[Short Story] A Star is Born.

Bhagalpur, 2045

By 2045, nobody became a movie star by accident. That belonged to another century.

There was a time when actors spent years auditioning, waiting tables, doing theatre, appearing in advertisements, and hoping that one director would notice them. There had been a time when people stood outside film studios for hours to catch a glimpse of their favorite star. They collected autographs. They screamed & waved at airports. They fought to get photographed. All of that had become quaint. A relic of the past decade. 

The entertainment industry had discovered a better way. AI Actors had become mainstream and surprisingly well-accepted among the new generation. It had turned into a strange hybrid industry where human creativity had moved upstream, and human labour had moved sideways.

AI actors did not age. They did not fall ill, demand better contracts, cancel shoots, or develop opinions that upset sponsors. They could speak thirty languages, perform in hundreds of locations, and appear simultaneously in cinemas, immersive theatres, and holographic rooms across the world.

Every major streaming platform had its own stars. Every other star had their own production house. And every production house had their team of Persona Managers, Narrative Experience Architects, Narrative Editors, Generative Music Curators, Voice Personality Artists, Visual Reality Designers, and World Builders, roles that had largely replaced the screenwriters, directors, and cinematographers of an earlier era. The newest generation of actors did not even exist in the traditional sense.

They were faces. Voices. Personalities.

Algorithms trained on what the world wanted to watch.

The most famous of them all was MUKUR10.

He was the star of The Last Yesterday, a time-travel series that had become a global obsession. There were MUKUR10 fan clubs in Tokyo, Lagos, Mumbai, and São Paulo. Children wore his face on school bags. Adults bought limited-edition holographic collectibles.

Nobody had ever met MUKUR10. Nobody expected to.

That was the point.

---

Raghav had never watched an episode.

He was eighteen, born and brought up in Bhagalpur, and had spent most of his teenage years worrying about examination results, electricity bills, and whether his parents would be able to afford his engineering education.

His father worked at an automobile manufacturing plant outside the city. His mother worked there too, on a different shift. By 2045, Bhagalpur had changed considerably. The roads were wider. There were electric buses, metro stations, shopping complexes and gleaming residential towers where fields had once stood.

Life was easier than it had been fifty years earlier. It was also more expensive.

Raghav's parents earned enough to be called middle class, provided nobody asked how hard they worked to remain there.  Raghav had studied Robotics and Artificial Intelligence at a college in Patna. He had graduated with reasonable marks and one clear ambition. Get a job in the city.

No dreams of becoming famous. No desire to become an influencer. And certainly no interest in becoming an actor.

For Raghav, the future had changed, but his relationship with entertainment had not changed much at all. He watched Netflix and Amazon Prime, just as his parents had before him. The Last Yesterday, however, was an expensive immersive experience, available only through premium subscriptions and holographic theatres. It was the kind of entertainment people in wealthier cities talked about, not something a boy from a middle-class family in Bhagalpur would spend money on. The world had become more technologically advanced, but the age-old class divide between what people could afford to experience remained. Raghav simply had never come across MUKUR10. 

Three weeks after graduation, he boarded a Maglev for Noida with one suitcase, a backpack, and his mother's instructions to call every evening. He had barely stepped out of the station when people began staring at him.

At first, Raghav assumed he had something on his face.

Then two hip teenagers stopped in front of him. 

One of them whispered, "Is that him?" The other scanned him through his Meta glasses, shaking his head as though he couldn't believe his eyes, and a few asked politely if they could take his photo, while many simply were clicking on their tiny wearable phones.

Within seconds, six people had gathered.

Someone shouted, "MUKUR!"

Raghav froze. "Sorry?"

A girl pushed through the crowd.

"Can we take a picture?"

"With me?"

The girl looked amused. "Who else?"

The crowd grew. Raghav stepped backwards.

He had never seen so many cameras pointed at him.

Then he noticed the enormous holographic billboard across the road.

MUKUR10 stared down at the city.  The face was unmistakable. It was his face.

Not similar. Not vaguely familiar. His.

The same narrow jaw. The same deep-set eyes. The slight crooked lift of the left eyebrow.

Only MUKUR10 looked more polished. More handsome. More impossible.

Raghav stared at the billboard.

Under the face were the words:

MUKUR10 RETURNS IN THE LAST YESTERDAY: SEASON 8

For the first time in his life, Raghav understood what it felt like to be famous.

It was terrifying.

---

By 2045, the global entertainment industry operated under strict Human Likeness Protection laws. AI actors could not replicate the face, voice, or identifiable features of a living person without explicit consent. MUKUR10 had been created entirely within those rules, his face had been generated from a synthetic biometric architecture designed to resemble no particular human being. There was, therefore, no law being broken when Raghav appeared in Noida. No one had copied his face. No one had used his image. No one had even known he existed. And yet, somehow, an algorithm designed to create a face that belonged to nobody had produced one that looked exactly like him. 

The machines had followed the law. Nature, it seemed, had played by no rules at all. 

He spent the next week avoiding crowds. His resemblance to MUKUR10 was everywhere.

People took photographs secretly. Some asked him to smile the way MUKUR did. Someone offered him money to record a birthday message in the AI actor's voice.

Raghav refused all of it. He only needed a job.

Then, one humid afternoon, he was walking past a high-rise in Sector 137 when he heard a huge commotion and someone screaming.

A glass elevator had stopped between floors. Inside was a girl, perhaps sixteen or seventeen. She was trapped between the forty-second and forty-third floors.

The building's emergency system was attempting to restart the lift remotely, but every attempt had failed. People gathered below.

A rescue team had been called. Raghav looked up.

The elevator's diagnostic panel was flashing.

He recognised the interface. It was an older hybrid system, partly autonomous, partly dependent on the building's central machine-learning controller.

"Don't restart it," he shouted.  Nobody listened. He shouted again and this time, someone did.

Raghav ran into the control room. The building supervisor protested, but Raghav had already connected his diagnostic tablet.

The problem wasn't the motor. It was the prediction model controlling the elevator's braking system.

A software update had incorrectly classified the elevator's stalled position as a mechanical obstruction. Every restart was making the system return to the same safety lock. Raghav bypassed the faulty prediction layer and forced the controller into manual rescue mode.

The elevator moved. Slowly. The girl came down. Alive. Safe. 

Shaken, crying, and clutching the hand of the rescue worker who reached her.

Someone had recorded everything. Within twenty minutes, the video was everywhere. 

Not because Raghav looked like MUKUR10. This time, people were watching because he had done something.

The headline on the first viral feed read: MUKUR10 LOOKALIKE SAVES GIRL TRAPPED IN ELEVATOR

Raghav groaned when he saw it. But then another headline appeared.

WHO IS THE BOY BEHIND THE FACE?

And another.

ROBOTICS GRADUATE FROM BHAGALPUR STUNS NOIDA

By nightfall, Raghav had millions of views. By morning, MUKUR10's production house had called.

---

They offered him a contract. Tony Pictures offered him a contract! Not an acting contract.

Something much bigger. They wanted to scan his face, map his voice, capture his movements, and create a new character based on him.

"MUKUR10 has reached a mature brand stage," the executive explained. "You can become the next human layer of the franchise."

Raghav looked at her.

"You mean you want to make another AI actor who looks like me?"

She smiled. "We want to make you the brand ambassador for MUKUR10."

Raghav declined. The story might have ended there. But it did not.

Because people had begun following him. Not millions at first. Then millions.

They wanted to see him fixing machines. They wanted to hear him speak. They wanted to know about Bhagalpur, his parents, his college, the cheap tea he drank outside his hostel.

They laughed when he stumbled over interviews.

They noticed when he became nervous. They liked that he sometimes forgot words.

They liked that he did not always know what to say. And then something strange happened. People began asking him for photographs.

Then signatures. Actual signatures. On paper.

At a technology conference in Delhi, hundreds stood in a queue for almost three hours to meet him.

An elderly man handed Raghav a notebook.

"Will you sign here?"

Raghav looked at him.

"Why?"

The man smiled. "Because I haven't had a real autograph in fifty years. The last I got was of Virat Kohli."  Raghav signed it with a smile. The next day, the photograph of that moment went viral.

MUKUR10's production house released a new season that week. It received respectable numbers.

Raghav's film received twice as many.

Raghav stated clearly that he had no interest in becoming an actor. He continued with his engineering job, trying to keep his sudden fame at a distance. Then a documentary crew came to Bhagalpur to film his parents, his childhood, and the unlikely story of how a robotics graduate had become the face of the world's most famous AI actor. The thirty-minute documentary was released without much promotion.

 Within days, it had been watched by hundreds of millions. People were not watching Raghav because he looked like MUKUR10 anymore. They were watching because he was Raghav. His awkward laugh, his unpolished accent-laced answers, the way he spoke about his parents and the quiet pride with which he described his hometown had struck a chord. For the first time in years, audiences were fascinated by something an algorithm could not manufacture: a real person being entirely himself.

---

Ten years later, historians would argue about the moment the global entertainment industry changed again. 

Some would say it was the elevator incident. Others would point to Raghav's candid resemblance to an AI actor and the play of nature. Some would blame the declining creativity of AI actors.

But the truth was much simpler. People had become tired of perfection.

They had spent over twenty years watching faces that never aged, voices that never cracked, female stars who were perfection personified, heroes who never had a misstep and knew exactly what to say.

Then a boy from Bhagalpur appeared. His laugh was original, his accent was strong, but nobody cared. Forgot to be politically correct.

Lost his cool. Apologised. Made mistakes. And grew older. And somehow, people loved him for all of it.

By 2055, MUKUR10 was still there. He had been redesigned twice. His jawline had been refined. His voice had been made warmer. His personality had been adjusted according to audience preference. He remained a star. 

But Raghav had become something MUKUR10 could never be. A person people related to, believed they knew.

At airports, crowds waited for him. Children carried photographs.

Fans travelled across cities for a few seconds of his time.

And sometimes, when Raghav was tired, he would remember the day he had arrived in Noida and been mobbed by strangers who thought he was someone else.

He would remember staring up at that enormous billboard.

At the time, he had thought the face looking down at him represented the future.

He had been wrong. The future, it seemed, had simply gone around in a circle.

The world had created stars without human beings. Then it discovered that what people had really been missing was the human being.

Raghav stepped out of his aero-car that evening. A crowd was waiting.

Someone shouted his name. Someone else held out a photograph.

A little boy stood at the front, nervously clutching a notebook. Raghav smiled and walked towards him.

The boy opened the notebook.

"Sir," he whispered, "can I have your autograph?"

Raghav took the pen. For the first time in decades, a star was signing his own name.

And somewhere across the city, on a thousand screens, MUKUR10 was smiling.

Exactly as he had been programmed to.

The Invisible Operating System

Every home has one.

It isn't the person who earns the most. Or the one who speaks the loudest. Or makes the family decisions.

It's the invisible operating system. It runs quietly in the background, executing hundreds of tiny processes that no one notices because, well, they are not supposed to notice them. Like every good operating system, it is expected to boot up before everyone else, remember everything, crash never, and recover instantly after every update.

The curious thing about operating systems is that people only become aware of them when they stop working. The same is true of homes. 

For the longest time, I had convinced myself that I simply had to improve my time management skills. Every health article I read cheerfully advised me to "find thirty minutes for myself." Walk. Run. Exercise. Stretch. Meditate. I wanted to know where these mythical thirty minutes lived.

So one morning last week, I decided to audit my day. 

5.30 a.m. The operating system boots.

Indian breakfasts have to be fresh because idlis & dosas with their side accompaniments are rather unforgiving without advance planning. One son leaves for school, with a neatly packed box for his morning break. The other one has a hurried breakfast and picks up his lunchbox and rushes to catch his college bus.

By then, my mother's breakfast & diabetic protein drink need to be ready. Her caregiver needs her dose of strong tea to get her morning going. 

The househelp arrives. The breakfast table must be cleared before she can wash the dishes. The washing machine has already begun its cycle. Vegetables need chopping. Our presswala appears & waits for the weekly clothes bundle to be counted and given. My OH prepares his herbal tea. Househelp wants fresh cleaning supplies. Emails & messages are answered between pressure cooker whistles and a hurriedly gobbled breakfast.

By ten in the morning, I finally sit down.

For exactly long enough to realise that it's almost time to prepare my Amma's mid-day fresh juice before starting to cook her lunch for the day. She likes that I serve it personally. At my stage of life, I know that such requests are not interruptions. They are love, wearing the slightly demanding clothes of old age.

By evening, the house has changed shifts but not pace. The boys arrive in periodic breaks and are looking for a light snack before dinner time. 

A 100 things are waiting to be set right. The folded laundry waits to be stashed away. 

Payments to staff and other monthly essentials wait. 

Insurance renewals + Tax Returns + Banking tasks wait.

Clients & Partners presentations wait.

The Agentic AI course I signed up for (on a spur of the moment) waits.  

The blog post that has been forming in my head all day waits.

Somewhere in between all this, I am expected to remember that I have a body which apparently deserves a brisk walk. I laughed at the absurdity of my own audit.

It wasn't that I had failed to make time for exercise. I had mistaken a capacity problem for a time problem. Then came another realisation.

Every sentence I had written about my day began with someone else's name.

My son. My mother. The househelp. The cook. My husband.

Not once had I unconsciously written, "At nine o'clock, I..."

It dawned on me that I had quietly become the operating system of my home.

Not out of sacrifice. Not out of martyrdom.

Simply because families, over time, develop their own rhythm. One person remembers that the curd is running low. Another knows where the passport is. Someone instinctively checks if there is enough coffee powder. Someone notices that the detergent is almost over before anyone else does.

These are not chores. They are background processes. Homes run on them.

No one applauds background processes. Nor should they.  

If every successful breakfast required a standing ovation, we'd never leave the dining table. But every once in a while, it helps when someone notices.

The other day, my elder son said, quite casually, "Amma, you remind me of Donna from Suits." I laughed.

Donna Paulsen is the woman who quietly keeps everything running while everyone else takes the smooth functioning for granted. It was perhaps the nicest compliment I have received in years.

Not because he compared me to a popular fictional character. But because, hidden inside that remark, was something every invisible operating system secretly longs to hear.

"I see you."

Yet, this is not a story about the invisible work. At least, not entirely.

It is about seasons. It is about a phase of life. 

There will come a morning when no one needs a lunchbox. The dining table will need only two plates instead of four. The washing machine will no longer begin before sunrise. The kitchen will be quieter.

My mornings will finally have those elusive 15 minutes of hot filter kaapi.

Perhaps I'll even take that walk everyone has been recommending. I think I'll enjoy it.

I also think, somewhere along that walk, I'll miss the chaos I once wished would slow down.

I'll miss the hurried footsteps searching for the blue sweatshirt five minutes before leaving.

I'll miss the college bag flung casually on the chair. I'll even miss someone asking, "Amma, what's for breakfast?" 

Life has an odd sense of humour. It grants us leisure only after taking away the reasons we longed for it.

So if you, too, are in this strange season of life, where your days seem to belong to everyone except you, hang in there.

Not because it gets better. Not because one day you'll have more time. But because one day the operating system will have fewer processes to run.

The house will become wonderfully efficient. And unexpectedly quiet.

Until then, pack the lunchbox. Set the plates on the table. 

Listen patiently to the story you've heard before. Complain about your aching feet if you must.

Then look around. This chaos is not permanent. 

Neither is the privilege of being at the centre of it.

[Old Post from 2009] Are You Cursed With Knowledge?

From the archives: This post was written many years ago and somehow remained in my drafts. I've published it now with only minimal edits, so it reflects the thoughts and context of that time. Some ideas, I suppose, are worth revisiting.

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

Sheila meets her college friend after a long time. During the conversation, she casually asks for her friend’s Twitter handle and, in response, gets a blank look. ‘What is a Twitter handle supposed to be?’ Sheila is flummoxed and surprised that her friend doesn’t follow her. She is unable to come up with the right words to explain the concept of microblogging to her friend. There seems to be a sudden disconnect. Her friend mistakes the silence for a condescending attitude on Sheila’s behalf.

Imagine explaining the internet to your grandmother or a photocopier to a five-year-old. For that matter, few people find it difficult to give out clear directions despite knowing a route very well. It bewilders them that someone could ask for something so elementary. This is the curse of knowledge. A concept arrived at from lots of research in economics and psychology, which shows that when we know something, it becomes very difficult to imagine not knowing it. Hence, our communication of this knowledge suffers. In extreme cases, the curse of knowledge could trigger communication failure and even strain relationships. There are several references, books, and opinions by various people on this subject.

Today, the world of business, which relies mainly on communication, is not far from being affected by the curse of knowledge. This might be a barrier to successful negotiations, because it leads us to falsely believe that our “subtle” signals are being received correctly by the other.

Try tapping out a popular song such as “Happy Birthday to You” or, better still, a widely popular Bollywood number and ask your friend across the table to guess it. In all probability, she wouldn’t even come close to guessing the song. This might seem bewildering, but when you tapped, the tune was all the while playing in your head. On the other hand, all that your friend heard was the staccato of taps. This is a classic example of the curse of knowledge, inferred from a study conducted by Elizabeth Newton in the 1990s at Stanford.

This can be extrapolated to the fact that most marketing campaigns, be it direct mailers, flyers, brochures or mail-orders, evince little or no response from the target audience. In most cases, it's not the delivery vehicle but the quality and clarity of the message it carries.

As the authors of Made to Stick: Why Some Ideas Survive and Others Die Chip & Dan Heath say, the greatest cruelty of knowledge lies in the fact that the better we get at generating great ideas—new insights and novel solutions—in our field of expertise, the more unnatural it becomes for us to communicate those ideas clearly. That’s why knowledge is a curse.

As most curses go, there is a cure for the curse of knowledge too. The trick lies in maintaining a fresh perspective like the one who is seeing for the first time. :)

Would You Choose to Live in Simpler Times?

 Saturday mornings have a rhythm of their own.

They are reserved for the weekly visit to the local market, buying vegetables and groceries, washing and sorting them, and prepping everything ready for the week ahead. Weekdays are a blur of lunch boxes, breakfast, school, and work. So, this weekly ritual makes life a little less hectic.

Like most weekends, there was music playing in the background. Old Hindi film songs. The kind that instantly transport you to another era.

As one song followed another, I found myself wondering about the actors on screen and the people who lived through those decades. When these songs were filmed, could anyone have imagined the world we live in today? Smartphones, AI, Ubers and 10-minute deliveries...Video calls with someone sitting thousands of miles away. The central conflict due to miscommunication in those movies could've been solved in a matter of minutes. 

To them, all of this would probably have sounded like science fiction.

I shared this thought with my OH. He smiled and differed in his view.

"Those were simpler times," he said. "People were happier. Life wasn't ruled by instant gratification, endless notifications, or the pressure to always be connected."

It was a fair point.

It also made me ask myself a question. If I had the choice, would I actually want to live in those times?

Surprisingly, my answer was no.

I enjoy revisiting the past through its music. I smile at old photographs. I love hearing stories from that generation. But I wouldn't want to give up the conveniences, opportunities, and possibilities that today's world offers.

In fact, I've noticed something else. As much as I admire old cinema, I rarely have the patience to sit through an entire classic film anymore. Somewhere along the way, my mind has adapted to a different pace. Not necessarily a better one, just a different one.

And that led me to another thought.

Perhaps knowledge changes us in ways we don't fully appreciate. Once you've experienced a new way of living, thinking, or doing things, it is incredibly difficult to return to not knowing it. You cannot unknow electricity, the internet, antibiotics, GPS, or AI. The mind resists going back because its idea of "normal" has shifted. 

Maybe that's why every generation romanticizes the one before it. We remember what was beautiful about the past while conveniently forgetting its limitations.

The past deserves our affection. It gave us timeless music, enduring relationships, and memories worth preserving. The present deserves our gratitude. It has given us tools that have made life safer, faster, healthier, and more connected than our grandparents could have imagined.

 

Once you've experienced a new way of living, the mind finds it almost impossible to return to not knowing it.

Perhaps the answer isn't choosing one over the other. Maybe it's carrying forward the warmth, patience, and human connections of simpler times while making the best use of the remarkable world we live in today.

After all, progress is not the enemy of nostalgia. The two can coexist quite beautifully. Right? 

When Life Comes Full Circle

No one really prepares you for the quiet heartbreak of watching your parents grow old.

As children, we believe they are invincible. They are the ones who always know what to do. They carry the family through every storm, make difficult decisions look effortless, and somehow find the strength to be everyone else's anchor.

My Amma has always been that person for me.

She stood by me through every phase of my life. She celebrated my victories, comforted me through disappointments, welcomed my husband into our family, and was there to witness the birth of my children. She helped raise them with the same patience and love she had shown to her daughters. The woman who woke up before dawn every single day, effortlessly running a bustling household, now struggles with something as simple as getting dressed.

Watching that change is an emotional burden unlike any other.

This is the same proud woman who raised two daughters to be independent, capable, and strong-willed. She taught us to face life with courage, to learn continuously, and never to lose hope, whatever the circumstances. To see her body gradually give way while her spirit still tries to hold on is difficult to accept.

How does one come to terms with it? You know your time together is limited. Yet knowing that does not make it any easier. Perhaps that is why I find myself treasuring the smallest moments.

The sparkle in her eyes as she enjoys an occasional sugar-free kulfi with the delight of a little child.

The laughter that follows when she mistakes my husband for her grandson.

Her insistence on taking a cold water bath during Margazhi despite everyone's protests.

Her determination to observe Ekadashi fast, even when we gently remind her that she no longer needs to.

There are mood swings. There are stubborn moments too. There are days of frustration for both of us. Caring for an aging parent often feels strangely familiar. In many ways, it resembles taking care of a young child. You remind them to eat. You help them remember names. You persuade them to take their medicines. You celebrate the smallest victories.

Life has a remarkable way of coming full circle. 

As children, our parents held our hands until we were steady enough to walk on our own. One day, almost without warning, the roles reverse. We become the steady hands.

It is not always easy. There are days filled with helplessness, guilt, exhaustion, and quiet tears that no one sees. 

But there is also gratitude. Gratitude that I still have the chance to sit beside her, listen to her stories, smile at her little quirks, and hold her hand. 

One day, these ordinary moments will become the memories I cling to the most.

And perhaps that is the greatest lesson our parents teach us in the final chapter of their lives. Love is not only about being cared for. It is also about having the privilege of caring for the people who once made us feel that nothing in the world could ever harm us.

Back to the Long Road

 My first blog post went up in 2003.

That feels almost prehistoric in a world where content appears, trends for a few hours, and disappears before the day is done. Sometimes I joke that I'm a digital dinosaur. Maybe I am. 

Over the years, life has changed in every possible way. My children have grown up. I crossed well into my forties with a few more grey hairs, a little more patience, and a much better sense of what truly matters. 

Every now and then I revisit my old posts. Some make me smile. Some make me cringe. I could edit them. I could quietly delete them. Technology certainly makes that easy.

But I won't.

Those posts are snapshots of who I was at that moment. They capture my excitement, my naivety, my certainty, my doubts. They remind me that growth isn't about rewriting the past. It's about acknowledging it.

These days, life is a different kind of busy. Building a startup, keeping a household running, being there for growing children who need you in new ways, and caring for aging parents... each brings its own joys and its own demands. Some days are overwhelming. Some days are unexpectedly beautiful. Most days are a little bit of both.

Social media has changed the way we tell our stories. X, Instagram, LinkedIn... they're all part of our daily lives now. I enjoy them too. But they often ask for quick thoughts, quick reactions, quick applause.

A blog asks for something else.

It asks you to slow down.

To sit with an idea for a while. To tell the whole story instead of the headline. To write without worrying too much about algorithms or engagement. Maybe nobody reads it. Maybe a handful of people do. Maybe years later, I'll be the one reading it again.

And somehow, that's enough.

So I'm returning to this little corner of the internet. Not because blogging is making a comeback. Not because I have all the answers. Simply because it still feels like home.

If you've wandered in, welcome back. Drop a hello and nudge me to keep this going on. 

There will be stories, observations, a little nostalgia, a little humour, and perhaps a few lessons gathered along the way.

Here's to writing again. 

The Illusion of Love

Every Tuesday, Trina brought flowers to work.

Not extravagant bouquets that announced themselves, but small bunches tucked into a clear glass vase. White lilies one week. Pink carnations the next. Once, cheerful yellow tulips that seemed determined to brighten an office lit by fluorescent panels and quarterly targets.

By ten in the morning, someone would invariably wander over to her desk. 

"Fresh flowers again?"
"They're beautiful."
"Where do you find these?"

Trina always looked up with the same warm smile. "They're from the little florist near my apartment."

She never sounded rehearsed, though she must have answered the question fifty times.  

From his desk across the aisle, Shreyas watched these tiny exchanges the way some people watched sunsets. They lasted barely a minute, but somehow managed to leave the office feeling a little lighter.

It wasn't the flowers. It was the ease with which she occupied every space she entered.

---

When Shreyas first joined Arctiq Solutions eighteen months earlier, Trina had been assigned to help him with onboarding.
"Your laptop will refuse to connect to the VPN at least three times this week," she'd said with a grin.

"It already has."

"There you go. You're officially one of us."

He had laughed harder than the joke deserved. Later, he wondered if she had noticed.

Over the next few weeks, he found himself discovering reasons to walk past her desk.

Sometimes he genuinely needed clarification on a project. Sometimes he already knew the answer. She never made anyone feel like they were interrupting her. She listened without glancing at her monitor.

She remembered details people had casually mentioned weeks earlier. 

She laughed easily. When she complimented someone's presentation, it never sounded obligatory.

If someone looked stressed before a client meeting, she'd lean over and whisper something that made them smile. 

There was nothing dramatic about her. No grand gestures. Just hundreds of tiny kindnesses that accumulated quietly.

Or so Shreyas believed.

---

His friends noticed long before he admitted it to himself.

"You're taking the long route to the cafeteria again," Sameer observed one afternoon.

"I'm stretching my legs."

"Your legs only stretch past Trina's desk."

Shreyas rolled his eyes. "You're imagining things."

Sameer took one look at him. "No. You are."

---

The teasing should have embarrassed him. Instead, it gave shape to something he'd been carefully avoiding.  He liked her. Not with the urgency of teenage infatuation. Something gentler.

Something that crept into ordinary days. He found himself noticing details that had nothing to do with work. The tiny silver earrings she wore almost every day. The way she tucked loose strands of hair behind one ear before presenting. The habit of doodling geometric patterns while listening during meetings.

She preferred black coffee. She always removed the lettuce from sandwiches. She never missed wishing people on their birthdays.

He knew all this. Yet he had no idea what books she read. Or whether she cried during sad films.

Or what frightened her. Or what made her angry. 

He mistook familiarity for knowing someone.

---

There were moments that kept the hope alive.

Once, she saved him the last blueberry muffin from the pantry.

"I know you usually come late."  He spent an unreasonable amount of time wondering how she knew his breakfast habits.

Another afternoon, while reviewing a presentation together, she leaned over his chair to point at a chart.

For three glorious seconds, he forgot every word she was saying.

That evening he replayed the moment while brushing his teeth. His reflection looked ridiculous. He laughed at himself.

Then replayed it again.

---

Winter brought annual planning.

Budgets.  Resource allocation. Travel schedules.

Their manager, Vivek, walked into the conference room carrying a printed sheet.

"The Ireland deployment is confirmed."

The room instantly came alive. Two weeks in Dublin to work with the European client. Every engineer secretly hoped for an overseas assignment.

Vivek continued calling out the team.

"Ananya."

"Raghav."

"Trina." Shreyas smiled despite himself.

One more name.

"Shreyas."

For a second he forgot where Ireland was.  He simply knew they'd be spending two weeks together.

---

That evening, Sameer found him reading travel blogs.

"You suddenly seem interested in Irish history?"

"I thought I'd explore."

Sameer peered over his shoulder.

"'Most Romantic Cafés in Dublin.'"

Shreyas quickly switched tabs. "It was...recommended."

"Of course it was." smirked Sameer as he walked away. 

---

The flight was nearly ten hours with a stop in Doha. Trina occupied the aisle seat across from him.

They spoke occasionally. About movies. About jet lag.  About how neither of them had packed enough warm clothes.

Nothing unusual. Nothing that justified the ridiculous optimism blooming inside him.

When the plane finally descended through thick grey clouds, Ireland looked exactly like every postcard he'd ever seen.

Green fields. Stone cottages. Rain.  Endless rain.

"It feels like someone forgot to switch the sky on," Trina said, looking out the window.

He laughed. He had always liked the way she described things.

---

The first crack appeared before they had even left the airport.

An elderly couple stood near the baggage carousel, struggling with two oversized suitcases that refused to come off the belt.

Without thinking, Shreyas walked over.

"Can I help?"

The old man smiled with visible relief.

"Oh, thank you."

Shreyas lifted both cases onto a trolley.

By the time he caught up with his team near immigration, Trina looked mildly impatient.

"There you are."

"Sorry."

"We almost thought you'd disappeared."

"The couple needed help."

She glanced over her shoulder. "Oh."  Then shrugged.

"We should hurry. Immigration queues get horrible."

It wasn't what she said. It was how quickly the moment disappeared from her mind.

Shreyas dismissed the feeling. People reacted differently. That was all.

Or so he told himself.

---

*To be continued...*

Why India Needs Dharmic Museums Now

Museums, for many in the Hindu worldview, have long been viewed with unease, particularly when it comes to housing sacred sculptures and idols. There is a valid concern: should deities, once venerated in temples, be confined behind glass walls as objects of study or admiration? Is it not a form of quiet desacralisation?

But perhaps there’s room for a parallel thought—one that is not in opposition to tradition but works alongside it. In an age where the rediscovery of India’s glorious past is finally gaining momentum, could thoughtfully curated dharmic museums become a bridge between reverence and relevance?

Across India, ancient sculptures, carved Stambhs & Stupas, ornamental pieces, statues of saints and temple remnants are being unearthed almost every week from excavation sites, abandoned shrines, or during civic works. Many are in fragments or disrepair. Many are alankara murtis (decorative idols) not intended as main deities, yet masterpieces of Indic art.   

According to Hindu traditions, once an idol is broken, defaced, or disfigured, it is no longer deemed fit for worship. However, that does not mean it is devoid of value. If anything, these remains are civilisational signatures and quiet reminders of a time when sculptural precision met spiritual depth.

Instead of leaving them to crumble in neglected corners or shipping them to anonymous storage, we can consider a new path. A network of Dharmic Museums that are not just art galleries, but immersive spaces that offer cultural context, scriptural references, architectural insights, and interactive experiences for today’s generation.

Dharmic Museums as Civilisational Anchors: Why We Need This Now

India is undergoing rapid infrastructural transformation. Entire cities are being rebuilt, roads expanded, and new corridors laid. In the process, countless archaeological finds from temple fragments, murtis, to ornamental panels are being unearthed. These aren’t just pieces of stone. They are remnants of a civilisational story waiting to be told. In the rush for modernisation, these precious discoveries risk being pushed into cold storage, forgotten archives, or worse, discarded. Instead, they deserve to be preserved, interpreted, and shared so they become anchors of identity for future generations.

1. Revival Without Replication: Not every town or city will see a temple revival, but they could house a museum that serves as a tribute to the local or regional heritage. These can display regional styles in sculpture, temple layouts, inscriptions, and more.
2. Employment & Revenue: These institutions can create skilled jobs, from conservation to curation, and foster local tourism in smaller towns and tier-2 cities. With India's growing middle class seeking meaningful travel experiences, such cultural centres can become new focal points.
3. Educational Impact: Imagine a schoolchild from Jharkhand or Kanchipuram walking through a gallery that shows the evolution of iconography or temple-building techniques from the 6th century to today, with regional scripts, stories and tools explained in simple terms. It’s not just a lesson in history; it’s a cultural grounding.
4. Spiritual Awareness Without Sectarianism: A dharmic museum honours our traditional past. It can introduce the young to India's civilisational ethos without the filter of Western anthropological frameworks. These can co-exist with temples, not replace them.
5. Preservation of Fragments: With many sculptures unearthed in incomplete or damaged form, creating spaces to restore and display them is both respectful and necessary. A museum allows them to be seen, studied, and appreciated without violating the traditions around worship.

Beyond Worship: Sacred, but Not Forgotten

The Chola bronzes now displayed in museums across the world continue to inspire awe for their craftsmanship. Closer home, the Government Museum in Chennai houses hundreds of temple fragments. Yet many lie in storage due to a lack of space or curation. Recent excavations in Telangana and Tamil Nadu have unearthed temple walls, inscriptions, and decorative pieces that are fragile and need proper conservation.

To Indians, the unearthed murti is not debris, but it is a fragment of lived history, once touched by our ancestors. Instead of dispersing them to general museums or letting them deteriorate, Dharmic Museums focus on regional heritage, can offer a tailored and respectful environment.

A Call to Policy Makers and Institutions

What is needed is not merely state funding but a model of collaboration between archaeological departments, private foundations, local historians, temple trusts, and design experts. These museums can be built using traditional architecture and even double up as learning centres for sculpture, Sanskrit, or temple arts.

There is no need to pit temple restoration against museum creation. The two can go hand in hand—where the temple is a living place of worship, and the museum a centre of remembrance, pride, and learning.

At a time when India is reclaiming its civilisational narrative, creating a network of Dharmic Museums is not just an act of preservation. It is an investment in the cultural capital of future generations.

First published in myind.net

The Chicken Challenge

My boys were invited to a friend's birthday party some time in June this year. The theme of the party was pets, and true to its theme, there was a petting zoo of rabbits, hamsters, cute pups, kittens, and colourful birds for the kids to enjoy. At the end of it, I was a little taken aback when I saw the boys had received two tiny little chickens as return gift. I politely refused to accept them, saying as a working mom I had no bandwidth in my life to take on this additional responsibility. The boys wouldn't hear any of it and were delighted to get a pet at last. The host said most of these chickens dyed in bright colours would hardly outlive a week and asked me to not stress too much about them. My cries of protest were drowned in the boy's squeals of joy, and we got back home with two live chickens in a tiny gift bag.

People close to me know how terrified I am of animals, no matter what size or cute package they come in. I sure love cute dogs and kittens, but only in videos or from a safe distance. And now we had two bright-colored, curious chickens who wanted to jump out of the bag and run amok in my house. I wasn't exactly thrilled, but the thought that these tiny furry chickens don't live all that long kept reverberating in my mind. Having brought them home, we were determined to give them the best chance to live.

To cut a long story short, we brought out the picnic basket, lining cloth, drinking water and appropriate feed. I had never interacted with any animal this up close and had to idea how to care for them. Thanks to Google, YouTube, and my househelp, we survived.
All animals are messy and keeping them clean is a task, especially when you have to do it without touching them.

Today it's over 6 months, and it gives me so much happiness to see those two awkward, gawky chickens grow into two sturdy roosters/hens (I don't yet know) and trot around in our private terrace, shooing away the pigeons with an entitlement that this place belonged to them and them alone. They have travelled with us on road trips, we have had them babysit during the few where they couldn't accompany us, and no qualms over giving up evening movie visits or dine-outs. 

As they grew my younger one (YO) used to wonder when they would start crowing. He decided they didn't know to crow because they did not have a mother hen to teach them. One Sunday he played rooster crowing videos on YouTube in an attempt to 'train' the chickens. It was a week later that we started hearing the small, squeaky voice of the rooster trying to crow, much to the delight of my sons.

I remember when we were returning from that birthday party and I told my sons that even loud noise could frighten the chicks to death. The pin-drop silence they maintained, asking us to turn off the music and not allowing us to even utter a word, is memorable. These past few months we have witnessed our chickens exhibiting happiness, fear, anger, and even mild disdain. I can write a book on them. This is not to virtue-signal compassion and kindness, but just to share our experience that all lives have a certain amount of intelligence and emotion that we, as humans, don't have the time to care about or understand.

This is an unexpected and amusing episode in the lives of an urban, apartment-dwelling family and wondering what lies in store during the coming year.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2020

#ChanguMangu #UnusualPets #Vegetarianism  #TryMeatSubstitute #AllLivesMatter

Will Sister Lucy Kalapura get the justice she deserves?

The jubilant celebrations of Dussehra have come to an end. The celebration is an annual reminder of how an evil demon king was killed by the powerful Goddess Durga. An important subliminal message the Mahishasura story sends out is about how men often underestimate women only to have a rude awakening. Mahishasura had asked for a boon that his death (if at all) should only be at the hands of a woman. The sexist asura king couldn't imagine that any woman could be a match to his immeasurable strength and this arrogance made him believe such a boon would ensure him immortality! When his atrocities reached a pinnacle, Goddess Parvathi took the avatar of Maa Durga who hunted him down, tiring him over a period of ten days before eventually killing him. Peace was restored and people rejoice it to this day. 

What makes this story relevant to these times is that there are men who go mad with the power, influence and wealth they have amassed. They harass, intimidate and create trouble for people around until someone channelizes their inner shakti and stands up against this aggression. The #MeToo movement that took an international avatar is a great example of how the modern Mahishasuras have been called out. From Weinstein and Epstein to MJ Akbar, Nana Patekar, Sajid Khan in our backyard, several prominent names tumbled out. The ground shook and the mighty fell hard. 

  

However, the fight is far from over like how Sr. Lucy Kalapura’s continued resistance against the Church has shown. Sister Lucy Kalpura came into the spotlight when she publicly protested the rape accused Bishop Franco Mulakkal. It is another matter that Franco Mulakkal who was accused of raping a nun thirteen times between 2014 to 2016 managed to easily get bail over a year ago and subsequent bail extensions have been granted despite several nuns voicing their protest against him. One must remember the rape accused bishop received a hero’s welcome with garlands and rose petals. The brazen show of power only got more pronounced as within a few days a key witness in this case, Father Kuriakose Kattuthara was found dead under mysterious circumstances.

Recently a close aide of bishop Franco Mullakal was arrested by Punjab police after cash worth Rs 9.66 crore, allegedly hawala money, was recovered from him. Soon after, the Clarist congregation dismissed Sr. Lucy Kalapura on the flimsy grounds of living a life against the style and substance of the congregation. The serious lifestyle violations in the letter referred to the nun having obtained a legal driving license, acquiring a car for her travel on her personal earnings and wearing civilian clothes (churidhar) while joining a protest march. The letter claimed that the dismissal followed Sister Lucy’s failure to heed “canonical warnings”.  

Strangely apart from a few stray articles, the Indian mainstream media has not taken up the case of Sister Lucy at a national level nor has there been any outcry from the feminist organizations in the country for the systematic harassment meted out against the nun. From circulating vulgar, doctored videos, making defamatory commentary on the 55 year old nun, the church has made her life a living hell. And instead of calling out this institutionalized mistreatment of a woman, the church authorities, the state machinery and the media have been obnoxiously silent without a whimper of remonstration. It must be the divine mother Durga who has probably instilled this untold courage in Sister Lucy to put up continued resistance and an untiring fight for justice.

The case of Sister Lucy can hardly be termed an exception. Though there have been several high profile cases including the murder of Sister Abhaya or Sister Susan they have failed to make a dent against the patriarchal church and the stronghold of its male members on the institution. The government and state machinery turn a blind eye to the transgressions in a minority community, possibly afraid of being accused of religious persecution.  In this land of Shakti, Parvati and Durga, there are women like Sister Lucy who has been compelled to fight a lonely battle. It is a matter of deep remorse that in this digital age of accessible information and in a country that has pledged considerable space for freedom of expression, the self-censorship and reluctance of the media in taking up the case of selective victims, shows the crumbling levels of commitment to ethics and integrity.

Will this country that honors its women by acceding her the status of a Devi or a Goddess stand in solidarity with Sister Lucy Kulapura in her fight for justice?  Will the modern Mahishasuras get punished or go scot free?  

First published in myind.net 

Remembering ‘Gaana Visharade’ Papa Choodamani, A Voice That Was Lost Too Soon

Snapshot

• Papa Choodamani was called the ‘M S of Karnataka’.
• Such was the impact of her performance that Maharajah Jaya Chamaraja Wadiyar invited her to sing on all the nine days of the Navaratri celebrations. It was an honour that had never before been bestowed on any other female artist.

The year was 1965 and it was the start of the famed Mysuru Dasara annual celebrations. The Maharajah of Mysore, His Highness Dr Jaya Chamaraja Wadiyar, philanthropist and well-known Carnatic music aficionado along with his darbar were listening enthralled to a young Carnatic vocalist who was effortlessly taming complex ragas, the intricate patterns of her Swara Prastharam (permutations of notes) was reaching scales and variations previously thought unimaginable.

The lushness in her voice and the immaculate rendition of the songs made this performance an unforgettable experience. The aftermath of her kacheri (concert) was akin to the silence after a rainstorm.

Such was the impact of her performance that the Maharajah invited her to sing on all the nine days of the Navaratri celebrations. It was an honour that had never before been bestowed on any other artist.

The singer was none other than Papa Choodamani, a disciple of Shri Ambi Bhagavathar. Legend has it that she not only surpassed the expectations of each day’s performance but set new standards for the classical music establishment.

On the ninth day of the Dasara celebrations, the Maharajah of Mysore H H Dr Jaya Chamaraja Wadiyar produced a song, “Shri Lalitham Tripura Sundareem” that he had penned in praise of Shri Chamundeshwari, the reigning Goddess of Mysuru.

Within a matter of minutes the song was composed, set to the tune of Nagadhwani raga and Papa Choodamani sang it with aplomb. The royalty was thrilled and honoured her with the title of “Gaana Visharadhe” and awarded her the Ganda Berunda padhakam --- the iconic state symbol Ganda Berunda locket set in rubies and diamonds.

A musical icon had been born and there was no looking back.

Born in Nurani village of Palakkad in 1934 as Seethalakshmi to Choodamani Shastrigal and Subbalakshmi, she was affectionately called Papa. The fourth child to her parents, Papa was drawn to Carnatic music right from the start.

Her innate talent in trapezing effortlessly through the world of ragas and the timbre in her voice caught the attention of Guru Ambi Bhagavatar. He took her under his tutelage and this child prodigy made her kacheri debut at the tender age of nine in Bengaluru’s Puttana Chetty Town Hall.

The kacheri was a runaway success and the Guru had found an able shishya in Papa Choodamani. Her meteoric rise was dotted with several prominent concerts and performances all over the south of India.

Sri Ambi Bhagavatar, a Carnatic stalwart in his own right, was a direct disciple of Sri Ariyakudi Ramanuja Iyengar. He had the unique privilege of learning Carnatic music by living with his Guru, in the traditional gurukulam style and attain his title of a Bhagavatar.

He was a guru to several celebrities in Karnataka including yesteryear Kannada actress Pandaribai, Mynavathi, former AIR Director D R Saroja, among many others. He refused to accept offers to perform on the stage when he discovered the prodigy Papa Choodamani and dedicated his life to honing her talent.

Papa Choodamani

Papa Choodamani

Papa Chudamani followed in the same guru-shishya parampara tradition and mastered her art through rigorous hours of practice. Among her well-known signature songs were the Thyagaraja keerthanam ‘Saroja Dala Netri’ a composition by Shyama Sastrigal set to raga Shankarabharanam and Enthara Neethana in Hari Kamboji raga.

The heady combination of her powerful voice singing the Upacharamu in raga Bhairavi is a masterpiece that remains a favourite of many rasikas.

Her rendition of devaranamas and Thyagaraja kritis are still played by the All India Radio (AIR), Bangalore. The lanes of 10th cross Seshadripuram in Bengaluru, where she used to live, have reverberated with her deep voice practicing swaram and aalapanai’s all night.

There is this interesting incident of the famous violinist Kunnakudi Vaidyanathan refusing to play in accompaniment for Papa Choodmani since she was just a young performer.

After much persuasion and coaxing, he agreed to play for a short time. Young Papa’s raga delineation for the Thodi raga went on for about two hours with improvisations hitting a zenith and yet she showed no signs of slowing down.

The master violinist Kunnakudi Vaidyanathan, realising he had met his match, is said to have placed his violin down and profusely apologised for underestimating her talent.

Her kacheri’s became an instant sell-out with legendary artists vying to play the accompaniments for her. Musical greats such as L Bhimachar, who was famous for his morsing, T V Gopalakrishnan along with U Krishnamani Iyer are some of them who have played for Papa Choodamani.

While several memorable incidents surround the legend of Papa Chudamani, the one that puts a spotlight on her musical prowess took place at Badaganadu Sangha in Bangalore.

During a kacheri, as she sang the Punnagavarali raga, a snake is said to have appeared on the stage out of nowhere and seemed to listen in rapt attention. Without any show of fear or a break in her voice, the legend that she was, Papa Choodamani continued to sing and go on to complete the song after which the snake was driven away.

An unparalleled musical talent, her unique voice was an intoxicating combination of the fluidity of M S Subbalakshmi along with the deep richness of M L Vasantha Kumari.

Destiny played a cruel hand in snatching this ‘M S of Karnataka’ (as she was popularly called) at the young age of 44. The world of Carnatic music lost one of its gems and her memories got relegated to the corners of a few yesteryear rasika’s hearts.

A tyranny of those times, there is little or no video recording of this brilliant musical talent and only the memories of aesthetes stand witness to this musical giant who walked this very earth.

This was first published in Swarajyamag

Janmashtami Special – The Curious Case of a Fake Lord Krishna

It is the joyous occasion of Janmashtami, where Hindus world over celebrate the birth of Lord Krishna in their own inimitable ways.  People in the North of India conduct Dahi Handi contests, kite flying and observe night long jagrans (night vigils). The south of India calls it Gokulashtami and celebrates it with colourful rangolis, bhajans and classical dance performances. The common thread that binds them all is the love, reverence and happiness in celebrating the birth of one of the most iconic and charismatic avatars. However not everyone always loved Lord Krishna. This is one of the lesser known stories from Bhagvad Purana of a fake Krishna who tried to commit an identity theft.


The King of Pundra

Lord Krishna was known by several names including Mukunda, Govinda, Madhusudana etc. He was also famously called Vasudeva. There was another king called Poundraka Vasudeva who was the king of the Pundra kingdom.  News reached King Paundraka about the charm, intelligence and popularity of Sri Krishna who was also known as Vasudeva. This news intrigued him, and he sent his soldiers to collect all information about Sri Krishna.  The more he learnt about him the more he got enamored by the personality of Sri Krishna. He got so besotted that he started to dress like Sri Krishna in yellow dhoti, along with the peacock feather on his crown and even got an imitation of the Kausthubham jewel. All this notwithstanding he acquired other embellishments of Sri Krishna like the white conch, the mace, Srichakra and also a bow that resembled much like the one Sri Krishna carried.


His courtiers and generals were all praises for him. While this pleased him initially, he soon grew dissatisfied that he was still being compared to Lord Krishna. He wanted to get all the adoration, adulation and love of the people for himself alone. He decided that the only way to get all that was by eliminating the Sri Krishna of Dwaraka. The false praise and constant fawning by his ministers made him heady with pride and gave him the courage to a notice to Sri Krishna to no longer impersonate him. He added that if Sri Krishna would refuse this order, he would be challenged for a battle!

Lord Krishna was surprised and amused to receive this message from this new lookalike who wanted to usurp his identity. Sri Krishna decided to end this game of deceit and accepted the challenge to combat. The battlelines were set and Paundraka Vasudeva arrived with his army. He was aided in this battle by the king of Kashi. Paundraka came riding a chariot that was a replica Krishna's with similar looking and colored horses. Sri Krishna addressed Paundraka and tried to tell him how futile this effort was. He gave Paundraka a chance to give up this false hope of replacing him and redeem himself. However, nothing could deter Paundraka Vasudeva. He had made up his mind that he was indeed the real God incarnate and he was right in his stance. The battle was neither fierce nor a prolonged one. Lord Krishna killed Paundraka with little effort. Balarama routed Paundraka’s army and captured them. And thus came to an end a foolish adventure of an unwise king.

The three important takeaways from this tale are –

1. The Vedas say, “Yadh Bhavam Tadh Bhavati”. Your inner thoughts and emotions will shape your character and your outlook of life. 
2. Pride goes before a fall. Do not always believe those who praise you all the while. 
3. It’s better to be original even if it means to be ordinary. 

With that wishing everyone a very happy Krishna Janamshtami 2019

Raising Modern Hindu Children Overseas – A perspective

 Nothing is more scrutinized, criticized, debated or written about as parenting today. The world appears to obsess around raising the perfect generation and that has given rise to an entire ecosystem of child welfare ministries to specialists, pediatric nutritionists, therapists, pedodontics, and psychiatrists. And yet 10-20% of children and adolescents worldwide are afflicted with mental disorders. The challenges and complexities of modern societies has only compounded the anxiety levels of parenting. At times of intense stress and confusion it is only prudent to fall back on the wisdom of our ancestors.

Followers of major world religions have clear guidelines with prescribed do’s and don’ts which at times also include the diet and attire. Hinduism, diverse as it is, is seen as a ‘way of life’ with no specific instructions nor any stringent process to follow. However, there are common parameters that cuts across caste, creed and even geography. Hindus despite worshipping several Gods understand they are but a manifestation of a single Brahman. Preference to a single deity (Ishta Devta) does not require a Hindu to disbelieve the rest. Along with a strong belief in the principles of Karma and reincarnation Hindus are set in the path of seeking self-liberation or moksha.

With people moving out of smaller towns into cities in India and those from cities moving to global destinations the traditional Indian family system is undergoing rapid changes. Toddlers and kids are being raised either in daycare or by maids. Growing children are spending more time online in social media and video games. While none of these generational changes can be reversed or wished away, Hindu parents can create a safety net for their children to remain connected to their civilizational roots while traversing the modern times with more confidence and ease.

So, where does one start?

Several learned Gurus and Swamiji’s of Hinduism, in their infinite wisdom, have suggested few basic tenets for Hindus to anchor their lives on. The three foundational tenets are Sloka, Sanskara and Seva. The good news is most Hindu families would be following one or more of these in their own unique way. The culture heritage and societal structure in India is designed in a way that children inevitably pick up these attributes either from school, peers or the community at large. These can be strengthened by consciously incorporating them within the family lifestyle. Celebrating festivals like Ganesha Chathurthi, Deepavali, Holi and nurturing traditional art forms like Bharatnatyam, classical music are innovative ways to impart Indic knowledge to the next generation.

Sloka: Sloka is the Sanskrit word for poetic verse, proverb, hymn uses a specific meter. Most of the famous Indian epics including the Ramayana, Bhagavad Gita are written in sloka format. Most Hindu families irrespective of caste and creed recite slokas as prayers. Many schools have slokas as a part of their morning prayer. The western world has recently woken up to the benefits of chanting, which apart from a number of other benefits reduces anxiety and depression.

Hinduism has a near infinite repository of Slokas and mantras. It is replete with slokas that range from philosophical, esoteric, motivational, to ecology related or that even gives practical advice and direction to young questioning minds. Parents of young children can start the practice of reciting a few easy slokas and mantras every day. Over 60 percent of vocabulary of Indian languages are said to originate from Sanskrit so with time the meanings of the slokas will become clearer and Sanskrit words would become easier to recite. Many slokas are set to melodious tunes and can be sung making it easier for kids to learn.

Sanskara: This is a broad term with no exact definition of what all entails as Sanskara or culture for a Hindu. Lighting a lamp every evening to a deity is Sanskaram, so it is to touch the feet of elders and seek ashirvadam or blessings. Sanskara is when you teach your child to see the divine manifested in everything from the innate to the most respected. Sanskara cannot be taught but is only emulated and it needs to be inculcated before it is passed on. As with everything in Hinduism there are several meanings, explanations, and stories. It is prudent to always explain the reasoning behind each action, so the lesson becomes memorable. When my father explained the significance of applying the vibhuti or sacred ash on the forehead, I no longer resented sporting it. He gave a simple explanation of how the vibhuti is a constant reminder of the temporariness of life and how we need to make the best use of our time on earth. It instills a sense of purpose in our life and serves as a visual cue to not take anything for granted. If actions can be reasoned with logic, philosophy or rationale it would become easier to address the doubts of inquisitive children.


Seva – Seva or service is an important facet in Hinduism but now finds more prominence in Sikhism and Buddhism. Its time Hindu children are taught the art of selfless service. In this age of instant gratification coupled with a sense of entitlement children do not understand what it is to give without getting something in return. Along with birthday celebrations parents can revive the tradition of offering Annadanam in temples and orphanages. Children should be encouraged to take up community and temple administration services.

Grooming children into responsible individuals is an important parental responsibility towards the society and towards the country. Individuals with strong Indic values will create a harmonious society with an appreciation for creation, an inherent quest for higher life purpose, willingness to contribute to the greater good, and making a positive impact on the world around. The basic step towards this begins at home.

First published in Honkong-Desi

India, Choose Your Leader Wisely

It was that time of the year when the animals of a jungle had to choose their new king. After several rounds of discussions it came down to choosing between a wise old owl and a burly lion.

The hyenas, foxes, coyotes and the vultures were highly in favor of a tawny lion being crowned the new king. This particular lion came from a dynasty of rulers, and lived in a pride with his mother and sister.

Just look at him cooed the peacock, “He already has the looks of a king!” The wolf grinned and said encouragingly, “Yes. And he will look after us all very well.” The bear agreed saying he can't think of any other animal with a more casual, uninterested attitude towards power so he must be the right one to take the coveted king's role.

The deer, elephants, rhinos, rabbits and other animals were a worried lot. They

felt the wise old owl with his wit and wisdom was a better choice. The jackals laughed at them, “The owl is a bad choice. He is perched high up on a tree far away from rest of us. He is neither the strongest nor does he come from an illustrious family like our lion.” The fox agitatedly exclaimed, “He is no intellectual and we consider him a dolt”

The gentle giraffe was thoughtful for a while and said, “The wise old owl stays up all night, he isn’t impulsive, and can inform us against untimely attacks. Maybe you aren’t able to relate to him but he can strike the perfect balance between the powerful and the meek”

The senior jackal solemnly said, “Man, himself, certifies the lion as the king of the jungle. And so it shall be.” The fawns cried indignantly, “But the man is not even a stakeholder of the jungle!” Their cries went unheard as the coterie of the jackals had started hailing the half-grown lion as their hero.

Disclaimer: This post is unrelated to the ongoing Indian elections #Elections2019

______________________________

अप्रमत्तश्च यो राजा सर्वज्ञो विजितेन्द्रियः |
कृतज्ञो धर्मशीलश्च स राजा तिष्ठते चिरं ||
______________________________

A successful leader or a ruler will imbibe the qualities of being considerate, ever-vigilant, all-knowing, can exercise control over his sensory organs and reign over his passion, gratitude towards his subjects, pious and religious and only such a person can successfully rule. 

Reposting from MyIndMakers

Why boredom must be a necessary part of childhood

"I am bored....I AM BORED...." - And that is a sentence most often used by children and one that terrorizes almost all parents. Come summer and every parent, working or non-working, draw a big face, sighing how hard their lives are going to turn. I am not judging anyone for I find myself on the very same boat.

My son wakes by 7:00 a.m and by 9:30 he has done painting, played with his play-doh, blocks and lego set are scattered, the toy train-set has been assembled, played with and now thrown in disarray. He promptly comes to me saying, "I am bored!".
And I watch in dismay thinking my morning has just started! The maids are yet to come, breakfast has just been made, the kitchen counter has to be cleared, laundry is stacking and am yet to enjoy a peaceful cup of coffee. Add siblings into the picture and you can be assured of further chaos, screams and squabbles. Screaming - mostly yours.

Most parents find a quick and easy solution to this - Summer Camps. Pack them off to summer camps where there's singing, dancing, and a lot of other stuff to do. Children come by noon, their energy expended ready for quick meal and a nap, giving the moms some much needed respite. There are friends of my 6 year old who have already enrolled in summer camps, art classes, karate classes twice a week, music lessons on Fridays and swim lessons during the weekend. And I kid you not.
To each their own - specially parenting style - but I have been pondering if this is the right way to deal with children and their summer holidays.

I don't remember going to any camps, but summer holidays meant chatting endlessly with friends, cycling around the neighbourhood, playing hop-scotch, hunting for some multi-colored weird looking insects, pleading mom for ice-creams and flavoured bottled milkshake treats and an occasional movie outing. All this not a day's event but dispersed over two months.

Summer holidays also meant getting bored. Yes, we got bored out of one's wits as we were not allowed to slouch before the television, we did not have iPADs and Temple Run's. So we had to devise our own ways to deal with spending the time on hand. I remember making up stories of our own, playing Name-Place-Animal-Thing game without using a paper and pen, creatively making toys of beads, leaves, sticks, ribbons, and what-not. We did not have an art teacher hovering over us and yet we made some wonderful pen stands out of old boxes, photo frames, scrap books filled with drawings etc. I remember writing my first Enid Blyton inspired short mystery novel during my 5th standard holidays.

In this age of instant gratification and sense of entitlement, most children are losing the virtue of patience, being creative without being told how to, and learning to think for themselves. Parents are also in a hurry to fulfill the smallest whims and fancies of their children in the fear of creating any unpleasant childhood memories. All this over eagerness is making life more complicated for both of us.

Penning all this down has made my resolve more clear. I am not going to take the easy route and send my children to any summer camp. Yes, they might be bored but out of boredom they will learn patience, to think for themselves and learn to creatively use their time. One day at a time. It's going to be hard on them and on me, especially with so many temptations in the form of TV and technology but I am going to try.

Wish me luck. :)