Har har Kovind nee Modi nee Mahadev

                                                             Har Har Kovind nee Modi nee Mahadev

 The country is currently agog with new prayers in obeisance to the Prime Minister, something that had not happened to any other Prime Minister in the last seven decades. Millions of minions in the ruling party, carefully nurtured and trained to sing paeans to the PM, have started a new chant Har Har Modi similar to the traditional chant Har Har Mahadev. But under Shah-Modi duo, the new chant, has changed to  Har Har Kovind has emerged and that too, even before our hon’ble President Pranab da has begun his packing.

Mahadev on the Kailash Mount had mountimg anger to the point of  opening his third eye and punishing all the culprits who had changed their chant and substituted Modi for MahaDev and had  gone further to substitute Modi chant by Kovind chant. What angered Mahadev most was this name Kovind  was similar to Govind, the 187th and the 539th name of Lord Vishnu, his Vaishnavite counterpart in Vishnu Sahasranama. Govind is regarded as the poorna avatar or the complete incarnation of Lord Vishnu whom the Vaishnavites regard as the Supreme God.

Mahadev sent for Narad and asked him to find out why the Indians -nay, the Hindus behaved like chameleons and changed their loyalty so frequently.  He permitted him to charter the Pushpak Viman, the ancient Indian flying machine and fly to Hindustan (Narad corrected him saying, “My lord, it is now Bharat”) and bring back the FIR.  “FIR against whom”, asked Narad sotto voce. Mahadev was irritated and snapped: “First Information Report, for me and not against anyone..”

Narad piloted the Viman to alight in Ahmedabad to find out who Modi was and why they were chanting his name Har Har Modi. Someone suggested that he should look up the dictionary of Indian names to learn about the name Modi. Promptly he googled the name Modi and learnt that the name  Modi  meant one who possessed a clever, original  and independent mind,  one with large ambition and intolerant of those who set their goal at a low level, one with leadership ability and would  never be happy in a subservient position, who was aggressive in nature and did not allow others any freedom,  one who was charming to those who mattered, self confident, narcissistic,   loved travel and personal appearance, one committed to ensure neatness and cleanliness,  one known for caustic expressions and moods and above all one who was a stress inducer to all those around him.

Narad was told to fly to Delhi to meet with Modi or his acolytes.  He was also advised to read Quora Digest so that he could learn more about Modi and why people chanted his name. He swiftly glanced through QD and was convinced about Modi as an avatar purush ho had  come into the world to destroy all evil doers and corrupt sinners .He was  hailed as the man Nostrodamus had predicted to rule the world. People hailed him as the new Messiah and cried loud Har Har Modi. Narad knew that  Shiva would be pleased that this man Modi was like him, a destroyer of all filth and dirt, evil and black money. Narad was able to recognize in Modi the physical manifestation of Shiva proclaiming to free Bharat from Congress that was allegedly  synonymous with  evil and corruption. Har Har Mahadev (Everyone loves Shiva) was thus changed into Har Har Modi. Narad knew that Shiva would be pleased that Modi was like him a destroyer who had vowed to carry out his mission of rooting out all that is rotten in the state of Bharat.

But before Narad could board the Viman to return to Mount Kailsh, he heard the new chant Har Har Kovind.  He was puzzled and was keen to know about this new divinity, Kovind. He dared not reach Shiva who might open his third eye and consume him in anger if he spoke about Govind, the incarnation of Vishnu. Narad dared not bring about a rift between Vishnu and Shiva in the present context of  Mahadev having  to yield his place to Govind,  though as Narad he was known to engineer such conflicts among the Celestial gods and enjoy their discomfiture. But not now, as the clash between the Preserver(Vishnu) and the Destroyer(Shiva) would be disastrous , a total  annihilation of the universe.

Narad decided to make discreet inquiries about this Kovind. He met someone who towered like a Shahenshah and who clarified that this Kovind was not Govind, but a Dalit who belonged to the lowest and oppressed caste in the Hindu varna system- the fifth caste or the panchnama- and who originally belonged to the group of the sons of soil ,  who were forced to carry filth and dirt on their heads  and make the land clean for the rest of the higher castes. Narad’s mercurial mind was reminded of Lord Shiva who once assumed the role of a labourer and carried mud on his head to earn for his living. He remembered that Shiva in Tamilnadu was called Pittukku Mann Sumandavar. The Shiva story goes like this:

There was a temple to be constructed. At the time of construction, the king decreed that every household shall send one man to work on the temple’s construction. An old lady of the village, with no male relatives requested a vagabond known to her to serve in her honor in exchange for a sweet dish called Puttu. The vagabond was actually Lord Shiva in disguise, who reluctantly accepted the offer. At the construction site of the Prakara, Lord Shiva sang and danced without working and irritated the constuction supervisor , he whipped Lord shiva on his back, an infliction of pain that was felt immediately by all people in the world and left the mark of spine on the backs of humanity. Henceforth , the supervisor and the king realised the folly and begged his forgiveness.

Narad got into the Pushpak Viman  to fly to Mount Kailash and present  the FIR . He knew Shiva would be pleased to find Kovind who came from a family of people who labored very much like him and give his blessings to become the First Person of Bharat. But lo! Before he stepped into the Viman, he got a  message on his spacenet that the Opposition had nominated a dalit lady for the president’s post to challenge Kovind. The name was Meira. He knew that something wasnot right, and diverted the Viman to Parvati’s residence to seek her advice. Parvati was never a gender bender and was disturbed by the sudden onset of gender conflict. She phoned Lord Vishnu for his opinion on the new development. The omniscient Vishnu laughed and said why all this fuss and bother when the original Meera had merged with Govind long time back. So it matters little whether it is Kovind or Meira as it will be one and the same belonging to the same caste.

Narad heaved a sigh of relief as Parvati conveyed Vishnu’s shrewd reply, Narad is now on his way to Mount Kailash to present the FIR to cool Shiva and ensure that the icy mountain does not melt in Shiva’s anger.
 

 

The Value of blogging

                                                      The Value of Blogging

It has been a while since I blogged. Partly the summer heat that drains one’s vitality, partly a uneasy feeling about what worth is all this blogging, as  few  read and fewer appreciate and still fewer feel roused or dampened by its contents to respond. Of late the fatuity of writing a blog has struck me with such ferocity to freeze my fingers from tapping on the laptop.

I started to ask myself what is a blog? I started as a blogger Inspired by its openness to post one’s personal thoughts and feelings about specific issues of the day, and serve as a platform to share one’s views including fears and anxieties with a large number of invisible audience. The latest TV reality show India Banega Manch, meaning talent will find a stage, (a new talent show that has no votes and no judges, but where the  individual or group winner (s)  is /are selected by their performance to attract the largest number of viewers) reminded me that I had also similarly assumed hema banegi blog will attract a legion of viewers and so I went like a race sprinter clearing mental hurdles one  after another, to reel off blogs on political, educational, social and personal issues of the day. I did not stop to look back if my blogs arrested the viewers with their catchy headlines, well deliberated comments and to some extent the fluency of my language. But despite a fairly large number of page views I garnered, there were very just a few comments , that proved the absence of  impact of my blogs to prick and provoke responses. I decided to discontinue blogging and turned to my vocational pastime of writing literary articles to keep my grey cells working lest they should rust and become unproductive.

 But once a blogger, always a blogger. Two blogless weeks made me feel out of touch with the world. Writing a blog is possible only if one feels passionately about everyday events, happenings and arguments. A blogger develops a keen interest in the world around and engages himself/ herself with all issues that one reads or watches on the TV or discusses with one’s family and friends. But the moment one ceases to be a blogger, the passion dies within and the fizz goes out while  reading newspapers, editorials, articles or watching the big fights on TV shows- in short one no longer remains a dynamic thinker, but a passive viewer. For retired persons, passivity is lethal as it is a sure way to develop amnesia and worse Alzheimer. I realized that a lot of issues of the last fortnight relating to Presidential (s)election, CBSE marking, college admissions, farmers’ plight, Darjeeling bandh, tragic deaths in Kashmir, Indo-Pak rivalry in cricket and hockey, international badminton and tennis matches( with and without Indian faces), not to leave out  news  from Bollywood  had not ignited  the passion and fire that I had always felt as a deeply engaged humanist, passionate romantic and realist involved in everything happening around.  I missed the fire in my belly; my passion and determination to suggest views and ideas to change our world of conflict and  churlishness into a world of beauty, grace, peace and harmony was on the wane and I realized that I was only half alive. I got back to blogging not as an altruistic exercise to share and influence the invisible multitudes who are iterant blog readers, but to restore my zest and intensity for life. Francois Rene de Chateaubriand wrote: “The echoes of passion in the emptiness of a lonely heart are like the murmurings of wind and water in the silence of the wilderness:”

I picked up my laptop and returned to my favourite pastime- blogging. I write about here and now, about present and the immediate, about what touches me as I walk, read, see and hear. I write to express my feelings and fears, my excitement and agitation, my ideas that come with explosive immediacy, my dreams of an impractical utopian world, in short,  I write to cope with the unbearable  lightness of being that comes  with an awareness of a certain lack of ultimate meaning in life, albeit the desire to hold on to life and experience peace and calmness of mind.

What has impelled me to write today? A walk through the park. The welcome summer showers  have given a respite from the unbearable heat of last few days. As I went for a stroll, I noticed the frolicking of the squirrels, the cooing of the Koyal, the mynahs in pairs perched on the branches, and I experienced the thrill of Wordsworth’s famous  lines :

     And all the earth is gay;

     Land and sea

    Give themselves up to jollity,

     And with the heart of May (June as of today)

     Doth every Beast keep holiday;—

Looking at the birds and squirrels, the doves and the crows, all trying to peck at the fallen grains some  kind stroller had thrown on the grass, I realized how unlike the homo sapiens, these different species showed no competitive fieriness and were content to get a share of the tiny grain that their beaks could peck at. The jet black crows, the gray doves with a streak of white at the bottom, the brown squirrels, the multi-coloured wood peckers preening their feathers were similar to our species with its white, yellow, brown and black skins.  But unlike us these were not racists and they were happy if they could have their fill of grain without forcing it out of another’s beak.

 I was jolted out of my somber admiration for these non human species by the giggle and loud whispers of young girls and boys who were making fun of a heavily built couple on their morning walks. I turned round with an admonishing look only to find them trying to suppress their giggle as I became their object of derisive laughter because of my pint size in contrast to the other couple. My sartorial get up in saree and sneakers must have also added to their derisive grin. We Indians in particular revel in discrimination on the basis of colour, gender, racial, physiological prejudices. Added to this list is discrimination on the basis of caste and religion. We mock people who are different from us; we dislike people who have views contrary to ours; we harbour vengeful enmity against those who hold faith and belief that are distinct from ours; today we feel a deep sense of repugnance towards the dietary habits and practices that are not in consonance with ours. We no longer say “Vive la difference” but “ Vive la uniformite” and there hangs the  tale of  perennial conflict and hostility, battle and warfare among our species.

The species that are non- human live on hope to eat and stay alive; they never despair because they do not hanker after anything other than satiation. We who are blessed with the capacity to reason are perpetually in want of something other than what we possess. We are forever in a state of despair forgetting that the only sustaining force in existence is hope. We know from our experience that no one in the world can claim absolute satisfaction and contentment. God grants us one thing and withholds some other thing. Everyone gets his/her share of fullness and emptiness and only a foolish man can claim to have conquered all his wants. Similarly life oscillates between periods of sunshine and periods of darkness with shades of gray thrown in between. This is the law of the world, created by the Creator, a cruel Joker as Samuel beckett calls him  and who has his unique way of joking with His creation and make us learn contentment with whatever quota of happiness we are given and not despair over  quota of disappointment.  Martin Luther King said: “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”

Well Nature taught me not to despair but to blog as it is therapeutic and provides space to record experiences that seem  ordinary and are often unremembered. Vive la blog even if the blog has no viewer nor fails to provoke response from one or two odd ones among them..