THE RETURN OF DY – THE DREAM OF A DISTURBED MAN (With no more apologies) - CONCLUDED

THE RETURN OF DY – THE DREAM OF A DISTURBED MAN (With no more apologies)

The bell rang and I opened the door. “Hi, can I come in?” he asked, as he stood at the entrance with a wry smile. I was staring at a youthful face which somehow seemed familiar, only this one was clad in saffron colored robes and a turban to match. I have always been wary of saffron clad bearded Swamijis (of the PK kind), for I somehow felt uneasy in their presence. Whenever I accompanied my wife to one of those various spiritual gatherings (hey don’t get me wrong on this. These were real spiritual ones, the Godly types) I kept my distance for I was afraid of being stared at by one of them and pronounced a debauch and non-believer with all my secrets exposed. I of course did receive my share of the largesse, an apple or an orange, when I prostrated in front of them to seek their blessings.  

Before I could say “Yes please come in” he had already walked past me and parked himself on the sofa in the living room. While I was about to protest this unprovoked invasion of my private space, he took of his turban and placed it next to him. It was then I recognized him. Those ears, unmistakable, it was DY.

“Surprised?” he asked.

“You bet” I said, “for a moment I thought you were one of those fake babas. I was almost going to throw you out. Where have you been all this while? After that interview with Arnold Ghostbaiter you just vanished. I thought you had gone back.”

“Oh! No. How could I leave without seeing you again?”

***

Yes, it had been nearly three months since that day when he had appeared on that talk show with Arnold Ghostbaiter. It was for the first time that someone had called Arnold’s bluff. He had not contended with the fact that extra-terrestrials could be extra smart and were not easy bait. I had thoroughly enjoyed the show, but I had an uneasy feeling that my wife was all along watching me and my reactions. It didn’t matter really for I felt vindicated that at last she would be convinced that DY was not a figment of my imagination or my dreams.

“So, why do you call yourself DY? These are just initials.” Arnold Ghostbaiter had fired his opening salvo.

“There is no reason, except that I thought it would be comprehensible to the likes of you. If you know what I mean though I am pretty sure you don’t. Well for a start let me call you AG, your full name is pretty much disgusting” DY replied.

“Let me make one thing clear Mr. DY, I am the person who sets the rules here. You are here just to listen to me and answer when asked to.”

“If PK can be PK, why can’t DY be DY and you AG?” DY persisted.

“Why did you come here?” AG asked

“You called me, so I came” DY said.

The first signs of exasperation appeared on AG’s face “Hell, can’t you understand? Are you really so dumb? We have had enough of PK and now you are here. Why did you come to this planet from yours?”

“The same reason that PK had for coming down here” DY replied.

“And pray what was that?”

“Since you are so persistent, I will let you into a small secret – he had come down to find out more of Nostrodammyou.”

‘You can’t call me names on this show. It is my show and only I have the authority to do so” the growing irritation in AG’s voice was evident.

“You mean to say that only you can call yourself names. Well I have no objection” DY retorted. “Ok there was one more reason – our astronomers found a very high decibel sound emanating from your planet at a specific time periodically; as per your earth time precisely at nine o’clock at night. The only peculiar thing was that this sound was travelling at a speed faster than the speed of light. We thought that yours was a planet far advanced than ours. Imagine sound travelling faster than the speed of light. So it was out of curiosity that we sent PK to investigate. We were not prepared for the destructive nature of this source till PK returned. Now nothing is the same on our planet. So I have come down clandestinely to neutralize this source before it does any more damage to our planet. I think now I have come to the right place.”

AG was left gaping; physics had never been a strong point with him ever since he learnt to spell it. Of course he always thought that it was Feesicks. Not able to comprehend what DY was saying, he tried changing the topic.

“We have been receiving reports that you have been going around reading other people’s minds. You are flouting the law of the land and can be jailed for trespassing into other people’s private parts (hic!) sorry that should have been private things oops! I am sorry once again that should read private life. If you say what you are, can you read what’s in my mind?” it was evident that AG was slowly losing control over himself.

“Ha ha, at least now I can rest assured that I cannot be prosecuted. I cannot see or read anything up there, I mean your mind. You do not have one.”  

For the first time in his entire career with ‘Times Never’, AG looked blank.

The interview had abruptly come to an end as AG fumbled to ask the next question. In fact he had forgotten what it was. It had never happened to him to before. At other times he would have shouted, literally screaming at the participants for not eliciting the right response. But strange as it may seem he was stumped. Last time he was seen, he was anchoring a cookery show. ‘Times never’ was never the same again. There was a perceptible sharp drop in the decibels during the 9 o’clock show and with it a sharp drop in the TRP ratings.

***

“You know I have now effectively concluded my mission here and will therefore be returning to my planet tonight. I will be picked up at the exact spot you first met me. I have already sent word to my comrades and they have confirmed” DY said.

“That’s all ok. How do you say that you have accomplished your mission?” I asked.

“Well I have been able to effectively neutralize the high decibel sound emanating from your planet and which was disturbing the peace where I live. AG will never be the same again. Before I left New Delhi I met him and asked him how he was faring. You will be surprised to know that he told me he had at last found his calling in the cookery show where apart from conducting he gets to eat all that he had never eaten before.”

“What about the more important task of tracing PK’s girl friend? I thought that was the main reason you were here. After all you told me that your job was to send PK back to Earth, so that things in your planet become normal once again” I asked.

“Oh! Don’t worry. I was able to trace her in New Delhi. You see the show with AG had its benefits. She was watching it and at once contacted the TV station to enquire about my whereabouts. So you see ultimately it was she who traced me and made my job easier. I immediately got in touch with my comrades and told them to pass on the word to PK that she was still waiting for him here. I am sure now that he will return. So in the end it is two birds with one stone, ha,ha. So there you are, I am leaving tonight and I wish you to come and see me off.”

My God! I thought. How was I to convince my wife that it was necessary for me to go to the beach once again to see DY off. When she returned I told her about DY’s visit and his request. Surprisingly she immediately agreed. I knew she wanted to see the last of my escapades with DY.

That night I was at the same spot and DY was there waiting for me. We did not have to wait long as the huge ball like object which I had seen earlier, descend on the sands at exactly the same spot. DY bid me farewell and climbed the ladder to get inside. As soon as he disappeared from my sight, I was surprised to see another figure alight and make its way towards me. A familiar figure, PK had returned

A CELEBRATION OF LIFE – EXCERPT FROM MY BOOK ‘I AM JUST AN ORDINARY MAN’

A CELEBRATION OF LIFE – EXCERPT FROM MY BOOK

‘I AM JUST AN ORDINARY MAN’

Today is the 4^th July 2015. Four years have passed since that day in 2011 when I went under the surgeon’s knife and found that I did have a heart after all, but a heart that had to be put back in shape, a heart that needed plumbing to get rid of and bypass all that dirt accumulated over the years. Today I thank God (in whichever form one sees him) for having given me an opportunity to relive and realize that life is a celebration. I treat this day as a re-birthday.

I reproduce an excerpt from my book ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ to recapture that day and which has still left many questions within me unanswered –

“It was the first time that I went for a master health checkup because I and my wife were planning to go to the United States to be with our elder daughter. Whenever I visit a doctor or enter a clinic my blood pressure always goes up. That happens even now. I prayed to God that everything should be normal. It was as if my prayers were answered the blood test reports turned out to be normal. However a small variation was noticed in the electrocardiogram. My cardiologist suggested further investigations to be carried out. So I went for an echocardiogram and a treadmill test. I again prayed to God that these should not throw up anything abnormal. But they did and I was advised to undergo an angiogram. My prayers never stopped. I got admitted to the hospital; all the while hoping that nothing serious would be detected. My prayers continued as I was wheeled into the operation theatre for the procedure. The whole process took less than an hour and as I was conscious I looked at the doctor who said that there was nothing to be alarmed about. My wife and others were outside when I was wheeled out. I was told that I would be under observation for a day in the critical care unit and then shifted to the ward. That was when I stopped praying and gave in to the course of destiny. My family was told after the angiography that I would require a heart bypass operation. My wife visited me during the half hour allowed for visits. I could read the worry on her face. Later in the night I was told by the doctor that I would have to undergo the operation as that was the only option. She also told me not to worry about it as it was now a standard procedure and that the operation would take place four days later. It was then that I stopped praying to God.

Nothing I had prayed to Him for during this entire process had happened. What I was afraid of did happen – he had brought me to the stage which I had wanted to avoid.

I remember being moved from my room and taken through the passages and corridors to the operation theatre. I remember the doctors in their green dresses getting ready to operate. All the while I did not feel the slightest concern for I had awoken to the fact that whatever we hope or pray for will ultimately happen the way they are destined. The anesthetist said that there was nothing to worry about and in a matter of minutes everything blacked out. Later on when I recollected all this, I asked myself whether this is what happens when a person dies. I find it necessary to describe all this, for I have no recollection as to what happened in the intervening period till I regained consciousness ten hours later.

Coming back to consciousness I was reborn. In the intervening period I was dead. The surgeon told my family that I was fine.

My eyes opened slowly and through my half closed eyelids I first saw a brilliant light, then I could discern some movements, some people moving up and down, until a face came close to me and said “the operation is over and you are fine”. Of course I could not move and like the umbilical cord I had tubes stuck all over. I think my wife was allowed briefly to see that all was well. I was in the intensive care unit for three days.

 I was reborn, for I re-learnt how to sit and slowly walk down to the toilet after the catheter was removed. Gradually I moved from liquid to solid food. After three days I was made to walk in the corridors and then climb the stairs. I was discharged on the seventh day after the operation. I should add that my wife became my mother in all ways. God also took seven days to create this world. Didn’t He?”

So you see, He let things happen as they should have and never interfered. 

CONFESSIONS OF AN AUTHOR - CONTINUED “I AM JUST AN ORDINARY MAN” – A MOST HELPFUL CRITICAL REVIEW RECEIVED

CONFESSIONS OF AN AUTHOR - CONTINUED

“I AM JUST AN ORDINARY MAN” – A MOST HELPFUL CRITICAL REVIEW RECEIVED

Tonight as I sat down to continue the last chapter of my next book, I received a message from a close friend of mine over the years saying ‘Review posted’. Knowing him well I knew what I could expect from him and I was not surprised when I read the review. For the first time perhaps I received what I can term as ‘A Most Helpful Critical Review Received’. I am reproducing the review on Amazon here –

3.0 out of 5 stars A slightly higher middle-class, 28 June 2015

This review is from: I am just AN ORDINARY MAN (Paperback)

Disclosure : Subbu presented his autographed book on the condition that I write a review. He is a friend since 1975. I know him as a brilliant guy, sharp and witty. Very talented in painting, music and writing poetry and prose. I always thought he made a choice to be ordinary, justified it and escaped into abstracts like philosophy. My friendship clouds my judgment of his work.

Review: Many of his generation with similar background can relate to Subbu's narration of many events and persons in his life. Whether they all can relate to his philosophical rants is doubtful. I certainly cannot. I also cannot accept his justification for 'acceptance'. It is not just Subbu but many of his peers preferred the comfort of a regular paycheck each month rather than pursue their calling. They missed the passion, agony and ecstasy of chasing their dreams. In a way, Subbu's book is a story of their (don't count me out) petty bourgeois existence. The book was not an easy read for me despite or because of my great familiarity with Subbu, his family, his bank, his career and his thoughts. I think my weariness with philosophy might have something to do with it. I still appreciate his self-publishing the book. It is more than just a collection of his blogs.

I think Subbu has now found his calling. This book is, in Jawaharlal Nehru's words, 'a soul long suppressed trying to find utterance'. I am sure Subbu will come out with more. He has something more to say and will end up doing so. Hope the world will discover Subbu expressing his true personality freely and joyfully..

I have over the last 9 months learnt a few lessons since my book was published. As a first time author overcome by the euphoria of a dream realized and seeking adulation and acceptance from the readers, always on the lookout for a 5 star rated review and ending up publicizing them on the Social Media, I had perhaps lost my integrity. I did end up sending messages to friends and others who I came to know through the social media, to read and put up a review. Some of them did and many of them did not. Reviews are helpful and gain visibility for the author. A string of 5 star reviews makes you want more of them and when something comes along below this you are left disappointed. But I have learnt in the last few months to accept it as a necessity to keep you balanced in your expectations. Now I welcome them for they help me reassess myself.

A person understands and appreciates based on his own experiences and the lessons learnt in life; the way I have written based on my own experiences and understanding of my life. There could be parallels, there could be divergences, but that is life. I have known my friend for as long as he has known me. I have been a witness to his agonizing experiences and believe that life had not treated him fairly. But he had the guts and gumption to fight back against odds and make a success of his life. In my view he is an extraordinary man. He is as blunt as they come and honest in what he believes. That is why it was a welcome change to receive his review and like said before it was not a surprise.

This is not a defense but I would like to place my comments on certain views expressed by him in his review-

“I always thought he made a choice to be ordinary, justified it and escaped into abstracts like philosophy” – I never chose to be ordinary, I consider myself ordinary and I guess one does not have to justify being ordinary. This is left to the realm of the ‘League of Extraordinary Gentlemen”. I did not escape into abstracts of philosophy. I do not believe anyone does, it is just a way of looking at life depending on your experiences.

“Many of his generation with similar background can relate to Subbu's narration of many events and persons in his life. Whether they all can relate to his philosophical rants is doubtful.” May be it is true what he says, but the next statement of relating to philosophical rants as he calls it, is judgmental. The meaning of rants is ‘Speak or shout at length in an angry, impassioned way’. Rants is perhaps not the right word and I leave it at that.

“I also cannot accept his justification for 'acceptance’. Well I do not expect everyone to, for it may not apply to their way of life.

“They missed the passion, agony and ecstasy of chasing their dreams. In a way, Subbu's book is a story of their (don't count me out) petty bourgeois existence. Well can we really know what the dreams of others are, and are we really capable of knowing the passion, agony and ecstasy that another undergoes. The statement ‘petty bourgeois existence’ is harsh if you consider what the Wikipedia says – “Petite bourgeoisie (French pronunciation:), also petty bourgeoisie (literally small bourgeoisie), is a French term (sometimes derogatory) referring to a social class comprising semi-autonomous peasantry and small-scale merchants whose politico-economic ideological stance is determined by reflecting that of a haute (high) bourgeoisie, with which the petite bourgeoisie seeks to identify itself, and whose bourgeois morality it strives to imitate.” My only objection is why include others (including himself may be to soften the blow).

Lastly “I think my weariness with philosophy might have something to do with it.” is the truth.

This is perhaps is the first review that has made me sit up and think and I am thankful for that. It is in no way to refute what he has stated, for a lot of what he has stated is true and from a person who had known me well during a certain period of my life. We still connect in a big way.

I thought that this review deserves a blog post to reach out a wider audience. The portions highlighted are made by me. Thanks

BEING MORTAL –by Dr. Atul Gawande Medicine and What matters in the End - BOOK REVIEW

BEING MORTAL –by Dr. Atul Gawande

Medicine and What matters in the End

“Being mortal is about the struggle to cope with the constraints of our biology, with the limits set by genes and cells and flesh and bone.” Dr. Atul Gawande in his path breaking book on Geriatrics and Palliative Care says “We have been wrong about what our job is in medicine. We think our job is to ensure health and survival. But really it is larger than that. It is to enable well-being. And well-being is about the reasons one wishes to be alive.”

In what I consider as a deeply moving book, Gawande stresses on the need for a doctor to accept the reality of mortality and accordingly make it a focal point in the way he treats the dying. In the Introduction he says that he remembers discussing mortality during a seminar, spending more than hour on Leo Tolstoy’s classic ‘The Death of Ivan Ilyich’ (I have discussed this book in one of my earlier posts on ‘A Dignified Exit’). Gawande quotes Tolstoy “What tormented Ivan Ilyich most was the deception, the lie, which for some reason they all accepted, that he was not dying but was simply ill, and he only need keep quiet and undergo treatment and something very good would result.” He says that they as medical students saw it, the failure of those around Ivan Ilyich to offer comfort or to acknowledge what is happening to him, was a failure of character and culture. He admits that within a few years of surgical training and practice, he encountered patients forced to confront the realities of decline and mortality and that it did not take him long to realize how unready he was to help them.

 The book is replete with the author’s confrontation with terminally ill patients, the aging and dying. The book traces the slow development of palliative care from Nursing Homes to Hospices to Assisted living.

This book disturbs you. It lays bare the reality of aging and increasing dependence. In the chapter ‘Dependence’ Gawande says “It is not death that the very old tell me they fear. It is what happens short of death – losing their hearing, their memory, their best friends, their way of life.” He says we do not think about the eventuality that most of us will spend significant periods of our lives too reduced and debilitated to live independently. As a result, most of us are unprepared for it.

With the changes in the family structure gravitating towards splinter groups the isolation and dependence of the aged has become acute. Nursing Homes and Hospitals where doctors and nurses more bothered about continuing procedures to check whether there are means of extending life even when they know that the patients has passed beyond such a stage only end up in extending the suffering of the patient.

Gawande, argues that quality of life is the desired goal for patients and families. He talks about more socially fulfilling models for assisting the infirm and dependent elderly. It is in this context that he outlines at various points in the book about hospice care to ensure that a person's last weeks or months may be rich and dignified. Hospice includes palliative care for the incurably ill given in such institutions as hospitals or nursing homes, but also care provided to those who would rather spend their last months and days of life in their own homes. He also describes Assisted Living as another fulfilling way of taking care of people with disabilities.

Referring to a book ‘The Philosophy of Loyalty” written by a Harvard Philosopher Josiah Royce, Gawande says that Royce wanted to understand why simply existing – why being merely housed and fed and safe and alive – seems empty and meaningless to us. What more is it that we need in order to feel that life is worthwhile? The answer he believed is that we all seek a cause beyond ourselves. This was to him, an intrinsic human need. The cause could be large (family, country, principle) or small project or the care of a pet. The important thing was that in ascribing value to the cause and seeing it as worth making sacrifices for, we give meaning to our lives meaning.

The book details about the efforts put in by individuals to find ways and means of improving the quality of life of the old and infirm, a number of them from their own experiences of tending to an aged parent or a spouse.

But the most telling part of the book is Dr.Gawande’s own account of handling the final stages of his father. The ending part of the book where he describes his father’s final days is intense and moving. In the beginning of the book he talks about his grandfather who lived till the age of a hundred and ten years and ultimately passed away surrounded by a large family in the midst of the people he loved and in his home. He says “My father’s father had the kind of traditional old age that from a Western perspective, seems idyllic” He continues “But in my grandfather’s world, how he wanted to live was his choice, and the family’s role was to make it possible”.

Despite having spent the entire part of his life in the US, born and bred up there, his father (a doctor himself) having migrated much earlier, Dr. Gawande comes to immerse the ashes of his father in the Ganges as per his wish –

“It’s hard to raise a good Hindu in small town Ohio, no matter how much my parents tried. I was not much of a believer in the idea of gods controlling people’s fates and did not suppose that anything we were doing was going to offer my father a special place in any afterworld. The Ganges might have been sacred to one of the world’s largest religions, but to me, the doctor, it was more notable as one of the world’s most polluted rivers ------ Yet I was still intensely moved and grateful to have gotten to do my part. For one my father wanted it, and my mother and sister did, too.”

Atul Gawande is a fantastic writer and has your attention till the end. More importantly he has touched on a subject that is the final anxiety of our existence.

About the Author

Atul Gawande is the author of three bestselling books: Complications, a finalist for the National Book Award; Better, selected by Amazon.com as one of the ten best books of 2007; and The Checklist Manifesto. He is also a surgeon at Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston, a staff writer for the New Yorker, and a professor at Harvard Medical School and the Harvard School of Public Health. He has won the Lewis Thomas Prize for Writing about Science, a MacArthur Fellowship, and two National Magazine Awards. In his work in public health, he is Director of Ariadne Labs, a joint center for health system innovation, and Chairman of Lifebox, a charity making surgery safer globally. He lives with his wife and three children in Newton, Massachusetts.- Amazon

BOOK REVIEW : More than a life – SADHGURU by Arundhathi Subramaniam

BOOK REVIEW : More than a life – SADHGURU by Arundhathi Subramaniam

He baffles me and continues to do so. He is a mystic but still a mystery. He is referred to as Sadhguru. In his own words “When someone comes from their scholarship, they are referred to in different ways. If someone comes from an inner experience, they are referred to as Sadhguru. The word “Sadhguru” is not a title. It is a description. Sadhguru means “uneducated Guru.” I am almost hundred percent spiritually uneducated. I don’t know any scriptures, I have not read the Vedas and I didn’t bother to read the Bhagavad Gita. I come only from my inner experience and the only thing I know for sure is this piece of life from its origin to its ultimate.”

For many of us brought up on a diet of the archetypal saffron clad sloka chanting Gurus, Jaggi Vasudev remains an enigma – the jeans clad motorcyclist mystic, the snake handling charmer, a fakir dressed in long flowing robes, a turban on his head, an overgrown white beard or a modern day Moses.

All this aside, he is a charmer. He seems to have the answers to all the questions thrown at him by the media and the likes of Barkha Dutt or the retorts of die-hard atheists like Javed Akhtar. What captivates is his erudition and his slightly nasal but deep voice which holds the listeners attention. Whether I believe all that he says or not, I like to listen to him.  

Arundhathi Subramaniam in her brilliant Introduction to ‘More than a life – SADHGURU’ says that “the book is an attempt to share some of that sense of wonder that these years of knowing Sadhguru have been about. More fundamentally it is an attempt to tell the story of an exceptional man.”

The blurb on the back cover says ‘This is the extraordinary story of Jaggi Vasudev or Sadhguru – a young agnostic who turned yogi, a wild motorcyclist who turned mystic, a skeptic, who turned spiritual guide. It seeks to recreate the life journey of a man who combines rationality with mysticism, irreverence with compassion and deep self- knowledge with a contagious love of life. Pulsating with his razor-sharp intelligence and modern-day vocabulary, the book empowers you to explore your spiritual self and could well change your life’.

Arundhathi says that her book is a subjective account of one man’s life journey – or more accurately, life journeys and is based on conversations with the Sadhguru and with those acquainted with him, as well as archival material from the Isha Yoga Centre at Coimbatore. Herself a skeptic she says “Gurus didn’t happen to us urban women. Psychotherapists happened to us. Books and conversations happened to us Wittgenstein and Kierkegaard and Krishnamurti spouting friends happened to us. Gurus belonged to another era – a simpler world where there were simpler divides between the leader and the led. The only guru I could envisage was the sage in a B-grade Indian mythological movie with a candyflos beard and an air of constipated benignity.” Strong words one would agree, but that was all before she met with the Sadguru.

It was in 1997 that she says something decisive happened in her life, she felt she was dying, nothing physical or psychological or depression. In short, one can decipher it is that strange feeling of impermanence of one’s own existence in this world. I may equate it with Sartre’s ‘Nausea’. She says “This strange encounter with death had brought with it an unambiguous picture of what really counted.” She became seeker for she did not want the comfortable uncertainty of the committed agnostic; she wanted the clarity of one who knew. After a prolonged experimentation with various methods and yoga, she came to the conclusion that the answers if any, were to be found within oneself. Then in May 2004 she attended a talk by someone called Sadhguru. That perhaps was the starting point for this book – a way of understanding who this man was and what was it that he conveyed. A skeptic in the beginning, one gets a feeling of a slow but a steady transformation into a believer.

This book is a fascinating journey of a man born Jagdish Vasudev to a Sadhguru. One may or may not believe all that is written in the book about the life of Jaggi Vasudev especially where he talks of his various previous births and the quest to establish the Dhyanalinga, which reaches fruition only in this birth. I am a skeptic, but I also want to believe. I have not been able to grasp the significance of the Dhyanalinga being made up of pure energy and the processes involved in establishing it.

After listening to his various conversations I cannot but agree with Arundhathi when she says “What has always fascinated me about Sadhguru is his breathtaking sweep of knowledge about varied aspects of life and the effortless manner in which he seems to garner it.”

It is not my aim to put down here the life story of Jaggi Vasudev, it is done in a riveting manner by Arundhathi. I found the book engrossing felt totally involved reading it. But I would like to quote some portions from the book here which I found illuminating and of significance to our own questions.

“The mystic is just someone who has realized what is there. Others don’t because they’re too self-engrossed to pay any attention to life”

“Liberation is not my idea; it is the fundamental longing in every form of human life.”

“Destiny is hundred percent your creation. Even now that is so. It is just that you are creating it unconsciously.”

“Self-Realization is less about getting somewhere than about realizing there is nowhere to go. It entails not an acquisition of knowledge, but an unlearning of received wisdom. What was limited knowing has become boundless unknowing. That’s wonderful enough for me.”

As a conclusion I quote Arundhathi once again “I remember what I wrote in my first article on him five years ago: ‘Let’s say we disbelieve the whole story about his yogic mastery and enlightenment. We’re still left with an interesting deal. There’s brazing wit, a refreshing lack of piety … a razor sharp intelligence … a contemporary vocabulary, the teaching of a meditation process that requires no faith, only committed practice. Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev wears the air of a man who’s figured out how to lead a life of sanity. Perhaps that is enough?’

 About the Author

Arundhathi Subramaniam is the author of three books of poetry, most recently Where I Live: New and Selected Poems. She has written a prose work, The Book of Buddha, and co-edited an anthology of contemporary Indian love poetry in English, Confronting Love. She describes herself as a wondering, protesting, but committed Isha yoga practitioner and perhaps more of a devotee than she lets on.

Poet Arundhathi Subramaniam on Saturday won the inaugural Khushwant Singh Memorial Prize for Poetry for her work When God is a Traveller. – THE HINDU  January 25, 2015

FINDING NEEMA – by JULIET REYNOLDS - BOOK REVIEW AUTISM

FINDING NEEMA – by JULIET REYNOLDS - BOOK REVIEW

AUTISM

On my walks on the seashore I have come across challenged children being escorted by their parents or caretakers for an outing on the beach. I have seen a father and son running alongside. The son, a handsome young f ellow taller than his father, was obviously autistic. But what attracted me to them was the care and love for the son that seemed apparent on the father’s face. Often I have wondered as to the travails that parents of such challenged children have to face, the sacrifices that they have to make in the process of ensuring that their child is brought up in the best possible manner within the limitations imposed. I have also tried to place myself in the position of the autistic child and what the world means to him. There is a passage in my book ‘I am just An Ordinary Man’ which I take the liberty of quoting here – “That night I had a dream. I was a young boy on the beach, holding my father’s hand lost in my own world. The people who passed by, looked at me strangely. I wanted to talk to them, but they moved away. I did say something but they seemed not to understand what I was trying to tell them. The gentle pressure of my father’s hand comforted me.” That, I agree really cannot give the actual picture. But that’s how I felt. Of course subsequently I read somewhere that ‘People with autism have said that the world, to them, is a mass of people, places and events which they struggle to make sense of, and which can cause them considerable anxiety.’

Ever since, I have tried to read about autism, but these were all technical, describing the disorder and the various methods and avenues available for dealing with this condition. I was on the lookout for a book which would give hands on experience in dealing with it. That is when I chanced upon ‘Finding Neema’ by Juliet Reynolds, on the recommendation of a friend.

To place the book in the right perspective it would be necessary to reproduce here the blurb that appears on the back cover –

“Honest and unsentimental, yet funny and compassionate, Finding Neema is the story of an autistic boy from the eastern Himalayas, brought up by the author and her husband, a gifted Indian artist.

Set against the backdrop of the art world in India, and interwoven with reminiscences of her own unusual life and marriage, Juliet relates a compelling story: the couple’s unplanned adoption of Neema, son of their maid, Poonam; their endeavors to have his autism diagnosed and treated; and Neema’s emergence into adulthood as a valuable – though still dependent – human being. The book also delves into Neema’s background and tormented early life with his dysfunctional family, thereby touching upon some of the more lurid aspects of developing world poverty and introducing into the narrative an assorted cast of characters, some appealing and some appalling, but all of them colorful. Poonam’s story of abuse, self-destruction and faltering redemption – at once poignant and astounding – forms an important strand of the book and is related with special insight and frequent exasperation. Not only does the author tell a story of autism quite unlike the many already told, she also places it in an Indian and South Asian context.”

The author who is of a mixed Irish and English descent decided to make her life  in India and has settled down here and shuttles between Delhi and Dehradun where she has her home. She is a writer and art critic specializing in Indian art and cultural and political issues. An occasional film maker and married to the reputed Indian artist Anil Karanjai (who died in 2001), apart from writing in various publications in India and abroad, she has authored another book ‘In the eyes of a Rasika’ a book for the lay reader on the relationship between art and politics and art and science.

‘Finding Neema’ is a poignantly written book where the author sketches her unusual life in this country of her choice, blending with its various colors and smells, customs and practices and above all choosing to remain and live here. Neema forms a very important and integral part of her life and therefore though this book comes out as an autobiography, it is all about Neema. In a sense one comes to feel that in him Reynolds has found her calling for therein lies the authenticity of her life. There are portions where she has been brutally frank about her own feelings of desperation and helplessness in dealing with Neema’s condition and his growing up. There are times it appears, where she subconsciously feels whether the agony of it all was worth it all. But her fortitude and single minded purpose sees her through. One of the most poignant portions in the book is when her husband Anil passes away suddenly leaving her all alone.

Autism is a neurodevelopmental disorder characterized by impaired social interaction, verbal and non-verbal communication, and restricted and repetitive behavior. Autistic people suffer from impairments from to severe and have difficulty with social communication, social interaction and social imagination. This of course does not mean that they lack imagination as many people with autism are very creative and may be, for example, accomplished artists, musicians or writers. As they are prone to cycles of progress and repression, it becomes all the more necessary for the parent or caretaker to be accustomed to such ups and downs.

‘Finding Neema’ gives us a caretaker’s account of bringing up an autistic child and in the process discovering that innate compassion lying deep inside  us and the inner strength for finding a true meaning in life. I am quoting portions from the last lines in the book, which serve to summarize the author’s feelings –

“Neema lives in his own special world – free of ideological angst, innocence of humanity’s follies, not fearing cataclysmic events – he restores to me a sense of optimism, keeps me anchored in a saner reality. I couldn’t have asked for more from a child of my own”

THANK GOD IT DID NOT HAPPEN

THANK GOD IT DID NOT HAPPEN

A calamity was averted today. Maybe I should have said a fatal accident was averted today. I would have been in the midst of what could have been a disaster.

Thank God the brakes held.

Thank God I saw it happen just in time, I was alert.

Thank God I wasn’t speeding.

Thank God I did not hit the bicycle or the cyclist. Not my mistake, he was on the right extreme side of the road and he skidded and fell just in the way of my car, both cycle and he.

Thank God I was wearing the seat belt. I could have had a whiplash.

Thank God no other car rammed into mine.

Thank God I was saved from all the messiness that accompanies such accidents – Police, Insurance, Hospitals, court case, injuries and etc. But perhaps the most calamitous would have been carrying the guilt of having been responsible for someone’s death, throughout my life.

You will notice I thanked God seven times today. I did not know who else to thank. I could not have thanked my wife, she had no role to play and ‘Thank God’ once again she was not there on the scene. I think that the first exclamation that comes to mind in such situations is ‘Thank God!’ whether you believe in him or not. This comes automatically and may not mean anything except affording you a release from all that pent up sensations that have built up within you in such situations. Try putting in some other word other than ‘God’ and see how you feel. A small exercise but would be worthwhile.

You may of course say “Bullshit man, what are you talking about? How does God come into any of this? It’s a freak incident, you were just plain lucky.”  But definitely when you want to express your disgust or disapproval of what is happening, the first exclamation that comes from your lips is “Oh shit!” and you will find more colorful four letter words to vent your anger or expressing extreme disapproval.

On second thoughts I found that I could have said ‘Thank my stars’. I have never owned a star so how could I thank them. Or you could have said to me ‘Thank your stars’ after listening to my escape from a very messy situation. There are billions, trillions and more of them out there, so which one should I thank. The only stars I know are the filmy kind, who of course may end up thanking their stars for having made them into a star. For all you know I could have averted the situation if I had gone through ‘What the stars foretell this week’.

On third thoughts I could have said ‘Oh Gosh!’ or ‘By Jove!’ exclamations I remembered hearing from the more Americanized amongst us, both exclamations of surprise. So to really comprehend what they meant I sought refuge in the Free Dictionary. Well I did learn that both are exclamations of surprise and excitement. But the really revealing part is that they are somehow related to God (may be minor Gods but all the same God). ‘Gosh’ is used to express surprise or emphasis, you can always say “Gosh she’s a stunner” or something like that. It is North American in origin and used as a euphemism for ‘God’. So I could have said “Thank Gosh” but somehow that does not sound as lyrical as ‘God’. Then I experimented with ‘Jove’ and it didn’t sound alright for the situation on hand. But again ‘God’ did not leave me as I found that ‘Jove’ is derived from the old Latin word ‘Jovis’ another name for Jupiter the king of the Greek Gods.

“Wish you Godspeed” I heard someone say when I started on my journey. He could have said “Wish you speed of light” or if he wanted me to take some more time “Wish you speed of sound”. But it was explained to me that it had nothing to do with speed, only expression of good wishes for my journey. I thought that maybe they had missed an ‘O’.

So why does God creep into all this again and again. May be I got too carried away. Now where did we (sorry that should have been I) start all this rambling. All because I felt relieved that nothing untoward happened. But the moral of all this rambling should not be lost and may be the entire episode can be condensed to two words ‘Drive Safely’, which of course is in your hands and hope the other guy on the road also does, which of course is in his. Well ultimately leave the rest to God. Rest in peace or rest in pieces.

My atheist friend said “What Crap! If at all you have to thank someone it should be the manufacturer of the car, for the brakes held and the driver of the car behind for not ramming into you. There is no such thing as a God, who had come down to save you. As for the cyclist it would have been enough to let out some choicest abuses at him for that would have given you immediate release. Who is this God anyway that you have to thank him?”

Then it came to the turn of the existentialist in my group of friends. He was silent for some time as if he was in some deep thought and ultimately opened his mouth “There is no sense in trying to analyze what happened or what would have happened or what will happen. What happened just happened, that’s what life is all about, nothing more nothing less. There was nothing before and there is nothing beyond. You will discover your authenticity when you stop driving your car and avoid such situations.”

The Agnostic butted in “I do not know whether it happened or did not happen for I was not there to witness it. I only have your word for it and I am skeptical of things that I have not seen.”

So you see it all started with that episode today. I never knew that ‘God’ would generate so much discussion on such a small happening. I wish I had never said ‘Thank God’. By the way the truth is I never said anything except stopping for a moment to ensure that the cyclist was not injured by the fall and once satisfied that he had not hurt himself, I drove away. I should confess that I was though shaken up for the moment.

 As a small exercise can you count the number of times that I have used the word ‘Happened’? I have not yet done that, for what I wrote so far just happened.