Brilliant PM of a brilliant country

The Perfect Carnatic Song

In my opinion, this song in Carnatic music is THE PERFECT ONE. It has lyrical beauty, the typical sentiment of a devotee, and focusses on one theme.. grace. It is set to one of the loveliest of ragas. It sounds too good to be true... just listen and you will agree!

Audio File : RK Srikanthan

Audio File : Bombay Jayashri

pAhi shrI girirAjasutE

Abstracted from: Compositions of Shyama Shastri, Subbaraya Shastri & Annasvami Shastri by Sangeetha Kalanidhi T. K. Govinda Rao, published in Chennai 1997 (No. 31).

Raga: Anandabhairavi / Tala: rUpakam / Composer Syama Sastri

P: pAhi shrI girirAjasutE karuNAkalitE padasarOja manusarAmi tE amba

A: dEhi matEranupamagatim mE EkAmrapatisudati sati tEjasA atulita divyamUrttE lalitE atilalitE

C1: dEvi purANi nigamavinutE prItiriha vasatutE mAnadE anudinamajitE yudhi jitEndra vimatE dEvAvirata kRta nutE kAmakOTipITha gatE dInajana nikarE bhuvi paradEvatE sucaritE

C2: nIpavanI paramanivasanE namra jagadavana nEtri janani kanakavasanE jhaSavishAlanayanE gOpayita sukavijanE pApa tApa khaNDana nipuNE kuntaLa vijita ghanE ghanajaghanE kalAvati ratE

C3: kAmitadAtri kamalamukhi kAmAkSi akhilasAkSi kAmarati kAma shubhaphaladE dhRta sugandha ghanalatE shyAmE adya bhava mama mudE shyAmakRSNasadvaradE shyAmaLE AshritaratE viditagatE sadA iha varadE

My translation:

Oh Daughter of the King of Hills, Mother, bestow thy grace on me, for I just follow in your lotus steps....and grace is your very nature!

Mother, also give me wisdom, you pearly-toothed consort of Siva(Ekamreshwara), unmatched in effulgent form, divine Lalitha, ever-so-pliant in feminine grace!

You're primordial, worshipped in scriptures, and once ended god's quarrels too, oh unvanquished one! May your affection be with me here always....just enshrined as you're in Kamakoti Pitha, uplifting all poor souls.

You're the Purifier, Mother! Your eyes are filled with love for all creation, those large eyes that recall beauteous fish.

You're the inspiration for great poets, you're adept at destroying infernal misdeeds, you're a lovely one, with such splendid hair and figure!

You fulfill our wishes, and you foster passionate love amongst us. Oh lotus-faced one of dark mein, oh one swathed in golden robes, holding a fragrant plant in hand, grace me just this instant! For you're ever and ever grace personified!

Yin Yang and Zhang

You see recently posted a piece of my art. It is titled Yin Yang and Zhang*. It shows how man is an eternal cauldron of creativity with left brain logic and right brain art and how the whole creative process causes a Zhang in his being. iPhone 4 is good for this process. Let me show you another piece of my art:

The Fire of Life

It took only a couple of minutes of finger painting on this retina display touch screen. I have a slew of applications all about photography and art neatly assembled into groups. Incredibly this chalk and charcoal art app called Doodle Buddy makes a charcoal scratch sound as you slide your finger=virtual chalk over this incredible glass=slate! You can even imagine the rough contact between slate and chalk as you see the grainy lines. And you can smudge and blend colours too. Enjoy!

* Zhang - if you're like me, you would like to look up what zhang means. Come on, Lah, it is there just for rhyming!

iPhone 4 Photos

iPhone 4 Miscellany

Went to Bangalore. Auto fares are up 30%. In return you get foul-mouth and pick-pocket drivers. Trained in Chennai I believe.
Came back and bought an iPhone 4. Amazing display better than the human eye can see. Great camera HD. Am blogging now from it.

Yin Yang and Zhang ( iPhone art)

When he comes.

This is a highly evocative poem of the Vishwa Kavi Rabindranath Tagore:

The night darkened. Our day's works had been done. We thought that the last guest had arrived for the night and the doors in the village were all shut. Only some said the king was to come. We laughed and said 'No, it cannot be!'                It seemed there were knocks at the door and we said it was nothing but the wind. We put out the lamps and lay down to sleep. Only some said, 'It is the messenger!' We laughed and said 'No, it must be the wind!' 

There came a sound in the dead of the night. We sleepily thought it was the distant thunder. The earth shook, the walls rocked, and it troubled us in our sleep. Only some said it was the sound of wheels. We said in a drowsy murmur, 'No, it must be the rumbling of clouds!' 

The night was still dark when the drum sounded. The voice came 'Wake up! delay not!' We pressed our hands on our hearts and shuddered with fear. Some said, 'Lo, there is the king's flag!' We stood up on our feet and cried 'There is no time for delay!' 

The king has come - but where are lights, where are wreaths? Where is the throne to seat him? Oh, shame! Oh utter shame! Where is the hall, the decorations? Someone has said, 'Vain is this cry! Greet him with empty hands, lead him into thy rooms all bare!' 

Open the doors, let the conch-shells be sounded! in the depth of the night has come the king of our dark, dreary house. The thunder roars in the sky. The darkness shudders with lightning. Bring out thy tattered piece of mat and spread it in the courtyard. With the storm has come of a sudden our king of the fearful night.

Osho, the mystic, interprets this poem thus:

A beautiful poem by Rabindranath Tagore, "The King of the Night".... There used to be a very huge temple, so huge that there were one hundred priests to worship the statues of gods in the temple. One night the chief priest dreamt, and the dream was such that it made him wake up -- he could not believe it, but he could not disbelieve it either. 

In the dream he saw God himself saying to him, "Tomorrow is the fullmoon night. Clean the whole temple, get ready -- I may come any moment. For thousands of years this temple has been calling me, but the call was professional; hence it was not heard. Your call is not professional. You are the first chief priest in this temple whose heart is full of longing, full of prayer, full of waiting. You are not simply doing the rituals, your whole life is in it. So don't forget: tomorrow I am coming and I am giving you an advance notice, so that the temple is ready to receive the guest for which it was made many, many centuries before." 

It was difficult to believe that God would speak to him -- he is nobody, he does not deserve it. On the contrary, he has so many weaknesses, so many frailties which every human being is prone to... but on the other hand, how to disbelieve? The dream was truer than our so-called true life. 

He was worried about what he was going to say to the other priests, because they will make him a laughingstock. The temple has been there for centuries and God has never come. But even if it looks awkward, embarrassing, he has to tell them, because he alone cannot clean the whole temple; it is so big, so huge.... 

He woke up all the priests and said, "Forgive me for disturbing your sleep. I am in a dilemma: I have seen this dream...."And all the priests laughed -- because priests are the only people who don't believe in God. They know perfectly well that God is a strategy to exploit people. 

They said, "It was just a dream, go back to sleep." But the chief priest could not sleep. In the morning he said, "It may have been just a dream, but who knows? If God comes and finds us unprepared, it will be such a shame. So I order you, as the chief priest, to clean the temple, to decorate the temple with flowers, with candles. Make it fragrant with incense, and let us wait. Even if it was only a dream, and God does not turn up, there is no harm. The temple needs cleaning, and it is a good opportunity." 

The whole day the temple was cleaned, decorated. Delicious food was made for God, but the whole day passed and there was no sign. And the chief priest was standing at the door, looking far away where the sky seems to meet the earth -- the temple was in a very lonely place -- but the road remained empty; nobody came. 

The day disappeared into night. They were all hungry because they were waiting: first God should be served. And then all the other priests said, "We had told you, a dream is just a dream. Who has ever heard of God coming to the temples? You are very naive, very simple, very innocent. Now let us eat -- we are feeling hungry and tired -- and go to sleep." 

So they closed the doors, and ate the food that they had made for God. And because they were tired from the whole day's cleaning and decoration and preparation, they immediately fell asleep. 

In the middle of the night a golden chariot came on the road leading to the temple. 
 The sound of the chariot coming... and the chief priest was deep down still feeling that God cannot be so deceptive, particularly to a man who has never done any harm to him. He heard the sound of the chariot. He woke up the priests, and he said, "He is coming! I have just heard the sound of the chariot, listen." 

And they were half asleep and they said, "Just go to sleep! You are going mad, just because of a dream. This is not a chariot, this is just the clouds thundering." He was alone. They silenced him. 

The chariot came to the door. God stepped onto the long steps reaching up to the temple. He knocked on the door. Again the chief priest said, "I have heard somebody knocking on the door! Perhaps God has come." And now it was too much. Annoying them in the middle of the night... utterly tired and exhausted priests. Somebody shouted at him and said, "You shut up and just go to sleep! It is nothing but the breeze hitting the doors. No God has come and no chariot has come; it has never happened." They again silenced him. 

In the morning when the chief priest... he could not sleep; the waiting kept him awake, the longing kept him awake. He got up early and opened the door -- "My god!" he said, "He has come" -- because on the road there were signs of a chariot coming up to the door, and on the steps he could see the signs of someone reaching the door. He looked carefully... because dust had gathered on the steps and there were perfect impressions of the feet. It was no one other than God, because the impressions in the dust were ctly the same as had been described in the ancient scriptures; exactly how the feet of God would make an impression. 

With tears in his eyes, he ran inside and made all the priests wake up. And he said "You did not listen to me -- it was not clouds thundering in the sky, it was the chariot of God. And it was not the wind knocking at the doors it was God himself who knocked. But now it is too late." 

This beautiful poem has immense significance. God comes to every heart -- because that is the temple, the only temple -- and knocks on the heart. But you go on rationalizing, and your doors are closed. 

Plastics 'R Us

I spent a lovely Saturday evening looking for some toys for my grand-kids.

I wanted a Buzz Lightyear toy. That was easy- I headed to Takashimaya and visited the Disney section. The second one was extremely hard. You see, I was looking for something totally out of this world - a simple baby doll. Soft and human looking. My idea of a great toy for a small girl to play with: a true "puppen" toy, and something  many cultures are proud of is their doll-making. Something that costs a bit but is a feast of timeless delight to everyone in the family. And such a gift idea seems totally far out in Singapore this day and age.
 
Wikipedia informs me:

Archaeological evidence places dolls as foremost candidate for oldest known toy, having been found in Egyptian tombs which date to as early as 2000 BCE. Roman doll-makers continued to use technology developed by the Egyptians and Greeks, but in line with the artistic sensibilities of their culture, they were constantly trying to make dolls more elegant and beautiful. One doll, found near Prati in Rome, was made of ivory and lay beside her owner who had died at the age of eighteen. Next to the doll was a small box, also made of ivory, containing tiny combs and a silver mirror. The doll had rings on her fingers and held a tiny key, which unlocked the box. Like children today, the younger members of Roman civilization would have dressed and undressed their dolls, and decorated their hair and fingers according to the latest fashions.

And in today's stores, you see shelves lined with odd-sized yellow, pink and coffee-coloured  bears, cats and dragons. Also odd-looking dolls. But not a human-looking baby doll.

If you ask any girl or woman what is her favourite toy, would she name a green monster, or a lizard, or a weird sabre-wielding laser-fitted robot? I am not referring to Buzz Lightyear. He is human enough albeit a nerd, and has been given a lovely persona and voice. But I am talking of all those hundreds and hundreds of plastic boxed toys that line the alleys of today's toy stores.
There are pink bimbo sections for girls, with hard plastic-smiling impossibly curvy stiletto-heeled Barbies, and uncountable speed-and-kill toys for boys. They are black, pointy, ugly, and even the large plastic packages have a huge clutter of markings and blurbs in so many languages including bar codes and other machine-ready markings.
The whole thing looks so far from humans and what humans may like unless we are dealing with totally clueless programmed nitwits reared on the Telly that can think of only plastic joys and toys. Like I saw this Seinfeld episode where the guy wants to buy the game parlour machine on which he once scored the highest score ever and it comes up on the screen as the Top Score with his name... and he wants it moved from the parlour to his home WITHOUT resetting in which case it would wipe out that display of the Top Scorer's name.....

Happy Ending: I did get my soft cuddly doll toy. Finally, after visiting so many stores and rummaging through shelves.

PS: I also found the sales assistants at these toy stores quite mystified when I asked for a soft, non-plasticky human-looking doll. They had not seen or heard of one. Maybe I should scout for "doll" stores.

PPS: Here is my video from the American Girl Place. America! The land which invented all things plastic. But they also make the kind of toys I wanted for a small girl to play with.

Elephantine Diet

The Seaworld website states that

1. Elephants eat between 149 and 169 kg (330-375 lb.) of vegetation daily.
2. Sixteen to eighteen hours, or nearly 80% of an elephant’s day is spent feeding. Elephants consume grasses, small plants, bushes, fruit, twigs, tree bark, and roots.
3. Tree bark is a favorite food source for elephants. It contains calcium and roughage, which aids digestion. Tusks are used to carve into the trunk and tear off strips of bark.
4. Elephants require about 68.4 to 98.8 L (18 to 26 gal.) of water daily, but may consume up to 152 L (40 gal.). An adult male elephant can drink up to 212 L (55 gal.) of water in less than five minutes.
5. To supplement the diet, elephants will dig up earth to obtain salt and minerals. The tusks are used to churn the ground. The elephant then places dislodged pieces of soil into its mouth, to obtain nutrients. Frequently these areas result in holes that are several feet deep and vital minerals are made accessible to other animals. Ex: Over time, African elephants have hollowed out deep caverns in a volcano mountainside on the Ugandan border, to obtain salt licks and minerals. Hills have been carved by Asian elephants in India and Sumatra searching for salt and minerals. These carved areas in the landscape provide valuable food and shelter resources for a diverse array of native wildlife.
   
   
   
   Now what happens when elephants become playthings for humankind? They will be manipulated. Man will feed them, overfeed them, and also force them to take diet medicines! And also give them ayurveda, because it is healthier and alternative to animal-tested, toxic, western medicine! Read this  PTI clipping from my friend Sundar:
   

   

   
   

   Fortynine elephants were fed at the annual ‘anayoottu’ (feeding of elephants) ceremony of Sree Vadakkunnathan temple here this morning with a large number of people turning up to watch the visual treat.

   The ceremony was held as part of ‘Ashta Dravya Maha Ganapathy Homam’, offering of holy materials in sacrificial fire to propitiate Lord Ganesa. About 1,000 kg rice flakes, 10,000 coconuts, 2,000 kg of jaggery, 200 kg of ghee and 50 kg honey were used for the ‘homam’.

   Temple Melsanthi (Chief priest) Kottampilly Narayanan Namboodiri inaugurated the ‘anayoottu’ by giving the feed to the youngest elephant of the lot “Kuttumukku Kannan”.

   The elephants were given rice mixed with jaggery, ghee and turmeric powder. They were also fed coconut, sugarcane, pineapple, bananas and cucumber.

   In a bid to ensure the elephants did not suffer due to overeating, a herbal digestive powder, ‘Ashta Churnam’ was also given at the end of the jumbo feast.

   
   
   

Symbolism of the Rupee

Saw The Symbol an hour ago. Hmm. It has come a full circle.. The Indus civilization started having coinage, and now the Indian Rupee is only the fifth currency after $, £, ¥,  and €. Of course each of these currencies has a wealth an order of magnitude bigger than the Rupee, and in fact Obama has spent MORE THAN INDIA'S GNP on just the stimulus package.

But so what. We have our own Currency Symbol. Symbolism... that set me thinking. What does this symbol make me think of?

1. 
   
   The king, or Raja...Doesn't it look like an elaborate princely headgear? We are still feudalistic.
2. 
   
   RUpya, in Sanskrit, was the original word. It meant a silver or gold mint coin with the king's insignia.
3. 
   
   Did you see how top heavy the symbol is? So is our economy.
4. 
   
   India has lofty ideas of equality. Look at the equal sign on top.
5. 
   
   But it remains a concept. The money is all sandwiched by the richest.
6. 
   
   There is an aspiring middle class, upwardly mobile, but soon those blokes will hit a ceiling.. a barrier to the top.
7. 
   
   The symbol looks like a plough. No wonder, since the humble yokeman represents the vast majority.
8. 
   
   The poor in India are stuck in the mud... no move upwards. Only a slide down.
9. 
   
   India is shamelessly enamoured of the west.. see the way we stare at the west and ape the Euro.
10. 
    
    But all is not lost. India is producing the largest pool of graduates..did you see the convocation headgear?
11. 
    
    All other currency symbols have a roundness and modesty to them, but India seems to be flying a kite!
12. 
    
    The symbol does not stand on itself. It needs a stronger base... as does the Indian minimum wage need some bolstering.

I am sure you can think of more. Come on!

How good can life be?

How good can life be?

Today is my tenth day in Singapore. Got my EP, signed up for my rental home - it's located  in near-perfect settings, and am all set to move in once my effects land soon.

And today, I wake up thinking I should perhaps get an internet radio to listen to HiFi music not readily available on AM/FM bands here. I go out, and within a couple of hours, I manage to land an April 2010 release called Squeezebox Touch. It is rated a 5/5 on Amazon.com by most reviewers. When I open it and connect it to my hotel's not-so-broad band, it runs exquisitely. I am able to tune in to sunaada.com, a recent station from Bangalore, and listen to some great SSI+MSS, Parameshwara Hegde+Vishwamohan Bhat, and Lalgudi+Raghu!

In the evening, intent on some curry, I head to Boat Quay. I land up at Punjab da Dhaba, situated on a terrace 7 stories high, affording a perfect view of the waterway, the famed Fullerton and the Marina Bay. And then starts a magnificent display of fireworks in the sky -happens every weekend I am told! The food is perfect too. I top off a perfect meal with masala chai in a lovely little Lalloo pot!

And here I am - am I still thinking Life shortchanged me!!!!???

For one so blind and deaf and mindless about reality.....Hope God doesn't give up on me.

Curry Stotra

The Curry Stotra
सिन्धूरारुणविग्रहां त्रिरुचिरां सामीप्यघ्राणस्फुरत्

शाकापाचकरूपितां दधिसखीं आपीतमूर्धन्यगाम् ।

पाणिभ्यां सुस्वादखाद्यचशकं तिक्तोत्पलं बिभ्रतीम्

रस्यां रत्न-घटस्त-रक्तचरणां ध्यायेत् करीं शंकरीम् ॥

 

 

I have been thinking, ever since my recent post about curry-bashers. Now come on. As one who lives and breathes curries, I am at a loss to understand how others, who have no civilised taste for curries, fuss about the Indian's obsession. 

Curry not only defines Indian culture, but it is India's biggest food export (MTR curry exports did half a billion dollars last year.) I read the other day that curry is the most common take-out food in England. I also suspect that the secret ingredient of Coca-Cola is a curry extract. And someone published a study that the reason why curry grows on you is that it causes addiction in the deep brain.

India lured Alexander, Marco Polo, Vasco da Gama, Robert Clive and Mountbatten with its spices and curries. In fact we poison every visiting cricket team with extra-strong curry so we can face their fast bowling a bit more easily. And do you know why the vedas and upanishads extol fire worship? It is a metaphor for the curry! And finally, do you know what is the significance of the Indian Tricolour? Don't you listen to Mahatma Gandhi or Kanchi Acharya. They give you esoteric interpretations involving trinity, holy sacrifice and peace. Nothing of the sort. It is a symbol of the Indian curry. Three types... the green variety, full of palak, keerai, beans and bhindi. And the red one, involving the fiery varieties from sambar to kadai and shashlik. Finally the white one... full of coconut and curd.. like kadi, aviyal and so on. And what shines in the centre? A pristine piece of pickle.... lemon in the south and lotus stem in the north.
That is the flag that flies high... and brings tears to one and all at the very thought. At the FIFA World Cup, you saw many a star shed a tear as he stood to attention when his flag was unfurled and his anthem played. And every Indian thinks of curry, and goes all sentimental. So, my friend, lets go and conquer... all we need is some curry power.I have therefore rewritten the dhyana sloka of the sacred hymn to Devi. The Curry Goddess indeed.

sindhUrAruNavigrahAM triruchirAM sAmIpyaghrANasphurat
SAkApAcakarUpitAM dadhisakhIM ApItamUrdhanyagAm
pANibhyAM susvAdakhAdyachashakaM tiktotpalaM bibhratIm
rasyAM ratna-ghaTasta-raktacharaNAM dhyAyet karIM SaMkarIm

Oh vermilion-red goddess, whose proximity stimulates my olfactory senses, born as you are from the cooking of vegetables, you go well with curd - because your taste rises straight to the top of my head. You hold in your two hands a pot of delicious curry and hot pepper plant. You are indeed tasty, and worthily placed on a jewel-studded pedastal. I bow down to you, oh Curry Goddess, who bestow good fortune on all your devotees!

My Own Private India

My Own Private India (Click to read the Time article)

("Why can't they ridicule Indians' elephant nose?")

Meant to be humorous, there is this article in Time by Joel Stein on how the famous Menlo Park, where Edison invented the light bulb, is now culturally decayed beyond repair, swarming as it is with curry-eating Indian traders and their witless cousins. All the haunts of the author from his teens - like restaurants, pubs and movie halls - have now been indianised. The author, living in Manhattan with its hookers and mistresses, is lamenting how his home town has been lost culturally.

Imperialism is funny. It cuts all ways. It upsets them when they come to dusty India and brown Babus serve them ineptly. It upsets them when the wars don't go the way they started them between Pakis and Indians and Afghans and so on. It makes them unhappy that Indians come to America as doctors, engineers and traders, with their curry and crowding. Indians should crawl around quietly like termite, doing their bit in the ecological cycle but unnoticed and unsmelled. These folks like to see Slumdog Millionaire, which shows a pathetic slum called India. But they don't like to lose their cultural trademarks to the Indian onslaught. In any case they are clueless how to run this world their way.

They are clueless no doubt. Edison's light bulb, the computer chip, and the Internet seem to be the lasting contributions of America to the world. Also wars, atom bombs, and debt crises and large scale economic ills that no one can correct. They are happy they voted a Black President...but it will take another big war for them to really prove how they can run this world. This guy is trying to do just that, and won a Nobel Prize for his efforts already.

Meanwhile Indians like me will migrate and crowd other countries with our curries and colourful if dotty culture. My friend, that is why some people say this world is flat. The water, or oil, or Indians, can spill and flow any which way.

What's a good ad?

After a long time.... thanks to Pramod!

What's up?

The Hindu, normally dead puritanical, has started featuring bimbos, honchos and stuff in kinda advertorials...
Their story a couple of days ago started off with this picture and began, "The last time that a tablet was so much in the news, it was blue in colour and diamond-shaped. The latest tablet enjoying the spotlight and one that has set the wires on fire, isn’t used to treat any dysfunction, but has sparked off a similar buying frenzy."

Now I am an iPhone addict and feel disoriented with a BB Bold. But I tried the iPad in a couple of places and honestly, I am unable to rave about it, except for the touch response of the screen. It is large, and kind of heavy for one hand. Its angle is not right for two hand touch typing unless you have a special prop.

HOWEVER.  I am not a nerd focussed on the wrong things in life. I am totally clued into the more important question in THIS story.

1. What is this poor girl with no clothes and only a giant iPad doing next to Manasarovar lake?
2. Is she an extra from Chandnichowk to China movie who jumped out of the helicopter?
3. Is she an ex significant other of Steve whose only settlement was a prototype iPad?
4. Is she an ex KGB scientist trying to grow food out of a stump, water and an iPad?
5. Is she an alien sent to smuggle out man's greatest invention to Mars?
6. Is she the daughter of Ra trying to communicate across 10000 years and some light years?
7. Is she a clueless witless bimbo who doesn't know how to buy shoes for a trek?
8. Is she an Olympic surfer trying out the iPad for a skate board?
9. Is she a Dalai Lama spy abandoned by the Red Establishment?
10. Is she a Shangri La goddess come down to check out some new tech gadget?
11. Is she the latest Bond gal waiting for her man with the gun, holding on to his gadget?
12. Is she thinking the iPad is solar powered?
13. Does she think it is a giant model mirror?
14. Is she trying to locate the Kailash Cosmic Lingam using the iPad GPS app?
15. Or is she just a waif-like holographic app on the iPad?

Questions. Questions. Stupid. If I were there, there would be no questions. I would just focus on the impotant bit.
Make off with the tablet. Thank You.

What's all the noise about!?

Hear the Vuvuzela!

Vuvuzela facts:

1. Vuvuzela is an African word for a horn.
2. China makes nearly 90% of all Vuvuzelas sold.
3. Jiying Plastic Products Factory had sold more than 1 million horns since April.
4. Vuvuzelas range from 7.3 cm to 67 cm in length. 
5. They are exported at prices ranging from 0.6 yuan to 2.5 yuan.
6. However, they are sold for between 18 yuan (about $ 2) and 53 yuan in South Africa.
7. One vuvuzela is reportedly sold in Britain every two seconds for two euros apiece.
8. Amazon.com has reported a 1,000-per cent sales increase of its horns, which sell for $ 9.99.
9. Ebay.com had more than 400 bids for vuvuzelas, with one already reaching $ 17.64.
10. Fans have said vuvuzela enrich their World Cup experiences by creating a sense of participation.
11. “I can’t go to South Africa, but blowing vuvuzela while watching the games makes me feel as if I’m among the fans in the stadium,” said Cheng Qing, a 25-year-old Shanghai International Studies University postgraduate student.
12. As a part of efforts to boost primary education -I understand- Govt. of India is planning to import and distribute 250 million Vuvuzelas among all school children. This will be a bilateral trade pact and India will export 2 billion mosquitos for bioresearch to China. But one cynic in Kolkata is said to have remarked that with all the corruption, CPM, Congress and BJP politicians will corner all the vuvuzelas for future election duty.

Dilbert takes on Steve, PHB and everyone else

Drilling for greed

I once saw one of the icons of Indian IT industry, a proud son of Mysore who started off with leftist ideals but later inspired tomes for the way he had created millionaire employees through stock options. That evening, he was, like me, looking ever bit as jet-lagged and travel-weary as the other two hundred plus international arrivals struggling to collect their luggage in the pathetic HAL airport arrival area of Bangalore. Mercifully, a couple of years later we started using the new, large and fancy BIAL airport.

And recently I landed at the Beijing Capital International Airport. Immediately, I texted my friend who works at BIAL, "Landed in BCIA. It is 50 times larger than BIAL!"

China boasts a Great Wall built before the Christian era. This is the only man-made object visible to the naked eye from even a satellite. That same nation has built an economy that makes everything from apples to Apples. Also melamine-tainted milk to toxic toys.

The BCIA airport is a million square metres in size, and handles 55 million passengers a year. It also connects everyone to a bustling Beijing city with a ring road 207 km long. The city is teeming with economic activity, but has a major haze problem and smells a lot like a petrol station.

Oil wealth. The one thing China lacks, but makes up by making everything else. And as America looks on with approval at the burgeoning capitalism there, man's greed drives the engine called growth. And that makes some people near the Gulf of Mexico drill 4 km below the sea, and install a pipe 5 km tall to suck out earth's black gold. But short cuts and short-sightedness cause a spill more black than gold. And that triggers a whole chain of crisis stories. What a life! Reminds me of Bhasmaasura!

Read this story about BP in the Economist.

ABC Classic FM, my favourite radio channel streaming lovely classical music et al 24 hours, surprised me with a touching story this morning, read by Stephen Fry to some classical music accompaniment. This story by Oscar Wilde has inspired even a Russian Opera. Read it, and be touched by it!

The Nightingale and the Rose by Oscar Wilde

Osho shows the mirror

तु जिस्म के खुश रंग लिबासॊं पे हो नज़ान
मैं रूह को मुह्ताज ए कफ़न देख रहा हूँ

क्या हाल पूछ्ते हो मेरे कारोबार का
आईने बेचता हूँ मैं अन्धों के शहर में 

Roughly it can be translated:
Don’t ask me, sir, what I am doing here.
You are enamoured of the dreamlike psychedelic colours of the body and the mind,
but I can see death knocking at your doors.
You are lost in a dream world, and I can see death approaching every moment closer and closer.
Don’t ask me, sir, about my business here.
I sell mirrors in the city of the blind!

AAINE BECHTA HOON MAIN ANDHON KE SHAHAR MAIN.
I sell mirrors in the city of the blind!

And this is certainly a city of the blind! This whole earth is full of blind people – blind because they
cannot see death approaching, blind because they cannot see that life is evaporating every moment,
blind because they cannot see the momentariness of all that they are accumulating, blind because
they don’t know from where they come, why they come, to where they are destined, blind because
they are not even aware who resides at the innermost core of their being.
When Alexander the Great came to India... and he came at a very right, ripe moment... Buddha
had left his body only three hundred years before; his vibe was still alive. People were still filled
with the joy, with the silence that they have experienced in Buddha. He had gone, the flower has
disappeared, but the fragrance was still in the air, still lingering. It lingered on at least for five hundred
years.
Alexander was very much surprised; he had never felt such quality. He came across many people
he had never come across in his whole life. They were strange – they talked a strange language,
they lived a strange life. He was mystified.
He met a naked fakir and he was so much impressed by the man’s beauty, his grace, his silence, his
bliss, that suddenly he felt his own poverty. And he was the conqueror of that time, the conqueror of
the then known world, the greatest conqueror ever. And he felt his beggarliness before this naked
beggar, because he could see he was empty. And this naked man was overflowing with meaning,
with joy, with splendor.
Alexander begged from this beggar that, ”Give me some gift that can be of help to me!”
The beggar pulled out a small mirror – so goes the story – from his bag, and gave the mirror to
Alexander the Great. Seeing that it is just an ordinary mirror, and very cheap too, Alexander said,
”Do you think this is such a great gift? From a man like you I was expecting something really
miraculous!”
And the naked fakir laughed and he said, ”It is more than you could have ever expected. Keep it
safe for the day when the question arises in you ’Who am I?’ and then look into it.”
Alexander could not resist the temptation. That very night when he was alone, he looked into the
mirror and he was surprised: he saw his original face.
This must be a story, because no mirror can show you your original face – unless that mirror means
meditation. Meditation can show you your original face. The story simply says that the beggar gave
him the secret of meditation; it is a metaphorical way of saying. Meditation is a mirror. All the mirrors
can only show the physical face, but meditation can show you your spiritual face.
And that’s what I am doing here:
AAINE BECHTA HOON MAIN ANDHON KE SHAHAR MAIN.
I am selling mirrors in the city of the blind.

(quoted from I am that, 1980)

Is Singapore just a mall?

Celebrating Windows

Bhawaani Dayaani - Parween Sultana

Begum Parween Sultana's name is synonymous with this bhajan. The passion with which she brings in front of us the immanence of Durgaa or Bhawaani, is hair-raising. There are two versions on the Youtube. One is given below... it seems a truncated video. The other one has perhaps a copy of her recording from Saregama.

In case you are interested, you can create a compilation of Parween Sultana's recordings at hamaraCD.com. Just search under Hindustani for the artiste's name Parween Sultana. There are over 60 tracks.

For those interested in lyrics, here is the text of the Bhairavi bhajan (so appropriate for a prayer to Durgaa or Bhawaani. In Carnatic music we call it Sindhu Bhairavi):

भवानी दयानी
महा वाक्-वानी
सुर-नर-मुनि जन्मानी
सकलबुधज्ञानी
जग-ज्जननी जग-द्दानी
महिषासुर-मर्दिनी
ज्वालामुखी चंडी
अमर पद दानी

Meaning

Dear Mother, the creator, the munificent!

You gave the cosmic mantra Om

You gave birth to gods, men and saints
And you are the repository of all wisdom

Verily you are the cosmic mother, and the ultimate source of grace.

You destroyed Mahishaasura the demon

You spewed fire then, you were truly terrifying!

And yet you also confer liberation through your loving grace!

=========

There is a lovely concert of  Parween Sultana just posted at http://chowdaiahandparvati.blogspot.com. Enjoy!

Art beside nature

I went today to the NSW Art Gallery. A lovely place, and lots of art-lovers there. I even bought at the end a CD on Jodhpur Miniatures, with music by Dr. N. Ramani!

You can see the photos in Picasa Albums here

You will notice a statue of Robert Burns in the photos. He was a very earthy man, and a deeply humanistic poet, in my opinion. Here is his poem, written after he noticed that he had destroyed a mouse hole while ploughing his field:

 To a Mouse
 by Robert Burns (1759-1796, Scotland)

Burns original

Standard English translation

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty Wi bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murdering pattle. I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth born companion An' fellow mortal! I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request; I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, An' never miss't. Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin! It's silly wa's the win's are strewin! An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green! An' bleak December's win's ensuin, Baith snell an' keen! Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, An' weary winter comin fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld. But Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain: The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy! Still thou are blest, compared wi' me! The present only toucheth thee: But och! I backward cast my e'e, On prospects drear! An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear!

Small, crafty, cowering, timorous little beast, O, what a panic is in your little breast! You need not start away so hasty With hurrying scamper! I would be loath to run and chase you, With murdering plough-staff. I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, And justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth born companion And fellow mortal! I doubt not, sometimes, but you may steal; What then? Poor little beast, you must live! An odd ear in twenty-four sheaves Is a small request; I will get a blessing with what is left, And never miss it. Your small house, too, in ruin! Its feeble walls the winds are scattering! And nothing now, to build a new one, Of coarse grass green! And bleak December's winds coming, Both bitter and keen! You saw the fields laid bare and wasted, And weary winter coming fast, And cozy here, beneath the blast, You thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel plough past Out through your cell. That small bit heap of leaves and stubble, Has cost you many a weary nibble! Now you are turned out, for all your trouble, Without house or holding, To endure the winter's sleety dribble, And hoar-frost cold. But little Mouse, you are not alone, In proving foresight may be vain: The best laid schemes of mice and men Go often askew, And leave us nothing but grief and pain, For promised joy! Still you are blest, compared with me! The present only touches you: But oh! I backward cast my eye, On prospects dreary! And forward, though I cannot see, I guess and fear!

And don't you think the painting of the Aborigine actor Gulpilil somehow relates to this poem?

PS: Two lorikeets came over to my table at lunch in the cafeteria. They loved the date pudding!

MDR's Lahari

MDR sings a lovely sloka from Shivanandalahari of Adi Shankara here.
The lyric goes thus:

sArUpyaM tava pUjane Siva mahA-deveti saMkIrtane            
sAmIpyaM Sivabhakti-dhurya-janatA-sAMgatya-saMbhaShANe     |
sAlokyaM ca carAcarAtmaka-tanu-dhyAne bhavAnIpate
sAyujyaM mama siddhaM atra bhavati swAmin kRUtArthosmyaham    ||

I understand the meaning thus:
Oh Shiva,your form appears within me as I worship you. I feel close to you as I chant your name of Mahadeva. When I join the assembly of your devotees and converse with them, I feel immersed in your world. And as I perceive your immanence in all the living and non-living creation, I feel one with you! Thank you, oh lord for giving me this ineffable experience!

Thought-word-deed-experience.

(Geelong sunset on 3 May 2008 after watching a great Cats AFL match).

Why I am miserable

Osho on why I am miserable:

You ask for boredom because you ask for repetition. Something happened; for example, you were sitting, and the first star of the evening was becoming visible. And you watched. And it was a quiet evening; and it was cool and birds were returning back to their nests. And it was silent and it was very musical and you were in tune. Just watching the star becoming visible you felt beautiful.  Now, you have tasted something—you will gather it like a treasure. THIS treasure will make you miserable.

First, you will hanker for it again and again. That hankering will create misery. And it cannot be repeated by your hankering, remember—because it happened only because there was no hankering in you. You were simply sitting there not knowing what was going to happen. It happened in a state of innocence. It happened in a state of nonexpectation.It happened because you were not looking for it. That is a basic ingredient in it. You were not looking, you were not asking. In fact, you were not desiring—you were simply there. Suddenly you became aware: the first star. And IN that moment when you became aware of the first star, you were not thinking that it was happiness, remember that too. That comes later on; that is a recapitulation. In that moment you were simply there— not happy, not unhappy, nothing. These words don’t mean anything. Existence is so vast that no word is meaningful about it.

But then it is gone and there remains a memory. And you say again and again, “It was beautiful—how beautiful! how divine!” Now a desire arises to repeat it every evening.  Next day you are waiting again, but now the whole situation has changed: you are waiting for it, you are looking for it. You want to repeat the old experience. Now, this is something new which was not present in the previous experience. So this won’t allow you. You are looking too much. You are not relaxed; you are tense—you are afraid you may miss the first star. You are apprehensive. You are worried whether it is going to be again or not. It is not going to be.

First, it is not possible now because you have lost that innocence, that unexperienced state where no memory existed, where past was not, where future was not. Secondly, if some day it is repeated it will be boring because it will be a repetition. You have already known it. The beauty is in the new, it is never in the old. The beauty is in the fresh, it is never in the dead. The beauty belongs to the original, never to the carbon copy. The beauty is when an experience is firsthand, not secondhand. Now, if it happens at all, it will not make you happy; it will be a secondhand experience. And remember: God is never secondhand. God is always fresh.

To know that God in the beauty of the evening, or in the beauty of a bird on the wing, means you have to be absolutely innocent. The past has to be completely dropped and the future is not to be allowed to interfere. Then, and only then, there is beauty and there is benediction, there is blessing, there is happiness and bliss.  Once you experience something, you start asking for it, you become a beggar. Then it will never happen. And you will carry the memory like a wound.  Have you watched it? Watch it: whenever you are happy, in that moment you don’t know it is happiness. It is only afterwards, when the experience is gone, faded away, is no more, then mind comes in and starts looking for it, starts comparing, evaluating, judging, and says, “Yes, it was beautiful! so beautiful!” When the experience itself was present, mind was not present.

Happiness is when mind is not.

( The Dsicipline of Transcendence vol. III discourse 9)

Mullah Nasruddin

Osho weaves in lots of  Mullah Nasruddin jokes into his talks. The Mullah has a way of answering questions, with a lateral insight that confronts our common sense but still makes some sense. In fact Osho explains how the Mullah is a metaphor among the Sufis for "wise in foolishness, foolish in wisdom".

The picture shows Mullah sitting backwards on his donkey. The occasion is that he is going to a religious conclave with all his disciples. Many masters are on their way, but Mullah's riding backwards causes much mirth. When someone asks him why, he replies.. 'I am a master only because of my followers. I cannot ride in front turning my back on them, and it is not right that I follow behind my followers. That is why this is the best solution!'


Here is a typical Mullah joke:

 Mulla Nasruddin's wife drags him to a movie house. And in the picture, the hero hugs and kisses the heroine so gracefully, so sweetly, that immediately Mulla Nasruddin's wife turns to him and says, "You never do that to me." Mulla Nasruddin says, "You don't understand -- he is paid. Am I paid?"

But the wife is also a rare one and retorts, "Paid or not paid, you don't know that in real life also they are husband and wife." Mulla replies, "My god! If in real life also they are husband and wife, then he is a great actor. I can certify that he is a great actor."

A long time ago

What an exquisite sculpture! This is a photo I took in Musee d'Orsay in Paris 18 months ago. You can read about this sculpture at their website.

I think this photo captures the essence of my working life, which is 35 years long as of today.
I have always been in international marketing, always in high technology. This has given me opportunities to travel widely across Europe, Asia, Africa and America. I have met so many talented people, listened to such exquisite music, and seen such great art. Nature, in all its splendour like the Victoria Falls in Zambezi, to the incredible Great Wall, to the wonderful beaches of Australia, to the fascinating Disneyland in a few places.....

I wrote ten years ago, when I had completed 25 years of work, what life had taught me:

Do what you love. Love what you do. Deliver more than  you promise.

The incomparable Scott Adams and Dilbert

If you don't yet get your daily dose of Dilbert by mail, you're missing the best humour around for guys like us!
Subscribe here. And enjoy this strip!

Varadadasa- M.D. Ramanathan, the composer

 (Photo from The Hindu "MDR, mythical music maker")

There is a very informative website about this unique musician and composer.
Here is a lovely concert of his posted here

There is a wonderful composition of MDR sung by KVN, in lovely Kedaram, with lilting words and a scintillating chitteswara.      Enjoy it here!

2020 Nobel Peace Prize

Nero- Modi's inspiration

Today, 1 April 2020, is a momentous day in the 10,000 year history of India. Bharat Ratna Modi has been conferred the Nobel Peace Prize. What!? Are you surprised? That means you have been sleeping for ten long years, my friend.

Just after completing 12 auspicious years of IPL cricket, Modi was conferred the Gold Pass Bharat Ratna early this year. This is a new category created since his accomplishments go far beyond what anyone else in India has ever achieved. I will, in the interest of time and space, list just three.

1. Single-handedly, Modi has abolished all class, caste, language, age, religion, state, slum-condo, male-female, educated-illiterate, urban-rural differences, India is one large happy nation of 1.5 billion people, and all are rich.
2. How rich? There are twenty IPL teams, and they play four seasons called Pongal, Baishakhi, Bhai Duj and Diwali, each lasting 90 days, with one day gap in-between. Each Indian, coded with Nilakeni's UID, has a choice of any number 1-20, and he will be a stake holder in one of the 20 teams. The annual income of IPL has swelled to 3 trillion rupees and if you do the math, you will find that per capita income is 2000 rupees which when converted at the current exchange rate of 1 Rupee= 100 US Dollars, equals 200,000 dollars.
3. The entire world has adopted India as an economic miracle model and IPL has replaced almost all medieaval activities like IT and Bio Tech as the top career and economic occupation. Poor countries like USA are used to outsource all such activities. All food and clothing is imported from China.

The two major universities, Indobash University of Australia, and Chung Hua University of PRC, each run 1000 higher institutes of learning in India. People no longer aspire to go to ITI, IIT, NIIT, IIM, AIIMS, ISB etc. The in-thing is an IPL course in one of these 2000 universities.

India has also ushered in free, universal education. All education is cleverly delivered through tele-text, multiplexed through the year-long broadcast lasting 9 hours every day. All can study while they watch the Cameron Immersive 4D Experience broadcast of IPL. They just need to flick the tele-text button and rich educational media content is piped in, in little chewy nuggets calle Chyawanprash Gold IPL modules.

The greatest accomplishment of Modi is that he has brought together all the temples and Swami Sri  Anand Babas of the country into one maelstrom of religious tolerance and cooperation. For example, the Tirupati temple has sponsored the diamond Srivatsa toss coin. The coin itself is tossed by one Swami Sri Anand Baba.

The science and technology missions have also advanced. The Space and Nuclear Mission teams under an able statesman-scientist have developed the Mareech IPL ball and the Vajra IPL bat. The ball uses fusion propulsion and AI sensors along with 4D HD cameras. It can be navigated by thought chips implanted in the bowler's brain. And it faces the might of the nanotechnology Vajra bat which has microtransducers that can hit the ball to near-escape velocity.

IPL matches are not cheap to attend. Tickets are sold out 4 years in advance and cost over 10,000 Rupees each. So people prefer the 4D Immersive Imax mini television shaped like a planetarium dome and installed in each drawing room. It is truly realistic.

The players have shooting star careers, but they last only a few matches. The self-worth damage, bruises and bleeds in a match are enough to send even a Tendulkar retired hurt. No problem. The FRM Academy conducts fantastic rehab medicine clinics all over the country for the stars to recover. There they are entertained by classical musicians and dancers as that type of art has been proved to be soporific and healing.


Bollywood is long gone. Willow-wood Academy of Apsara Arts trains female dancers and male commentators to present entertainment and theatre during every match. Admission is strictly on recommendation and influence.


I can hear you ask, "what about the Peace Prize?" I almost forgot to mention that Prof. Lal unearthed an unpublished manuscript of Mahatma Gandhi written in London in 1886. There Gandhi proves that Mahabharata war was simply an allegory for cricket. There were teams, captains, field placements, and inspired clashes. There was a commentator, and also a teleaudience. TRP ratings were quite good and the whole world participated. Given this robust boost of faith to IPL, all wars have ended. Iraq's differences with the rest of the world, Pakstan-India skirmishes, America's engagements in Afghanistan, all have ended peacefully. Today wars are over. People engage in IPL so all passions are dissipated on the cricket field. Hence Obama himself was instrumental in Modi's getting the Nobel.

Footnote: Today's Hindu carried a letter to the editor. One disgruntled old man writes that Modi is like Nero, who laughed when gladiators died in the arena, just as Modi laughs all the way to the bank after modern-day players are killed in IPL. The man also complains that India's religion of cricket is a waste of time and we should go back to medieaval times when people played on play-grounds and read books. I think this country will never get rid of these ancient prejudices.

Devotion to Rama

Those fortunate to listen to KVN's concert  in the wonderful Parvathi blog would hear a lovely shloka sung by KVN with some great violin accompaniment of T.N. Krishnan (Ragas Shahana, Varali, Natakurinji, Ahiri, Sindhubhairavi). This shloka, I must confess, is new to me. After I heard the music, I searched and discovered that this is the staple of many singers today. I delved into its meaning, and this is my take on it.

jAnAti rAma tava nAma-ruchiM maheshaH
jAnAti gautamasatI tvat-charaNa-prabhAvam        |
jAnAti dorbala-parAkramaM Isha-cApaH
jAnAtyamOGa-paTu-bANa-gatiM payOdhiH            ||

"Oh Rama, Shiva knows the sweetness of your name. Ahalya, the wife of sage Gautama, knows the resurrective power of your feet's touch. The divine bow (it could well be Shiva's bow or also Vishnu's bow- Parashurama gave it to Rama) knows the valour of your powerful arms. And the ocean well knows the infallible power of your sharp and forceful arrow".

It is an interesting prayer. Shiva chants Rama's name, and extols it as equal to the entire Vishnusahasranama according to tradition. Although Valmiki Ramayana mentions no special relationship between Rama and Shiva, ever since Tulsidasa dedicated his magnum opus to Shiva's inspiration, Hindus believe in the mutual worshipful attitude between Rama and Shiva- as deified in Rameshwaram.

But what's in a name?

Bhagavadgita says that the ultimate yagna is Japa or chanting. There is a story about Kabir. Once Kabir was away on travel, and a devotee approached his son Kamal. He asked Kamal, in the absence of Kabir himself, for some spiritual instruction. Kamal told him, "all it takes is for you to chant Ram! Ram!".  
On his return, Kabir asked Kamal if there had been any visitors. Kamal told of this devotee and his advice to chant Ram Ram. Kabir was incensed. He said, "Kamal, I am disappointed in you. You asked him to chant Ram! Ram!? Why twice? Does it mean you don't believe in its power if it is chanted once? Isn't once enough?"

A tremendous story. And then we have this song of Purandaradasa, reproaching Rama in a nindaastuti.. "Oh lord, why bother supplicating to you and dealing with your teasing and taunt? The power of taking your name alone is enough!"

What is this chant power?

To my yet unwise mind, it means an act of surrendering your wants, thoughts and this continuous bargaining with God. Just chant and be happy! Shiva, the sage and intellect, knows ultimately the power of chanting in surrender.

Then comes the fallen woman Ahalya. She cringes in stone until her resurrection. No sinner needs to lose hope. God always comes sooner or later. That again calls for patient surrender.

To me the divine bow is an allegory of our ego and sense of power. All that is broken in God's hands. So better bend in prayer than be broken! Again surrender.

Rama's arrow is infallible. It can vanquish even the ocean of troubles we face... all in our sense of I and mine. That is the ocean of world'ly troubles.

The story is all about surrender. Take God's name, and surrender. Or surrender to existence, and don't push the river.