Kim Aascharyam? ( What is Wonder?)

- Stop! Don't drink from the lake before you answer my questions?
- Why should I ? Who is there?
- Answer my questions Yudhishtir, else you too will die like your brothers.
- Who are you and how do you know my name? My brothers are not dead they are just tired and resting.
- Oh ! They are dead all right and I am responsible for their death. I know you very well as I did your brothers. I am a Yaksha, lord of this lake. Your brothers refused to listen to me and suffered this fate. Actually I am a Devata cursed to live like a Yaksha until I find answers to some question. You are the wisest among all your brothers and can easily answer my questions.
- All the more reason why I shouldn't answer your questions. In any case I am thirsty, let me drink first, then may be I'll answer your questions.
- No, you must answer first.
- All right, fire.
- What moves faster than wind ?
- Since your question is unqualified therefore all things physical and abstract are included. The answer is the Imagination.
- What is deeper than oceans ?
- It is the Thought. No quarrel on this.
- What is larger than mountains ?
- Many things. Greed, desire, jealousy and scores of other emotions.
- What is wonder ?
- Remember Oh! Yaksha, I had told you a few thousand years back that it is the wish of man to be immortal against certainty of death that is the most amazing thing. I was wrong. You see, simple things said in a simpler manner, especially those, which go in line with conventional wisdom sound very impressive. Besides seeming obvious, these pronouncements also evade serious scrutiny. Life is not a matter of frivolous conjecture. The desire to be immortal is a perfectly normal reaction and also necessary for survival. Consider what Buddha said about life, being born is the root cause of all our misery, therefore if there is no desire for immortality, the question arises, why live at all. You see Yaksha, all living creatures fulfill two objectives viz. the biological and the philosophical. While there is no dispute on biological objective i.e. reproduction for propagation of species, there is no one view on philosophical objective of life. Even the idea that death is certain is disputable therefore I was wrong to say that our wish for immortality is most amazing idea. Look at my brothers, they are powerful and intelligent yet they gave precedence to their thirst instead of immobilizing you. Now consider your own case. You claim to be a Devata accursed to pass off your time as a Yaksha until you find answers to some questions.. You go about merrily killing people merely because they do not answer your question and con people into believing that you are indeed God. Isn't this amazing though not enough to qualify as wonder. What is wonder then? The idea of God. We all create images out of our fears and aspirations. We attempt to understand nature by laws and exceptions. What we do not understand, we try to explain away as mystcal. This has resulted in the formation of an image and a concept of God. Like classical painter of Europe, who took best of the features of human form like best nose, best lips, best eyes etc. and created beautiful images but their paintings are unreal. Similarly, we have created image and concept of God, which on close scrutiny appears unreal. The best attributes of humans are assigned to the God, unfortunately , the worst attributes too have stuck on them. While God is considered benign, considerate, omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent they are also known to exhibit monumental jealousy, unsurpassed greed and their ability to scheme and plot to kill and eliminate for selfish gains is legendary.
Why, the form itself assigned to God is questionable. After all basic form is female besides as we now know that our being most intelligent species is merely coincidental. The biggest wonder is the firm belief in the existence of God, so widely prevalent all over the world, while all indicators point otherwise.
I was wrong O! Yaksha.

***********

Oh! My God

He had seen life drift past the dull paddy fields, exhilarating ravines, across desolate deserts and through some dense tropical forests in blistering heat and biting cold. After all he has been a railway guard for now a long long time. His ability to talk to himself for hours enabled him to get on with what others would have described a killingly monotonous life. In his bizarre world time seemed to have by passed him, while he remained clung to his guard’s cabins of rumbling snaky goods trains so much so that now these familiar cabins appeared to him as extension of his own being. Every anomaly, oil patch on the wall or pieces of decaying rugs appeared to him as if grown out of his own body. In this complex networked microcosm of the railways, he was completely invisible, forgotten and overlooked. Time and promotions by passed him, though he did not complain, for he suffered from morbid phobia to any change from a familiar life style.
Years of isolation made him adept at chaffing through tit-bits of rustic wisdom from many conversations he carried out with simple working folks he met in course of his sojourns through myriad halts and delays at fancy places. He could however, never get over his fear of lonely dark places. He still felt frightened, when his train would halt at a remote dark place away from habitation. What added to his discomfiture was the uncertainty of duration for the train to remain rooted at such places. In such countless encounters he desperately longed for company of just any person. Although such occasions always ended uneventfully yet he never came out of such experiences any wiser. The fear of darkness was a legacy of childhood, which as a child he thought he would be rid of when grown up, this however never materialized only the realization that grown ups too suffered the same fear but only were not so obvious in showing it. This apart, he felt life so far had been one long uneventful journey fairly well coped by him. Now in the middle of his life, he had become extra sensitive to minor lapses mostly related to his professional life, which caused in him lingering anxiety until satisfactory resolution of such errors of judgement. Once the anxiety got resolved he would be amazed at his naivete for worrying so much over so little and often felt helpless in not being able to control his mind.
As his chain of thought was broken, he looked out through door of his cabin which opened to the rear of the train, he saw the pair of rails were disappearing far in the Thar desert while the train was laboriously climbing up the hills of Aravali mountain range. It was now approaching the twilight time, the sun slowly descending in the western horizon. Abruptly he realized that he had slipped again. A feeling akin to fear and anxiety begin to build up in him as he felt nagging realization that his not making log entry in the last station about the dangling dysfunctional signal post at 1140 mile marker down the line, will persist for some days and unsettle him. No amount of reasoning will make his mind let go of the grip the recurring anxiety. He was angry with himself for letting him to make the slip and causing him unnecessary perturbation. Exhausted he gently placed his against the cabin wall and closed his eyes. It had been an uncomfortably warm and tiring day. Soon he went into deep comma. After a while he heard some one talking to him in his head. Abruptly he stood erect. Someone was telling him,
"The persistence an annoying thought is not an aberration but based on sound logic. It is a safety mechanism to register a reminder in your mind not to commit the same mistake again."
"Who are you?" he looked around in the cabin. He was simultaneously afraid and puzzled at seeing a glowing dull golden sphere about four feet across suspended in mid air some two meters off him. He continued involuntarily,
"Why should the similar kinds of slip of judgements sometimes cause our mind to agitate while some other times it may seem completely innocuous."
"That’s because of imperfection of mind."
Now a lot more composed he looked at the glowing object curiously. The voices he was hearing weren’t actual sounds, therefore were not emanating from the sphere. Yet he felt the source of the conversation has something to do with the sphere. He asked again, looking at the sphere,
" Who are you?"
" I am God."
" You are God ! That’s crazy."
" Why should it be crazy?"
" Why should God look like a sphere?"
" Because it looks the same from everywhere."
" Oh ! And why the golden tinge?"
" That’s because of your fascination for the gold?"
" Alright, so you are God! Why is it that in spite of rational reasoning we cannot take control of our mind? Why should a convict in death row constantly worry about impending hanging rather than fruitfully employ his mind to find out ways and means to beat the death rap? Isn’t this in conflict with our essential survival instinct!"
" You think the humans are perfect evolutionary master-pieces. They are not. What about anatomical appendix! It only causes pain when inflamed but serves no useful purpose. Actually our inability to control our mind in spite of very good reasons does serve useful purpose. You see man does not fear harm as much as deferred fear of harm. The knowledge of impending harm completely rattles human mind thus makes him amenable to make a deal, a subtle compromise to help his chance of survival better."
"Isn’t this queer? You are justifying one behavior anamoly with another. I mean why should making deals and compromises be inhibiting to man?"
"Mind is very comlex, intertwined with conflicting immotions. While a severe immotional jolt could be cathartic but it is the lingering worry that helps men make up their mind to pros and cons of a given situation and arrive at an optimum resolution of the problem. I thought you will know this"
"What do you mean? You are God aren’t you! You should know what everybody thinks."
"How should I know what other’s have in their mind. I am your God."
"What do you mean you are my God. Do every individual has his own God?"
"God is creature of your mind. Since your mind is part your own, part collective wisdom and impressions acquired from the society, to that extent Gods are similar but distinctly individual."
"Oh my God!"
He suddenly felt a big jolt, as the train abruptly braked and slowed. His eyes were now wide open. The train seemed to be passing through a tunnel and straight through the rear door he could see the mouth of the tunnel not very far away. It was almost entirely filled with the dull glowing orb of setting sun.

******

S E H R A II : Polynomial

[Sehra’s significance to Arabs is understandable, their lives after all revolved around the desert. But sehra’s magic to us is no less significant. Perhaps centuries of contact with Arabs and their literature allowed it to grow on us with similar sense of foreboding and tilism. Sehra means same to Arabs as ocean means to seafarers. Both are vast monolithic spaces; enigmatic, risk-prone, adventurous and tantalizingly mysterious, short on drinking water. Sehra is parched, lifeless and inanimate yet one of the most enduring tales of love (Laila & Majnu) was played out in its inhospitable sands. At more spiritual level its monolithic space holds most fascinating conundrums of life.]

Polynomial

We had on our right Mr.Wahab as our neighbor, a house teeming with little children. If it hadn’t been the army cantonment and its ethos of strict secularism, that family would have reinforced my stereo typing of Muslims permanently but thankfully people in cantonment were not identified by their religion or their cast but just by their name. It isn’t that Mr.Wahab wore shervani and fluffy cap but the house teemed with little children and air saturated with the stink of dried urine. The most enduring image of that house is of a kid roaming around naked waist down with his peanut sized bandaged penis dangling like a pendulum. When I asked Junaid, their eldest son, what’s wrong with his brother he cringed in extreme embarrassment. Back then, mothers covered little children’s chest for fear of them catching cold but it was fine for little kids to move around the neighborhood naked waist down. I have had very few Muslim friends, perhaps because they are fewer in number, but they have always added a strange kind of intensity in relationships. May be this is because of xenophobia borne out of insecurity of a minority. First they just don’t trust you but once they do they do so whole-heartedly. Junaid was my buddy. On our left, Harpal Singh lived with his family. Poly, his daughter was my age, laconic and coy. Her younger brother, I don’t even remember his name, always wore pajama. Since kids do a lot of running and pajamas aren’t exactly conducive to running, I hated him. I don’t think there is a thing called platonic love, its plain sexual infatuation. If at all there is platonic love it must be between two little kids. Poly’s proximity was always soft, soothing and blissful. Later in college when I read about polynomials in Math class. it reminded me of her, lithe and supple. Poly wasn’t her name, I realized this much later when I visited her one last time as a college student in Meerut. She was still laconic and coy. When her mother called her Po’lli, I realized that her name was Po’lli a distorted version of Bholi due to Punjabi folk’s tendency to convert B’s into P’s as in ‘paadshah’. When I asked her if she still remembered those days in Secundrabad, she didn’t look at me, but said, “Yes. Of course!” She made my day. I guess, I need to revisit my thoughts on platonic love.

Sehra I : Rip Van Winkle Dream

[Ever wondered at emerging and dissolving emotion of awe, adventure, fear, chaos and anxiety in a little child holding her Mom's hand tightly while waiting to cross a busy road!]

Even though this far in time, the images are crisp and sharp, crystallized in clear focus as if I went to sleep as a child one afternoon like Rip Van Winkle and woke up thirty-five years later. That stone built house with 'roshandaans' and red tiled sloping roof, which I once called home, looks so endearingly romantic, yet as a little boy I felt it depressive and bleak. The construction in crudely cut boulders gave it a deep gray tinge of a forbidding castle while new sharply geometric, cubical constructions on the rear of our house looked cool, impressive and very trendy. Roshandaans are no more in vogue, these simple contraptions were constructed high on wall and operated through two strings attached to vertically swinging panels. But the strings were hardly used, for most of summers Roshandaans remained open and closed through the winters, in between some gaurayya (sparrow) will find a mate, build nest, rear children and fly away to annoyance of Mom. Once I took my rubber ball and offered to knock down the nest but one look at Mom's aghast face made me wonder until a long time at mysterious ways of grown up people's non-linear thinking. It also gave me first glimpse of life being lived in the gray rather than in black and white. Rajamma gave me my name 'Babu', she came to wash dishes and mop the house. Some times she would come with her young and very attractive copper complexioned married daughter Poshamma but then I was too young to flirt with her. Some times she would come drunk with 'taaRi' then Mom would push us out of the house off the front door. If Poshamma too came drunk, her bulging red shot eyes transformed her beautifully chiseled face into a fearsome psychopath's face. Some times Rajamma would come with a basketful of 'sita-phal' (called shareefa up north or the 'Custard Apple' in English) and pester Mom into buying the whole lot. That day we would eat sita-phal until we got sick of it.