Ranjit Kulkarni's Blog, page 18

New Book: 2 BHK for Rent

My new book “2 BHK for Rent” is now available. You can check it out at the link below:

 

Inspired by experiences while living in an urban apartment, 2 BHK for Rent is a set of common place stories that will surprise you with the stories behind people we know and see, provoke thought about everyday observations and often bring a smile on your face or a tear down your cheeks. The stories in this collection will take you on an urban sojourn where life may not be always the way it looks!

These are some of the twenty-one stories included in this book:

Outside the main gate, what happens when the security guard tries to quell a disturbance in the middle of the night? Find out in A Brawl at Midnight

When a senior citizen father tries to sell his old scooter, what are the memories below the surface that emerge? Read about it in Scooter for Sale

Find out what happens when a couple discovers complications that await them while they invite people for A Birthday at Home

How does the life of a man with good intentions who wants to take care of his dead brother’s son shape up? Read about such a man in Big Daddy’s Second Son

What happens to a senior woman always waiting for the phone call of her son living abroad when she discovers that she has only One Life to Live?

What are the secrets behind a house maid’s Paid Leave?

What is intriguing about An Old Flame who moves in next door? Or the young man pretending to be what he is not when he is looking for a 2BHK for Rent?

Hope you check it out and let me know how you find it!

***

Bheeshma: Dharma and a Death Preordained

After the vow, Shantanu and Satyavati’s marriage culminated, and as we know, they had two sons, Chitrangada and Vichitravirya.

Chitrangada was a fierce warrior and extremely proud of it, which turned out to be the reason for his early death. As the name of the brave king Chitranganda spread far and wide, it turned out that a celestial being with the same name felt pangs of envy and challenged him into a fight. The warrior code and his pride made sure that, despite warnings from Bheeshma and others that he was stepping on fire, Chitranganda entered the fight against that being and perished. That meant that it left Vichitravirya to take charge of the throne of Hastinapur.

Being the elder brother almost equivalent to the father, it was Bheeshma’s responsibility after Shantanu passed away to arrange for a suitable queen for Vichitravirya. At that time, he heard of the swayamvar ceremony in the kingdom of Kashi for the king’s three daughters Amba, Ambika and Ambalika. Not only did he barge into that event, but basically won over and carried away the three of them as brides for Vichitravirya. The only person who resisted Bheeshma’s valour was Shalva who lost the duel.

In all the melee in which Bheeshma presented the three princesses to Satyavati as Vichitravirya’s queens, no one asked them what they wanted. It turned out that Amba was in love secretly with Shalva and had fixed for him to win her over at the swayamvar. But nobody had expected Bheeshma to land up and force them to toss their plans away. But Bheeshma heard her out when she told him and even escorted her back to Shalva. But being a king who had lost her in a duel, and she being won over by someone else, Shalva found it tough to accept Amba. Bheeshma then tried to convince Vichitravirya to take her back, but he refused saying there’s no point in marrying someone who had given her heart to another man. Amba demanded now that Bheeshma should marry her as he is responsible for this turn of events, which Bheeshma rejected outright given the vow of celibacy.

A woman spurned not by one but by three men is no doubt dangerous and Amba turned out to be that and furious. She did not go back to Kashi but to the forests where she begged the sages to help her. One of them guided her to Parashuram who had already fought and finished the Kshatriyas twenty one times. He was in no mood to fight with them again and moreover, Bheeshma was his favorite student and protégé. But Amba was unrelenting and that led Parashuram to approach Bheeshma with his request for reconciliation. That didn’t work and it led him to a fight again. It was a fierce battle that lasted twenty seven days and finally Bheeshma was on the verge of victory due to a special weapon to which Parashuram had no reply. But the Gods told him not to use it and he, wisely, took their counsel when he saw Parashuram drop his arms too. It was a defeat of sorts for Parashuram who had singlehandedly defeated the Kshatriyas twenty one times and the sign of Bheeshma’s ferocity as a warrior. Both of them went their own ways with Parashuram telling Amba he had tried everything and can’t do anything more.

But Amba wasn’t willing to accept her destiny. She went further to the forests and after intense penance got a benediction from Lord Shiva that she will be the cause of Bheeshma’s death. It was only then that she gave up her body and left the earth.

It turned out that she reappeared in her next birth as the daughter turned son of Dhrupad and sister of Draupadi named Shikhandi. King Dhrupad had prayed to Lord Shiva for a son and had got their prayers answered. So despite the fact that a daughter was born they declared that they had a son and brought the daughter up like a son. It was only when he / she got married to a princess and the princess complained that she had been conned by being married to a girl that it became clear what Shikhandi’s gender was. Distraught, Shikhandi took to the forests and met a celestial Yaksha who agreed to exchange his gender out of compassion. Shikhandi the man then returned to the kingdom to everyone’s surprise. Things were hunky dory for a while till Kuber asked the Yaksha to get his gender back or else suffer the consequences. Fortunately, the Yaksha explained his deeds and Shikhandi remained a man, though born a woman. He was Amba reborn, which would haunt Bheeshma till the end, and become the reason for his dropping arms when Krishna brought Shikhandi in front of Bheeshma in his fight with Arjuna.

Bheeshma’s death in a sense was preordained long ago when he caused Amba’s fury. At a literary level, one might think this is all a make believe world of fantasy. But at a moral ethical level, Bheeshma faced situations where he was forced to choose between options that all might have been right. He could have broken his vow and married Amba or he could have prevented Amba from doing the penance required to get the benediction that turned out to be fatal. Or at worst, he could have used military tactics to prevent Shikhandi from facing him. Despite knowing what was in store all along, Bheeshma followed the path of dharma and made his choices based on that. There is no escaping one’s own karma which he faced valiantly on the battlefield, especially when he realised that it was orchestrated by the Lord Krishna and took it as His will. Therefore, at literary, ethical and spiritual levels, this preordained episode that loomed large over Bheeshma’s life is a lesson on following the path of dharma despite all odds. For that reason alone, Bheeshma is often said to be the character closest to perfection in the epic.

Packing

Swami woke up the following day counting his blessings and realised that the tally did add to something that was not insubstantial by any means.

“We have each other for company first,” he told Jigneshbhai and me.

“And I have a boss like Raichand who gave me a week of leave on his own,” he said, recollecting the only positive feature of a not much-loved creature.

“Moreover, I have no unnecessary stress like Purno to make up for a wasted life,” he added, remembering his long-lost friend after a while.

“And no restless dreams like Ishita and Puneet to lose sleep over,” he continued, recalling the lovebirds.

“So, overall, we are in a good place.” The Sunday morning turned out to be bright and sunny even with Swami’s blurry vision.

But visions of abundance are in short supply in Swami’s head. He runs out of them quickly. After a few recollections of plenty, his eyes fall on something that is in short supply. I have realised that, unfortunately, there’s little that I or Jigneshbhai or even Swami himself can do about it. It is just the nature of things. Seeing what’s lacking is not a manufacturing defect. It’s a product feature in the case of Swami.

“But what should we carry to the farmhouse? Food, I am certain we will need to carry, at least some of it,” he started his list. “Shridhar Mama might have a cook but I am not sure.”

“Maybe you can check with him?” Jigneshbhai teased him knowing that another encounter with Shridhar Mama was not Swami’s preference.

“This time you should call him,” Swami retorted with a wink. It was one of the rare occasions when he understood Jigneshbhai’s sarcasm.

“I need my coffee in the morning, so I will carry it. Should we take some idli batter?” Swami asked. Jigneshbhai saw the funny side of it, but Swami didn’t find anything odd with this proposition.

Among the many things towards which Jigneshbhai has a minimalistic attitude, packing was high on the list. Hence, the idea of packing all and sundry was alien to him.

“Why not carry some milk and some sambaar mix? Perhaps even the idli cooker?” He countered Swami’s proposal. This time Swami didn’t get the sarcasm. One catch in a day was enough for him, shooting his lifetime average through the roof.

“That will be too much. I don’t know if we will have a fridge there to store milk. And the cooker is too unwieldy to carry,” he rejected the claim on plain logical grounds.

“Hmmm, then what about your breakfast?” Jigneshbhai teased him further.

There are few things in life as precious as his idli sambaar breakfast for Swami. With an expression on his face that demonstrated the ultimate sacrifice that he had been called upon to make in the interest of convenience, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, one can’t always get everything in life.”

Jigneshbhai and I sighed in appreciation of the great idli breakfast sacrifice by the food martyr.

“As an alternative, we can carry some cheese and bread with us, so we can have sandwiches, if we need to,” Swami found a replacement consolation for his breakfast sacrifice. Jigneshbhai and I wondered whether Shridhar Mama’s farmhouse was so deep in the middle of nowhere that we had to prepare so much. But neither of us had the wherewithal to find out.

“Alright, sounds good,” I said in agreement.

“What else? Clothes and personal stuff?” Swami meanwhile started his list.

“Yes, obviously we can’t skip that,” Jigneshbhai said.

“And maybe some cards or games?”

“Perhaps, I can carry some.”

“Maybe some books to read?”

“Not a bad idea.”

“And don’t forget music for the car journey. I have a collection.”

“Okay.”

“By the way, I need to check my car for petrol and tyres.”

“Alright.”

“Maybe I will get it serviced on Monday.”

“Perfect.”

“One more thing struck me. Should we take my driver Puttuswamy?”

“No need.”

Swami’s brain was in overdrive already. Jigneshbhai tried to get it into lower gear by his monosyllabic single word replies. But when a rocket reaches a certain escape velocity (isn’t that what they call it when they launch space missions?), then gravity cannot pull it down. It has a self-sustaining power that lets it move ahead. Swami’s packing rocket had reached that escape velocity. Jigneshbhai and I were mere observers from earth watching it fly. And he wasn’t done yet.

“And, by the way, pack the toothpaste and toothbrush and all the toiletries last,” Swami’s standard operating procedure for packing continued.

“I pack it all together and every time I wonder if I have packed it or not and then search for it everywhere. And then I realise I have packed it. And then on the day of the journey I have to unpack it again as I have to use it. And then on the journey, I wonder if I repacked it or not. And so I ask my hotel to give me a set. And finally, when I reach midway into my suitcase after a couple of days, I find it – there it is hiding all the while.”

Phew! Yesterday we got tired after Shridhar Mama’s pompous talk. And today the same talking genes in his nephew tired us again with an overdose. Swami spoke like a man who, after losing his voice, suddenly rediscovers it and realises that there’s a limited time within which to use it before it will go again.

“Okay, got it,” Jigneshbhai and I complied, and mentally made a note of packing our toothbrush last.

“And yes, I remembered,” Swami charged. “Do we need sports shoes? And an additional set of sandals?” he asked. Jigneshbhai and I twiddled our fingers.

“We don’t plan to go anywhere else,” Jigneshbhai said. He tried to evade the proposal to pack extra footwear.

“Yeah, but just in case,” Swami argued for a remote possibility.

“Alright,” Jigneshbhai said. His dream of a peaceful getaway was on pause. The nightmare of Swami pulling him for a run in sports shoes had shattered it.

“And if we carry sports shoes, then we might as well carry some badminton racquets and shuttle. There’s a lot of space at the farmhouse, I recollect,” Swami added.

One thing leads to another in packing. It is called the network multiplier effect.

“Hmm, maybe,” Jigneshbhai acquiesced with reluctance. His idea of minimalistic packing went out of the window.

“Yeah. And I am thinking of some basic medicines like pain spray or painkillers? And some basic paracetamol and tablets for indigestion?” It was fruitless to stand in the way of a packing tsunami.

Jigneshbhai and I stayed silent. “Don’t worry, I will carry them. We don’t want to end up with a sprain after a game of badminton, or an upset stomach after a sumptuous meal. Isn’t it?” Swami had thought of all possibilities. It was hard to argue against such a need. Everything seemed logical.

“Good, what else?” Swami asked.

“There’s more?” Jigneshbhai checked his uncharacteristic rising temperature.

“I guess we don’t need any warm clothes?” Swami had a doubt.

“We are going to a place three hours from Ghatembur. Not the Himalayas.” A man of tremendous patience, Jigneshbhai showed the first sign of some despair.

“Yeah, I know. We are thinking too much,” Swami said and dropped the idea. “But I am missing something,” he added.

“I am sure you will not miss anything. Except some peace,” Jigneshbhai said, this time with an irritated scowl.

But Swami’s head was on its own trip.

“Yes, now I remember. We need a camera. We need to create memories!” He said with a wave of excitement. Jigneshbhai tried to pour some cold water over it. “We have our phones for it.”

“But we are near nature. So, we need one good camera for some good shots. I will carry my DSLR,” Swami declared. It was another of his toys he had got and not used much later. “The amateur photographer feels professional with this toy,” Jigneshbhai had told me once on an earlier trip somewhere.

“And I will get one lens for a long shot and one for a closer one. Should I get my tripod? No, let it be.” Swami had his accessories also ready for packing.

“What else?” Jigneshbhai asked this time in a tone of despondency. “I am sure we are missing something else.” An air of inexplicable melancholy surrounded the normally cheerful man.

“Yeah,” Swami didn’t get the sarcasm though.

I had read somewhere that when a person gets a sudden shock to his peaceful existence, he goes through phases of denial and anger till he accepts the inevitable. I wondered where Jigneshbhai was in this cycle, currently.

“Sunglasses and caps, and a water bottle?” Swami said, snapping his fingers. Our friend had moved from warm clothes to heat protection.

“Okay,” Jigneshbhai had given up all hopes of recovery by now. It looked like he had now accepted the inevitable new reality of his life. He was back to his peaceful self after a brief phase of turbulence.

“That is it, I guess,” Swami finally relented. Jigneshbhai and I heaved a sigh of relief. With the packing out of the way, we were all set.

Well, the packing turned out to be a bit more stressful than expected. But Jigneshbhai and I told ourselves that once we got there, it was going to be a few days of calm, peace, and rest. That’s what we thought. In hindsight, I can now see that we were a tad too optimistic.

***

The Law of Incremental Growth

Excerpts from ‘7 Divine Laws To Awaken Your Best Self’ by Swami Mukundananda

The Law of Incremental Growth – Personal excellence and life mastery can only be achieved by consistent small steps of incremental improvement.

As you strive to improve yourself, the velocity of your self-transformation keeps speeding up. The reason is that any learned behaviour becomes easier with every repetition, until it finally becomes a habit.

The choice we have is whether to bear the good kind of pain that leads to progress, prosperity, knowledge, and enlightenment; or to choose the wrong kind of pain that is initially pleasurable, but later results in stagnation, ill health, ignorance, and discontentment.

The nature of the mind and senses is such that if you give them an inch, they want a mile. But if you practice taming them with firm determination, they soon subside, and you become a better person.

If we become convinced of an imperative reason for doing something, we suddenly find hidden reserves of energy to perform herculean tasks.

When we practice controlling our mind, that is the exercise of willpower. And when we develop suitable beliefs in our intellect, that provides us with why-power.

Amongst all the internal machinery we possess – the intellect is supreme.

***

Bheeshma: Backstory, Birth and the Vow

Right from creation starting with Brahma, the first king in the Sun dynasty was Vivasvin and subsequently there was a lunar branch to it in which Bharat was the most successful emperor. In that dynasty, which is the earliest descendent of the Kurus, was a king named Mahabheesha.

Mahabheesha was a very righteous king and due to his deeds, he got elevated to heaven after his death, and once, got the opportunity to be part of an assembly which had Brahma, the Devatas and all esteemed members of the heavenly community present. In that was also Ganga Devi who faced a strange situation due to heavy winds where her clothes flew away. When this happened, the heavenly participants, as per dharma, turned their sight elsewhere, but Mahabheesha didn’t. Even Ganga apparently didn’t feel discomfited by the stares of Mahabheesha. All of this was seen by Brahma who was infuriated at both of them. It resulted in a curse that Mahabheesha will have to go back to earth in human form and so will Ganga. But given his past record of good deeds, Mahabheesha was allowed to choose who he would like to be born as, and after careful deliberation, he chose to be born as the third son of one of his own descendents, King Pratipa. This third son, Mahabheesha reborn, was Shantanu. Ganga initially attempted to go down to earth as Pratipa’s wife, but he himself was a renunciant by then, and suggested that she can be his daughter in law in the form of the wife of his son Shantanu.

Now, Shantanu had forgotten his past history as Mahabheesha but still maintained some of those character traits. While Ganga being an original heavenly person remembered everything and the objective of her descent to earth. Therefore she had the privilege of doing her acts on earth to make up for her misdemeanor, while still maintaining her heavenly attributes. Before she went to earth, she saw a set of eight brothers, namely the Vasus, who are among the servants of the Devatas, crying in misery.

There was a Backstory to that too. It so happened that these eight Vasus had seen Kamdhenu, the cow of Sage Vasishta and one of them, on the bidding of his wife, had tried to snatch the heavenly cow, in the process angering the sage. The sage had cursed all of them to take human birth on earth, against which they had pleaded with all their heart. The sage then said that in that case, they will still have to take birth, but seven of them would have short lives and come back to heaven soon. But the eighth one who had done the actual misdeeds of trying to steal Kamdhenu would have to live a long and full life and that too, without the pleasures of a wife, because he had fallen prey to the demand of his wife for Kamdhenu this time.

Now these Vasus begged Ganga to become their mother while she completed her term on earth. Taking pity on them, Ganga agreed to their request, saying she will drown the first seven on birth, and also try doing the same for the eighth, so that they can quickly return to heaven.

Therefore, Ganga took the form of a beautiful woman on earth. One fine day, Shantanu, formerly Mahabheesha, who had ascended to the throne after his father Pratipa had renounced it and his two elder brothers had refused to take up the role too, saw Ganga and was bewitched. He proposed to Ganga to marry her and be his queen to which Ganga agreed, but on one condition. That was that he will not interfere in her life and provide her full freedom to do whatever she does without any questions asked. Shantanu being in love, agreed to her and Ganga became his queen.

They had seven children as was preordained and Ganga, to Shantanu’s utter dismay, drowned all of them, one after the other, in the river. But because of the promise, he couldn’t ask her why she did such a gruesome act on their children, and restrained himself. Finally when she tried to drown the eighth child, he could not stop himself from asking her the reason for such cruelty. She told him the reason and who she was, but also said that he had broken his promise, and therefore, she will now go back to heaven. Shantanu urged her to take the eighth son along with her, to which she agreed and went away.

Many years later, Shantanu on a walk realised that the river Ganga had dried up. Unable to understand how a river as mighty as the Ganga could dry up, he followed the trail and saw that a noble youngster had built a dam on the Ganga simply using his skills of archery. He wished to know who he was and Ganga Devi appeared and told him that he was Devavrat, their son, who had been trained in all skills that kings need as well as all the wisdom of the scriptures by the choicest teachers of heaven. Shantanu was mighty pleased and appointed him as the prince regent and his worthy successor, to everyone’s joy.

But we know what Devavrat was destined for, from his backstory. Therefore the twist in the tale happened a few years after his appointment as the heir apparent.

Shantanu, perhaps due to his own past traits or other reasons, one day was attracted by a fragrance that took him in the direction of a Matsya princess named Satyavati. She had her own backstory of being found by a fisher woman in a fish stomach, and another blessing to prevent the foul smell, that she would have a fragrance that would be irresistible. Shantanu, on reaching the source of the fragrance, saw that she was surrounded by her community and hence, being the king, approached her father for her hand in marriage.

In normal circumstances, such a proposal of an alliance from the emperor should have overjoyed the father of Satyavati who, though he was a king, to put it in context, wasn’t of the stature of Shantanu. But this father was more ambitious than that. He asked Shantanu that he would give Satyavati in marriage, if he promised that her son would succeed Shantanu as the king. Now this was not possible, as Devavrat was already the heir apparent, and hence Shantanu returned in despair.

This despair was visible to his son Devavrat who made some enquiries and found the reason for his father’s despair. In normal circumstances, one would think that a son who hasn’t even been brought up by Shantanu would just let things be. He had no particular affinity for Shantanu as he was brought up mainly by Ganga in heaven. But call it his own call towards dharma, or his preordained destiny due to his backstory, some things are inevitable. Devavrat volunteered to give up his claim to the throne so that his father may be able to accept the conditions set by Satyavati and her father. But when Shantanu went forth with his acceptance, it turned out that even that wasn’t enough to quell their suspicion. Satyavati and her father raised the doubt that while Devavrat may have given up his right to the throne, his future progeny will seek their claim, and Satyavati’s children may not succeed Shantanu, after all.

This is what led Devavrat to make the mighty promise that at first might appear to be completely lacking in sense of proportion. He declared that he will not only give up his right to the throne, but will not marry and stay celibate all his life. If that wasn’t enough to convince anyone, he vowed that he will devote his life to serve the throne of Hastinapur all his life.

The Gods from heaven blessed Devavrat and showered the name of Bheeshma on him. This was an exemplary act of sacrifice for a person who was supposed to be the prince regent and heir to the throne. Not only had he given up that claim but also promised to live a renunciate’s life while serving the future kings. This was a double sacrifice that combined the highest sacrifices of the warrior and priestly classes, and hence qualified to be the biggest sacrifice possible. Hence the name Bheeshma – indicating huge and terrible.

As a result of this, Shantanu was filled with both joy and grief. While his marriage to Satyavati was now possible, the sacrifice that Devavrat, now Bheeshma, had to make filled him with grief. Shantanu due to his past deeds as Mahabheesha, had the ability to bless Devavrat and in that moment, he bestowed the blessing of Death by his own choice to Bheeshma, who could now choose the timing of his departure from this earth.

If one were to analyse these events in a literal sense, each of the characters have a reason to do what they did. At a moral or ethical level, Bheeshma followed dharma to the extreme. And at a spiritual level, one can say that Bheeshma’s was a destiny preordained by the Lord to play the role that he had set for him for the future as part of His plan.

Bheeshma’s birth and vow are the single most important back stories in the epic which set the stage for Satyavati’s children and the next generation. If not for this, things were all set for Devavrat to succeed Shantanu and none of the events of the epic would have followed. Therefore, Bheeshma’s vow is a significant event in the early part of the epic, signifying Bheeshma’s extreme adherence to dharma throughout his life and eventual death.

Love@25: Valentine Poem

I am not a reader or writer of poetry. But I scribbled a bunch of lines (on demand!) on our 25th Wedding Anniversary. I chanced upon it today and thought it might also pass off as a decent Valentine Day Poem. Here it goes:

Love at 25 is the oxygen around you,
Love is the atmosphere that envelops you with its presence

Love starts with growing up, then becomes showing up and then always being there
Love yet remains walking as one together, holding hands in hot and cold weather

Love is shifting cities without battling an eyelid
Love is travelling in an auto to office and then to pick up a kid

Love is being the daughter to my mother and then father
Love is taking care of them when I am in some country another

Love is tolerating my oft-repeated insanity
Of chasing goals, then investing, health and then some spirituality

Love is laughing with each other on birthdays, anniversaries and just like that
Love is being the anchor when there are tears, in silence or over a chat

Love is being the wind beneath my wings and allowing me the freedom to land
Love is also flying to find your sky, of seeking your own nirvana grand

Love is going places together, of clicking and posting pictures, and then letting go
Love is to travel a lot on the outside, and then cover some distance on the inside too

***

 

Flying Colours

The one thing Jigneshbhai likes is a quiet life. He is not the kind who gets restless and worked up when there is not much happening. Give Jigneshbhai his daily freedom, his daily work and his daily food, and the company of a few loved ones and friends to talk with, not all the time but off and on, and he will be happy for days on end.

So, when he called me with a lot of trepidation, which is rare for a person like Jigneshbhai, and said, “tomorrow we meet at Swami’s house”, I couldn’t stop myself from asking him what the matter was.

“Swami needs to be home as he is getting his house painted,” he replied, sounding rather colourless for a generally cheerful man.

Painting can be a fairly messy affair as all of you might know. With Swami, generally even the smallest of things can assume epic messy proportions. It was no wonder then, that Jigneshbhai was worried that his quiet life might undergo some short-term turbulence.

At the entrance of Swami’s house, we were welcomed by a bunch of chappals indicating that there were visitors before us already inside. We saw a few boxes of paint lying on the floor. Next to them were a few brushes. I could see a big can of what looked like white paint and another with some white paste. There was a big wooden ladder and lots of waste papers and plastic sheets lying on the floor. There were three people who themselves looked painted and we gathered that they were the painters. Swami had a big catalogue in his hand and was standing in the middle of this mess.

“How will pearl organza look on this wall?” He suddenly asked. Jigneshbhai and I wondered if he was asking us. We leaned forward to check the colour Swami was pointing to.

“It’s nice and sober,” Jigneshbhai remarked. “But it’s almost like that white paint,” he said, pointing to that big can on the floor.

“That’s not white paint, Jigneshbhai. That’s the primer, and next to it is the putty. They will put 1 coat putty, 2 coats primer and 2 coats paint on the walls and 2 coats putty on the ceiling,” Swami explained with finesse.

Swami described putties, primers and paint with the familiarity of idli, vada and sambar that he has for breakfast every day. I don’t know about you, but I have noticed that there is something about painting one’s house that makes one an expert in all things related to paint. It takes over your life. Swami was no exception. Primer, putty, emulsions, enamels, textures all became commonplace terms as if he had been painting houses for years.

“But pearl organza is not white. Come look here,” Swami called us. He opened a set of colour shades from his catalogue and held them up, presumably so that we can see them in the light. Apart from pearl organza, there were winter mood, oatmeal cream, eggshell mist, bone charm and various such shades. Jigneshbhai briefly whispered, “Why does white have such exotic names?” But I left his question at that for the moment. All of these shades seemed more or less like white to me and Jigneshbhai. But people who paint their houses probably get a third eye which enables them to see invisible tinges in shades that other mere mortals can’t. You have to have the eye for seeing them which is revealed to you only after you spend a few hard days of penance with putties, primers and shade cards of paint.

“See, this one has a tinge of ivory, this one has a light biscuit shade, and this one has a slight coffee shade, very light, not like our strong filter coffee but the milky coffee we get up North,” he explained with a rarely seen passion for colour combined with an often seen passion for coffee. I could sense that, given the late afternoon hour, Jigneshbhai was thinking more about real coffee and biscuits than the ones whose tinges Swami was pointing out in the colour. But he said, “Yeah you are right, so that’s pearl organza with the slight coffee shade, it’s not white”.

“Yeah it seems to have a mix of ivory and coffee shade,” I added, not to be left out. Actually, I hadn’t seen any coffee or ivory there. But it would look bad that we didn’t get it after such passionate explanation. So, some participation is a sign of decency. But it turned out that both of us were bad students of colour.

“Actually, the other one with the biscuit shade is pearl organza,” Swami corrected both of us.

Our colour vision clearly left a lot to be desired. Thankfully the real coffee and biscuits arrived, saving us any further embarrassment, and Jigneshbhai and I got some relief. We focused on the real thing and let Swami continue.

Swami’s explanations in detail continued, followed by Jigneshbhai’s single word exclamations.

“We are using luxury emulsion on the walls and premium oil enamel on the windows and doors.”

“Amazing.”

“One of the living room and bedroom walls will have texture paint. We are thinking of some shade of gold rust and roast saffron.”

“Wow.”

“One is going to be canvas and the other is going to be ragging. What do you guys think?”

Jigneshbhai and I looked at each other blankly wondering what is canvas and ragging. It was like the surprise quiz question in a class you aren’t paying attention to. Listening to this medley of colour standing in the middle of plastic, paper and paint felt a lot like ragging to us. But these were relatively minor inconveniences for Swami who was lost in the world of painting.

“See they have provided us with this visualization. This is how canvas and ragging textures will look,” Swami opened his laptop and showed it to us. He had developed a nonporousness that his walls had developed after 2 coats of putty. No amount of failure to answer questions on our part shook him from his mission.

Canvas and Ragging were names for texture paint, Jigneshbhai and I deduced.

“Wonderful technology,” Jigneshbhai remarked continuing with his encouraging exclamations. “The gold rust looks good,” I added with a tone of positivity too. This time Swami smiled indicating that I had got the colour right.

Our interest in visualization triggered further explanations from Swami. As I said, he was a man on a mission.

“On every texture we get 3 colours, 1 base coat and 2 topcoats,” Swami began. We thought he had finished but clearly he was not yet done. “So first they put the putty, then the primer, then the base coat. Then the topcoats are put in a manner that the output is textured. Like this,” he showed us and opened a demo video.

Swami told us the recipe for textured paint with more gusto than the recipe of his favourite death by chocolate sundae. It almost sounded like one brownie at the bottom, then add vanilla ice cream, finally topped by layers of hot chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Or probably Jigneshbhai and I were just hungry.

We watched the demo video with as much keen interest as we could muster at that late stage of Swami’s painting education class. Our approach was similar to students paying sincere attention in the hope that the professor will finish the lecture fast. One eye on the class and one eye on the clock waiting for the bell.

It seemed to have paid dividends because Swami closed down his laptop after the demo video ended. Jigneshbhai knew that lecturers get it. He was an expert at giving the right signals. Jigneshbhai and I had finished the coffee and thought it was the right time for us to make a move. We told Swami who agreed, sounding satisfied with the paint talk and our attention so far. We started walking to the door. Swami got his car keys and joined us on the way out.

Jigneshbhai and I were happy that Swami was joining us, so we can now have our regular coffee at our regular cafe. The wealthy old man and Deja must be waiting, I told Jigneshbhai. We thought we had come through with flying colours. That’s when Swami announced, “Guys, I think we have some time. Let’s go to the curtain store now as I need to choose matching curtains for the new wall colours.” He must have been truly encouraged by Jigneshbhai’s and my attention in his class as he added, “It won’t take long, now that you guys have also seen the colours.” As we stepped out, he told his wife that she needn’t worry, as his friends will help him make the right choice. The presumptions that friends make, Jigneshbhai and I thought, but let things be, for the moment.

So that was that. I told you that Jigneshbhai was right when he worried about turbulence in his quiet life.

***

The Law of Infinite Potential

Excerpts from the book “7 Divine Laws To Awaken Your Best Self” by Swami Mukundananda

The Law of Infinite Potential – All souls have infinite potential for growth, whatever be their present state.

The biggest calamity in the world is the waste of human resources – the untapped capacity of people with the ‘fixed mindset’.

True success is the blossoming of our soul in who we are and what we do. To succeed in life is to become the best that we can become, and do the best that we can do.

The first intellectual misconception is the illusion that our material possessions will always remain with us.

Live in this world as travellers stay in hotels. They do not accord importance to aesthetics of their room, for they know they must vacate it next morning.

The second intellectual misconception is that we look on our material body as the self.

If we are just a bunch of atoms and molecules, from where does consciousness originate?

The Vedas inform us that consciousness is not a product of the body’s constituents; it is the symptom of the soul.

Our third intellectual misconception is the belief that in sensual pleasures, we can find the happiness that will satiate our soul.

If any desires, once gratified, remained permanently satiated, then fulfilling it would have resulted in happiness. But if the same desire keeps returning again and again, with even greater vigour, then its satiation is a misnomer.

Progress happens because of beneficial desires.

One does not transform from a sinner to a saint overnight, but by making the proper choices, again and again, repeatedly over time.

***

Joyfully I write

Recently read a book by Ruskin Bond titled ‘The India I love’. Within that, there was a chapter called ‘Joyfully I write’. As an author, some of what he wrote resonated strongly with me. I am sure as readers and writers, you will find it equally delightful. Here are a few excerpts from that chapter for your enjoyment and reflection.

I AM A FORTUNATE PERSON. FOR OVER FIFTY YEARS I HAVE BEEN able to make a living by doing what I enjoy most—writing. Sometimes I wonder if I have written too much. One gets into the habit of serving up the same ideas over and over again; with a different sauce perhaps, but still the same ideas, themes, memories, characters.

In the course of a long writing career, it is inevitable that a writer will occasionally repeat himself, or return to themes that have remained with him even as new ideas and formulations enter his mind. The important thing is to keep writing, observing, listening, and paying attention to the beauty of words and their arrangement. And like artists and musicians, the more we work on our art, the better it will be.

Writing, for me, is the simplest and greatest pleasure in the world. Putting a mood or an idea into words is an occupation I truly love. I plan my day so that there is time in it for writing a poem, or a paragraph, or an essay, or part of a story or longer work; not just because writing is my profession, but from a feeling of delight. The world around me—be it the mountains or the busy street below my window—is teeming with subjects, sights, thoughts, that I wish to put into words in order to catch the fleeting moment, the passing image, the laughter, the joy, and sometimes the sorrow. Life would be intolerable if I did not have this freedom to write every day.

I cannot always please others because, unlike the hard professionals, the Forsyths and the Sheldons, I am not writing to please everyone, I am really writing to please myself! My theory of writing is that the conception should be as clear as possible, and that words should flow like a stream of clear water, preferably a mountain-stream! You will, of course, encounter boulders, but you will learn to go over them or around them, so that your flow is unimpeded. If your stream gets too sluggish or muddy, it is better to put aside that particular piece of writing. Go to the source, go to the spring, where the water is purest, your thoughts as clear as the mountain air.

Can a cheerful writer be taken seriously? I don’t know. But I was certainly serious about making writing the main occupation of my life. In order to do this, one has to give up many things—a job, security, comfort, domesticity—or rather, the pursuit of these things. Had I married when I was twenty-five, I would not have been able to throw up a good job as easily as I did at the time; I might now be living on a pension! God forbid. I am grateful for continued independence and the necessity to keep writing for my living, and for those who share their lives with me and whose joys and sorrows are mine too.

Being alone is vital for any creative writer. I do not mean that you must live the life of a recluse. People who do not know me are frequently under the impression that I live in lonely splendour on a mountain-top, whereas in reality, I share a small flat with a family of twelve—and I’m the twelfth man, occasionally bringing out refreshments for the players!

I may write for myself, but as I also write to get published, it must follow that I write for others too. Only a handful of readers might enjoy my writing, but they are my soul mates, my alter egos, and they keep me going through those lean times and discouraging moments.

I did not set out to make a fortune from writing; I knew I was not that kind of writer. But it was the thing I did best, and I persevered with the exercise of my gift, cultivating the more discriminating editors, publishers and readers, never really expecting huge rewards but accepting whatever came my way. Happiness is a matter of temperament rather than circumstance, and I have always considered myself fortunate in having escaped the tedium of a nine to five job or some other form of drudgery.

Of course, there comes a time when almost every author asks himself what his effort and output really amounts to? We expect our work to influence people, to affect a great many readers, when in fact, its impact is infinitesimal. Those who work on a large scale must feel discouraged by the world’s indifference. That is why I am happy to give a little innocent pleasure to a handful of readers. This is a reward worth having.

We cannot prevent sorrow and pain and tragedy. And yet, when we look around us, we find that the majority of people are actually enjoying life! There are so many lovely things to see, there is so much to do, so much fun to be had, and so many charming and interesting people to meet… How can my pen ever run dry?

***

Compliments and Criticism

When someone gives us compliments for a job well done, we sometimes get into the mode of touting how we have been doing this for a while and are experts at it in any case. This may not be tomtoming about ourselves but it is definitely a reflection of we liking the compliments. This is a slippery path to tread.

The flip side of this is when there are issues with the work we have done and someone tells us about it, we may get on the defensive about it or start attacking the messenger or if not anything else might sulk or feel bad about it, much the same way we may rejoice on receiving compliments. Both these reactions are unwarranted and unnecessary and are because of undue attachment to our views and our work. Such reactions also set us up for furthermore attachment.

We must learn to cultivate a detached approach to whatever we do or opinions we hold so that either compliments or criticisms about them don’t provoke reactions from us, at least externally to start with, and eventually internally too. This will make us unperturbed and set us on the path of lasting peace and real freedom.