicating. She would quote good poems, stories, quotations etc. she reads, with her views. I would also give my comments on it: quote some I found good and so on. As we communicated, the circle of our introduction also got larger. From what she wrote to me I concluded that she was not optimistic. Her approach to life was sad and negative. At the age of 22 the boy/girl should be enthusiastic, full of hopes and courageous. But there was no optimism, no joy, nothing like that, in her writings. Instead, she was talking of death, disappointment, failure, as if she was pulling on the life like burden.     

        Once I wrote to her, “your city is known as ‘Jinda Dilane’ (City of People full of life). Still, why are you so sad?’ She had avoided the reply. However, she had told me about her life in pieces. She used to write to me that my mails are very much comforting to her. While reading my mail she experienced peace of mind. I could guess that she wanted to open her heart to me, but was hesitating. So I asked her directly, ‘I doubt something has happened in your life, which left strong depression on your mind and that is the reason you lost hopes. Is it a failure in love affair?’ 

        She ignored my question for some time. I also did not insist and allowed her time to gather courage to tell me the truth. Gradually she opened up and told me her problem. 

        She was in love with a boy, when she was in college in her last year of post-graduation. The boy was also attracted to her. Initially, she did not pay any attention to him, but gradually they came nearer, knew each other well and opened up. After some time, just before the end of the term, he proposed to her for marriage. Her initial reaction was shock; so she declined the proposal instantly. They got separated after completing their post-graduation; he went away to his town and after some time was engaged to some other girl.

        I asked Nafisa the reason for her strong reaction of denial to the boy she actually loved. Did she not like the boy? She had written that it was an instant reaction; she should have bought some time. Her instant reaction was because of her family background.

        Nafisa was engaged to her cousin, Salim, her father’s sister’s son, while she was in high school. She loved the boy in the university, but she was not sure how would her family react, if she denied her engagement with a boy in the family. Her parents were not so old fashioned. But since it was a family affair, and if they consent Nafisa to marry her lover, uproar and break in the family was most likely.  Salim was younger to her by two years. He was not much educated and was living in a small village far from Lahore. He had done some career-oriented diploma, but was not working. Salim helped her father in their family agriculture. Marriage with Salim meant Nafisa had to quit the job and go to village, away from her family and friend-circle.

        Nafisa was the eldest of three sisters. Her parents were not as wealthy as the family of Salim. Salim’s mother was older than her brother, means Nafisa’s father. So they had a feeling of inferiority compared with Salim’s family. Nafisa’s papa was not in favor of holding on to the engagement, but her grandma was insisting. Her grandma thought that instead of some outside girl, it would be better if Nafisa becomes the heir of her daughter’s property, Nafisa’s mother was caught between feelings of the family and her beloved daughter.

        Once Nafisa’s papa made a passing comment about breaking engagement with Salim. It had created quarrel-like atmosphere in the family. Her grandma had stopped talking to them and her uncle’s reaction was also not good.

        ‘What would I do? In such circumstances, it was my natural re-acion when I said  ‘no’ to my college friend even though I loved him. Now I feel that I was hasty. I should have bought some time.’ Nafisa was writing.

        I was really shocked after knowing Nafisa’s situation. I felt very sorry for her. The circumstances had made her ‘mature’ prematuredly. Her dreams were shattered even before they took shape. Her lost hopes were more than justified. She was writing, ‘I have quit thinking about my future. I have prepared myself to mould myself into whatever situation God drags me. Because of my background, I cannot enjoy my present. Anything that comes in my way which can bring joy to me, leads me to sadness, because I know where my future is.’

        ‘When is the marriage?’ I had asked.

        ‘It will be two years or more. I can say that I have those two years to breath independently. As the time advances, I am breaking slowly from inside. I fear that by the time I am married, I shall be completely broken.’ She had written.

        ‘Is it possible for you to think of breaking the engagement and consider marrying some other good boy, who may come into your life?’ I had asked her.

        ‘Uncle, I am very much broken. I cannot look at any young boy with hopes. Some boys try to come near me, sometimes my papa also mention about some good boy in his circle of friends. But, whenever I think about any such possibility, face of Salim appears before my eyes and I become upset, I stop thinking.’ Nafisa had written.

        My role was limited to give opinion and share her grief. Gradually our communication returned to where it was started; talking about poetry, stories, general information, family and social matters etc. I was trying to cheer her up, may it be only limited to mails and so short-lived. Gradually the time gap between our mails increased and contents of mails shortened.

        Then her mails stopped. I sent two reminders, which were also not responded. I assumed that it was because of her marriage. She had earlier said that she had no access to internet from her home or from Salim’s place. She used her office computer for internet. So once she left the job, she would not be able to contact me. I was sorry for her. She had prepared herself for all eventualities. She had written once, ‘after marriage I shall be gone to a village. There I shall be very busy in cooking for the family, serve my husband with my body and mind (which is not mine even today), deliver children to the family and bring them up, decorate myself with jewellery and fine clothes on family and social celebrations, bring unnatural smile on my lips and appear before the society as a happy woman. I shall have no time for remembering my past and feel sorry for it. I shall be gone back to 19th century, from 21st, without the help of Time Machine*.  (*Time Machine, a famous novel by H.G.Wells)

        As the time passed, the memories of Nafisa became dim in my mind. However, when I read something interesting, she came back to my mind. When I had given up all hopes of getting her mail or news about her wellbeing, all of a sudden I saw her mail in my mailbox. It was a surprise for me and leaving everything aside, I opened it and started reading it. 

        She had written, ‘Uncle, I am sorry for not writing to you for very long time. I am sure you have presumed that I am married to Salim and gone to his village. You may not be expecting any communication from me. With your blessings and grace of God, the path of my life is totally changed. My life has taken a pleasant turn all of a sudden. When we go in the sky, sitting in an aeroplane and see the world from above, we see how small the world is! From the window of the plane, I saw that how small was the world of villages and my Lahore, which I left below! Ya, riding a plane I came to America. Everything was so fast and I became so busy that I had no opportunity to check my mails or send one. And I wanted to give you a pleasant surprise! Are you happy with this news? After my father, you are the second person who supported me, advised me and helped me keep up my lost hopes.

        ‘I am married to Juned, my playmate and classmate in the school from childhood. He is settled in America. He had come to Lahore for marriage.  We met by accident, a chance of God, in a shopping mall. We remembered our days of child-hood, in primary school. Over a cup of coffee in a restaurant, we talked a lot, including my situation and his search for some suitable girl. And against my nature, gathering all the courage that I could, I got bold and asked him, “You are in search of a good girl for marriage. Am I not a good girl?’

            ‘Uncle, with that one bold question, all my sorrows vanished. I am now in America as a happy wife of Juned, my friend from childhood...”  

Note : The original story written in Gujarati (one of Indian languages) is published now (2021 july,24)

A monument - Adalaj Vav, Near Ahmedabad

The Adalaj stepwell or 'Vav', as it is called in Gujarati, is intricately carved and is five stories deep. It was built in 1498. An inscription in Sanskrit establishes the history of the Adalaj stepwell found on a marble slab positioned in a recess on the first floor, from the eastern entry to the well. Its construction was started by Rana Veer Singh of the Vaghela dynasty of Dandai Desh. But he was killed in a war, whereafter the Muslim king Mahmud Begada of a neighboring state built it in Indo-Islamic architectural style, in 1499.

The Sanskrit inscription in the stepwell describes,

"Samvat 1555 (1498 AD), month of Magha, Mahmud Padshah being king.

"Salutation to Vinayaka (Ganesha) to whose race belonged King Mokala, chief of the country of Dandahi. From him was born Karna, whose son was Mularaja. Mahipa was Mularaja's son, and Virsinh and Naisha were the sons of Mahipa. Virsinh's queen, whose name is Rooda, has constructed this well.

"It is dedicated at this time – when the sun is in the north, the month is Magha, the bright half (Shukla Paksha), the 5th day, the day of the week, Wednesday, the lunar mansion – Uttara, Karana-Bava, the yoga – Siddhi."

Then follows a glowing description of the well, after which the queen, or rather lady of the chief, is praised in a few verses; the expense is stated at 5,00,111 tankas or over five lakhs, and the whole ends with a repetition of the date as given above.

The cultural and architectural depiction in the deep wells at various levels are a tribute to the history of step wells, built initially by Hindus and subsequently ornamented and blended with Islamic architecture during the Muslim rule.

My dear son

My dear son,        

    

    I have received the card, greeting me on ‘Mother’s Day’. Beautifully printed on high quality paper, the card contained a ready-made message full of emotions. On looking at it, I remembered your childhood.

        Then you were studying in fourth standard of your primary education. Your class-teacher had assigned you an essay on ‘my mother’, as your ‘home work’. On arriving home, you had asked me, “What should I write, mom?” I had replied, “It is your test, my dear. You should write whatever you can think of about your mother. If I guide you in writing, the words would be mine, may be about my mother, not yours.” You were not happy with my reply. You had walked away silently! But you had written something and shown it to your teacher. When I met your class-teacher in teachers’ room (I also worked as teacher in the same school), she had told me, “Your son has written excellent essay on ‘mother’. You should read it.” She had shown the essay to me. Reading it, I could not control my emotions and I cried. I had taken that page from your class-teacher and preserved it like a treasure. Even today, when I feel like being with you, I open that paper, read and satisfy my emotions, motherly love. While reading it, innocent face of a 9-10 years boy appears before my eyes!

        You made very bright career throughout; became engineer, got good job, married to a beautiful woman and then migrated to USA for better job. I was happy with your progress. However, I had become selfish and did not approve your decision to go away to a foreign country. Your father was also not in favor of letting you go away. But we did not reveal our displeasure and gladly bid you farewell.

        “Birds feed their young ones till they start flying. Once they are on their own, they leave the nest. Our bird has also left the nest. We hope sometimes we get to see our bird, when it comes flying this side, like a migratory bird.” Your father had consoled me with these words, when I was crying, after returning from airport. I saw the reality. So, mentally, we had written you off from our life.

        Your father was lucky to have his cremation and other rites done at your hands, when he died after some time. You had come rushing when you got the news. I felt good, but also thought it would have been better, if you could come with family. I understand it was difficult because of hurry. While returning you had invited me to USA. And you had, after following necessary formalities of visa etc. called me there. 

        You had expected that I should teach ‘our culture’ (Indian) to your children, because you thought it was better than the western culture. I could not do so. I could not mould them into our culture. I had many limitations in that society and environment. I myself felt difficult to get adjusted there. We had talked about it, and you had appreciated my viewpoint. I had told you, “culture can not be taught from outside. One is moulded into the culture in which he/she is living. Surrounding society and situation has major roll to play in it. Moreover, please do not make a mistake to believe that ‘our’ (eastern) culture is only a good culture. Humanity, as it develops in one’s behavior is the only good culture. All other virtues follow humanity.” You had not appreciated my point. But the culture as I witnessed there confirmed my arguments. I remember one incident distinctly.

        We had gone to a restaurant for dinner with your friends. One beautiful and smart girl was serving our table. Her appearance, including outfit was not ‘cultured’ according our standards, as she was wearing short skirt, tight T shirt that which we consider as ‘inapropriate’. You were all busy in talking and laughing while eating. Because of my trembling fingures, a spoon fell down spraying some soup on my clothes with it. Your wife had noticed it and saying ‘be careful, mom’, she rejoined your talks. But the girl had rushed to me. She had removed whatever had fallen on my clothes on a tissue and returning back, she had helped me cleaning stains from my saree. On completion of dinner, you all had got up quickly and started moving out. But I had trouble in getting up because of my troubled knee. Without bothering about looking at what you had left as ‘tip’, the girl helped me in getting up and keeping one hand of mine on her shoulder, she walked me several steps, like I used to help you walking when you learned walking! When she was satisfied that I was able to walk, she had acknowledged sense of thanks in my looks with a smile and returned to her work. Is this not ‘culture’?

        I had several other experiences of similar type. When we used to visit some friends and relations, they called their kids from their rooms. They were telling them ‘please say ‘hi’ to uncle (or aunty.).’ The kids obeyed formally, without any feeling or warmth on their face. When we were out in shopping malls or other places and our eyes meet even strangers, they greeted us with a smile or ‘hi’. I compared it with our tradition. We appear rude in this respect!

        You were surprised when, after several months, I told you “I wish to go back”. You had asked me, “What will you do there?” I wanted to reply, “What am I doing here?” but I could not. I had given you simple reply, “I am feeling home-sickness.” You did not argue much and arranged for my return. When you both came on the airport to bid me farewell, your eyes were filled with tears and they conveyed your real feelings. I had returned to my nest, from yours. 

        Thereafter you came here several times. I received you and your family like guests. Inside me I desired that I prepare delicious meals for your children and feed them with my own hands, like I used to do with you, thereby satisfying my emotions as a loving grandmother. But you thought I am troubling myself. You thought you should spare me from burden of extra work. So you connived some excuses and most of times arranged eating outside. You took me with you for dinner or lunch outside or while visiting friends or relations. When I was not with you, you brought something for me. Whatever period you stayed here, you remained busy in shopping, meeting people, travelling etc. You had no time at home sitting and talking small things with me, so that my feelings and emotions are satisfied. I craved for chatting with you and your family and talk about everything and nothing, just to enjoy the time and be with you all for long. But you could not give me chance for that. Your vacation ended soon, taking you back to your nest.

        On seeing your card today, ‘Mother’s Day’, I felt happy thinking that you remember me. But my son, (please do not take me wrong) instead of sending me such an expensive and beautiful but formal card, if you had written a few words with your own hands, I would have been more happy and touched. I have, however, still that paper, on which you had written about your mother. I am opening it and reading as if you have written it today, “My mom loves me very much. I do not like to get up in the morning, but my mom lifts me up from bed to wake me up. I hold my hands around her neck and kiss her. She forces me to brush and get ready. I wish I get some tea with my mom-dad, but she pushes a bowl full of milk to me and forces me to drink. But later she gives me some tea! Now I am grown up, but still she comes to the bathroom to bathe me well. Then she helps me with my school uniform. My mom also comes to the same school with me, but she gets ready quickly. If more time is taken in feeding me breakfast, she hurries up her breakfast to rush to school quickly. At night, she tells me tales of fairies and sings songs to put me to sleep. My mom loves me a lot. My mom is the best mom in the world!”

        Bye son. My love to you both and blessings for children.

                                                            Your Mom