Seasonal Flavor

Seasonal flavors

Has anyone noticed how we unknowingly or unwittingly tend to flow with the tide? Even though we consciously restrain ourselves, yet the sheer enormity of happenings around us build up a tendency to follow suit. Peep into your younger days when certain ‘in use’ words were originally treated as slang, but because of its daily use, becomes commonly accepted words in daily dictum

The excess coverage, usage of these words makes it irreplaceable in common day to day conversations thereby giving it a pedestal to cling on in modern day dictionaries. The same can be said of actions too, the more you keep repeating a certain action the more it gains acceptability making it as justifiable action in communities.

The present day dispensation is an able example of this type of action. They browbeat the opposition to their thoughts and view point in such a manner that the fence sitters amongst us start believing there is nothing wrong in condoning such actions and utterances. The basic requirement is that one must commit to these actions in an unfailing manner with lots of conviction and must seem to be, and be eager to defend it.

Some of us have started to copy them and this is the flavour of the season. In a lot of places you will see people acting with disdain. In fact lack of tolerance, jumping the gun and solidly defending even the indefensible has become hallmarks of our daily community living.

This is sadly not only happening in inter religious mixes but also in intra religious gatherings, where the majority or elected representative viewpoint is being thrust upon ordinary folks with the same body language and with the same conviction as the propagators of this line of thinking. If you differ you are ridiculed and threatened with physical incapacitation or even false propaganda.

Unfortunately the keepers of religion also have started to mess about in this thick. The seemingly subdued modesty of these keepers somehow sweetens the intimidating tactics that they follow. It seems that the present trend in the country seems to have rubbed off on some of our parish priests.

I am a member of a church and have seen the brazen acts of these so called keepers of religion and appointed guardians of the faith, who have started using the pulpit in the church to articulate totalitarian ideas. Anyone who chooses to defy or forms an alternative view point is doomed by these leaders and their gods.

We as bystanders can either choose to fall in line, thwarting the wrath of their gods or choose to trudge a different path and cross swords in matters of faith. Either way you are doomed; as inviting the wrath of the Gods will not go down well in your own circle of family and friends, and choosing a different path will go against the dictates of the religious order.

So should we follow the oft repeated path set from above or question the closed fist attitude of these leaders. Should one go down the path less trodden or stutter in speech when confronted by their God in your prayers. Should you take inspiration from the great Poet Rabindranath Tagore who exhorted us to go it alone in the absence of backers, or hold on even if you are the last man standing?

Robin Varghese

18^th July 2017

Eraviperoor to Eraviperoor

Eraviperoor to Eraviperoor

Those were the words written on his tin trunk which he hauled to the carriage as it left home. In the distant his parents waved him good bye, never once dreaming of the applause their son would bring home one day.

Forget the fact no one outside his geographical reach knew the village he had come from, but his tin trunk proudly displayed his past. It was probably those words which always pulled at his heart strings so often that he could never ever be separated from his hometown.

Today he is yearning to come home to be buried in the fields of yore, where once his father and forefathers had tilled so stoutly and steadfastly. The defender of the poor, the messiah of his countrymen is on his return journey fulfilling the prophesy so boldly painted on his little tin trunk

It was a sunny afternoon when the breeze rustled the coconut leaves perched high above the ground. The bright light of the day gave hope to little Mathunny who was setting out on the voyage of his dreams, a land across the oceans, where he was to find his home.

As the ship sailed deeper into the ocean eagerly trying to touch the distant horizons, young Mathunny’s dreams started to stand out amidst the sadness of parting ways. He felt numbness inside him; the emptiness of leaving his loved ones, the smell of the green and the ocean, the wild hooting call of the fish seller, the aroma of raw coffee filtering through the air around him. 

Yes, he was setting sail for his date with dame luck. Slowly the past got merged into the future and dreams began to sour. Once he landed in the city of his dreams he set about in right earnest to get what was offered to him, the job of a typist. The rest is history.

His deeds along with other fellow Indians of influence leaves many teary eyed and his fellow countrymen can feel a bloating of their chests with the pride that he instilled through his courageous and selfless acts during the invasion.

He briskly walks into the pages of history and will stay put through the various awards and recognitions that were won during his years of toil. He brought his obscure village onto the world map and village folks proudly announce the synonymity that the name carried with the village to gain instant recognition.

Now I hear the roar in the distance of the chariots coming to take M. Mathews to his eternal home to where he belongs and where he is to be united with all his righteous and well meaning friends.

On the return journey to Eraviperoor I can imagine him humming these few lines:

“Going home, I'm going home
There is nothing to hold me here
I've caught a glimpse of that Heavenly land
Praise God, I'm going home

Now the twilight is fading, the day soon shall end
Lord, I get homesick, the farther I roam
But the Father has led me each step of the way
And now I'm going home”.

Can someone find and pull down the rusty old tin trunk and erase the words written so prominently -for Toyota Sunny has returned home.

Robin Varghese

24^th May 2017

NB: My tribute to the Late M. Mathews- this is a fictional piece of writing and the happenings in the article may have nothing to do with the actual events as they unfold, unfolded or shall unfold.

Democracy backsliding

Democracy backsliding

Our Prime minister before he became one was the Chief Minister of a state for 13 long years running into three successive election victories. He is seen as one who is straight forward and reckless in his beliefs yet seen to carry conviction of the masses at an easy pace. He is perceived as the villain yet gets the applause of a hero. Such is his aura and image that people have come to compare and associate him to the Iron man of India.

He is seen to take unfamiliar stands but comes out victorious in spite of all the hue and cry. He is often predicted to receive a drubbing at the polls yet comes out victorious with a thumping majority. He is simply unbeatable and irresistible. He can tweak his way to the top and can twist an initial thought to serve many ends.

The demonetization of the economy was carried out to defeat the scourge of black money not the ones lying in Swiss banks, but the counterfeit kind which was equivalent to building a parallel economy, but he cleverly turned it to suit other ends like digitalization etc. It is actions like this that make him seem as a larger than life hero, someone who can justify a wrong and succeed in carrying it along without simmering discontent in any quarters.

After the Gujarat riots in 2002 no one gave him a chance at the Chief Ministers chair for the second time, yet he overturned all predictions to occupy it a second time. In spite of several opposition parties shouting out his sins and in spite of various government agencies intermittently applying the brakes he rode on to complete his second term. Anyone would have thought that the minority community who sees him as a conspirator would hardly vote for him, but for his third term he came out with even bigger numbers. Poll pundits and political analyst could not figure out why this was happening.

How could someone who had made enemies with the minority become victorious in every sphere of election? This clearly was baffling and learned people even ventured to opine that the minority was intimated and subdued and threatened to vote for him. The ones who voted against him started scratching their heads as soon as election results were out. They could not figure out where their votes had vanished. Everyone kept quiet because it was ridiculous to challenge a verdict of the people.

But was this a verdict of the people? Who could tell, given that the ones who voted against him did not want to claim it in the open for fear of showing their hand? However a good and astute politician will be able to calculate his chances. That is why opportunist’s politicians jump ship nearer election time. They can smell defeat and change ends to ensure that they are victorious.

Thus all political parties have a feel of the results going into elections, but they normally do not disclose it for fear of lowering moral of workers, because there can be only one winner. However when the results are grossly disproportionate some screeched louder and that is how a former Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh, Mayawati shouted from the roof tops that there was something baffling about the Electronic Voting Machines.

So strong was the narrative in favour about EVM’s in the country that people were afraid to turn against it. Talking against the machine would tantamount to surrendering ones intellectual capabilities, since the majority were convinced that the process of voting had become easier to monitor and safeguard given the kind of reports that used to filter in during manual voting process about booth capturing and forced voting and voters being intimidated and prevented from voting along with poll officials everyone sat in their comfort zones.

However what one conveniently overlooked was the point that there was a method in the madness, in the story that the Bharatiya Janata Party had worked up a frenzy in synchronization with the voting machine to get a foothold in the political landscape in India and used this foothold to push through their agenda while acting like tough unwed school principals in matters of administration.

Finally someone demonstrated that these machines were not tamper proof and as one engineer politician added anything that is programmed by humans is capable of being surpassed by humans. The general public is now shedding the notion of Democracy being supreme and debating the quality of processes employed in achieving this apex position that the term ‘Democracy’ espouses.

There is a saying ‘ you can fool some people for some time but not all people all the time’, perhaps the game is up and the tide will turn allowing people and parties that seem to have been deliberately elbowed to claw their way back. As some would agree this is one condition that aptly fits into the newly coined term “Democracy backsliding” faced by countries and which has started to gather steam across the world.

Robin Varghese

12^th May 2017

In letter and spirit

In Letter and spirit

The recent reports of young aspiring medical students being subjected to stripping by test center officials has raised a hue and cry in some quarters. Students, it is reported were forced to strip down to their undergarments and in one case, was also asked to remove them because it was against the written down rules as perceived by the official on duty.

Particularly noticeable is the fact that this is reported from the state of Kerala when surely, female students were present in all states where the examinations were held. Why then has this incident surfaced in Kerala? Again surely, students were wearing their under garments in all states and from what we know other states did not report this kind of behavior.

To understand this you must understand the ‘Malayalee’. He lives by the rule; and waits for an opportunity to pounce on someone circumventing the rules. That is why you have a horde of locals ‘ghearoing’ a Policeman and forcing him to take off his cap to trade with a helmet. The question is not whether riding a motorbike without a helmet is against the rules, but the curious concern of the locals to enforce them, given their penchant to implement rules uniformly, thus stepping into a new domain.

Long back I travelled a short distance of two hours from Ernakulum Junction station to my Hometown Tiruvalla in a long distance train that starts from New Delhi and terminates at Trivandrum. I hopped on because being a resident of Delhi I knew that a lot of people would get down at this station and seats would be available aplenty. All one had to do was pay the legalized fare for such distance and travel.

However when the ticket collector came, he fined me for getting into a reservation compartment without a reserved ticket. I explained to him that I was prepared and willing to pay the price for such travel, but he refused to budge and asked me to get off at the next station after paying the nominal fine for such travel. 

I even argued that having empty seats amounted to a loss for the railways, so wasn’t it better to have short distance passengers like me who were willing to pay for travelling in a reserved coach? Nothing of what I said or none of my arguments cut ice with him and he majestically did his job of hauling me into an unreserved compartment.

Those who travel by air would have observed that even the check-in ground staff in airlines put up such as fuss over minor weight excesses in hand baggage that it is almost impossible to buy peace with them. It is their way or the highway, there is no middle path. Compare this with ground staff in Major metros like Delhi and you can see the difference.

Hand baggage is allowed up to 7 Kgs on domestic flights in India. While you can travel from Delhi to Cochin on a few extra kilos, you cannot do the same on the return leg. I tried to bring in 9 Kgs of hand baggage on the flight from Cochin recently and they asked me to check in the baggage because it was outside the limits. There is no point arguing or making them see reason they will not budge so fixated are they on the rules read out to them.

Therefore the difference is, in the Malayalee psyche, he is born to implement the rule both in letter and spirit and will not tolerate another behaving otherwise, albeit in small measure. He is the upholder of the laid down rules and will not broach aberrations. Needless to say that the instructions of CBSE officials, was followed by all staff in all centers throughout the country,  but it was only in the state of Kerala that the female candidate had to give her exams at a cost to her inner peace. 

Robin Varghese

10^th May 2017

From either Side

From either side    

Come Good Friday and the Christian community around the globe embark on this ritual of self purification through prayers and rituals that proclaim the common theme of repentance and sacrifice. The inevitable Bible portion read out on this day relates to Jesus on the cross with two persons crucified alongside him, one on the left and the other on the right. One among them asking Jesus to exercise his powers if he truly had them and save all while the other asking for a place with him in heaven. The two persons though indulging in a common occupation portray a different view point.

Our society is equally divided among both the above types; the one who wants Jesus to exercise his powers can be seen running around overlooking all the nooks and corners and mocking rules and systems, emphatically overruling a major view point, twisting and turning things to suit his view point and his end objective, even going to the extent of erasing history and inserting this view point into history books to purposefully affect the new generation.

They will trample upon the peaceful mind and intimidate them to get a ruling in their favour. They are the ones who will propagate their view point among the innocent and get them to endorse their will. They will introduce systems and procedures and through sheer intimidation coax the masses to endorse them. Those who resent will be called names and talked about in demeaning ways to the extent that dissenting voices are muffled at the altar of this new dawn. They will poach in your territory, and hearts that were once considered yours can be seen changing sides overnight.

When the wheel turns and they find themselves at the receiving end, they expect miracles to happen, they expect rulings to leave them at peace, they are not willing to be adversely referred to in the pages of history and constantly call upon the powers of their masters to bring them succor. They simply must be saved in spite of the ever increasing evidence against them. They believe in the theory “if I sink, I take you along”, so it is in your interest to save me because by doing that you will be saving yourself.

On the other side is the type who is willing to chug along, who doesn’t want the burden of his past to reflect on the happiness of the silent majority.  He is willing to pay the price of his deeds, willing to be called upon on judgment day. He will wish to show resilience but he dare not, for fear of being portrayed one way or the other. He will never do anything that might cause a ripple. He is simply one who has everything except a spinal cord to stay upright in thought and action.

Never will his utterances be considered extreme because he will always mince words to portray himself as the most amiable person ever lived on this planet. Never will he will, to be the lone survivor amidst a holocaust. He is the kind who has had bad days under the sun, but will showcase those bad days as the woes of someone else rather than his own mistakes. He is the one who will ask you to take medicines because his stomach aches. And by virtue of this seemingly wonderful trait he expects to be the good guy who righteously owns a place on the right side.

This is the story in our society; we are caught between the viewpoints expressed by both these persons on the cross. Even though most of us have lived life ordinarily, we do not expect to take accountability for our actions. The flip side being that we turn an approver late in life and seek forgiveness for all our actions and therefore redemption from the ills of our actions. Look into the faces of people gathered to repent on Good Friday, study them as they prepare to sink in the sermons. Capture their feelings as they dissect the priest and his sermons and you will be able to identify both categories of people.

Finally some are not willing to react to things that they see and experience. They would rather be seen as inactive and happy and be termed passive in their lives as long as it does not in any way bring down their personal aura and stature. They would rather be seen as a Robin Hood character without the hood, who in spite of being capable relents when it matters just because the consequences may not at all be favorable to his standing in society. He would rather sit it out and be seen amiable rather than disturb the tranquility even if it makes sense.

Robin Varghese

13^th April 2017

Beyond the Gaze

Beyond the gaze

I continue to recuperate my mind and soul in Kerala after my father’s sudden demise a couple of weeks ago. In the span of these last few weeks I continue to attend funerals of relatives and acquaintances that have died in this part of the country. Spotting a person’s death is quite easy given that the largest Malayalam newspaper in this region has a dedicated (paid) few pages to the departed souls who peep out of these columns every morning.

So, needless to stress that during these past few days it has become a daily routine to go through the columns to search for persons departed who may be near and dear but whose deaths sometimes remain unknown to us unheralded in ways having failed to traverse the journey through the dogged maze of daily activity.

Being a keen observer, I have been noticing the various expressions that peep out at me every morning from these departed souls. Some look intrigued, some look on blankly, some are looking beyond the camera lens, some frown, some seem weary, some seem to be hapless victims of their destiny, some make an effort to smile for the camera, others give out an expression of ‘devil cares attitude’, and still others send out a soft sense of approval. The camera catches them at different stages in their lives and moments that, which tell a story to the inquisitive observant.

Follow these expressions, look deep inside and you can narrate a story beyond every individual expression. The ones who frown seems to be up on the edge when their expression was captured. They don’t care for the photographer or the effect that their photo would have on students like me. They are so harassed by the events in life that they would wish to wrap up their shot only too quickly. Every moment spent looking into the camera is a waste of their values and thought process. They are too preoccupied within themselves to give a damn to what others would think of them.

The one who looks intrigued is like someone who has lost his horse to a bolt of lightning. He seems stranded without knowing where to go or what to do. He is caught in the moment of indecision just when he seems to have lost his grapple on life. He is asking the question why me and why now? He seems to be probing others on the purpose of his life. He is like an oarsman paddling his boat which is anchored to the shore not knowing why it is not moving.

Now look at the one who seem to stare at you blankly. For them life has been a struggle, and they are not enthused by the end result. They behave and feel like a numb limb which the doctor tries to knock on to see if it holds some sensation. No amount of knocking will help them regain their lost vigor and no amount of coaxing can get them out of their stupor. They are like souls departed from the body but hanging on to a loose thread of life which stare back dangerously at you, ready to snap any moment, not wanting to prolong things but not capable of snapping the cord on their own.

Reflect on the weary looking ones and you can see the toil on the lines of their forehead. If there was any way you could hold their hands you will surely find it rough due to hard labour. The eyes signal tiredness out of years of being constantly focused. The face seems to copy all the emotions that reflect out of their eyes. The look seems to tell us that they had a fulfilling life albeit tired having travelled through the rough and uneven roads and bearing all the upheavals that it offered. There is a glint in their eyes, so common to having given off their best. A sense of satisfaction seems to be conveying out of these faces that look back at us through the pages.

Some seem to be looking beyond the lens of the camera having effectively negotiated the various twists and turns and having gained a handful going through life. They seem to convey in ample measure that there is more than what meets the eye. They are the ones who have gone to their graves with the fruits of their labour harbored inside them. They are the ones who had a fair measure of life but failed to empty it fully while they could. They are the ones who seem to carry things way beyond what everyone seems to understand. They somehow remind us of the pharaohs of Egypt who lay buried with kingly treasures and divinity around them.

The ones with devil cares attitude are the ones that I like the most. They have spent their lives knowing full well that the wick in the candle could be burning furiously. They were the ones who anticipated the breeze to blow out the candle even while in full glory. They are the ones who had a zeal for life and what it offered. They are the ones who gave it all they had and took back in equal measure. They are the ones who do not have a single lapel of regret pinned on their burial shroud. They are the ones who paved their own paths in life and lived life - each to his own. They are the ones who espoused the theory of going out with their boots strapped tightly on.

Some of us while saying ‘cheese’ camouflage these feelings and expressions so as to send out a cozy sense of fulfillment to the outside world. For them, what matters is what matters to others; they risk their self and emotions in fulfilling the aspirations of the world. They are like a kid out to paint for the first time, painting the picture of a dark cloudy sky along with the sun shining brightly in the background, or trying to depict a well tarred road by painting it pitch black amidst a colourful landscape.

12^th January 2017

Pulladu

So Long Daddy

So long Daddy

As the night descends on the last day of the year and as celebrations reverberate in the air, when crackers sound in the distance and the year 2016 gets swallowed by the youthful morning of the New year, I sit down to bid a final farewell to my dear father who left me exactly nine days to the beginning of this New year.

The year gone by had begun with hope and promise which gradually descended into disarray. The moorings of life was inadvertently giving way to the hazards of tomorrow and the promises that seemed so sensuous and charming had begun to wither with the evening dusk. Fate seemed to have singled me out for the strapping of a teacher seething with fury, the ignominy of having to plough alone through the difficult terrains of life.

Just when everything seemed to be so afar, came the little beam of hope through the unlikeliest crack in the window, that helped me cling to a fading hope outside the mental makeup of my little mind. This crack soon seemed to give way in proportions that soothed my jarred mind and senses. The hope that had withered away seemed to suddenly spring up like a newly discovered spring of water.

I freshened to start anew the purpose that had outlived itself, the cascading effects of lady luck that had started to smile at me seemed heartening from the occasional winks that was previously unsure. The steps seemed firmer and the end seemed to be happier. Circumstances too seemed to relive as if awakening from a deep slumber and gather momentum.

Then suddenly the dark clouds descended with a thundering effect that left me stunned and dazed to a point of being disoriented. The howling turned into wailing as I received news of my father having passed on, in this world. The hopes turned into desperation, the memories dug deep into the depths of childhood archives.

The tears refused to flow while my memory was awash with life with Dad. The joy the peace, the ecstasy the exuberance, the innocence, the trust, the loyalty, the fondness, the reprimands, the laughs, the day outs, the tempers, the shrill cry, the pain amidst the never ending shield of a protecting father all came flowing through the shadows of my mind which somehow in the end seemed to extract a price in the warm tears that seemed to flow without provocation.

I am left marooned with the protector gone never to come back again. How I wished my Dad would give me a sly wink while he lay in the coffin. How I would steal a glance at my Dad now lying still to see if he had wanted to part his lips to offer final words as a lasting succor. Even while he was being carried to his final resting place I had hoped against hope that he would somehow get across to me even while the mourning procession made its way through the rural landscape.

The relation between us refused to be buried, though they placed him six feet under. I was able to snatch away our cord of communication; those lines will never snap and will serve well into the time I am devoured by mother earth. The tears have dried and life goes on.

I am aware of the crackers going off in the neighborhood, I can feel the winter chill, the freshness of the night converting into day, the darkness being enveloped by the morning hope and the year that is to be. So long Dad- farewell and rest in peace till we meet again.

31^st Dec 2016

Pulladu

My Take

My Take

Ever since the Prime Minister demonetized the higher currency notes in India people have ascribed different motives to this move. Some called it a brilliant move to cut out Black money and corruption from the economy. Others termed it election politics and that which could have been implemented better. The Prime Minister Mr. Modi, himself has assured citizens through his speeches that the intention is to clean the economy off black money.

Analysts and the who-who of creative thinkers have dared to write their piece on why and how it is a masterstroke or cursed this move which caused misery to common folks. Enough has been written and debated on the pros and cons of this move and its intentions or ill intentions. I have a different take and will explain why I think the analysts are ‘missing the wood for the tree’.

The first question I ask is will it help curb black money- My answer is No- Why? Well black money is not something that was once made and remains buried somewhere. Black money is a continuous process and the fall out of systematic loopholes and mans curiosity to beat the system. Black money is generated through the system and therefore the banning of high currency notes will not in the least stop this flow. Let’s say I am service provider and bill, Mr. X an amount that is lesser than the agreed value which means that the tax calculation suffers to the extent the bill value is reduced. The treasury is cheated while the service provider and person X benefits by not paying tax on the full amount of the agreed value in the transaction and by paying less tax since the amount is reduced. This difference so scammed, off the treasury books forms black money. Now will someone tell me how banning of high value currency notes will stem this rot?

Corruption has a long list of meanings best amongst which I like is “the process of decay”. It comes from the Latin origin- “Corrumpere” or “Corruptio” which means mar, bribery, destroy. When the original is changed it is corruption, be it the thought, word or deed. Now how can the banning of high value notes stop corruption? I fail to find an answer. So neither will the generation of black money stop nor will corruption vanish from our living spaces. Doesn’t the Prime Minister know this then and why is he still persisting? This is why I say a lot of us are missing the wood for the trees.

Our economy has been suffering a lot through the injection of fake currency from across the border. The machinery on the other side functions with impunity while scrupulous and anti social elements at home helps in the distribution process. The malice is so rampant that a substantial portion of the circulated money in high value currency is counterfeit. It is this that is worrying the Prime Minister and the country and that is why he has taken on himself the task of shutting this tap across the border through this move.

Extract from an article in Indian Express dated June 8, 2016-

“As many as 250 out of every 10 lakh notes in circulation are fake, according to a study conducted by the Indian Statistical Institute. Typically, at any point in time, banknotes with a face value of Rs 400 crore are in circulation in the country. The study revealed that fake currency notes with a face value of Rs 70 crore are infused into the system every year, and law enforcement agencies are able to intercept only a third of them — a fact that is acknowledged by the agencies themselves.

The detection rates of fake 100- and 500-rupee notes were found to be about the same or 10% higher than the detection rate of 1,000-rupee notes. The study added that fake 1,000-rupee notes constitute about 50% of the total value of fake notes.

Pakistan’s military spy agency, the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), has been raking in an annual profit of around Rs 500 crore by circulating counterfeit notes in India, according to a report prepared by the IB, R&AW, Directorate of Revenue Intelligence and CBI.

The ISI has been making a profit of 30-40% on the face value of each counterfeit Indian note produced in Pakistan, according to the report. The cost of printing a Rs 1,000 counterfeit note, for instance, is Rs 39 (the RBI spends Rs 29 to print a Rs 1,000 note), but it is sold at Rs 350-400, according to the report. The total fake notes that came into India in 2010 from abroad were pegged at Rs 1,600 crore, and going by this estimate, the report put the ISI’s total profit at Rs 500 crore”.

End of extract-

The prime minster is simply playing to the gallery and reaping political mileage through this move while we common citizens scramble to keep up with the system. For Black money and corruption to be eradicated, the thought process has to change. All of us have to imbibe non corrupt mind sets and be truly nationalist (not the kind felt when you unfurl the national flag or when someone across the border shoots down our soldiers). At best what the nation can thank the Prime Minister for is shutting the tap for the time being, but at what cost- the debate rages on.

Robin Varghese- robin_vargh@yahoo.com

16^th November, 2016

The Burden of the mighty

The burden of the mighty

Just read a small little clip a while ago here is how it goes-

One Sunday morning an old cowboy entered a church just before services were to begin. Although the old man and his clothes were spotlessly clean, he wore jeans, a denim shirt and boots that were very worn and ragged. In his hand he carried a worn out old hat and an equally worn out Bible. The church he entered was in a very upscale and exclusive part of the city. It was the largest and most beautiful church the old cowboy had ever seen. The people of the congregation were all dressed with expensive clothes and accessories.

As the cowboy took a seat, the others moved away from him. No one greeted, spoke to or welcomed him. They were all appalled at his appearance and did not attempt to hide it. As the old cowboy was leaving the church, the preacher approached him and asked the cowboy to do him a favor: “Before you come back in here again, have a talk with God and ask him what he thinks would be appropriate attire for worship.”

The old cowboy assured the preacher he would. But the next Sunday, he showed back up for the services wearing the same ragged jeans, shirt, boots and hat. Once again he was completely shunned and ignored. The preacher approached the man and said, “I thought I asked you to speak to God before you came back to our church.”

“I did,” replied the old cowboy. “If you spoke to God, what did he tell you that the proper attire should be for worshiping in here?” asked the preacher.

“Well, sir, God told me that He didn’t have a clue what I should wear. He said He’d never been in here before.”

This reminded me of the man who walked with his dead wife on his shoulder all the way to his village because there was no hearse van in the hospital or the available van was on some other duty, or probably he was carrying about him the worn out hat and bible like the cowboy. Alongside was his young daughter who was weeping silently and walking with the father. The look on their faces told a story of everyday life captivated and stilled in the moment for the camera. The man had an expressionless face that barely let forth any emotions. 

The girl cried beside him not because they had to carry her mother home like a heavy log slung on the shoulder, but because of the uncertainty facing her on the morrow. Her only channel of communication has extinguished and there lay in front of her a highly uncertain future. The very poverty that prevented them from getting assistance, their non existence that fueled the thought process of the hospital authorities were very much holding onto the skyline. Life was the same for the poor rudderless, nonexistent people in that part of the world. They were like the cowboy who walked in worn and weary out of years of toil and facing a highly dysfunctional society.

Even while we shout inclusiveness, even while we ‘Make in India’, even while we promise millions of jobs for our youth, even while we upgrade the skills of our young ones through the skill India campaign, the ordinary cherished dreams of the poor linger in the air like the morning smoke of a home fire that mingles into the air at short notice. Nobody would remember the path it took, the twirl of its body as it rose into the air. Its existence would be but only for a moment and before anyone notices, it is lost. Such is the existence of poor people, like that villager with his wife straddled on his shoulder.

The issue faced by the poor villager was very much akin to what the pastor and his ilk had adapted to, having cocooned themselves into a corner not willing to recognize the disadvantaged, feeling shamed at worshiping with the downtrodden. How many times have we scorned the lowly, the people who walk in with the scent of their toil dismembering the fragrance of our holiness, our understanding? Aren’t we ashamed of standing in line with such less lucky brethren, Oh, how we screw up our nose at the first scent of the lowly?

Aren’t we reverberating the ways of the pastor and are we not behaving like the congregation that does not see and feel the unevenness of life? Next time you see the cowboy with his expressionless face, next time you see the lonesome girl lost in the present, next time you feel the aura of a sophisticated existence, stop a while and draw in the air around you, to feel the numberless toiling bodies that live a life of non existence.

Allow them to sit next to you, to inhale the fragrance of your mightiness. Ask if you may share in their emotions a while, ask if you may partake in the toil, ask if you may help shoulder the weight of their misfortune, failing which we would be nothing more than the weight the villager was carrying, nothing more than the self flattering contours of the church which even the almighty chose to give a miss.

Robin Varghese

26^th August 26, 2016

Robin_vargh@yahoo.com

Luckily unlucky

Luckily unlucky

What is luck? Is it something that follows you if your adhere to a certain routine? Is it something that sticks to you because of your perseverance? Is it a dame smiling down at you because you have an outright personality or because you are irresistible? Or is this something that rides on the wheel of time and crisscrosses every doorway once in a while?

Luck comes to those who persevere on the route to perseverance. Only if you keep at it will luck ever whizz past you. To keep at it one needs mental strength and admirably strong focus to be able to keep going in the face of strong odds and results that are not favorably inclined. Therefore luck is is a by product of the mind. Everything that goes right is because you think right and everything that goes wrong happens because there was no conviction in the argument.

So through aside luck and train your mind to be luckily unlucky because this takes away the thought that luck is something waiting to happen and will happen at least once in a life time. Some argue that it is being there at the right place at the right time. I would prefer to be unlucky always so that I can place my efforts in a more focused and directed way rather than wait for that little bit of extra to be added to taste.

Imagine you are going for a job interview, think about the job profile, the company and the scope of activities after you join. Do not even for a moment think about losing out to your competitor. When this happens the strength and confidence in yourself, your voice, body language all add up to present a perfect you and the interviewer sees in you a person who can be hired. You may still lose the race but that will not be on account of ill luck or plainly being unlucky, but because the other person held their side of the bargain better than you.

The mind is the most powerful and potent force in your system, train it to yield results and erase the word ‘Luck’ from your memory. You are what you think you are and if you stay that way you will finally end up exactly as you thought. Caress the mind to yield results, and they will all come in time. If it doesn’t come to you then it is not because you didn’t try but because you gave up just at the nick of success.

Imagine a man trying to uncork a bottle that has been stuck severely and not giving way in spite of all kinds of human pressure. You try it with your right hand and then try it with the other hand just in case. Still it does not yield. You try to unscrew it holding a piece of cloth yet it does not yield. You give it your last bit of energy and it still holds. Frustrated you ask your friend, partner, bystander for help and they unscrew it easily with aplomb. Why does this happen? Were you doing something wrong? Or did the other person unscrew it in a new defining way? - No.

What actually happened was that every time you put pressure the cork was unscrewing a bit but not enough for it to yield. You were not prepared to open it bit by bit and so you felt frustrated and unsuccessful. Finally you gave up just when it was ready to yield at the next pressure. That was the time your partner, friend, bystander took over and achieved that which you had vainly tried. You curse your luck when you should be cursing your lack of perseverance your lack of application. Had you kept at it the next pressure exerted would have opened the bottle and you would have been successful. So banish luck and stay focused on what you want while adding perseverance to your virtue. 

Written by- Robin Varghese – robin_vargh@yahoo.com