Musings 68: My First Hour into Demonitisation 😀

It was 7.35 pm on November 8. Fresh after a shower, I was ready for the day’s newstainment. I tuned into Times Now and was surprised to see Prime Minister Modi instead of Arnab. “Since when did a lion start intruding another’s territory?” I was amused.

PM with a serious face was detailing the hardships that common man face because of black economy. I was checking my FB newsfeed simultaneously. One of my CA friends, who was also watching live, has updated his status- “Is PM hinting at scrapping Rs.500 and Rs.1000 notes?” Wow! I was really excited. I listened to the rest of the speech with rapt attention. And Lo!…. there it is! PM has announced the demonitisation of higher denomination currencies from midnight… tonight!

I reached for my wallet lying at the other end of the dining table totally unaware of the big bang reform which is about to hit it in another 4 hours 15 minutes. Felt really sorry for it. How much its gonna miss its friends- 500 and 1000 notes. (Not that it has many friends in that social class). I counted the cash. Rs.573.. in 100s, 10s and 1s. Phew!

The PM has concluded his speech and the “wise” have started their dissection. FB is exploding with congratulatory messages to PM for his macho ‘Kabali’ move. My excitement peaked. I came out with my own set of “cool” updates. Of course it was an instant hit. Got 303 likes, 52 comments and 21 shares, u c?!

I wanted to share my insights on the move with someone. No, FB status message and comments aren’t enough. I need to speak, articulate in sound. Sumithra isn’t home. She is outstation with office work. Not that she will be excited the way I am. “You and your Modi….,” she will say. But she sure would give a patient hearing.
I made a call to amma. She is a bank employee. She sure has a perspective on this. Let me hear her out. “All lines in this route are busy. Call after sometime,” was what our trusted BSNL told. Okay.

Amma called back after 10 minutes. “Did you hear the news? Do you have enough cash? Run to your nearest ATM…. NOW.” She said that in one breath. The last word was almost a scream. I felt irritated. What’s she talking about? Here we have our PM conducted the greatest, boldest, surgical strike since independence and instead of rejoicing we speak of such trivial issues?! I asked her what she thought about the move. She said she back it in full. That soothed my ears and I forgave her for that initial prattle. “You might have to go through some inconveniences in next few weeks. But I am sure you will bear it all for the national good,” I adviced. She understood that I was running hyper, so calmed me down, and said she will call later.

I continued facebooking and whatsapping while waiting impatiently for Arnab’s darshan in News Hour.

😀 😀 😀
—
Srinath Mohandas
November 19, 2016

Musings 67: Birth Pangs- A New World Order

What we see from India to Brexit to America is not the rise of a global right. But it is the fall of the liberals (elitists) to the movements (or leaders) that understand and acknowledge the reality of our times and inspire hope and action in the masses.

There is no global right camp. But there is a united global liberal (elitists) club which tries to make people “understand what is good for them” and let people choose their members as the cultural and political heads of the states.

Did you notice that there is nothing common between a cultural nationalist Narendra Modi and a racist and misogynistic Donald Trump, except that both of them royally trumped an arrogant, sanctimonious and politically correct liberal establishment? On the other hand look at umpteen similarities between a Hillary Clinton establishment and Lutyens’ Delhi. They match brick to brick. Their edifice is the same, their build up similar, designs exact!

Once upon a time the socialists and the communists represented the realities and aspirations of common man. It was a peoples’ movement. But at the turn of the last century the liberals (elitists) hijacked it, digested it. The movement that was born and nurtured to unseat the liberals (elitists) from the centres of cultutal and political power got itself tamed and domesticated in the hands of their opponents. Thus left liberalism was born.

Left stopped representing people long back, and there is no right that the people can look upto. Therefore all anti establishment movements find support of the people. This is the explanation for what we see around. Some of these have substance, others just fad of times. But one thing is for sure- these are the birth pangs of a new world order!

—

Srinath Mohandas

November 10, 2016

​Musings 66: Theology of Hate/ Poisoning our Children

(I request all my friends, especially my Muslim friends, to read this and share their thoughts. Request not to get carried away by emotions.)

The rapid rise and spread of religious fanaticism (in this case Islamist) is very scary. It is so real and near. The theologians of hate have been greatly successful in brainwashing and poisoning our children.
As I walked into the school today, I overheard a girl student complaining to one of my colleagues that a classmate of her has been appealing to them to convert to Islam “to save themselves from the eternal hell fire after death.” She was emotional (insecure) as she recounted how this boy repeatedly appealed her and her friends even after they clearly conveyed their disinterest in the topic.
I felt disturbed at this and spoke to her to get the fact of the matter. I was shocked to learn that the classmate she was referring to was one of my students from last year, whom I fondly remember as a very loving and soft spoken boy. I have had meetings with his parents (related to his academics) and had found them to be pleasant.
After listening to her, I sent her back to class assuring that I will look into it. I decided to talk and see what’s happening with him.
A few minutes later, I met him at the corridor. As usual he smiled at me with a “good morning sir.” I returned the greeting with a smile. It was breakfast hour and both of us were on our way to cafeteria. As we strolled towards the stairs I gently brought up the issue and asked if what I heard was true. His face turned serious. After about half a minute he replied, “yes sir”. I waited for him to continue. But he grew quiet. I encouraged him to speak and told that I am interested to know his side of the story.
“Sir, my mom recently completed a 3 years course in Islamic studies and is being felicitated at a convention this Sunday at  [asr] auditorium in Cudddalore (Tamil Nadu) . As part of the convention, learned [Islamic] scholars from Chennai and Saudi [Arabia] are coming. In the convention they will speak about [the glory of] Islam and appeal to all non-Muslims to convert to Islam. [One] thousand Hindus will embrace Islam on that day. They will also show [horiffic] videos of what will happen to non-Muslims after death. I saw a few them myself. It is horrific. I don’t want my [non-Muslim] friends to be tortured like that [after death].
“Sir, you will not believe. You will be shocked. I can give you links to the YouTube videos.”
[I am yet to verify the authenticity of what he said regarding the horiffic videos and mass conversion to Islam in Cuddalore on this Sunday]
As he concluded, I asked him if he really believed that “all non-Muslims will be condemned to eternal hell” by Allah. He replied in affirmative with conviction. I asked him how he was sure about it. The reply was, “the book says it. And the book is the word of the God.” I was surprised at the “faith” he has towards his holy (or unholy?) book.
I was very conscious of not provoking him or hurting his sentiments. After all he is sincere. He genuinely believe that being a Muslim is the only way to escape the horrors of hell arranged by the God (what kind of God that is?!) for the non believers. His young mind is not at fault. The fault is with whoever indoctrinated him to this violent and intolerant idea of Islam (religion).
I gently enquired what he thought about the idea of secularism that we had discussed in detail in the previous year in their political science course. I remember spending around 4 hours on the topic (over a week), discussing it from various stand points, reaching a consensus and encouraging all the students (which includes him) to take a pledge that they will forever uphold the secular and pluralist ethos of India as enshrined in Her sacred constitution. I had felt a lot of satisfaction that day. I had considered it my success as a teacher. Little did I realise then that the theologians of hate could undo all of it with such an ease.
He replied me with a blank stare. He was puzzled, unable to understand how the concept of secularism and pluralism related to what he told his friends today.
The bell rang. Breakfast time was over. I patted him on his back and told that we should continue our conversation at a later time. As we parted wishing good day to each other, he held my hand and said,
“Sir, I didn’t intend to hurt anyone. But I am scared that my [non-Muslim] friends, including you, are destined for hell. I don’t want that to happen.”
I was pained. I mentally directed all my rage at that wretched theologian who injected such stupidity, but deep seated fear in my student.
How long will we turn a blind eye towards this trying to be politically correct? It’s time we did something concrete. We should not let them poison our children.
– –

Srinath Mohandas

August 05, 2016

Musings 65: Bounce back

It is hard to deal with disappointments. It is harder if the disappointment is with oneself. 

It pushes you to utter despair when that habit which pulls you down, which shames you, which you vowed to break once for all, take revenge on you, at that opportune moment when you slip a bit in your awareness.
As that moment pass, when you realise that you are duped, that you have fallen from your ideal, you seethe in rage at yourself. “Why did I do what I did? Why did it happen to me?” That is when it grins at you. It tells you “See, that’s all what you are. Your vow? My foot!” It laughs at you and calls out loud “hypocrite.”
“Nooo! I’m Not!” You retort. You reason it out. Then you fight with it. Reiterate a thousand times that it wasn’t your fault, that it wasn’t intentional at all but was a split second’s lapse of guard.
Damage has already been done. That feeling has set in. It is overpowering you. Your body slack, your shoulder droop, head down, eyes well up. You curse that moment and wonder if you can ever be liberated of it. Yeah! Your self confidence is ruptured.
What can you do now? Calm down. Let the Mahabharata inside subside. Renew your vow. And most importantly commit yourself that you will never be off guard.
Sit quietly and realise that the price of freedom is eternal vigilance.
P.S.
kshurasya dhArA nishitA duratyayA

durgam pathah tat kavayah vadanti
The razor’s edge is difficult to walk on

Likewise the wise say the Path is hard.
-Katha Upanishad, 1.3.14
—

Srinath Mohandas

July 28, 2016

Musings 64: Insensitive

Had a very sad experience earlier today. My first thought was not to share this in public, for it isn’t something that make us proud. It was an instance of insensitivity and indifference to the plight of women and foreign guests.

My brother and I were on our way to Thrissur from Pondicherry, an 8.5 hours overnight journey in a luxury sleeper bus run by one of the private carriers. There were 3 foreign tourists with us. They seemed to be on their way to Ernakulam (10 hours from Pondicherry). One of them was a graceful looking lady of around 65 years. She was in the single berth, opposite to the one behind mine.

Around 5 in the morning, when the bus crossed Walayar, she felt the need to use washroom. The last urinal break was at 11 p.m (one hour into the journey). She got up, walked all the way to the driver’s cabin, and informed the staff sitting next to the driver. He asked her to wait for a few minutes before they stop at a suitable place with the facility. She came back and sat on her berth.

15 minutes passed and the bus was cruising on NH 47. The lady’s discomfort was growing by the second. She went and reminded the staff one more time. His reply was the same, asking her to wait for a few more minutes.

Another 10 minutes passed and there was no sign of bus slowing down. She walked down and reminded the person for a third time. Same reply, “please wait for a few more minutes”.

She was in agony when she came back and sat on her berth. Her face was down. I was seeing all of this and was feeling very sorry for her. I decided to speak to the driver and find a way to help her out. However by the time I rose from my berth, the bus had come to a stop. The staff came in and politely asked her to follow him. She thanked and followed him in a haste. Soon, 4 more passengers (all men) got up and followed to the facility.

What I saw next was something I didn’t expect. The bus was parked on the road side. There was no facility for urinal. All the passengers were relieving themselves in the open. And this elderly foreign lady had to stand right next to these men (no privacy whatsoever) and relieve herself.

I was really shocked and angered.  I should do something to help her. Would my response be the same if my mom/wife/sister/ friend was in such a situation? But what would I do?

By the time I rushed to the driver, the lady got back to the bus. She didn’t give eye to anyone. She was obviously embarassed. But she still didn’t forget to thank the driver and the staff.

—
Srinath Mohandas
May 01, 2016

Musings 63: Nani Gopal

How much can you and I suffer? What is the point beyond which our bodies collapse, minds derange and spirits break? Strange indeed is human spirit, that when inspired by an idea- a value,  it throws itself to the all consuming pyre of altruism.

Nani Gopal was one such hero from the days of revolutionary movement in the course of our nation’s independence. No, you will not find a mention of his name in the history text books and popular literature of independent India, for he was a revolutionary nationslist sentenced to transportation of life in Kalapani, a chapter our historians deemed unimportant in their frenzy to please the Nehru clan.

The young revolutionary from Bengal, Nani Gopal, was barely 16 years when he threw a bomb on the running car of a high ranking British official (sometime in 1912). He was not the one who would run away after the act. He stood the ground and got arrested. He faced the trial calm, did not plead for any leniency, and readied himself for the capital punishment. It was utter disappointment to him when he realised that the British Govt. had other plans. They robbed him of the opportunity of martyrdom and sentenced him for transportation of life for 25 years to Kalapani, the notorious Silver Jail of Andaman.

Nani hailed from a Brahmin family where he spent much of his childhood in Veda recital and studies.  His constitution wasn’t strong and his body wasn’t trained for hard labour. But that’s no excuse when he was put in the prison mill to turn the “Kolu”, 10 hours a day, to extract 30-40 lbs of oil from the heap of coconuts allotted to him- a work that would challenge even the toughest of the beasts. He went round and round the Kolu, day after day, commanding all the strength he could from his fragile body.

He was thus reconciled to his fate and passing his days when he learnt that he, along with some of the other political prisoners, were stripped of that title and were counted among the dacoits, bandits and the petty criminals. His honour was outraged and he wouldn’t take that lying.

A political prisoner had to suffer far greater hardships than a criminal. But he would still want to be categorised as the former, for he was one among them, and decided to fight for his right to be called one. He stopped working in the Kolu and went on a hunger strike. Soon he was segregated from other prisoners (on the ground that they, all of whom elder to him, were spoiling him) and was kept standing through day and night with menacles on. The more he was punished the wilder he grew. He escalated the fight by giving up wearing clothes. The jail warder was infuriated and in his order the petty officers held him fast on the ground, put clothes made of rough gunny bags upon of him, and sewed them on his body. But Nani managed to tear them off at night.

The warder went a step ahead in torture. Nani was put in chain, with his hands and legs tied up. Nani retaliated by giving up his speech… maun vrata, that’s his new weapon of fight! He refused to answer any question that was put to him. He also refused to stand up before any officer.

Solitary confinement was the next in line. And Nani responded by refusing to come out of it, even for bath. He was then bodily lifted, stark naked to be washed on the reservoir. He was stretched flat upon it and the petty officers scrubbed his body with pieces of dry coarse coconut shreds till his flesh tore and blood oozed out from all the pores. Nani would bear all of it with out a word.

Nani remained day and night stripped in body and shivering with cold on the bare floor of his prison cell. He mainatained his demand throughout, that the prison authorities should rank him among political prisoners. It wasn’t a question of rank for him, but a question of personal honour… to be counted as a foot soldier in the cause of his nation’s freedom. He want the British to acknowledge it and till then he wouldn’t budge.

This led David Barrie, the jailor of the dreaded prison, to order the last resort of caning (which was abolished under the Morley Minto reforms of 1909). But Nani was upto it with a smile. He was locked in the frame to execute the most inhuman of the tortures. The prison was ready, all other prisoners were locked up in their cells for the jailer feared an outbreak of a revolt when the piercing cries of Nani echoed the walls of the prison.

However on an after thought, the punishment was put off, for they were unnerved by the prospect of his martyrdom in the process. Therefore he was transferred to the prison hospital where he was forcefully fed a little quanity of milk everyday through a tube running down his nose.

Months passed (not sure how many), one day as the prisoners sat down for their meal they were startled by an ecstatic cry, “Brothers! We are free!” It was Nani Gopal! And he went on,

“Brethren we are all born free. It is our birth right to speak to one another with love and kind greetings. If any enemy were to deprive us of that right, we must challenge him. Here I am speaking to you and will continue speaking.”

Hardly had these words escaped his lips, when, bursting with rage, the jailor and the warder rushed at him. Undaunted, Nani continued his eloquence. He was lifted out of the hall and locked up in a room for another year.

He continued to fight his complete non-cooperation until, finally, the British command in India came out with a special notification on the subject. It finally budged to his demand and ruled in his favour! It is not only that Nani won his demand, but he also helped his fellow prisoners secure many of their fundemental rights.
…

The mention of Nani Gopal and the events related to him came into my notice when I was reading Vinayak Damodar Savarkar in his ‘Story of My Transportation for Life’. It has touched me beyond words and I wish many more of us will take the effort to bring back to life many more such heroes burried in our one and a half century long war for independence.

My humble pranam at the memory of this great patriot. May he inspire many more generations to come.

P.S.
Since this narration is dedicated to the spirited story of Nani Gopal, equally spirited fight offered by many other political (and non-political) prisoners is not mentioned here. However, one should not fail to acknowledge their collective efforts in securing the rights.

—
Srinath Mohandas
April 22, 2016

Musings 62: On Netaji Subash Chandra Bose

April 02, 2016

The first time I listened to Netaji story was when I was 10 years old. It was a Sunday afternoon. My gran pa (paternal) was watching the 5 o’clock Malayalam news. I was sitting on the floor drawing, crayons and sketch pencils scattered all around. The reader broke some news related to Netaji and my gran pa was listening to it intently. He expressed disbelief over some of the contents of the report and I became very curious. I asked him who Netaji Subash Chandra Bose was. He didn’t reply.

It was around 6 o’clock and I was still enjoying my drawing. He called me from the gate and asked if I would like to join him for a walk. I closed my drawing book (didn’t bother about the scattered colours) and rushed outside. I was very fond of him. He told me stories of his childhood. That evening too he had a fascinating story to tell.

My gran pa was 16 years old when he joined the Indian Air Force as an airman under the British command. He served during the WW II till he was discharged after an attack of smallpox.

A few minutes into the walk, he asked me if I knew who Netaji was? I replied in negative. He told me that when he was young, Netaji was his super hero, that he believed it was Netaji who will win India freedom. He went on to tell the thrilling story of Netaji’s daring escape from house arrest, his run incognito from Calcutta to Kabul to Berlin, his meeting with the world leaders, his 90 days submarine journey from Berlin to Tokyo via Cochin, his raising a huge nationalist army singlehandedly, his call for Azadi and “Dilli chalo” slogan, his final (unsuccessful) march to liberate our motherland, the fateful air crash at Formosa…. Every word my gran pa spoke that evening sparkled with his love and admiration for Netaji and Mother India as they sank deep into my heart.

He also remembered how there was a heated discussion among his colleagues on Netaji’s INA marching to Delhi and the moral correctness of an Indian soldier under the British command to strike them. (Later I found out that one of the key missions of IAF during WW II was the blocking of the advance of the Japanese Army in Burma)

I was all ears. Various emotions rose in me. I was thrilled. I was inspired. I felt pain.

As he wound up this gripping tale, I asked him if he ever believed that Netaji survived the air crash and that he will return some day?

He replied, “Had he survived, he wouldn’t have left us (Indians) to our fate in the hands of these thugs.”

I wish my gran pa lived this day to know that Netaji didn’t perish in any air crash but the thugs he was referring to (politicians) colluded with the enemy and prevented his return forever.

—

Musing 61: The Teacher (in Me)

February 13, 2016

“When would I know that I have succeeded as a teacher?” I asked the 9th graders as we concluded yet another gripping session of their History and Political Science course. It was instinctive, a question which I myself haven’t thought about in detail.

They looked at me intently. Half a minute passed by the time Vikashini replied. “When we raise questions and express opinions in class, when we give the right responses to the questions you ask,” she said.

“When all of us score an A1 in the SA (Summative Assessment),” replied Kavya from the last row. She is one of the students who score 100% consistently.

Irsath had a different view. He thought that my success as a teacher depended on how many admirers I made.

“All of what you said are desirable, but none of them is the answer,” I replied. Yet again instinctively.

Now all eyes are on me. They want to hear from their teacher what define his success. I was blank for a second. And I said,

“I consider myself successful when I make Vivekanandas out of you.. when Gandhis, Ambedkars, Niveditas, Lakshmi Bhais and Bharatiyaars are born in this class.”

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. I was surprised to hear what I just said. It was like somebody else spoke through me while I remained a witness.

“What?! Who am I to make a Vivekananda? What did I just blabber?” Was my first thought as that moment of inspiration passed.

But the self doubt disappeared the moment I saw sparkle in their eyes.Those words have touched them deep inside. They are kindled.

It wasn’t my words. I was just a mike. The force that spoke through me will make it happen for sure. Why should I worry?

—

Musings 60: Make or Break a Child

January 06, 2016

In the recently concluded Formative Assessment, one of my 6th graders had done really well. He scored an A1 in Social Science. I congratulated him and the class gave him a standing ovation. He was beaming.

As I left the class, he rushed to me and asked excitedly, “Sir, I really got an A1.. no?” I smiled and reassured that he did great and I am very proud of him.

The next day he met me outside the class. His eyes welled up. I knew something was wrong. I gently wrapped him in my arms and asked what it was. He said,

“My amma won’t believe me. She said I was lying. She says that I can never expect an A1. I have never got a grade higher than B2 so far. So how can I get an A1this time?”

I didn’t know what to say.
………………………………………….

Dear parents and teachers, we can make or break a child. Beware!

—

Meditation 6

June 19, 2014

Kolathur Advaita Ashram

I am fortunate to spend time with Swami Ramanandaji, Guru Bhai of Gurudev Swami Chinmayanandaji and a direct disciple of one of the greatest Masters of 20th century, Swami Shivananda Saraswati.

The 87 years old Mahatma, also used to share a special bond with Sri Swami Tapovan Maharaj and had spent time in proximity with him.

When I requested the Master, to share an episode with Tapovan ji, he narrated the following incident.

“I was in my early 20s, staying at Shivananda ashram in Rishikesh. I also used to go to Uttarkashi to meet Sri Swami Tapovanam. During one of those visits, Swamiji asked me to pay a visit to an “amma” performing rigorous “tapas” in a neighboring cave on the shores of Ganga. I went there, saw her from a distance and returned.

“Swamiji told me that she was a Yogini of the highest order who is getting ready to “give up” her body (attain Maha Samadhi) in a few days time. He asked me to stay back and return only after witnessing the most auspicious sight of Mahasamadhi.

“On the appointed day we went to her cave in anticipation. At the most auspicious hour, she twitched in her seat of Tapas, drew three breaths deep and lifted herself up (seated in padmasana posture). She then moved (through air!) and dipped herself in the raging Ganga!

“With prayer on lips we stood spectators through out.”