July Issue
For this month’s issue we have tried to unravel the various facets of the number Seven. We asked people what they can create with the number “seven” and this issue holds the answer.
The number seven has such colorful facts surrounding it that you cannot disregard it. The seven continents and the seven seas, the seven wonders of the world, the seven virtues and the seven deadly sins, the seven heavens and the seven fires in hell, why even the seven horcruxes of Lord Voldemort!
We hope you have fun unraveling this magical number as you flip through these pages.
Happy reading!
7 Reasons to Love the Boy Wizard – Aditya Srikrishna
If you haven’t read Harry Potter, I am sorry for you. Even worse, if you’re a Twilight fan absolutely ignorant of the phenomenon called Harry Potter, I would probably despise you. The last film in the series, the seventh one, is due for release this year and is going to be in two parts. The first one in November 2010 and the second in the summer of 2011. The first official trailer of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released about ten days ago along with the latest Twilight movie. And guess what happened? On the eve of a Twilight release, Deathly Hallows was trending on Twitter. If you are not yet part of the cult (which I would be very surprised about) then, here are seven reasons to sign up ASAP:
1. J.K. Rowling:
The creator herself. Why? Because she is that darn good. J.K.Rowling brought non-believers into believing in magic as much as she made non-readers pick up a book and read. It’s not just her imagination that runs wild and carefree, but it’s also the way she writes. The quality of her writing, the choice of words, the way she makes the characters speak to the reader. The writing transports you into that fantasy in ways that no 3D movie ever can. You feel within as you look around on all four sides to watch Harry and friends grow up, board platform nine and three quarters and come of age.
2. Characters:
In a make believe world with enough artistic licenses, the characters are the most believable aspect. They speak and behave like we do, and feel the emotions that any of us would. Not a single character is wasted and neither is he/she denied a deserving introduction and end. The characters are sketched with a sleight of hand and always have a voice of reason that befits a player in a fantasy world. Harry is independent because he’s been like that right from his birth. He values people, their friendship because he knows their worth. Ron has those insecurities that anyone with his upbringing would have. As you grow up with them, you develop a subconscious that cares for them.
3. The Yarn:
If there is one thing that you can’t take away from J.K. Rowling, it’s her ability to spin one exciting story. The intriguingly gradual build up of the plot from Book 1 to Book 7 wouldn’t be as enjoyable without the jigsaw puzzle way of storytelling of Rowling. The whole insanity behind “raising Harry like a pig for slaughter” wouldn’t have made sense without the incredible yarn. The little nuggets in every book that tells you how the tiny pieces were all in there even before the first book came out are part of the intrigue (sometimes these come to light only in second or third readings. Or if you read editorials on a fan site!). Ultimately, it harks back to Rowling for creating a world that would stand on its own in a galaxy far far away, the neighbors of which could well be Middle Earth and Tatooine.
4. Life Lessons:
In this age, where you are boring if you are preachy, the Harry Potter series was a revelation. Move over Aesop’s Fables for children. And move over the excessively preachy Paulo Coelhos of the world. Here is a series that lays out some of the most important life lessons without pushing it down your throat. Not only are the good and evil clearly etched out, but the gray is too, that develops in you a moral dilemma as to whom to root for. As you figure that out, you learn a great deal of things. Value of people, friends, trust, choices, togetherness and the eventual triumph of good over evil – these thoughts linger as silent undertones throughout the series, never lifting their heads to affect the pace and suspense of the storyline.
5. Reading Pleasure:
It’s easy on the eyes and harder on the mind. But altogether immensely enjoyable. In the late 90s, adults read Harry Potter on their shuttle to work behind newspapers. Not only do the characters grow with each book, but the level of maturity increases with each and in the end it’s a handsomely rewarding experience. Purists may argue about Rowling’s love(or weakness?) for adverbs and some such nitpicks, but so what? She is a great storyteller, probably the best from the last few decades.
6. All You Need is Love:
Some might think that JKR takes the easy route at the most critical of situations. New spells are discovered and used all the time. Professor Snape himself says how Harry benefits a lot by sheer luck and by being around people much more talented than Harry could ever aspire to be. But when love comes to the rescue in the form of exquisite prose of JKR, manifested by the mother, the friend, the teacher, the mentor and the godfather, you sit back to appreciate one of the most soothing manipulations.
7. Magic:
What’s fantasy without all the magic and wizardry? Almost every new entity is introduced with a dazzling flourish and imagination. Diagon Alley, The Leaky Cauldron, Gringgots, Ministry of Magic, Hogsmeade, Godric’s Hollow, Chamber of Secrets, Spinner’s End, 12 Grimmauld Place, Azkaban etc. And how can magic be without the spells? Accio, Descendo, Stupefy, Sectumsempra, Reducto, Obliviate, Imperio, Finite Incantantem, Expectro Patronum, Reparo, Lumos. The beauty of Harry Potter lies partly in this physical magic universe and partly within the metaphysical magic that encloses the characters, their actions, the writing and the magnanimity of it all. As we get ready one last time to witness the spectacle on celluloid (admittedly, much less rewarding), we give ourselves one more chance to thank J.K. Rowling for this unforgettable journey.
The Ashtapadi Village – Parth Mukherjee
Even as you enter Juladih, you feel a Scorsese-styled fear and excitement. The ride through the jungles is rather bumpy. I do not know whether to attribute it to the mud path that leads to Juladih or the rickety old jeep in which I had travelled in the monsoon of 1999.
Now there could be only two reasons for a well-educated, Circuit-House bred boy to travel to a godforsaken place like Juladih – that he was totally out of his mind or that he was inquisitive. Fortunately the border between those explanations was so flimsy that I made frequent incursions on both sides and sometimes squatted right between them. So here I was on a wet morning on the bonerattle to Juladih. Mahesh, my driver had relatives there and it was for a marriage in this said family that we were headed.
What drew me to this particular wedding in the midst of allegedly Naxalite controlled woods was a promise from Mahesh – that I would see something I had never seen before or would after. No amount of coaxing would make him tell me what it was. He did not have faith in my metropolitan-seated, reality-beaten brains. And kudos to him for that!
Juladih was far less a village and much more an ensemble of twenty odd mud huts around a meager temple. Around this temple stood a gaudily adorned structure made from bamboo and cloth, where the main wedding rites would be performed. Large speakers drummed out latest Hindi film songs as a few semi naked children danced in joy. I was offered a chair, a specially “cleaned” plate, a bottle of “Swastika” water and felt like a buffoon for most part of the day. The wedding began about 7pm in the evening. I was looking forward to some relief from the attention – jeans clad men didn’t come to Juladih very often as I was made to understand. But now I was hoping they didn’t see marriages that often either. As the marriage progressed, I did not quite feel the respite I expected. People would still rush to me with sweetmeats, gush over me with bottles of water, turn the fan towards me. I can bet my eyes I saw the bride and groom glare at me from their position around the sacrificial fire.
Finally when the ceremonial seven circumambulations around the fire were about to start, Mahesh made an appearance. He had been elusive all day. I did not complain too much about his absence – didn’t want to seem like hapless Wooster without his man friday. But now here he came, wearing a sparkling clean pink shirt and a broad grin on his face. And he had in his hands a shield. I cannot say I wasn’t scared. I felt worried – what if I was at the epicenter of some human sacrifice scandal?
He knelt down next to me, handed me the heavy, heavy shield and whispered: “this is the part I was talking to you about. When the seven circumambulations are done, the priest will shout – there come the British spies, God save us. Well, sir that’s your cue. You have to lunge at the couple with this shield. The rest will be managed.”
“What?! But what if..”
“Do not worry sir. It is just another ritual. No one will get hurt. I will tell you the story later. It is fascinating! Wish you the best sir – look out for the priest’s exclamation!” And before I could utter even a conjunction, he had gone away faster than he had come.
I turned towards the couple circling their way around the fire. I had lost count. Were they on with the seventh? I looked at the priest with frightened anticipation. I looked for men with swords, guns, kitchen knives, anything. And then the priest, with seemingly rehearsed animation went –
“Look out! Here come the British spies, God save us!”
By now everyone had turned towards me. I felt like a naked Brutus on stage with Julius the priest shouting “Et tu Brutus” repeatedly at me. Finally a nudge from behind broke the spell – “run Sir!”
And I ran, lunging at the groom with my shield – the bride seemed too dainty to lunge at. And out came a sword from nowhere. I could barely get the shield up to my waist, leaving ample time and space for him to do away with my neck in one smooth swish. He just smiled and gave a slight twang to the limping shield with his well-oiled sword. And then he looked at his bride with the exalted pride of having belittled the city machismo and said:
“Come, my love. I have made you seven promises while we circled the fire seven times. Now we circle once more.”
And as he led her aggressively on the last, eighth circle, he said –
“I promise to protect thee from the foul foreigners,” sparing a special mean look at me as he uttered the last word.
Later that night over a bonfire and the most disgusting local wine I have ever tasted, Anil Munda, the oldest living member of Juladih and a not so distant uncle of Mahesh explained to me –
“We like to call ourselves the Ashtapadis. Nowhere else in the whole world will you see this that you saw today. Almost a hundred years back, when Birsa Munda, our tribal hero was leading a revolt against British occupation, Juladih was celebrating the marriage of one of its finest young men, Sunga. As Sunga and his bride were about to finish their seventh circle around the fire, many policemen streamed out of the bushes. Sunga would not let his marriage get disrupted. So he drew his sword, ordered the priest to go on and slew any British policeman that came his way. In all this confusion, he didn’t hear the priest’s call and finished eight instead of the seven circles prescribed by the Vedas.
As he stood over a heap of dead policemen, the priest admonished – “In all the hurry we have made an extra circle. The Gods might want you to track one back!” Sunga stood quivering with passion and looking at none but his wife said – “Priest, add one to your Vedas. The eighth pledge is one I make to my wife – I promise to protect thee from these foul foreigners”.
After that night, every marriage at Juladih has eight, not seven, circumambulations of the fire. That is why we are the Ashtapadis whereas the rest of the world is still Saptapadi. We believe that the scriptures that guide us must be subject to change over time.”
That night, as we drove back home through the dark woods that surround Juladih, I thought of the evening and I remembered the way the groom had looked at me as he made his last pledge to his bride. I wondered if the Ashtapadis of Juladih also progressively altered the meaning of the word “foreigner” as much as they chose to alter the Vedic practices. I wondered how the cold blade of the sword might have felt like.
Seventh Hell
The district attorney argued an excellent case. She enthused emotion among the jurors.Her oratory skills were explemplary.She made up for all the lack of physical evidence with her captivating closing statement. One could see that the jury was with her. They swayed with her, they felt her passion for justice, justice for all the six victims. Victims of the brutal ,heinous crime the defendant was charged with.
“Ladies and Gentleman, I implore you, to go back to that jury box and deliberate. Deliberate based on all the facts and evidence we have provided and come back with a verdict that will provide if not anything closure to the family of the victims. Those six beautiful and innocent girls.”
The jury came back within minutes.
“What say you” asked the judge
“We the jury find the defendant guilty of all the six murders”. The rest of thier ruling was engulfed by the commotion in the room.
“Seven”.. there was an interruption
“Seven and not guilty” I told myself as I tiptoed from the room quietly.
By Nivethitha Kumar
Draupadi – Manasa
Illustration by Unnikrishnan
Shravana maasye Ekadesi, Budhawaaram (The 11th day of the Shravan month – mid August – a Wednesday)
Dear Kanha,
I am glad that when I was young I did not run away when I was taught to read and write. I must say that, that was not entirely without your influence too. I remember that I would always want to go outside and play with the animals or climb trees, but you would tell me to stay indoors and learn my lessons. You would read out stories and poetry to me. You would tell me stories of your travels and draw maps on the sand to get me interested in geography. You told me that it would come in useful some day. And indeed it has, for today I am able to write to you. I never thought that the day would come that you would be so far away that I have to write to tell you about my life.
I know that you are busy with a million people’s needs to satisfy – it is not for anything that they call you God. But I have nobody but you to pour my woes out to.
Don’t remind me about my five husbands, my mother-in-law, their cousins and that enormous extended family which is now supposedly mine. They are not mine nor am I theirs. I don’t feel like I belong here after all this time.
Let me start by telling you about everything that happened since you left our little hut back in Ekachakra, that was the name of the village where you left us.
We stayed there for a week at the most. My brother came to visit us every day. He would speak at length with Kunti-ma and leave. As you very well know, there was not much love lost between us, and so I did not want to see him at all. Once, Kunti-ma and Yud went back to the palace to meet my father. They were discussing about the ripe time to return to Hastinapur, though this is something I got to know after a long time. All my father cares is defeating Drona, his arch-rival. Now that he has not one, but five sons-in-law to do his bidding, the same boys who routed his own army not so long ago, I hear that he is a happy, happy man. His daughter, of course, is the pawn traded in the process.
Kanha, I may sound extremely bitter, but it is a situation, and I have decided to make the most out of what I have. I am angry that my life was traded over to further the political ambitions of my father and my husbands, but what can I do now? It is only to you that I open my heart to show how truly betrayed I feel. For it is one thing I decided on the first night I slept under their roof – that at no point will I show them anything that betrays fear or weakness in me.
We came to Hastinapur two weeks after my marriage. In those two weeks, I learned quite a bit about my new family, but when I came to Hastinapur, I realized that there was so much that I had not learnt. Everything seems new to me, strange and unchartered. Even I seem new to myself. Can you believe it, Kanha, that it has been six months since I have climbed a tree or watched the sunrise
One thing in my new home, it is not the five men who are important, not so much as my mother-in-law. The first morning after I came, I was sent to the market with Nakula and Sahadeva to buy vegetables. They had a list, which their mother had prepared, and some coins in their pouch, which Yud had rolled out for them. They do everything their mother asks them to – they even refuse to buy vegetables which are not in her list. Everything is answered by ‘Mother knows’. Kunti ma really holds the reins of the family.
But I must describe the market now. It was an amazing thoroughfare, Kanha, would you believe it if I said that I have never been to the market all my life? The people there did not know that I am the princess. I talked to them, and they were so really friendly. Just for a gag, the twins made me bargain at the butcher’s. They thought I would be terrible at it. To their surprise, I got a whole chicken for only three coins. I think I would make a very shrewd businesswoman. If only I could grow and sell vegetables and fruits for a living and not be a princess and a queen. But then I could not have married Arjuna, could I?
The living arrangements were decided once I came to Hastinapura. I would spend a year with each brother, and at the end of that I would live with the next brother. I am not sure why you even agreed to such a thing, Kanha, but I trust you – you would never do something that would not be good for me. So here I am, my first six months with Yud.
The first thing I noticed was the way he calls me. He calls me by my full name, ‘Draupadi’. Somehow I have never noticed my name when you used to call me by it, nor my nanny, but here, it sounds plain weird. I have never really noticed how hard my name sounds. Drau-pa-di. None of these people have asked me what my pet names at home were, and I have never told them the names Shakti-ma and you used to call me by. So to Kunti-ma and Yud, I am ‘Drau-pa-di’. Bhima, for some reason, wants to be different, and calls me ‘Panchali’ when his brothers are around, and ‘Maharani’ when he wants to tease me. I asked him why he calls me Panchali, and he says he likes my land more than he likes my father. Bhima only looks like a fool, but he is a clever man, isn’t he?
Yud does not like it if I am very friendly with his brothers. For all the talk of the Pandavas sticking together like glue, I think it is only an outward façade, the appearances of which are kept up more by the mother than the sons. Arjuna and Bhima, for example, are very close, as are the twins. Nakula and Sahadeva are Madri’s sons, and while no one refers to their parentage, there is a very subtle bias that I can’t help but notice.However Nakula is always absorbed in his music and food and clothes and scents to notice, and Sahadeva, though the youngest, strikes me as the wisest of the lot. No, I do not say this because he was the only one who took my side. He is as shrewd as he is silent. After Arjuna, I think I like him best of the Pandavas.
(You must not be shocked because I write so frankly to you, surely I am not telling you things that you do not already know of.)
But it is Yud that I have had the most chance to observe, because I have been living with him for six months now. And I must say, living with a man is very different from what I thought it would be. For one thing, I get so much lesser time to myself. The customs in Hastinapura are very different from those in Panchala – no one wakes up before the second hour after sunrise. They also don’t bathe in the mornings like we used to, but reserve bath times for the evenings. The clothes are worn in a very different style, at least the women’s clothes. They prefer to wear silk all the time, even when they are in their chambers, and wear it wrapped around their legs and arms in multiple folds, and not like a single robe like we used to. All this takes some getting used to.
Also, there are so many people to meet here, so many new faces to get used to. Each of them should be greeted in a different way according to their rank and seniority. That was one of the first things Yud taught me – what was construed as proper respect in the family and how to accord each of them what was due.
“We have to get our share from these people, but we cannot alienate them either,” he told me in his painstakingly patient way. “Some of these people have known us since we were children, they have reared us and brought us up, they are our teachers. No matter what how unfairly they have treated us, we have to follow the prescribed norms of respect with them.”
I nodded my head dutifully – imagine telling a girl things like this when she is nodding off with sleep – but tell me Kanha, if they treated the Pandavas unfairly, why should anyone be nice to them? When we first arrived in Hastinapura, announced that we were the Pandavas and alive, you should have seen Duryodhana’s face. He refused to receive us, and walked out of the room, with that sidekick of his that looks like a mongoose, Karna. Vidura-ji received us. Vidura-ji is perhaps the only genuine person I have met in the palace here. He spoke at length to Kunti-ma, and then to all my husbands who seem to respect him a lot. Then, he turned to me and smiled, such a warm affectionate smile, that I felt immediately at home. I was rather lost in the middle of all the reception rituals, that nobody noticed that it was not only the Pandavas who had arrived, but they had a new bride with them. Vidura-ji enquired after my health, my father and my kingdom, and said, “Daughter, don’t worry if everything seems new to you. I am sure you have the strength to handle it.” Everybody so far had complimented the strength and valour of my husbands, but he was the first person to acknowledge that I needed strength and tell me that I possessed it.
Then we were taken to meet the old blind kind, Duryodhana’s father, Dritharashtra. He said a few words of welcome, and touched all our heads in blessing. He seemed to try to mean what he said, but I am not sure whether he was being insincere, or just ashamed of his sons. Gandhari-ma, the queen, why, isn’t she beautiful, Kanha! Even with her eyes wrapped with cloth and her graying hair, she is still beautiful. She smiled and ran her fingers over my face.
Later that night I asked Yud about this – why was it that a couple like Dhritarashtra and Gandhari – born in good families and possessing beauty and grace and goodwill, why should they have such insanely jealous sons? Could they have not taken more care in the upbringing of their children, and taught them to discern right from wrong? Yud only said, “Do you think we are any better?”
Yud says he feels sorry for Duryodhana’s parents, and why, even Duryodhana’s brothers. He says that they are good people, but only led astray by Duryodhana’s arrogance. And he also says that Duryodhana’s arrogance is not the only thing at fault – “Arjuna and Bhima are equally headstrong,” he says. Why can’t Yud ever take a side? To him, people are never right or wrong, only circumstances are culprits. Didn’t the Kauravas just try setting fire to them, or was that all some kind of childish game too? Yud irritates me sometimes.
But he is very attentive to me if he wants to. Every night after the sun sets he takes me out somewhere, to a garden or to watch a play, or has some of the finest musicians in the palace playing for us. Else, we sit in the palace and he teaches me to play dice. He is rather fond of such games, though I am afraid he is not very good. But I cannot tell him so to his face without him getting all angry and stiffening up. The thing is his mother and brothers respect him a bit too much and have never told him that he was wrong. So, he cannot take criticism with grace, though he does not know it himself. Unfortunately, I am not able to respect him blindly, and often get irritated with him. I do not really know what to do about this. But at other times, Yud is so perfectly sweet, that it is not possible for me to be mad at him all the time.
I also got to meet Bhishmacharya, Kripacharya and Dronacharya, the gurus of the Pandavas and Kauravas. There is not much to say about them because they were just fearsome old men in their chambers and did not address a single word to me during the entirety of the conversation. I don’t think they talk to women much at all. Like a good wife, I kept standing behind Yud while he talked. They asked Yud how they had escaped from the fire. He replied, “By God’s grace and some good luck.” Very diplomatic of him, I thought, and they seemed to like it as well, for they smiled.
However, I was horrified when I actually got to know how they had escaped. They had dug a hole out of the palace which was set on fire, but they had drugged six other people and left them in the palace to burn so that the Kauravas could think they had died.
“But how could you? Why should you kill those people in the process?” I asked, horrified.
“That is what I meant by good luck. Sometimes, you’ve got to do what you have to do,” said Yud, calmly rolling his dice. Two blanks came up.
Kanha, to be perfectly honest, I am confused in this house. Like Gandhari and Dhritharashra I am blind and spinning on my heels, but while they are content to not see, I am discontented that I cannot see into these people around me.
The only person who seems steadfast and true in this place is Arjuna. While it is true that he has not spoken a word to me so far (I am his brother’s wife now, and not his own – a very confusing state of affairs, I admit) he does not involve himself in any of the palace gossip as well. He goes out early from what I hear, practices shooting, and returns late at night. He has dinner and goes out with Bhima to practice wrestling – Bhima always needs someone to pound. All he wants to do is shoot and that’s all he does.
Now I have to go, dear Kanha, for it is sunset and my husband would be here any minute. I feel so much like the little girl who used to swing on your shoulders, too young to have a husband, but would you believe me if I said I was going to have a child too? See, I reserved the best for last!
Much love from,
Draupadi
Seven vows of marriage
By Priya Venkat
It was a beautiful, romantic evening. I lost myself in the charm of lush green meadows as I was traveling by train from Trivandrum to Chennai. Just then, lively giggles and sweet nothings drifted across to my ears. My curiosity was awakened. I then decided to do something which might make straight laced mortals look down upon me – I eavesdropped!
A young couple on the other side of the aisle were embracing each other. Wow, now that was a spectacle! I could see that they belonged to the new generation of couples who believed in expressing love, even if it’s in public. Keeping a check on my judgmental tendency, I enjoyed their unabashed affection. I came to know that they were Naren and Vidya.
Moments later, after the bear hugs took respite, Vidya fished out an aromatic packet. My guess was… yummy vegetable briyani. Mmmmm….mouth watering. Suddenly something caught my attention. It was not home made food, unlike our moms’ elaborate preparation for a long train journey. It was food from a restaurant, evident from the packaging. So What??!! It was still food! A spoon in hand, and eyes springing with pyaar, she started feeding him. He relished his meal and cherished his paramour.
Full marks to the first vow of holy matrimony.
Their dinner over, they began to chat. And I fine tuned my fleshy receivers.
Naren narrated office stories. Unfortunately, it was more of a sob story than interesting gossip. Not what I expected. However suddenly the unexpected happened. She gave him a slap! A playful one though.
Then she said in her honey-soaked voice, “You duffer, as long as I am here, you don’t have to worry. I will stand by you. Share your problems with me without hesitation or delay.”
Shocked, my mind raced back to similar conversations between my parents. Dad spoke. Mom just listened, attentively though. No advice. No slaps. Silent, yet caring.Times have changed! Yet, love remains the same.
Second vow of marriage accomplished.
He continued, “Yes dear, thanks to you, I saved myself from making fatal financial mistakes.”
She replied, “Of course, what did you expect? Your money is my money. But my money is also my money.”
He burst out laughing. Eyes welling up in rapture, they were having a good time. So was I.
Flash back once again. Dad looked disturbed, even though he was sitting in his favorite easy chair. Mom read his mind, intuitively. She opened her secret piggy bank, walked up to dad and handed him her savings. Dad looked at her, tears rolling from his thankful eyes.
Cut to the present. Independent passbooks, but inter-dependent spending. Modern household, but traditional values. It was refreshing.
Third vow? Undoubtedly successful.
Interrupting my contemplation was sprightly laughter and cheerful screams. Kids!!!
On hearing their voices, Naren asked, “So when will you make me a father?”
Vidya teased, “Well, when you decide to take care of the potty stuff. I will handle peeing.”
He grumbled. But she was determined.
Then he responded, “Ok. But promise me that you will never ignore me for our kid, you know what mothers typically end up doing.”
She laughed and held his hands…in acceptance.
I know. You are now waiting for me to rewind to my memories. Am on it.
Deals were never struck. Things just happened. Mom cleaned us. Dad played with us.
Dad gave us a bath. Mom gave us food. When we argued with dad, mom always supported him. He was her priority! The wheels of time have changed marital equations. However, marital harmony remains undisturbed. Kudos to the young couple!
Fourth vow was fulfilled.
After a while, the young lad surprised his wife with a gift. She opened it hurriedly.
And shrieked in joy. It was a gold chain with a shining pendant. And the words ‘My Best Friend’ were etched on it. He put it around her neck. She cuddled up to him coyly.
I don’t remember dad gifting anything to mom. It was never expected either.
Yet, I knew that she was his best friend. Whenever I found him on his easy chair and she by his side, I knew they were not just talking, but sharing.
Expressed apparently or subtly, love is deep rooted. Good friendship begets a great life partner…then and now.
Cheers to the fifth vow!
At around 9 pm, Naren took out his laptop. Sharing the headphone ends, they watched the highlights of a cricket match (as I figured out from their conversation).
Suddenly she groaned, “Oh! That was a Jaffa!”.
Immediately he stared at her, astonished. Took off his headphones.
Guessing the reason for his bewilderment, she clarified triumphantly, “I’ve been reading up stuff on cricket”.
He exclaimed, “Wow! That’s my girl. You enjoy doing what I enjoy. Thanks a ton.”
By 10 pm they retired to their berths. Dutifully, he made the bed for her. He laid layers of sheets and tucked them under and then placed a soft pillow. Once she laid down on it, he knelt by her, caressed her cheeks, kissed her goodnight and tenderly swayed his hands over her eyes. They closed. Peace reigned.
Dad never allowed us to watch TV after 9 pm. It was mom’s turn to handle the remote.
He gazed at her, treasuring her child-like innocence as she lost herself in the world of mega serials. Peace reigned then too.
Sixth vow?? Well, you know better by now, don’t you?
On reaching our destination, I stood on the platform admiring Naren and Vidya as they walked away, hand in hand. But they left behind an un-uttered assurance that they will live happily for ever and ever. United emotionally, spiritually, physically.
Seventh vow completes this story.
Dude, where is my coffee? – DreamVendor
7 tips for your trip
Are you one of those frequent or long distance travelers hopping from one airport to another like a frog on a rainy evening before you reach your final destination? Here are seven tips for you to kill time during a layover, short or long.
1. Show faces
Security cameras! They are there everywhere in an airport. Places you can obviously see and places you wouldn’t imagine it to be. This is one of my favorite things to pass the time. As I settle down with my coffee in hand and cabin bag by the side, I roll my eyes in a not-so-obvious fashion, all over the ceiling, the pillars, the walls, everywhere trying to spot that black dome which holds the video camera within. Nook and crannies. Above. To the side. Behind. They are there everywhere, just that we don’t get to notice it. It is fun to spot them. Try it, if you haven’t. Say cheese. Swear.
Be creative. Show faces.
2. Be strange
Airports are full of strangers and, most often, strange people. An airport is a place where the world collides and people from all over come in and go out (of course). Some are stranded, some are grounded, some are still drunk on free liquor on board, most are sane, some are jet-lagged, some are plain stupid. Watch them. People watching is one of the best things to do to kill time. Each one carries a story behind them. If you can’t figure it out, just imagine it. All the more fun. If you are super bored, try talking to a few estranged ones. Their strangeness may rub off on you or, still worse, you could have an impact on them. Either ways, doing strange things with strangers in a strange time zone is often a great way to pass the time.
Be creative. Be strange.
3. Appreciate sophistication
Even if your transit or layover is just over an hour, take a break. Each airport has its own architecture, eat-outs, coffee shops, book stores, duty-free shops, terminals, etc. Competitive world it is. Uniqueness. So are the restrooms. Never hesitate to go into one. Sometimes there is a annoying queue outside the loo, but worth the try! The interior differs from one airport to another. Sometimes the sophistication is beyond words. There could be a picture of a fly in your urinal. There could be designer pots. There could be faucets that you never know how to open and, most often, how to close. It is a wonderful land in there.
Be creative. Appreciate sophistication.
4. Shop for free (not really)
Duty-free shops in International airports are a great way to kill time. A great place to window shop sans the real window. Have you just got off a 12 hours flight and have no time for a shower before your next 5 plus hours journey? Walk into the perfume/cologne section and splurge all you can with the samples. Travel in style for the rest of your journey. You can’t do the same with chocolates. Tch tch. Too bad. But for all you know, you might bump into something really cool for a lesser price. So walk through every rack and row of the shop. Look for local products and “I love
Be creative. Shop for free.
5. Be Joe
Each International airport has at least half a dozen coffee shops. It could be their local favorite and/or International chain such as Starbucks. Skip Starbucks. Try the local favorite if they have one. Let the person behind the counter decide the flavor for you. This is not as good as a local guy/girl doing it for you in the streets of the country you are traveling through, but at least you have the opportunity to be local without stepping out of the airport. Tell them your preference and allow the guy/girl at the coffee shop to make you one. Mostly it works and you might like it. If not, suck it up and get on the flight to drink the one they serve on board. Which is better?
Be creative. Be Joe.
6. Stalk ‘em!
Do you have a friend in the country you are transiting? Be nice. Give them a call from the local pay phone at the airport. Some airports give you one minute of free local call. That one minute is worth it. You don’t have a friend but just an enemy? You can cuss all you want in one minute. That works just right. Neither? Then log onto facebook/orkut. Some airports have free Wifi. Some have paid. Find an acquaintance in that country who you have never talked to. Someone who added you because they think you are cute or weird. Hit them up. Stalk them. Get their number and call them. Ah! The joy of being nice!
Be creative. Stalk ‘em!
7. Click! Pose!
Most of the International airports are becoming famous for their architecture, infrastructure and world-class facilities that they offer to the travelers. Taking photographs in an airport is not restricted in most of the airports I have been to. If you are sure that you are allowed to take pictures, go ahead. Be a model. If you are traveling in a group, good for you. Ask the others to take your pic anywhere and everywhere. If you are traveling alone, stalk someone to take a pic of you by that pillar, outside Starbucks, inside a duty-free shop next to a new gadget, besides a water fountain and a dead fish, beneath a colorful canopy that sprays water, or next to a mascot holding its dirty hand. There was this guy at Amsterdam airport during Christmas who stalked people to take pictures of him next to a massive Christmas tree which had small monitors instead of stars and few other Christmas-y adornments. That guy was me. Hallelujah.
Be creative. Pose!
The Other Son of Ganges – Matangi Mawley
Part 3. In a new world…
He also promised her, that he would come back to her. One day. Some day. And he felt her hand pat his feet, gently. His mother let him go…
It all began with water…
Maybe this was why people came to the city. The buildings were so tall that Shravan felt that they could almost touch the sky! Growing up in Kashi, he had never seen anything like this before. He needed two more eyes to see everything.
There were colors in Kashi. Saffron, turmeric, red and gold all around. Shravan was tired of colors. But here, it was white, or black or just grey. He felt better. His eyes needed a break from all the colors. Kashi was a destination. An end. But the city- was a beginning. There was life here. A never-ending rush, a craze to live. There was pulse. And no one here paused to see the next person beside themselves on the road- walking alongside. Shravan felt his space too, as he tried to take in the city around him. He too was infected by the life around. He felt as though it was in his dreams that he was “living”. The fire and pyre of Kashi, was moving away from his mind. They were now- a faded painting…
He wandered on those roads- his eyes, finally getting tired of the things around- could take in no further. His leg carried his dead weight, but it could go on no farther. He soon began to realize that the sun in the city was different from the one back home. It had no sympathy for the weary traveler on the road. Maybe this was why the city moved fast. Maybe this was why the city never got tired! But Shravan was not used to the sun yet. He was hungry, but had no money. He soon found out that people of the big city did not believe in charity.
He lay there for how long, he knew not. He did not remember it. People told him about it later.
He felt the boot kick his ribs. But he had no strength to open his eyes and see who it was. There were strange voices. Suddenly, he felt being lifted off the ground. He was swinging. His hands bearing his weight. He knew not when his body would drop off his hands. He was dead. But no. This was not death. He came from a place where people knew most about death. Death could not be it. Or did people think that he was dead? He could not let this happen to him..
He mustered up all the strength left in him- and let out a moan of help. There were voices again. He felt that now, he was being taken to a different place.
The city was a fair judge. Here, life presented itself- only when one seeks it. There were people, back home, who disliked the city. They did not like the speed- the colors,or the lack of it , the life in there. But they were the ones who did not understand the life or living. This was a place, Shravan thought, where the dead have to prove their death and the living- their living. Else, they were all the same. The city, welcomed him.
There was water, once more…
The sudden chill of disgust and anger! The water slapped him hard. But it gave him strength. Water, he knew, was always with him. But he could not stop wondering that even the water in the city was so different! His mother, though had the strength and power to overturn the the entire city was gentle. She had so much love in her. May be that was why, she was Mother Ganga! But the city- it changes everything. The water of the city, Shravan smiled to himself, felt like his step-mother!
He opened his eyes, slowly. Things were a nebulous wreck in the beginning. But they were coming back to him. The streets- the strangers- the buildings… The police station.
(..To be continued., Part 4: “His death…”)
The Seven Swaras
In the heart of Nature, God dropped a beautiful gift,
And into our lives, let its aura unfold,
A marvel of seven pearls to delight our souls
And “music” it was called.
Seven strings woven in complex ways,
And yet resonating in perfect harmony,
Seven colors combined in myriad shades,
Blend so beautifully in a mellifluous symphony.
The lilting voice of a playback singer,
Or the potent flourish of classical notes,
The relaxing softness of a lullaby
Or the peppy rhythm of a colorful folk song.
The sweet ripples of the flute,
The intricate fine tones of the violin,
The tingling waves of the jal-tarang,
The mesmerizing melody of the mandolin.
Sweet music imparts relief and calm,
To our worries is a soothing balm,
Music can heal, music can cure,
It’s a magic spell that can attract and allure.
Music can unite hearts,
Imbibe a special feeling of joy that penetrates
Stress, anxiety, anger are all tempered,
Where the sound of music reverberates.
Enjoy the lively tempo,
Let your hands clap,
Feel the irresistible beats,
Let your feet tap.
Like a drop of water
To a parched mouth,
Like a cool breeze
On a hot sultry day,
Feel the bliss,
Feel the comfort,
That sweet music brings,
Whether you hear, sing, whistle or play.
And even when all’s quiet, no one’s singing,
No drums being tapped, nothing to hear,
You can still feel the sounds ringing
In your head, it plays loud and clear.
An old melody that you love,
Or a song you got hooked on to just yesterday,
The brain can hum them back merrily
And stun you in its own wondrous way.
Music is a science,
An organized composition of its seven elements,
But it’s also an art, a skill,
Of creative, imaginative figments.
Music is a language,
A channel to express emotions,
Music is a way of worship,
To reveal the mind’s pure devotion.
Music transcends you from reality,
Into a tranquil heavenly world,
Of ecstasy and pleasure immense,
A divine experience unfurled.
Become one with the sea of music,
Immerse yourself in it,
Feel its sweet nectar sink into your veins,
Taste and absorb every bit.
o Shweta Krishnan.
FIFA World Cup -After Thoughts
Last Sunday brought down the curtains on the FIFA world cup, crowning the new champions of the world and leaving several broken hearts in the process. The sheer magic and drama that unfolded over the last month proved yet again why this is deservedly called the biggest sporting event on Earth. I could never understand the reason why football (or soccer as called in US) is so intriguing for us Indians. We have absolutely no history in it, we have never been to the world cup, we have never even been ranked within the top 100 in FIFA rankings and I don’t think that anything is going to change in the near distant future. And in spite of this, world cup is no less of a party for us than the other 32 nations in the world taking part in it.
Just before the start of the tournament I had my bracket ready on ESPN, which I am now too embarrassed to disclose, along with a bunch of my Indian friends who were equally punctual about filling it up in advance. Throughout the FIFA month I had “no meetings” on my calendar until 9am everyday and from 11am – 1pm; my manager smiled at me on seeing my calendar and later on I spotted him on the internal world cup company mailing list. Besides blatantly abusing the super fast Internet and a few TV screens at my company, I saw matches in an open public park and in pubs with Brazilian, German, Spanish and Dutch crowd. Yeah, you might be questioning where my loyalties are, but actually, I couldnt care less. I was counting on Spain winning the tournament and had already given them the top spot in my bracket, but I just love watching the game. And I believe so is the case with my fellow Indians.
Have you ever wondered why is football so popular? What is so intriguing in the game that makes millions of hearts beat? I was discussing this with one of my friends and he had a very simple answer for it “Football is simple.” After one more beer, I agreed! The beauty of the game is that it is free of any complexity. It has rules that can be literally counted on fingertips. In spite of all this technology growth, it has not changed much since the inception of the game. The whole game happens at blitzkrieg speed; a blink of an eye and you might have missed a magical moment unfold on the field. There are no extended time outs or breaks and the whole thing is done within a span of two hours. It is less strategic than NFL and less physical than rugby, but the unique blend of both makes it an astonishing sport to watch. Enough of my blabbering; let us go back to the world cup.
First of all, hats off to South Africa. While watching the games, at no time I could have guessed that this is happening in any other place than on European soil; the quality of the ground and the stadium was absolutely world class. It is really astonishing how small places like Beijing and South Africa have really came on top when they were given a wonderful opportunity to showcase in front of the whole world. And then is the Vuvuzela. It is both fun and annoying, depends on whether your team is winning or loosing. And perhaps the most lasting legacy of South Africans to the world of sports.
With all that hype and craze about it, the cup start was an anticlimax. Only a total of 26 goals were made in the first round. Reporters all over the world were quick to jump on the bandwagon and started calling it the most uninteresting world cup ever. Some people started blaming the ball, some the cold climate and some even the conservative defensive play of lower ranked teams. I don’t think any of this was the primary reason for this. The simple explanation is lack of any team chemistry. Unfortunately, besides the world cup national team players seldom play together. Their schedule is packed with all the club tournaments happening all over the world. They suddenly have to start playing at potentially new positions and with complete strangers. They have to learn new tactics and set pieces, simultaneously unlearning a lot of this stuff from their respective club teams, in a span of a month. It takes time for these players to gel together and as was evident from the second round onwards, football started to flow more naturally and goals started to come at a healthy rate.
Group stages had a number of surprises with Spain and Germany loosing to Switzerland and Serbia respectively and the disappointing performance of African powerhouses – Nigeria and Cameroon, but the shocker was the early exit of Italy and France. Although we are talking about two defending champions, a closer look at their more recent performances will indicate that this was not really that big a surprise. It is debatable whether France actually deserved to in the tournament. Henry had an illegal goal in their last qualifying goal with Ireland, and that became the only thing separating between the two teams. All Irish pubs in SF were offering free shots if somebody scored a goal against France in the world cup; now this is the type of promotion I love. Besides the world cup, UEFA is the biggest football tournament; it is the competition between all clubs in Europe. The most prestigious club in Italy, AC Milan won the tournament this year. You know how many Italians were there in the playing 11. Exactly zero. That is the sorry state of Italian football today.
I actually don’t think there were any surprises in the knock out stages. One of the best game was Germany vs England. Germany clearly demonstrated their new age counter-attacking opportunistic football strategies. They scored four goals with 40% possession in the game. Many might call this an upset, but England was not a great team to start with. They are overhyped and the fanatic hooligans think much more of their team than it actually is. US loss to Ghana was disappointment for the Americans, but Ghana was definitely a superior team. Although US topped its group, I would say they underachieved in this world cup. There was not a single convincing victory, not even against Algeria, and if Green hadn’t botched a ball that even a high school keeper can handle, Americans won’t be even in the knock out stages. The best match up in quarterfinals was Brazil taking on the dutch. I watched the game in a Brazilian pub in SF and the samba started just after 10 minutes with Robinho converting a picture perfect pass from Lucio. I am not sure what Brazilians had during the half time, but they played as sloppy as one can play in the second half. A self goal and a beautiful header from sneijder sealed the Brazilian fate and a Netherlands date with Uruguay in the semi finals. Uruguay game with Ghana produced one of the most melodramatic moment of the tournament. After literally being in a dogfight for the whole 90 minutes and then the extra 30 minutes, Ghana got a golden opportunity in the last minute corner. A header from Ghana striker dodged the goalkeeper and was on its way to the goal, when Suarez swatted away the ball at goal line. He was given a red card and Ghana was awarded a penalty kick. Unfortunately, Gyan, who produced a gem of a goal againt US, missed the kick and eventually Ghana lost in the penalty shoot out. Suarez became a hero in Uruguay and the biggest villain for rest of the world. Many folks designated his instinctive act as cheating and unsportsman like. I think Suarez action was well within the rules and he got rightfully punished for it, nothing more. I do not understand how it is any different from a situation when the goalkeeper in a 1:1 scenario with the other team’s player often brings him down to avoid the obvious goal and give away the penalty kick. The last game, which was supposed to be a cracker of a game was completely one sided. Germany literally mauled Argentina, again scoring four goals with Klose scoring twice. I consider Klose to the be the biggest overachiever of this era; he has 14 world cup goals and is tied for the second most ever! To his credit, he is always at the right place at the right time to dab the ball in an open goal. Who would have predicted at the start that there will only be one South American team in the semifinals and it will not be Brazil or Argentina.
As expected, it turned out to be a one-sided game with Dutch coming on the top. However, it produced two most fabulous goals in the tournament and it was fitting that each was an amazing piece of individual magic from the two captains – Giovanni and Forlorn. The other semifinal was a cracker of a game – the new age counter-attacking German football against the beautiful Spanish flair. The game went as expected with Spain hogging the football in midfield. Germans had the same 40% possession as they had in the games against England and Argentina. But unlike any other team, Spanish defenders were able to match them in speed, completely neutralizing their counter attacking football. The final scoreline was 1-0 in favour of spain. The goal credit went unexpectedly to the central defender, Puyol.
So finals were set – Netherlands against Spain and with a lot of back story. We were guaranteed to have a new world cup winner and also the first for a European team to do it outside the European soil. The two biggest underachievers of world cup football were given the opportunity to remove this unwanted tag from their name. But before that was the third place game between Uruguay and Germany. Before the game, I mentioned to my friend, why the hell they have a third place game? Who watches this and what is its significance? Oh well, they proved me so wrong. It was hell of a game; literally a dog fight between them to get the third place. I got the answer to my “who cares” like a smack on my face. Germany won 3-2 but the highlight of the game was a cracker of a goal by Forlorn, undoubtedly the best player of the tournament. So the moment of truth arrived with me and my friend, both staunch Spanish supporters, reaching a pub to watch the game hoping that finally our jinx will be broken. Spanish style of play is to grind the opponents. They simply hog over the midfield with their small accurate passes, completely frustrating the opponents. Sooner or later, the opponents give in, and their forward line of Villa, Igneista and Ramos is simply too good to make full use of these opportunities. Perhaps this will give you a good idea about their style: Xavi, their central midfielder is averaging 80+ successful passes in this tournament. Dutch knew they had to counter this somehow, and they opted for physical ugly play. Right from the start they started aggressively tackling the Spanish midfielders; at the end they had 8 players booked and 10 players on the field. Overall, a total of 13 yellow cards were given in the game, a FIFA world cup final record. To their credit, they were indeed able to block the passing lanes and Spanish players looked completely out of their rhythm. There were golden opportunities at both the ends: Fabregas and Robben both just had to beat the goalkeeper, but in both the cases the goalkeepers came on top. Game went in overtime and a masterful strike from Igneista made all the Spanish crowd throughout the world go in a wild frenzy. In the end the better team on the day and undoubtedly the best team in the tournament won the cup. Spain also accomplished a rare double; they also won Euro in 2008. The fact that they did it without their start striker, Torres, simply shows the incredible depth in their team. For Netherlands, the curse continues; this becoming their third defeat in the finals. Forlorn got the golden ball as the best player and Muller the golden boot for scoring the most goals.
The tournament had its usual share of controversial umpiring decisions – missed goals, missed offsides, too harsh fouls, etc. Overall, I though they did an incredible job. In 64 games, they are bound to miss a few, but I don’t think any one was critical enough to change the dynamics of the complete tournament. Yes, they can get technical help in making decisions on the goal line, but at no other place should we pollute the game with technology. I think offsides and fouls are the integral part of the game; replacing human beings with technology at that place would totally kill the natural flow and simplicity of football.
My final kudos to ESPN. It was simply a masterful job of covering the world cup. Not only every single game was broadcast live both on the Internet and the idiot box, but they were also able to get an excellent set of commentators and an amazing panel to discuss the nuances of the game. NBC, please take a crash course with ESPN as to how do you cover a sporting event; the Wimbledon debacle was simply atrocious. If you do not plan to show the matches live, please don’t spend money on getting the rights. Nobody watches tape recordings. Before the world cup started, I was debating with one of my friends that UEFA champions league is the best football sporting event because it gives an opportunity to gather all talent in a single team without any borders and therefore the quality of the game is much more superior. I might perhaps be right in the quality assessment but I was absolutely wrong in designating it at a higher level than the world cup. Emotions and self pride rather than money is the motivating factor in the world cup and it simply brings the best of everyone involved. World cup also proved how big a team sport it is; none of the best 5 players in the world today – Messi, Kaka, Ronaldo, Ronney and Drogba could take their respective teams beyond the quarterfinal stages. The last month has been nothing less than a carnival for me; I was permanently glued to the television following the game, than the highlights and than the replay of the same game. The party goes to Rio in four years. At the start of the Brazil – Netherlands game, I asked a Brazilian sitting next to me, “What if Brazil wins ?” He replied, “We party.” I asked “What if they lose ?”. He replied, ‘We party harder !” This is just a preview of whats gonna happen in the next world cup.
Be there; I know I will !
Saurabh Ganeriwal
Photo credits:
http://gi342.photobucket.com/groups/o418/P48BQALESZ/2010_fifa_world_cup_south_africa_10.jpg
http://www.time.com/time/photogallery/0,29307,1996113_2164118,00.html
http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2010/06/halfway_in_-_2010_world_cup.html
