For previous episodes, check the Draupadi series link on the right.

​Draupadi was crying. Blinded by the tears and the setting sun falling on her face, yet overwhelmed by the knowledge that Kanha was near, she laughed and cried simultaneously, not aware of either. Probably it was the emotion of the moment, probably it was love, probably it was faith, but she found herself sitting on that rock and then, standing on her feet. Her face was lined and worn and tired, but her eyes shone bright. Wasn’t this the moment she had been waiting for so long? She had given in to despair and doubt so many times. Shame on me, she thought. Because, he was here. Kanha was here. The mischievous one, cloud-hued, coral-mouthed, dark-eyed, yellow robed. Yes, it was him. None but him.

______________________________________________________________________________

Draupadi stared open mouthed at Kanha. Perched on the tree above her, the years between them seemed to fall away. She blinked back tears because suddenly she felt sixteen again. The years between then and now seemed to add up and weigh on her. What a long way she had come! 

And Kanha had deserted her when she had needed him the most. Thoughts of what had happened in Hastinapur all those years ago flashed again in her mind. Kanha’s smiling face, with not a crease on the forehead irked her even more. She got up and started walking away.

“I am hungry,” said Kanha teasingly. “Are you going to get me food, Draupadi?”

She kept walking, too angry to answer.

He jumped down from his perch and ran up to her. “Sit,” he instructed. “Sit down. Don’t be angry with me.”

Draupadi shook his hand off. “Why should I not be angry with you?” she demanded. “You just left us…just like that…can you see where we are now? You were my friend and you forsook me when I needed you the most. Tell me, why should I not be angry with you?”

Kanha sat down and pulled Draupadi down . But she was too angry to notice.

“My husbands may not be angry with you but it is their own doing. Have you ever heard of men who gamble and make it big in life? They had the gall to put me up as a pawn…” 

Kanha let the words come out. All of Draupadi’s emotions, pent up over the years came out as she spoke. Her voice broke only when she spoke about her children.

“I cannot have my children with me, Kanha. Do you know what that feels like? You, the most powerful man around, you could have stopped it. Why didn’t you?”

Draupadi stopped speaking, exhausted.

“Why should I not be angry with you?” she demanded. “You just left us…just like that…can you see where we are now? You were my friend and you forsook me when I needed you the most. Tell me, why should I not be angry with you?”

Kanha sat in silence. Draupadi looked at his face and her eyes widened when she saw what looked like tears in his eyes. Kanha could cry? 

At length, he spoke. “I’m sorry. I feel bad that you feel bad, that you feel betrayed. But let me explain.”

“I am not unfeeling as you may think. I have caused you so much misery, and your anger alone ​tells me how much regard you have for me. But Draupadi, if I had intervened that day and stopped that game, there would have been no cause for the creation of your anger. Not for the persistent flame that burns in the bellies of your husbands. They want revenge. They want to defeat evil in the world.And Draupadi, if I had stepped in that day, how would you know your own strength? I cannot fight all your battles for you. You need to know your weaknesses and find your strength.”

“Right. So you need my anger to defeat them because they are evil? So how are you different from my husbands? This is a different game, but I am still a pawn.”

“No Draupadi. You are a pawn only if you think you are one.  Your very anger shows that you are not a pawn but a player. You are not a victim. Say that to yourself as many times as it would help. You-are-not-a-victim.”

Draupadi looked at Kanha, her eyes wide. 

“Don’t you see? Their actions provoked your anger and that is the root of their downfall. Why do you display weakness, shrinking away from the memories of what they did to you? I am always here to help you, Draupadi, but it may not be in the way you think. You are not my pawn, never think of me as a puppet master. I love you too much for that. But if you trust me, allow me to guide your play.”

Draupadi silently thought over what Kanha had just told her. She had always expected Kanha to protect her. She had expected him to counter Kunti when she wanted her to marry all five brothers. She had indeed expected Kanha to magically walk into the room and stop the proceedings. She had expected him to step in and tell Duryodhana that what he was doing was wrong. She had even expected that Kanha would invite them to stay with him, instead of being in the forest. But none of those things had happened. 

Instead, she slowly realised, she had had life experiences not one woman she knew shared. She had heard her mother-in-law talk about her life and that had given her strength to live in the forest. She knew how fond Bhanumathi was of her. Most importantly, her boldness in facing the men of Hastinapur on the fateful day was something she had no idea she was even capable of. Anger burned still but she saw Kanha’s point. She was not a victim, but a survivor. Her anger’s complement was the love she realized she still held for the people around her.


“Kanha…is war inevitable?” she asked. She was thinking of her husbands and sons, of Bhanumathi and her children. She was thinking about Kanha and his sister’s son.

“I’m afraid so,” he said. Kanha lowered his eyes again. “But it is a thing that has to be done. Actions have consequences, all of them.”

“Isn’t all this anger fatal? Isn’t there another way out?” she whispered, even as the anger flickers within her.

“Temper it with love. Don’t be consumed by it,” counseled Kanha.

“Love motivates everything, Draupadi. Duryodhana loves power, while Yudhistra loves duty and the place in heaven reserved for him. Arjuna loves winning, Bhima loves his own strength. ​Nakula loves beauty, Sahadeva loves wisdom. But you should rise above all these, Draupadi. Your anger is a manifestation of your self-love being violated. Don’t let your self-love be violated by actions of others, but remember the anger against their actions. they were wrong, and there are consequences.”

I am always here to help you, Draupadi, but it may not be in the way you think. You are not my pawn, never think of me as a puppet master. I love you too much for that. But if you trust me, allow me to guide your play.”

Draupadi saw death and destruction in her mind’s eye. Lives would be changed. Things would never be the same again once they got out of the forest. But it had to be done. She took a long deep breath.

“Give me the strength, Kanha,” she said, closing her eyes as if she was praying to the Gods.

“You will find it when you need it,” said Kanha, smiling. “Who am I to give it to you?”

“Kanha, don’t say that! I need to believe that I am strong, and only your words have shown me how strong I have been.”

“When you need me, think of my words, and in those words, you will find the strength you need. But remember, you generate it.”

There was a spring in her step when she got up. She felt a million times lighter. “You did say you were hungry, weren’t you? Let me get you some food.”

She went down to their settlement, calling out to her husbands. Kanha followed her, and they greeted him enthusiastically. He talked to them while she went into the kitchen and looked around for something to eat.Unfortunately, it was mid-day and all their food was done for the day.

She went out and saw Krishna and Yudhistra engaged in conversation while the other brothers were chopping firewood and interjecting in the conversation now and then. She discreetly signalled to Sahadeva and when he came by, said, “there is no food in the house and Kanha is hungry!”

“Love motivates everything, Draupadi. Duryodhana loves power, while Yudhistra loves duty and the place in heaven reserved for him. Arjuna loves winning, Bhima loves his own strength. ​Nakula loves beauty, Sahadeva loves wisdom. But you should rise above all these, Draupadi. Your anger is a manifestation of your self-love being violated. Don’t let your self-love be violated by actions of others, but remember the anger against their actions. they were wrong, and there are consequences.”

Sahadeva looked perplexed. “We have nothing? Not even fruit? Let me go get something. The fish don’t come in this time of the day.”

He paused and went into the kitchen. Draupadi followed him. 

Sahadeva looked around and found a single grain of cooked rice on the floor. He picked it up and handed it to Draupadi. “Eat this,” he said.

Draupadi looked bemused.

“Eat this,” he said again. She was confused, but tooke the grain and put it in her mouth.

Sahadeva walked out and she followed him back outside. ‘Krishna, I have set the fish nets but the tide is not due for the next couple of hours. Can you wait?” he asked.

“That’s okay, I don’t feel that hungry any more actually. In fact I feel like I just had a big meal,” said Kanha and burped loudly.

Everyone laughed but Draupadi looked at Kanha and she thought she saw him wink at her. 
​
____________________________________________________________________________

Manasa

Author’s note: A couple of episodes ago, this story’s Draupadi decided to take matters into her own hands when she was humiliated in front of a gathering of powerful men – she stripped to shock them and make them realize what they were doing. The reason my Draupadi did that was not to be politically incorrect or be deliberately provocative. As Kanha says in this episode, that was how she discovers her inner strength and asserts it. It is not that Kanha is physically around to help every person who is harassed or faces self-doubt, but thinking of him helps you find him within yourself. You become Shakti, or you become Krishna when the need arises. In one of his krithis, Muthuswami Dikshitar uses the phrase: “Draupadi maana samrakshanakara”  to describe Krishna – the one who safe-guarded Draupadi’s honor. I am interpreting ‘saving a woman’s honor’ to mean ‘making a woman realize her inner strength’, for what is more honorable than being gritty and strong? As readers may have recognized, I took some poetic license with the episode where Krishna eats a single grain to appease the hunger of a sage. The mythical explanation being that Krishna, the universal soul satisfying his hunger is enough to satisfy anyone else’s hunger. Instead, Draupadi eats a single grain of rice and satisfies Krishna’s hunger – her ‘bhakti’ makes her identify with Kanha so much that there is no difference whether he or she eats. 

Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise. Nonsense. Somebody will say something means you will believe just like that is it? Do you know anyone who is like that? I mean healthy, wealthy AND wise? Impossible. Rich fellows can go to gym. But can gym-going fellows be wise? Can wise people be rich? See what I mean?

Boss, Benjamin Franklin can say a thousand things. His face is there in dollar note and all. When he said at that time electricity itself was not there. So he wanted to sleep early. Today if you tell the same words means laughter only will come.

Going to bed early and waking early will make one person healthy is it? One person I know goes to sleep like a polar bear during hibernation as soon as the 9.30 pm serial gets over. He also looks like a polar bear. Whether he is healthy? Useless fellow goes to bed without doing any house work and his family members are about to kill him one day. Is this in any way good?

By the way tell me, what you will do waking up so early? Anyway everybody else is asleep. What you are going to do awake alone? You tell you will go to work early and arrive before everyone else and pretend to be busy as hell. But I only know what will happen. When you reach the office anyhow nobody will be there for you to put scene. The office will be empty only. One poor lady will be mopping the floor and you will leave your stupid footprints all over the place. That mopping lady will curse you and mop all over again. Silently you will go to your seat and boot your computer to check Gmail. For that do you want to go through all this?

One person I know goes to sleep like a polar bear during hibernation as soon as the 9.30 pm serial gets over. He also looks like a polar bear. Whether he is healthy?

And how on earth can it make you wealthy? If you want to get rich means you just have to sleep early is it? Whether somebody will come to you and ask you if you are early riser and if you say yes means they will give you money?

It will make you wise it seems. Hahaha. Boss. There is a limit to everything. During school and college days only they kept on saying wake up early and study wake up early and study, only then you will remember everything. That didn’t make anyone wise. It only made people dumb. We all ‘remembered’ everything but forgot where to apply it! Till now I am wondering where to use the molecular formula for benzene. Forget molecular formula, benzene itself I have not seen till now! How this will make me wise? Tell?

See, don’t worry about all that and trouble yourself too much. Even if you wake up early morning and try to go running or jogging means, at best you will see the neighbour uncle’s father and mother walking and panting along with you. Instead, try the night.

Till now I am wondering where to use the molecular formula for benzene. Forget molecular formula, benzene itself I have not seen till now!

There are so many wonderful things in the night you know? There will be no traffic and only some distant call taxi sound only will be there. If you are driving means signal problem, police-hiding-behind-the-tree problem is not there. You can feel the cold wind in your face. Even the birds will be gone to sleep and pindrop silence will be there. If you go out means you can see how your watchman is staying up all night fighting the mosquitoes just to keep his children in school. You can see how the beggars are rolled up in the street like old laundry clothes. You can stay up all night and finish that assignment and go to sleep a happy person with a huge sense of achievement. How cool it will be, no? Besides, at night only internet speeds are good, that you know na?

See, you will still wake up and grow old and then one day you will realize you have to wake up and finish your morning walk before your grandchildren go to school. Until then enjoy the night no?

–LocalTeaParty

The Local Tea Party is free time blogger and a freelance philosopher who is very serious about life and gets upset when people mistake his serious philosophies as jokes. He blogs at thelocalteaparty.com about everyday things that makes him a proud middle-class person.

His style of writing is as popular as he is.

Picture Credit:http://www.flickr.com/photos/paparutzi/997136589/

No, this isn’t a primer. I wish *I* had a primer when my kids got their cell phones, but since parenting does not come with an instruction manual, the “how to communicate via text to your teenager” manual was conveniently left out too.

I was a teenager once. I hated being spoken to by anyone remotely resembling an ‘aunty’ or an ‘uncle.’ It just meant to put on a fake grin, answer in nods to the same old questions and pretend that you and they cared for the conversation that your parents made sure you had. And then there were these obligatory sessions that we had to talk with our parents, where we related the events of the day. All this, while they pretended to listen till their ears perked up when it came to class, homework, assignments and the ultimate nirvana of all parents, the grades. How awful were those talks? Even if you were a class A act and a model student.

Parents. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them. It’s the circle of life.

Yes, now I stand of the other side of the fence and I can assure you it was easier being a teenager. It’s easier to stand there and be nonchalant. To not care about anything your parents say, because well, as good Indian parents, we most definitely are not whooping their asses and throwing them out in the cold. We could, but we cannot. Just not in the genes. The children know this. Inherently. So they continue the snark, the arrogance of youth, tight-lipped and letting out only what they want us to know. The parents are at their mercy for information.

And it goes something like this:

How was school today?

hmm.. yeah

Did that test go well?

what test?

The test you said you had. Biology?

Oh, that was yesterday.

oh, thought you said tomorrow.

yes, it was tomorrow coz i said it yesterday

*Mom blinks*

So how did it go?

yeah fine.Is-there-something-to-eat?

what do you want?

anything.

Samosa?

NO

Bagel bites?

NO

Sandwich?

NO

what *do* u want?

never mind, not hungry.

​*Mom blinks as she watches the quickly receding bent back (under all the books) of her teenager.

*************************************************************************************************

That seems like a very long drawn out conversation, but it wouldn’t take more than a few seconds for a harebrained turtle to find out that nothing of value has come from it.

So, let’s try this again. This time, in a different medium.

*************************************************************************************************

Hey, how did that test go?

bio test? yep, good! acing it i think

Awesome! You coming home straight?

no, pick me up at 3. debate mtg

Okay!

Have food?

What do you want?

spanakopita

Done.

k, bye

***

Yep, if you aren’t clued in already, the second conversation was on the phone, via text.

Yes, as a mother, I have mastered the art of having an open and successful conversation with my teenager! The information has been relayed both ways and the deal is done. No more phrasing things in just the right way or stressing on a meltdown (mom more than the kid in some cases), no angry outbursts (more kids than mom), no mumbling and mis-communication prone language! There are more pros than you have fingers and toes.

When I discovered this medium, as much as I initially balked at it, I realized that there was a ton of truth to the saying “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!”

And it was time to pick my battles… Conversation was happening, just not the way I wanted. It was liberating. To the point that I embraced it in a fashion that other moms around me gazed at me with open admiration. My teenager was telling me things theirs mumbled. With a twinkle in my eye, I waved my iPhone.

The next time you see a mom-type lady tapping furiously away at her phone, remember, she is having a conversation with her teenager. The one that we moms miss so much as the kids grow fast and furiously into adults and we are left holding memories of the kid who would not stop talking and sharing.

Texting is slow, but it delivers. It doesn’t replace a hearty conversation sitting on the couch cuddled next to the kid, but it opens up walls that prop up as the child enters those dreaded teen years, when one day is most definitely not like the next. So, if you have always shied away from punching those buttons, give it a shot sometime. Channels surely open. Just do not embrace the language. It’s okay to use good grammar. In fact, please do use vowels. The teenager does care. Just because they accept you enough to have a conversation with you over text does not mean they want you to be them.

Now that I’ve conquered the teenager in the family, next up: The silent husband.

 - Radhika Kowthas

Picture Credit :http://www.flickr.com/photos/chegs/5161314847/sizes/m/in/photostream/​

When I was about 6 years old, I remember being the funniest person in all of Standard II. I just was, simply because of the fact that I had no sense of balance. Let’s get real here – when you’re that age, falling on your face is pretty much the funniest thing ever and therefore, having been gifted the ability to fall on your face multiple times like I had instantly made me 6 year old Russell Peters.

 I found my balance that year, but thanks to a severe affliction of foot in the mouth disease, I managed to hold on to my position in the elementary school comic scene (although it is pertinent to note that I did face the occasional threat from II “B” Roshan who couldn’t hold his glasses in place. Amateurs).  A few years later, cruel, cruel puberty happened, which meant that apart from the occasional bad joke, I also cracked mirrors.

 Basically, high school for me was like one of those terrible tragedy-dramas that the audience finds hilarious. When I look back, I am fairly confident that 5 years from now, when people get together for alumni meets, I will be “that person” of all the “you remember when that person did this and that hilarious thing happened?” stories.  Hell, I have a blog dedicated to all those stories (lest they forget) and it even includes some choice experiences which happened during my internship. It’s quite a neat compilation really, from trying to get my first crush to notice me by staring the crap out of him, to valiantly speaking terrible Hindi with a client in Mumbai in the pursuit of learning the language and then having him tell me he was actually Tamil, to getting into trouble with miscellaneous auto drivers, I’ve done it all.

I managed to hold on to my position in the elementary school comic scene (although it is pertinent to note that I did face the occasional threat from II “B” Roshan who couldn’t hold his glasses in place. Amateurs).

 That’s where life got interesting. People started liking what I was writing, never mind that I was writing the blog as a “Do Not Repeat These Mistakes ​Again” kind of journal.  It was great at the start, but then as time progressed, there was pressure. People who had been reading my blog for a while decided that it was about time that I actually grew up, whereas the newer ones wanted more of what I had previously written (“Hahaha, that episode with the Autorickshaw was great! You should try that with a conductor sometime…and blog about it!”).

 What people don’t get is that I belong to the unintentional humour department. I don’t particularly enjoy that my toes have a semi permanent residence in my mouth, yet I do know that other people do, and so I share it.  Apparently, if you have to be funny these days, it’s not as simple as offering your own embarrassment to make other people laugh.

Maybe modern humour is complicated, simply because there are so many kinds; Especially with the internet, everyone is humourous in every manner, which leads to great expectations. Point being, you’re not going to be thought of as anyone remotely funny unless you have achieved that perfect mix of black comedy interlaced with subtle wit, suitably juxtaposed by sarcasm bordering on parody, but not a farce.

 I don’t particularly enjoy that my toes have a semi permanent residence in my mouth, yet I do know that other people do, and so I share it.

 I miss the times when all I had to do to make people laugh was to fall on my face.

 picture credit :http://www.flickr.com/photos/w3i_yu/4396864513/lightbox/

- Lavanya Mohan

Lavanya Mohan is a blogger with a very very funny bone. She blogs at http://www.chutneycase.com and offers many laughs through  her self deprecation meets satire posts. She is a guest writer at thebanyantrees this month on our humor issue themed “funny bone”.

     A Hero Honda Splendor for a date? That would have been awful! I was definitely not taking that ‘Family Man Bike.’ Matter of fact, I had threatened my ‘single’ roommate to give me his Apache (160 CC RTR, super power *evil laugh*) to take her out on a date. The threatening went to no avail. So, I begged him, and he eventually agreed.

     With dreams galore, I watched him look at me ruefully and smirk while riding away on my small bike. I know it is a dumb bike, but it is super reliable and it never ever fails me. I came out to take out my roommate’s powerful Apache. She and I had planned to go on a long ride before going to a decent restaurant. But there was something wrong as soon as I got on the road. I simply wasn’t able to get a grip. Without doubt, I knew I had landed in trouble. The front tire was punctured. There was a deep gash on the front wheel. Idiot roommate had driven me straight into hell on my bigday! This was my first date with the girl of my dreams and now the probability of the event materializing, mathematically speaking, was one to a hundred!

With no time to waste, I started pushing the bike, almost running to the local repair guy. I could feel the phone vibrate in my pocket. ’No not now, I can talk from the puncture repair shop.’ I ran a full kilometre with the impossibly heavy bike. The guy there was not available. He would be there in fifteen minutes, said the caretaker of the shop, a small kid. Wiping the sweat off my forehead and breathing heavily, I called her.

“Where are you?,” said the charming voice. No noise behind her. I realized that she had already reached. She always maintained impeccable time and here I was, sweating in a white shirt and greasyhands.

This was my first date with the girl of my dreams and now the probability of the event materializing, mathematically speaking, was one to a hundred!

     ”Coming. On the way. Hey, will call you back. Surprise on the way!” I said and hung up, not having thought of the suprise yet. The mechanic came and looked at the punctured tire. “The tire is worn out and looks like a baby’s bum. Has to be changed, ”he said, nodding emphatically. I had to change that and all the money saved for the date was wiped out. “That idiot!,” I muttered and vowed revenge on the pig that was then happily riding my precious!

     I reached the mall half an hour later. We had to go on that ride, however delayed. She smiled gently at me gave a, ‘You’re late, but forgiven’ look. Apologizing in multiples of hundred, we started out and took to the highway quickly. Sometimes, being with the best mate gives you a feeling that nothing wrong can ever happen. Being with them even amidst nothingness is a good feeling. Something that can last forever.

     Just when everything was going smoothly and I started relaxing my tired legs, a noise erupted from the bike and I suddenly felt a heavy jerk. The next moments will always be etched in my memory. She was falling on me. Also, I was pressing against the huge fuel tank. Well, that ​was very metaphorical in feeling. I could feel my face go red from pain and unable to balance the heavy bike and her weight bearing down on me, I did the next best thing, crash. The bike’s disc brake had held on for reasons known only to the bike- a squealing slide and the final big crash! The bike went screeching away in one direction; I hit the pavement nearby and rolled onto it.

     I looked around me as soon as I realized I was alive and found her sitting up some distance away from me. She looked inconsolable, holding the little bleeding toe. My left knee defied existence when I tried moving it. I limped over to her. She pushed my hand away and was immediately lost in tears. It had all gone wrong! A bloody valentine’s day- a goddamn disaster. A crowd was growing around us. Not able to stand anymore, I fell down to the ground, lost and hopeless. She looked around and then at me. Wiping away her tears, she pulled her hair back from her now dusty face. Looking at me, she got up and pulled me up off the ground quickly, saying she was thirsty. We both limped hand-in-hand to the shop beside the bike. We ordered a couple of Lime Sodas (that was the only good thing available there). We sat down on the bench by the shop. Drinking silently, I looked at her. She was the only one I wanted to see in that pain, the only one who was beside me when I was in pain. She was looking at my knee. My jean had a proud gaping hole and blood was oozing down the knee joint onto it.

She was falling on me. Also, I was pressing against the huge fuel tank. Well, that ​was very metaphorical in feeling. I could feel my face go red from pain and unable to balance the heavy bike and her weight bearing down on me, I did the next best thing, crash.

     ”Remember the first time we met? An accidental meeting. Our first accident. You were the same back then. Apologizing a million times over fallen books in college. This is our second accident.” she said.

     I laughed and said, “Yeah, and what fun. You looked furious at first. Had it not been for that Sorry, you never would have remembered me. Oh boy, what a day!”

     ”Not just another day. The perfect Valentine’s day! A toast to us!” She raised her glass of bubbling lime water. I just could not have loved her more, just then.

 – Srikar Venkatesan

Srikar Venkatesan is a CA from Madurai, claiming to be working in Chennai. Sings and talks, all in the same tune, and can be found blogging irrelevantly. He now prefers his own stuff (however sad it looks) to anything borrowed.

Image: Grant Cochrane / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

If you thought that only Bipasha Basu is capable of having super sculpted biceps, then think again. My friend Samina is a dare-devil, adventurer, and risk-taker. She has got rock-solid muscles that weren’t the result of pumping iron at some antiseptic gym, but roughing it in the harsh outdoors.

Sam rock climbs, skydives, white water rafts, races on a motorcycle across muddy terrain . She does other crazy adventurous stuff that just thinking about it curdles my stomach. I think she even wrestled a crocodile once, but that could have been a dream I had after an afternoon of listening to her stories.

No, she is not in any self-imposed hazing mode to prove that she’s still got what it takes, which she still has . It is to do with the kind of personality she has – obsessive– so if she’s not doing or planning some death-defying feat , she feels inadequate.

And I vicariously live her life… through writing novels, of course.

So, when I completed the first draft of my next action-packed novel, and set it aside to incubate, I invited Sam to inspire my next book.

Sam gushed about her latest crazy adventure – a helicopter rescue mission in a deadly part of the mountainous region of Annapurna. She spoke so passionately of her experiences that I felt my heart thump wildly when she explained how she dangled from a rope at an altitude of almost 4000 metres and could have easily bashed against the rock face. It was worthy of a movie script.

‘Wow!’ I said to her, and looked wistfully at her.

‘What?’ She asked.

‘Wish I could experience something even half as wild.’ Sam looked at me with raised eyebrows.

‘Okay, a quarter as wild.’ She lowered one brow.

‘Okay, one eighth as wild.’ I said.

​She smiled, then thought reflectively. ‘Got it!’ she exclaimed,and slammed her fist on the coffee table. I winced, expecting to see spider-web cracks on the glass. I checked, and to my immense relief, it was intact.

Sam looked at me excitedly. ‘I know where

I looked at her hesitantly. ‘I hope it’s not some bone-crushing massage parlour.’

And I vicariously live her life… through writing novels, of course.

She shook her head.

‘I don’t like to watch gruesome slasher movies,’ I said. ‘Or go on roller-coaster rides.’

‘None of those,’ she shook her head.

‘Then what?’ I demanded.

‘Let it be a surprise. Tomorrow at eight p.m. Be ready,’ she said and gave me a mysterious smile.

So, the next day, while feeling a little bit queasy and ready to back down, but not wanting to be seen as a coward, I waited for Sam to pick me up. En route to our destination, I nagged her with questions and she refused to answer any of them. I hate cliff-hangers.

Finally we arrived at ….The Chilli Junction.

‘What?!’ I screeched. ‘You think I’m such a weakling that the only adventurous trip I can handle is a visit to a restaurant?’

‘No, no, you will be surprised,’ she said, pushing me forward. ‘I know what I’m talking about,’ she laughed.

‘Big deal, I eat chillies all the time,’ I muttered under my breath.

But as it turned out, not these kinds…

‘What?!’ I screeched. ‘You think I’m such a weakling that the only adventurous trip I can handle is a visit to a restaurant?’

It was a chilli-tasting session, like wine-tasting. A very novel idea, all you need to do was carry cubes of sugar and  a bottle of water as you wandered around the table. Just inhaling the hot stuff was enough to make everyone’s eyes water.

​I managed to try five of the hottest chillies, and then I was on fire. Sweating, crying and experiencing every extreme sensation like pain and fear, I admitted to Sam that she had brought me to the right place. The effect of the fiery stuff, the feel-good endorphins were kicking in.

Unlike her dare-devil exercises, chillies were her Achilles’ heel. She could only manage the strength of a weak Mexican habanero. Through tears of joy, I smiled that there was one thing I could handle better than her.



Highlights of the Hot Stuff

1. Recently the Trinidad Moruga Scorpion beat the Indian pepper on the list of the world’s hottest chilli breeds. Farmers need gloves to handle the golf-ball sized peppers but it seems that some of these breeds were so hot they burned right through the rubber gloves!

2.The Bhut Jalokia or Naga King Chilli has a super hot rating. In 2007, the GuinnessBook of World Records declared it the hottest chilli in the world. Even though it hasnow lost its title as the world’s hottest chilli, it still has its uses, mainly as a terror weapon. It is used as a hand grenade to flush out terrorists and control rioters, andin the form of an aerosol spray to use against attackers.

3.Chillies are believed to have a supernatural element. It is customary in Indian culture to hang a few chillies with a lime over the threshold of a home to deter evil. Chillies are also used to ward off the evil eye. A handful of chillies together with other condiments such as curry leaves and a little ash from the hearth are waved over a person’s head to create a shield against curses and bad spells.

The Scoville scale (Scoville Heat Unit) is an American measurement of the spicy heat of a chilli pepper. Unlike the Scoville Units to measure chilli heat, the Asian belief and general rule is that the smaller the variety of chilli, the hotter it is.

Variety	Scoville Units
Pure Capsaicin	15,000,000 – 16, 000,000
US Police Pepper Spray	5,000,000
Trinidad Scorpion “Butch T”	1,463,700
Naga Viper Pepper	1,382,117
Infinity Pepper	1,176,182
​Bhut Jolokia Pepper	1,041,427
Dorset Naga Pepper	923,000
*
​Red Savina Pepper	350,000 – 580,000
Scotch Bonnet	100,000 – 325,000
Jamaican Hot Pepper	100,000 – 200,000
Rocoto Pepper	50,000 – 100,000
Pequin Pepper	75.000
Super Chilli Pepper	40,000 – 50,000
Cayenne Pepper	30,000 – 50,000
Tabasco Pepper	30,000 – 50,000
de Arbol Pepper	15,000 – 30,000
Aji Pepper	12,000 – 30,000
Serrano pepper	5,000 – 23,000
Hot Wax Pepper	5,000 – 10,000
Chipotle	5,000 – 10,000
Jalapeno Pepper	2,500 – 8,000
Guajilla Pepper	2,500 – 5,000
Tabasco Sauce	2,500
Pasilla Pepper	1,000 – 2,000
Ancho Pepper	1,000 – 2,000
Anaheim Pepper	500 – 2,500
Nu Mex Pepper	500 – 1,000
Santa Fe Grande Pepper	500 – 700
Pimento Pepper	100 – 500
Bell Pepper	0

–Shobha Nihalani

Shobha , a self declared conspiracy theory afficanado is a published author. She is a regular columnist at TheBanyanTrees and writes about the everyday things that happen around her.She blogs at http://wordbeads.wordpress.com/ . Check out details about her novels @http://wordbeads.wordpress.com/novels/

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“I wont rest until the blood of the sinning Duchadhanan and Duriyodhanan  have caressed my hair . Until that day comes, my hair shall remain the way it does today, unbraided, uncared for just like I am today.”

So says Draupadi according to the Tamil poet Bharathiyar in his Paanchali Sabadam.

Draupadi, the kuru princess is an enigma of sorts. Right from her birth, everything about her was different. She was not the demure leading lady that we have come to expect from ancient Indian tales.

She made people site up and take notice with everything that she did, though much of what happened was beyond her control. Whether it was being married to five men or forcefully disrobed by her own brothers-in-law, it was impossible to not be bewitched with her life. And then there are all these questions that slowly creep up once you have empathized with how she had been wronged. Should she have held on to the anger? Was being avenged more important than scores of lives?

The discussions Mahabharatha could evoke are innumerable. The Mahabharatha is an epic and rightfully so. The story and the characters have such depth that no one rendition can do justice to it. Which is why to this day we read multiple versions of this epic, listen to discourses and yet yearn for more.

“I wont rest until the blood of the sinning duchashana and Duriyodhana have caressed my hair . Until that day comes, my hair shall remain the way it does today, unbraided, uncared for just like I am today.”

So says Draupadi according to the Tamil poet Bharathiyar in his Paanchali Sabadam

The recent years have seen a upsurge of what I would call mythological fiction. Many authors have been successful in handling mythological stories from the point of view of a particular character. Among them is the immensely popular Palace Of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. Chitra’s Palace of Illusions tells us the story of Mahabaratha through the eyes of one of the most enigmatic princesses in our epics, Draupadi.

TheBanyanTrees had an opportunity to talk to Chitra about her book for our mythology themed issue.

TBT: We have grown up listening to so many versions of this epic. Which in particular did you read up on before starting the novel?

Chitra: I read several versions of the Mahabharatha, particularly Vyasa’s version and a bengali version by Kashiram Das. I also devoured almost anything I could find on the lifestlyle of people in that era.

TBT: The novel explores a complex relationship betweek Draupadi and Karna. Given how touchy we can be about mythical characters and how we tend to put them on a pedestral, were ​you at all worried how this would go down with readers? What was your reasoning behind introducing this story arc and have the reactions to it surprised you?  

Chitra: Vyasa himself hints about the existence of such an attraction. It is clear that Karna is attracted to her, after all he wanted to marry her earlier in the epic. In fact the original talks about a scene where Kunti invites Karna over to her place and tells him to switch sides. She then tells him that he could marry Draupadi as well , if he did cross over to the Pandavas. What I did was talk about it from Draupadi’s perspective. I imagined that she would feel strongly about this. I have gotten pretty good feedback and I am really appreciative of that.

TBT:Draupadi evokes different emotions. From being awed by her beauty, to being schocked by her having five husbands to even almost crying for her when she was insulted in the Kuru palace, Draupadi made us raise our eyebrows. It was hard to judge her. She unabashedly wanted the Kuru war. How did you go about handling such a complex character ?

Chitra: She is a fascinating character. For me, she is the epitome of a timeless woman. I spent quite a lot of time thinking about her; I tried to get in to her mind.

 Vyasa himself hints about the existence of such an attraction. It is clear that Karna is attracted to her, after all he wanted to marry her earlier in the epic. In fact the original talks about a scene where Kunti invites Karna over to her place and tells him to switch sides. She then tells him that he could marry Draupadi as well , if he did cross over to the Pandavas.

TBT: Moving away from Draupadi, if you were to write about any other character from mythology, who would it be and why?

Chitra: I am planning a novel based on the Ramayana. It will focus on some of the important women in the epic, like Surpanakha, Mandodari, Kaudhalya and ofcourse Sita.

TBT: That is great. We cannot wait for that to come out.

Draupadi as it turns out is a featured series in TBT and is immensely popular among our readers.The author Manasa has conciously not read “The palace of illusions” in order to not get influnced by other re-tellings of mahabaratha from draupadi’s perspective. We thought it would only be apt to let our draupadi author post a question to you.

Manasa: What you think Krishna would have told Draupadi had the Gita been addressed to her instead of  Arjuna?

Chitra: I think he would have releated it to her dharma as a woman rather than to a Kshatriya(warrier). Other than that, I think the text would have been much the same. Ultimately spirituality is beyond gender.

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And what does chitra have to say to budding authors dabbling with the mythological fiction genre?

Research , research , research.  Read the originals and understand the period, the character, the lifestyle. I would also try and live their character in my mind until I think I understand them well enough.

Thank you Chitra . We could not have had a better mythology issue.

–As spoken to Nivethitha Kumar

P.S: A big thanks to Chitra for spending time with TBT to answer our questions.

Picture Credit: Ravi Verma’s Sairandhri http://www.cyberkerala.com/rajaravivarma/rrvhtm5.htm

11. THE OTHER SON OF GANGES

– Matangi Mawley

He was wet…

He was wet. But so was the dog. But the difference was this. The dog had soon found a shelter in a broken piece of wooden box. But he was still out there. Beneath nothing. He was wet. He was sad- a castaway. A man, whose life ceased to exist for him to live, still, he was wet.

Who was he? Did he have a name anymore? Was he good or was he bad? What was his life?

The dog shivered. The water was trying to befriend the dog. There was water all around the wooden box. The dog moaned for soon his box would float upon the water. Where would the dog go? The water would drown the dog, if he jumps off the box. He grabbed the dog out of the wooden box. The box floated away.

The water was one. Here and all over- it was just the same. Just water. The wooden box floated along- crunching, jumping along with the water, that was carrying it off. Where would it go? Only the box can decide that. The water can carry it away. But the box shall decide where to stay. The water entered an iron grill. The iron bars of the grill tried to control the water- but the water is all powerful. She shall go where she wants to. She was free.

The Ganges is never calm. Even though, she was a mother to many, she was always in a hurry to meet her destiny, the ocean. People have satisfied themselves, with a tiny drop of Mother Ganga. What is human in front of the Ganges? She is the final abode of everything.She is the medium between the worlds. And all that goes into her stays, forever, within her.Hence, in a way, loving her, is loving everything.

The Maha Arti at Dasashwamedh Ghat had never left his mind. It was not an easy memoryto forget about. Especially for someone, who was a son of Ganges. Why did he think of it now? Was it saying something to him? A life, however it may sway, the end lies within Mother Ganges.

Mother Ganges, he felt, was reminding him of the promise, he made to her, long time ago. “… I would go back to her. One day. Some day…”

The dog had been sleeping all morning, oblivious of the noise all around him. The oar kept touching the Ganges, occasionally. The boat floated over the Ganges, rather cautiously. The people on the boat kept asking him questions and wondered when they heard him reply. The Ganges was so new to them. Shravan tied the boat on the bank and the people on the boat got off. They paid him well. He sat down on the banks of Ganga. Gangatouched his feet as she raged on further to meet her ocean. He scooped a handful of her water and placed it upon his forehead. It was a familiar feeling. It was saying to him, that his mother was within those waters. It was saying to him, that mother Ganga shall always stay with him, wherever he may be. It was saying to him- that he was home…

***THE END***

Picture credits: http://www.flickr.com/photos/lakshmanpoobesh/3539131106/sizes/m/in/photostream/

– Priyanka Dey

I write to thee,the story of time

When passages were small,roads sublime

between you and them, a dwindled taker.

Herculean tales to Babylonia sermons

Cults venerated of magic cusps and trees

Mother Goddesses, ochre and mutilated debris

I seethe the Chinese dragons and Asian demons.

Past glimpses resonate the fear

guilt of the rule, curse of the ruled

Age of humanity often ridiculed

and sometimes, show us that End is near

I tell thee, the secret verses of faith and occult

the face of a yesterday, you would barely know

I stand testimony,to you I show

in writings of time, in papyrus and basalt.

I, the myth-maker of time

tell some concealed lies

forfeit my own desires

Seek me from the rudimentary ruins and cure of thyme.

Picture credits: http://www.flickr.com/photos/miheco/2167149428/sizes/z/in/photostream/

– Priya Giribalan

It was a sunny Monday morning in Vaikundam (abode of Lord Vishnu). A swearing-in ceremony was in progress. After serious consultation Lord Brahma, Lord Vishnu, Lord Shiva (Trimurti) and their consorts (Tridevi), Saraswati, Lakshmi, Parvati respectively, decided to make Sage Narada their Chief Communication Officer!

Narada repeated after Vishnu, “ I, Narada, do swear in the name of Gods and Goddesses that I will bear true faith and allegiance to them. I will uphold the sovereignty and integrity of the Heavens. I will be faithful and conscientiously discharge my duties as Chief Communication Officer.”

So what attributes of  Narada made him a Public Relations pro?! Read on.

PR begins with analysis. It involves a critical reading of the situation. Narada was adept at it. He carefully examined the What, Why and How of an incident. The ‘How’ here leads to yet another facet of PR, Crisis Management and Communication. And just one, single episode from Narada’s exploits is enough to reflect his PR genius.

Once the Tridevi were having major ego issues with one another. A cold war was on. Narada intuitively perceived this turbulence. He approached each Goddess separately and deliberately sang laurels of the other two. Jealousy! Hmmm…nice game of psychology here Narada! In order to prove supremacy over the other two, each Goddess decided to perform a miracle. The Goddess of Knowledge, Saraswati blessed a man dumb and deaf since birth. Lo and behold! He became a scholar overnight! Then Lakshmi, the Goddess of Wealth, played her cards such that a poor lady on the streets was chosen to be the ruler of a kingdom. Finally, the Goddess of Strength, Parvati made an army leader of a coward.

In a play of circumstances, the three characters crisscrossed each other’s life. The people of the kingdom rebelled against the army man who tried to oust the Queen who had earlier wanted to punish the scholar refusing to sing her praise! WOW!

Notice that every character’s ego takes a beating.They realised their folly.And so did the Goddesses!

Hence it is not without reason that Narada is referred to as Kalahapriya, a mischief-maker.He staged a crisis only to manage and resolve them amicably. That’s even one step beyond PR, should we say.

Sage Narada was an efficient Lobbyist. Yes! He lobbied with several rulers and their subjects to promoteBhakti. He narrated anecdotes, true-life incidents, instances of miracles from the lives of Gods and Goddesses! His stories mesmerized the audience – whichever socio-economic category they belonged to. Peasants, princes, nobles, warriors… everyone of them listened in silence. He could transcend the physical barriers of the three worlds: Heaven, Earth, Hell. Thereby the words of God revereberated across the universe through the words of Narada. His PR rose to another level when his recitals began transforming the lives of even evil-doers. In short, he represented a certain reality that influenced public behavior  enormously.

Often in PR, medium is as important as the message: the PR tools that Narada employed were remarkable, atleast for those times. Stringing the Veena, (Indian musical instrument) he sang the glory of the Gods. Music was his tool to capture the attention of the audience. Further, after a day of toiling, all that people yearned for was some heavenly music. No fancy banners, no psychedelic posters, no costly press kits – just simple and rhythmic hymns.

It was such an honest approach to PR that perhaps made Narada an iconic figure to emulate. Since PR involves a third-party endorsement, both the messenger and the message had to be original and genuine.

Who else other than a sage such as Narada to fit the bill?! He was devoid of any signs of richness: No princely robes but just orange loincloth; no exquisite jewelry but unsophisticated rudrakshas (rosary or prayer bead); no glittering crowns but a beehive hairdo, no chauffeur-driven-chariot but worn out footwear!

Nevertheless, he did make a style statement with these: one that exudes simplicity and trustworthiness.

And thus he won the hearts of millions.

He was in tune with the wisdom he was trying to impart: worldy renunciation and absolute surrender to the Supreme Powers! Incidentally, his personal branding augmented his efforts in branding the Gods and Goddesses! And that is strategic PR!

Narada was also credited with the Narada Bhakti Sutra (a collection of aphorisms to attain spiritual enlightenment). As a spokesperson, Narada was not only well-informed and knowledgeable, but also believed in what he preached. Thus a staunch devotee such as him was indeed the best choice to promulgate the quintessence of a religion like Hinduism. Kudos to the ultimate PR guy!

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Picture credits : http://www.flickr.com/photos/64884898@N04/5948973907/sizes/m/in/photostream/