OF IDLI, SAMBHAR, AND CHUTNEYS

 

OF IDLI, SAMBHAR, AND CHUTNEYS

“Arrey bhai,”I heard a voice calling out from behind me. I turned around wondering whether it was addressed to me. It was a Sardarji sitting behind and he was calling out to the waiter.

“Ek plate idli aur do plate sambhar,” he ordered (One plate Idli and Two plates Sambhar).

That was years ago when I lived in Chembur and breakfasted in Geeta Cafe. That was when an additional plate of sambhar was a bonus and did not cost anything. Things have changed now, the hotels started charging for the additional plate of sambhar. Maybe the realization struck them later that more quantities of sambhar were being consumed than the idlis ordered. Not that any specification was given regarding the amount of sambhar needed to immerse the idli. 

Ever since my post on ‘Samosas and Tomatoes’, it has come to my attention that Samosas sales have increased significantly. In this connection, I was pleasantly surprised when I received a call from the ‘Samosa Seva Sangh’ thanking me profusely for my efforts to promote the sales of samosas. They also added that they were organizing a samosa-eating competition and inviting me to be the chief guest. Of course, I had to politely refuse saying that it would not be possible since I was suffering from indigestion. But like every silver lining has a darker shade, the price of tomatoes shot up and there were complaints that the vegetable vendors were making a fast buck putting the entire blame on the shortage of supply of tomatoes in the market. Discreet inquiries revealed that there was no shortage but an increase in demand. I was told this had happened because some bloke had come out with a new recipe for substituting Gulab Jamuns with Sugary Tomatoes, a cheaper, healthier, and tastier option. You guessed it, I kept my mouth shut.

Pardon me for veering away from what I started with. Now coming back to the main topic for today -Idlis, Sambhar, and Chutney, you may wonder why this sudden fascination for all things eatable. Well, for some time now my taste buds have been overreacting to external stimuli of the eatable kind and I am sure you are also in the same boat, going by the reactions I received for my last post. You may ask why Idli, Sambhar, and Chutney. Well, I had them for breakfast today(at home of course).

Well, my affair with Idlis goes back a long time to my childhood. We lived in Visakhapatnam in Andhra Pradesh at that time. I was a kid nine years old and you know that is the time of your first growing up(the second time would be the teens), that is when you get into scraps at school with bullies who would try to bulldoze you by calling you names( a nicer name for abuse) and taunting you. So it was, that I was called ‘Idli Sambhar’ by a Telugu-speaking classmate who thought that was the ultimate insult forgetting that most of their ilk would be at Mani’s Cafe having Idli Sambhar. But to this date, I have not understood why they should do that when it was also the staple diet in their homes (in fact when I am in Hyderabad I would go to Chutneys and order for Guntur Idli. Well more of that later). So I came home and asked my brother who was much older to me why we were called Idli Sambhar. He laughed and said, “Next time he calls you that, you respond by calling him ‘Gongura Chutney’ and he will shut up”.  For the ignorant and that includes me,  Gongura chutney is a chutney made out of Gongura leaves. That doesn’t tell you much, so I had to seek the help of my Wikipedia( in case you are confused this is as I am writing all this) and this is what he had to say - Smaller Gongura leaves offer a mild green and tangy flavor, whereas more mature specimens are robust and acrid. Warm temperatures also affect the taste of the leaf because the hotter it gets, the sourer the leaf will taste. Well, I am not going to waste precious writing space describing a chutney. So you get the hang of it?

And so it was, armed with a fresh weapon of my choice ‘Gongura Chutney’ I took on all the predators, till we called for peace and and sealed the issue at Mani’s Cafe with Idli, Sambhar, and of course Gongura Chutney.

Well coming back to the Idli and Sambhar issue, as you travel far down south from Chennai, you are served Idlis (of course Dosas and Vadas included along with Pongal) on banana leaves placed before you. Then the server comes with a bucket of Sambhar and with a ladle pours it over your Idli generously. Though you are thankful for the generosity, you spend half the time ensuring that the Sambhar does not run out of the banana leaf. But like our Sardar friend would say this takes away the pleasure of seeing Idli sink in a plate of Sambhar and after you finish eating your Idli you can drink the plate of Sambhar and savour its taste.

As for the Idli itself, they come in various levels of hardness. The thicker and harder ones will sink to the bottom of the Sambhar and do not go easy on the palate. The softer, fluffier ones are the best and taste much better, and of course, they drink more Sambhar than you. And you end up eating more of the idlis. It all comes down to the proportion of idli rice and lentils(urad dal) in the batter mix and how well it is ground to a paste in the grinder. Not everyone gets the proportions right. And like every time I never fail to acknowledge that my wife gets it right (After all, like I mentioned in my previous post, she is a good cook, and also I know she will be reading this post). I guess that the hotels would have standardized the procedure. But I have given you the thumb rule to distinguish a good idli from a bad one.

My wife does not relish the ready made batter Idlis (Idli dosa batters are available at all stores). She says they are for people who do not have the time or do not want to put in the effort. And then she will go into the economics of making the idli at home (but we cannot deny that we do enjoy going out to a restaurant and ordering a plate of idli accompanied by Sambhar and chutneys, the added advantage is that the Sambhar is also brought in a separate stainless steel cup so that you can drink it if you missed pouring on the Idli).

Though now we have Rava Idli, Semiya Idli, Oats Idli, Ragi Idli etc being served, there is nothing to beat the good old white and a perfect circular shaped Idli which would sink into the Sambhar. But I should acknowledge that with other accompaniments like Coconut chutney, Mint chutney, tomato Chutney, It tastes just as great. But the Mulagai Podi (Chilly Powder, which some refer to as gunpowder) made at home beats them all. A paste of Mulagai Podi and til oil evenly spread over the idly, a batch of six to eight idlis pressed into a box and which you can eat anytime you want. In fact when we went visiting Disney land, my cousin brought a huge pile of them. That is what we had and relished there at lunchtime. Yummy! they were delicious (I could have called it Idlis at Disneyland). When in Hyderabad do not miss to eat Guntur Idli - a copious spread of Chilly Powder and Ghee. Wow! Tasted excellent. Mini Idlis is another great option, six or seven of them floating in a pool of Sambhar. Great sight, great taste.

Well having spoken so much about Idlis I cannot ignore the Sambhar. They have their own avatars - Vengai Sambhar(Onion Sambhar), Murungakai Sambhar(Drumstick Sambhar), Mulangi Sambhar(Radish Sambhar), Each with its own flavor and taste. Well take your pick.

You may ask why I am so obsessed with Idlis. For one I had them for breakfast today and a another compelling reason -

“Idlis are a preferred choice for health-conscious individuals due to their low-fat and calorie content. They make for a light and nutritious meal that can be enjoyed guilt-free. Moreover, the absence of saturated fats in idlis makes them heart-friendly, contributing to a well-balanced diet”.

After my first post on Samosas and Tomatoes, there have been requests for - Parattas and Potatoes, Cabbages and Cauliflowers, Fafda and Jalebis, and so on. May be I shall explore further.

However, right now it is midnight 27th July 2024 and I am feeling hungry. Maybe I shall make a tomato sandwich (my wife will come to know only in the morning since she is already asleep)

So till next time with the hope that there will be a surge in demand for Idlis, Good night.

OF SAMOSAS AND TOMATOES

 

OF SAMOSAS AND TOMATOES

Let me start with a disclaimer ‘This post is strictly vegetarian, and that's why I shall not be talking about Sausages. In any case, I do not eat sausages or anything non-vegetarian. Maybe once I did. But the aging process has not allowed my palate to succumb to its beckonings. See though I started with a disclaimer I still talk about it. But why this sudden fascination for samosas and tomatoes you may ask. Well, like you, I have also wondered. Maybe it’s because I found that samosas can be equally spicy and tomatoes can be juicy. Though I always knew, it was only yesterday that it was reaffirmed. And how, you may ask again. That‘s a long story. If you have the patience then read on.

It all started with a dream in the afternoon, and let me tell you that afternoon dreams can be quite weird. But in any case, I do fall asleep in the afternoon after eating a sumptuous lunch prepared by my wife (mind you she is a good cook). This of course is a daily routine(story). Whatever it is, when I take my position on the couch to relax after all that effort to watch some inane serials on the TV my eyelids droop, and the sheer effort needed to keep them open to make out what is happening on the screen was not worth the additional effort. It is when my head starts rocking and eerie sounds emanate (your guess is as good as mine from where) that my wife sitting next to me would shake me up (literally) and say “Why don’t you go to the bedroom stretch out and have a good sleep. At least I can watch the TV uninterrupted by your snoring.” So off I would go and do as instructed.

That’s what happened two days ago. I hit the bed and the next thing I knew I was in the midst of a party where a conglomeration of my close friends and colleagues had gathered. Taken by surprise, I found a chair next to a very close friend of mine and sat down. Let’s call him R, for you never know whether he would take umbrage in being the subject of a dream. So I asked him-

“Boss, what’s happening here?”

“What’s happening? Have you forgotten? Today we are having a Samosa party and I thought you were never going to land up. It’s closing time now.”

“What Samosa party? I don’t remember being invited,” I replied.

“Come on, I also rang you up this morning and reminded you of this get-together. Boss you are growing old,” he replied.

“So are you,” I said, “anyway tell me why do you say Samosa party?”

“Don’t you remember that this is our Batch Reunion get-together? We thought we would do something different when someone hit upon the idea of a Samosa party where we could recall our bygone years and what lies in store and eat samosas. It’s a sort of stock-taking. They even asked who all were participating so that they could order enough samosas. You had also confirmed. You know there is this famous Samosawala from Jhumrithalaiya whose samosas have made it to the Guinness Book. With a lot of cajoling, he accepted our order (usually he does not accept anything below 1000 samosas per order). We had somehow managed to extend our order to 500 samosas.”

“Ok, since I have already landed here, I might as well have some samosas,” I said.

“Sorry boss, it appears that the samosas have finished. You were too late, The get-together is now coming to an end. Better luck next time. In any case, you may come over to my house in Chembur. There is a shop in front of my place where you get the best Vada Pavs in Mumbai,” R apologetically replied.

Suddenly I felt someone shaking me up again. It was my wife.

“You have been sleeping for the last two hours, it is now 4.30 in the evening, time for your evening walk,” She said and went into the kitchen to make coffee.

But the real story begins now. Last evening around 4 pm when I had just shaken myself from my afternoon slumber, I felt an irresistible urge to eat samosas. The previous day's hangover had carried over to the next day only this time it was not a dream. Maybe because my wishes had remained unfulfilled in the last day’s dream. But that’s how all my dreams have been, I would end up missing the bus or l am left searching for something I could never identify. It would all be incomplete. That’s what happened to the samosas.  So I decided to ring up my friend R and tell him about the dream. You can imagine my surprise when he said-

“But Subbu, I was at a party yesterday afternoon and I did have samosas. A few of us had got together for lunch.”

Well, that was the last straw. But how did the samosas creep into my dream? Maybe, as Freud would say it is a disguised fulfillment of a repressed wish. I would disagree since there were no samosas left and hence no fulfillment. So I sought to take refuge in what Carl Jung had to say “If we meditate on a dream sufficiently long and thoroughly, if we carry it around with us and turn it over and over, something almost always comes of it”.

Since I did not want to carry over my repressed wish to my next dream, I decided that come what may, I would have them that evening. So I walked over to the snack stall near my house to get them. Imagine my disappointment when I was told that the samosas were over but they had excellent Kachoris. For a while, I stood there staring at the waiter when I remembered what Jung had said that something always comes out of it. If it be so, I said to myself ‘let it be Kachoris’, so I told him to pack a dozen of them and took it home.

“I thought you were going to get samosas and now you have a dozen kachoris. Do you intend to eat all of them?” my wife asked.

“No, no, you can also have some of them,” I said

“Well I am sure you are still going to dream of samosas tonight,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

Well, that was not the end of it. The kachoris had disappeared and it was late at night. The wife had gone to sleep. I felt a sudden urge once again, only this time to have something sweet before going to bed, preferably gulab jamun. I knew that it was not possible as I heard the clock chime 12 am.

That’s when I tip-toed to the Fridge, a clandestine operation since I did not wish to wake up my wife. And there they were red and round as I reached out to take two tomatoes ( If you have been wondering when the tomatoes will make their appearance It was now). I cut them into slices and garnished them with sugar. 

To tell you the truth, that night the tomatoes were tastier than the Gulab Jamuns. 

That night I did not have any dreams. The Kachoris and the tomatoes had done the trick.

On second thoughts I think I should have titled this post - ‘Of Samosas and Gulab Jamuns and Kachoris and Tomatoes

THE PHILOSOPHY OF NOTHING

 

THE PHILOSOPHY OF NOTHING

It all started last night when I was watching the Tv. I do not pay much attention to the ads, but this one caught my eye as the word NOTHING flashed on the screen. I realized that it was an ad for a mobile phone which was called ‘NOTHING(R)’. I never knew such a phone existed (and I mean Nothing existed) till I googled and found that there is such a phone made by Nothing Technology Limited (stylized as NOTHING)  a British consumer electronics manufacturer based in London. 

I was intrigued because only in the evening while on my evening walk on the beach road, I met an old friend (and I mean really old) and stopped to talk to him, and the whole conversation centered around Nothing. 

“So what have you been doing all this while?” he asked since I was seeing him after a lapse of nearly three years. 

“Nothing”, I said.

“What do you mean nothing?”

“Yes, it’s actually ‘Nothing’”, I replied.

“What do you mean? You told me you were writing a book”.

“Yes, I am writing a book. It’s nearly complete. The name of the book is ‘Nothing’.”

“My God!” he scratched his head in exasperation. “If it’s nothing, then what are you writing about?”

“Well, it’s about ‘Nothing’. 

“Oh! I hope something comes out of your Nothing,” he said and walked away.

Nothing much has changed over the years. Only the travails have resurfaced. But I was reminded of the lines from ‘The Sound of Music’ song ‘Something Good’ - 

Nothing comes from nothing,

Nothing ever could.

So Something should come out of something. That’s why I decided to write something about Nothing. Well, that’s assuming that Nothing is actually Something-

‘Pickles’ comic strip focussing on a retired couple in their seventies, Earl and Opal has been a favorite. I came across a strip which seemed to answer a part of my predicament-

The Philosopher Plato once said-

“I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing And that is that I know nothing”.

“How did he know that?”

“His wife told him.”

I wondered how one could write about Nothing. A project I knew was doomed to be a failure from the start. This was till I came across a book by Jenny Odell titled ‘How to Do Nothing’. It set me thinking. I searched for other books and I found another interesting one ‘The Lost Art of Doing Nothing: How the Dutch unwind with Niksen’. That was a new word and I looked up its meaning -

‘Niksen is a Dutch verb that means doing nothing which can be roughly translated as nixing. The noun Niksen is ‘The practice of doing nothing as a means of relieving stress, setting aside time to do absolutely nothing

As has been my habit nowadays, I referred the question to my grandson for his responses and this is what I got-

“Nothing and Perfection are two aspects, that people seek to define even when they know that they do not exist in reality,” (pardon me, but Perfection was a fallout of an earlier discussion with him).

Needless to say, I was perplexed, as usual. This happens after every conversation I have with him.

Long ago when I was on a binge reading Sartre’s books, I had consciously pushed back his magnum opus ‘Being and Nothingness’ to the last on the list. Not only because it was bulky, but because when I browsed through the first few pages I could not understand anything or rather I understood nothing. Though I was successful going through all his other works, this remained untouched and was adorning my bookshelf till a few years ago, If you ask me what happened to the book? I can only answer that it is no longer there. Now if you ask me why, I can say that as long as it was there, it was ‘Being’ there, and the minute I removed it from its place on the shelf there was ‘Nothing there’. That was when wisdom dawned on me. Now every time I look at the space in the shelf there is nothing. And that’s how I understood ‘Being and Nothingness’. Simple isn’t it? I decided I did not need to read the book, and so decided to pass it on to someone who had nothing better to do. So you see, after all, Nothing had a purpose to serve.

Now if you ask me what I have been doing for the last couple of months since my last blog posting, I can only reply nothing, and this time it is true, I am not writing a book about nothing as previously alluded to, but simply doing nothing and feeling happy about it. But then I realized that something happens even when you do nothing. Your beard grows, even some strands of hair have grown on my bald pate, the wrinkles on my face have multiplied, and my stomach protruded (I had a paunch). And when I looked in the mirror, I knew that there was no looking back. And that’s when I learned that if there is one reality, it is that ‘Nothing’ can stop this process of aging and if there is one thing that is eternally present it is ‘Nothing’.

Pardon me for this post. Of late when I talk to people my age and that is old, the common refrain when asked what they have been doing is, they have not been doing anything much. In simple words, it means they are doing nothing. But of course, doing nothing is also something. Well, if you are convinced that I have nothing better to do then you are spot on. Of late, it is true that I have been doing nothing and that is how this post originated. Well, if you feel you have nothing better to do, read on, and in the end, do nothing.

It’s not my intention here to turn this post into a philosophical discourse. But, of course, during my superficial forays into the realms of Indian Philosophy, I read that “Originally, there was nothing. In the beginning of things, what was there? Nothing was there”. I realized that the outcome of my efforts to understand philosophy ultimately amounted to Nothing, whether it be Hindu, Buddhist, Christian, or Existential Thought. But I ploughed on emboldened by the early Greek Philosophers who argued that it was impossible for nothing to exist. So nothing existed, confusing isn’t it? Well, that’s been happening to me very often now. 

In all this there was a silver lining when I read a quote from Tolstoy’s ‘War and Peace’ - “We can know only that we know nothing. And that is the highest degree of human wisdom.” 

Well, I accept I know nothing and so………….

SUBMERGED 2 - THE DAY CHENNAI SANK AGAIN

 

SUBMERGED 2 - THE DAY CHENNAI SANK AGAIN

It was in the first week of December 2015 eight years ago that Chennai was submerged by incessant rainfall, the flooding in the city was described as the worst in a century due to the North East monsoon which hits the East Coast of India during November and December. I was in Chennai, marooned along with so many others, without power, and water (which had to be lugged from the sump on the ground floor to my first-floor apartment, one of the lucky few). One had to grab whatever was available in the surrounding provision stores. Luckily there was no flooding within the apartment perimeter or the surrounding area. In that sense we were lucky.

When the power was restored after three days and the wifi turned on, I sat that night to write ‘Submerged - The Day Chennai Sank’ in my blog. That was my way of venting my frustration at what had happened and why the city was reduced to shambles. 

This year it was the cyclone Michaung which battered the city and dumped as much water or maybe more to leave thousands homeless and most of the population without food, drinking water, and power. The signs had been ominous at least a week before 4th December when it finally hit Chennai. All along the Met department was doing their job, tracking the course of the cyclone, and the others(?), were just watching without any perceptible movement on their part to take stock of the situation, and initiate measures to safeguard the city and the population. After all, they had eight years to implement these measures from the lessons learned during the last disaster. We were told that Rs. 4000 crores had been spent in implementing the infrastructure and stormwater drainage systems to prevent such an eventuality. Looking at what happened and how badly the city was affected it is obvious that all that money had literally gone down the drain or into —----(?). The lessons hadn’t been learned because there were more important priorities.

This time around I was away in Hyderabad. Should I say that I was lucky I was not in Chennai? Though it is a fact, I still feel a sense of having run away from the scene. I have been busy listening to the coverage in the media and seeing the visuals and first-hand reports from my friends and relatives. The situation has been grave and as I write this I am told that there are still some areas where normalcy is yet to be restored. The scenes were very familiar, and 2015 was repeated with increased intensity. I thought that the best way to express my anguish was to repeat what I had written in my earlier blog. Though eight years old, it is still very much relevant, for nothing has changed, nothing constructive has happened. 

Although the monsoon is an annual occurrence and cyclones can be expected during this period, this year also the city was in no state of preparedness. The lessons of 2015 had not been learned. At that time I had raised several questions and made observations as to who is to be held responsible for these recurring mishaps. 

Reproduced below is a portion of my earlier post, for like everything my views remain the same -

‘Today when we look at what has happened by way of development, we find – 

1) unauthorized, unplanned, and illegal structures have sprouted all along the banks of the rivers and elsewhere 

2) there is only a very small fraction of the large number of water bodies that existed in and around the hinterland of Chennai still left, and encroachments have happened at such places hindering the natural course of water flow

 3) the real estate boom has given rise to the proliferation of housing societies built in low-lying areas where once a lake existed and (today most of them are flooded). This has been made possible due to the dangerous nexus between the unscrupulous elements in the construction sector, the land grabbing quick buck-making politicians, and the respective departments in the government who do not appear to have made a sincere and serious study of the feasibility and safety of such projects before giving clearances. The result is that a majority of the people aspiring to own a house have taken a huge risk investing in these projects. 

4) If a mapping of the entire region indicating the low-lying areas and lake beds has been done, it does not appear to have been made public, and the ordinary citizen is not aware, nor have the builders been transparent enough to reveal the hazards. Ultimately, one should lay the blame on the agencies involved for giving clearances. Who knows (or rather everyone knows) what considerations are involved.  

I could list out any number of failures and shortcomings of the administration. But have we ever asked ourselves the question why this is so? To what extent have we ourselves contributed to this sorry state of affairs? Isn’t it fair to admit that we also have a major share in allowing this to happen?

Hopefully, this disaster should open the eyes of the ordinary man to the game being played. Though stormwater drains have been planned and implemented, they have not been fully completed and where completed, periodic maintenance is not evident. Roads are dug up by different departments like the electricity board for laying cables and again dug up by the water and sewage department for laying pipelines without any proper resurfacing of the road. The pathetic state of the roads is evidence enough. We already have large potholes and caving-in roads in some places, aggravated by this present spell of rains and I am sure some patchwork will be done immediately, which within a few months will once again revert to their pathetic state. No one is held accountable for carrying out such substandard and shoddy work. One hears that there was opposition to the proposal for relaying the roads with concrete. One can only surmise that if that is done the need for maintenance will drastically reduce and with it, the annual contracts for relaying the roads would diminish, and with it …… (No elaboration required I guess). It's ‘consideration’ and not 'necessity', that appears to be the rule for awarding work contracts.

This disaster has brought to the fore the fact, that it is the ordinary man on the street, our armed forces, NDRF, and other voluntary agencies that emerge as the heroes of the day; whether it is rescuing marooned people and ensuring that supplies are delivered to the affected. People have thrown open their homes to house the affected. For the first time, I have seen Chennai rise as a single united force without relying on the unreliable support of the political class to battle the forces of nature and ensure the city's survival. Well, the politicians whichever party they belong to have engaged themselves in blame games, trying to garner credit for the rescue efforts that have been undertaken. 

What can one say except that the Elections are imminent and this ‘Disaster’ is an ‘Opportunity’!

A TRIBUTE TO MAMI (Smt. LAKSHMI RAMACHANDRAN) ON HER BIRTH CENTENARY

 

A TRIBUTE TO MAMI (Smt. LAKSHMI RAMACHANDRAN) ON HER BIRTH CENTENARY

It was in July 1977 (46 years ago) that I first met Mami, my future mother-in-law, Mrs. Lakshmi Ramachandran. As I set foot into the precincts of what was to become my second home, I was overcome by an aura of affection and compassion that seemed to permeate every nook and corner of the house. I did not have to look far inside for its source. There she was standing at the door to welcome me and my mother. A stately lady with a smile and eyes that conveyed a genuine human being. That was the moment when it dawned on me, that I belonged there and Revathi, her daughter, became my wife. 

Like all her nephews and nieces and there were quite a large number of them, I called her Mami, but she treated me like a son. Many of the anecdotes I have listened to narrated by them and other close friends of the family, would dwell on the affection showered on them and the generosity of Mami and Mama. Invariably on weekends, there would be a congregation of people at the house and I have seen Mami playing the perfect hostess. She and Mama enjoyed having people around.

They say that behind every man’s success, there is a woman, and Mami more than filled that role in respect of her husband. They were the ‘Universal Couple’ whose home was an open house. Mami was a strong personality, affectionate yet putting her views across to her children in no uncertain terms. You find the effects of that childhood upbringing so much so that all her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren still remain as a close-knit family supporting and being there for each other, lending a shoulder in times of physical and emotional crisis. 

I was the only outsider mappillai(son-in-law), but soon became an integral part of the household. Unlike the others who were in Madras and had the occasion to interact with her frequently and be the recipient of her affection, we were the only ones who lived far away, in Gujarat, but we made sure to be in Madras during every vacation and attend all the functions in the family to bask in the warmth of the sunshine cast by Mami and Mama. My daughters eagerly looked forward to these visits to be with their cousins and be pampered by their grandmother and they all formed a strong bond among themselves under her affectionate care. 

In later years especially after Mama’s passing away and her own failing health she still retained that smile and the twinkle in her eyes whenever she was in the midst of her near and dear ones. And when she departed it was as if a large banyan tree had fallen. Though its shade is no longer available, her memories continue to light up our lives.

A hundred years have passed since she came into this world, and when she went away to the higher realms, she left her indelible footprints for us, as if to remind everyone, that ultimately it is selfless love and affection that remain and that is what we shall remember of her. She was a Karma Yogi and on the centenary of her birth, we will be paying homage to her soul only by keeping alive the ideals by which she lived, spreading the word of Love, Compassion, Humility, and Commitment.

IN NEED OF APPRECIATION

 

Painting by my daughter Maitreyi

IN NEED OF APPRECIATION

“You can’t just write and write and put things in a drawer. They wither without the warm sun of someone else’s appreciation.”― Anne Morrow Lindbergh

“Appreciation has tremendous power. A beautiful thing is not beautiful until someone appreciates it.”― Debasish Mridha

It all started when in the course of a conversation with a friend of many years I expressed, that I do feel demotivated, and a sense of disappointment when I find that the books I had written have not received the exposure they deserve in the public domain, he immediately looked at me and said-

“I find it strange to give comments in a public place, even when these are very appreciative ones, which as per the cliche, must be given publicly. Why? To encourage? No, I do not agree. you cannot encourage any creativity just by appreciating it publicly. You can only enjoy it post facto and hence, your appreciation of any creative work, is for your private personal consumption; you thereby wish to acknowledge to you and not to others or the author that you enjoyed that work of creation. Keep writing for the sake of expressing your creativity, your originality, and your special worldview; and all this for yourself.”

Another good friend of mine over the years called to tell me that she had at last purchased my book ‘I am just an Ordinary Man’ and finished it within two days. She said she liked it. But when I asked her to make a review and put it up on the site, she had only this to say, “I have known you for such a long time and could connect with a lot of what is written there, but it is not possible for me to write a review, for it could be a very biased view and therefore not an honest one.” I respected her viewpoint and did not pursue it, but still, I could not understand her logic.

I have often wondered why I keep asking people, mostly friends and close relatives whether they have read my books and if so, request them to write a review and post it on Amazon and similar sites from where they had purchased the book. I have done that every time I completed one and published it. Every time I write a post and put it in my blog, I share it on my social media and keep track of the number of views and comments posted. Suffice it to say that my blog has registered more than 100,000 views from 300 posts in the last 10 years since I became active with my writing.  And to be truthful it has given me immense satisfaction and ego fulfillment. But is this what I write for? 

I have asked myself this question many times and have not been able to answer it. Is it because I want to get across to others so that I am understood as to what I am, or because I am trying to understand more about myself? Is it because I am seeking recognition and adulation or want to be a commercial success? It could be a combination of all these. But I know one thing, I write because I like it. I also like it when someone says that they like what I write. I accept the truth that the integrity of any writing or for that matter any art form stems from an honest exposition of one’s own feelings. There is definitely a dilution in your expressions when you cater to commercial considerations. When a reader/ reviewer says that his appreciation is for his own private consumption and hence does not believe in putting it up in a public space, I cannot question, for this is an individual choice. But for me the creator it is my expectation that my creation reaches a wide audience, for there is a joy in sharing, a satisfaction of a need to be understood, and a need for adulation. This is especially true of any creation that is put up in the public domain for consumption. 

I came across a quote of Marcel Duchamp that puts the role of appreciation of a creative work in the right perspective -

“The creative act is not performed by the artist alone; the spectator brings the work in contact with the external world by deciphering and interpreting its inner qualifications and thus adds his contribution to the creative act.”

All great works of Art or literature would have remained undiscovered if they had not received the patronage or appreciation of a vast majority of the spectators. The great sculptures and the paintings of Michelangelo would not have been possible but for the patronage of the church. Or take the case of Van Gogh, his paintings would not have been available to us if not for the efforts of his brother Theo. Though, during his lifetime Van Gogh never sold a painting it was left to Theo to bring it out and let the world discover him. Yes, both Michelangelo and Van Gogh created out of the intense passion by which they were consumed. So is it true of Music and literature. I would not have read all the books that I have if I had not found them in the public domain. Whether I liked them or not is an individual preference. 

It was in this context that I asked my daughter (she is an artist herself in her own right and has been an experimenter in various art forms from Surrealism to the abstract) if appreciation is a personal thing, a one-is-to-one event and something that does not need to be done on the public domain? Isn’t it enough to create and find an avenue for your passions and be content and fulfilled with the end product? I reproduce below the response that I received from her -

 “Art is a form of expression, not just contemplation. The reason it is shared with the world is the same as the reason you start conversations. To connect with the people who may resonate with you. Therefore appreciation and feedback, even a critical one... anything that starts a dialogue is most welcome. Anything that says that you were seen or heard by someone who wishes to engage with you. Otherwise, all the words could go unwritten and all the images can remain in the recesses of your mind without being brought out on the canvas. Not everyone finds the comfort in direct conversations and not everyone finds people who can hold conversations in the metaphors or imagery that they are comfortable with in their immediate circle. That is why they reach out into the world through art. That is why art is called a form of expression. Saying an artist becomes great when they stop looking for engagement is untrue. The art may become great but the artist stays miserable for lack of connection.”

Lastly, I have to add that despite all those assertions of creating for one’s own passion and fulfillment which I have been trying to convince myself of, I have to admit that being appreciated is an important emotional need of the creator. It is a motivation that he looks for to help him on his journey of creation.

DO YOU HAVE THE ‘TIME’?

 DO YOU HAVE THE ‘TIME’?

Last night, as has been my wont the last few months, I opened my laptop, sensing an urge to write something to end the drought of the last three years since I completed and published my book ‘The Diary of Mrityunjay’. And as usual, I kept staring at the blank screen as blank as my mind was at the time. So I decided to listen to music. As providence would have it the first album that came to my mind was Pink Floyd’s ‘The Dark Side of the Moon’. I realized that it was the 50th Anniversary since it was released. They have been one of my favorite groups ever since I passed out of college and when I started working this was the first LP album that I acquired. Years or rather decades later I realized that it had become a collector’s item.

As I listened to the haunting music and the lyrics of their song ‘Time’ I was shaken out of a stupor that had gripped me the last few years. I am reproducing below two stanzas that started me off on this post (though I would love to have the entire lyrics of the song here for the benefit of my readers, this would suffice)-

Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain

You are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today

And then one day you find ten years have got behind you

No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun

Though I never did relish lying in the sun, the summers being hot in this part of the world and I never was an outdoor cat. But I did relish the rain, sitting by the window and watching the veil of water pouring outside, also I did not mind getting wet; rather I enjoyed it when there was a gentle drizzle caressing my face, like during certain evenings, when I was on my evening walk along the seashore. I was not young then, but one day I did realize that ten years had passed since those magic moments occurred. Since I was past the age of being in a race, it did not really bother me whether I had missed the starting gun. But looking back (when I was young and felt life was long), I realize that I had missed the starting gun through my procrastination. Three decades have passed by, and now I feel I have missed out on a lot of things, a lot of opportunities. Time does not wait, it flows and you cannot swim against the tide to return to where you left off. That brings me back to  another song ‘Yesterday’ by The Beatles, another of my favorites-

Yesterday

All my troubles seemed so far away

Now it looks as though they're here to stay

Oh, I believe in yesterday

Suddenly

I'm not half the man I used to be

There's a shadow hanging over me

Oh, yesterday came suddenly

Now it appears that Yesterday did come suddenly, so much so I never realized it had gone. So will it be true for today, tomorrow, and the day after - 

Fifty years ago, I wrote my first few lines of poetry. It was listlessness then, and it is listlessness now. It was then an awakening, arising from observing all that was happening around me. Thrown out into uncharted waters from the relatively safe haven of an academic life, left to fend for myself and exposed to the realities of the big bad (good) world, choose what you will, but it was like waking up from a stupor. I have written this in detail in the Introduction to my first book, ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’. Suffice to say I wrote this four decades later in 2014-

Somewhere I hear a clock chime,

Marking the passage of fleeting time,

Somewhere I hear the motor’s whirr,

Slowly from my slumber I now stir.

Back in 1973, it was a wake-up call, an alarm set off, to remind me that I have a lot to express and say. I was young then and it took me 40 years to say it completely. Now I am 73 years old (funny how the figure 73 occurs in both). Now I am 5 books old (took me nine years to do that, in any case not forty years). Now it is not a crisis of conscience but an urgency. That is where the song by Pink Floyd struck a chord.

Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time

Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines

Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way

The time is gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say

When I look back and read what I had written in my book ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ in the chapter ‘Silence’, nearly ten years ago, it was prophetic - It’s been two years since I started traversing back on the road I had trodden. Now a certain lethargy has crept in and a reluctance to continue writing. It is nearly four decades (now of course it is five decades) since that day in February 1974 when I first felt the anxiety of existence and a fear of death. Now the rumblings have started once again. Only this time it was an evaluation of all the beliefs I had built around me in order to remain in a self-imposed exile. 

Yes the days get shorter and time is elusive, it slips through your fingers like sand. But something keeps pushing me saying that the song isn't over and I do have something more to say (unlike the last line of the above stanza of Pink Floyd). Remember Robert Frost’s famous stanza from his poem ‘Sitting by Woods on a Snowy Evening’-

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

Before I end this post I will return to the first few lines of Pink Floyd’s song-

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day

Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way 

This was exactly what has been happening to me. That is why this post, to break the stranglehold imposed by my own procrastination. I do not wish to miss the starting gun once again.

And the song continues.