Two Tales On Reincarnation

Reincarnation is a theme rich with possibilities for mystery writers, and there have been several well known novels and hauntingly eerie films on this subject.  Murder mysteries wherein the victim returns (often in human form, sometimes not!) to identify the killer are particularly common.

However, the gentler kind of stories are rare- those that deal more with the confusion that can arise when people are confronted with the possibility of reincarnation, rather than actual details or gory incidents.

I don't personally have any views on reincarnation as the world contains many things beyond my sphere of knowledge.  It is not a subject I find important enough to dwell on; my present life is demanding enough of my time and thoughts!  Having said that, I found two nice stories that use this theme.  I recently finished reading one of them and the other has been a favourite for many years.

Alexander McCall Smith has written a novel, 'The Novel Habits of Happiness', set in Scotland, which  (in his usual style) is about many things, including a little boy who feels he lived elsewhere, in another life, and all the events that follow.  The tale is interesting because though clearly fiction, something like this could easily (or unexpectedly) happen to anyone, I feel.  Coincidence?   Fate?  Churning of our incredibly complex (and often undecipherable) mental mechanisms?  The line between fantasy and reality can get blurred depending on people's interpretation of facts or their perception of their environment and themselves.

The older book I referred to is 'The Golden Fortress' (Sonar Kella) by Satyajit Ray (which he subsequently made into a wonderful film, now available on DVD).  This is a part of the Feluda detective series (written for children or more specifically, 'young adults' as people now like to say).  It begins with a child's recreation of a world very different from what he has ever been in.  The trail leads the characters all the way up to north India and provides an interesting glimpse of life and travel in a pre-cell phone, pre- fast car, pre- fast plane age (the sweet seventies).

For those who like gentle, meandering stories that deal with people's thoughts and emotions, a little travel and a hint of humour, both these books are recommended.

Nothing In Particular

This blog is about nothing in particular- I have just managed to snatch a few moments to sit and write.  It's cloudy outside and, in the garden, my lilies are slowly budding and blossoming - white tendrils of spider lilies, deep yellow mango coloured lilies, little mauve oniony ones and more.  I have a whole garden full of lilies now as they are low maintenance and I discovered that the monkeys don't touch them.

I have just finished baking a deep dark chocolate cake for my tea.  It is tender and deeply chocolatey - baked on low heat for a long time.

For lunch, we are to have a salad with cherry tomatoes, crisp lettuce, feta cheese and a little olive oil- served along with a small pizza with peppers and pineapple.

I have just finished The Three Musketeers and am  slowly savouring an Agatha Christie.

My baby is asleep.  When he wakens, we will crawl all over the floor and then hit the books, which both of us enjoy very much.  We read Pooh's songs, The Cat in the Hat, The Gruffalo and look at lots of interesting cookbooks learning about Mexican, Mediterranean and Chinese cuisines.

Yes, it's a busy but satisfying Sunday.

A Carpenter Comes Home

One of the nice things about living in India is the number of different kinds of workers who are able to make house calls, some at very short notice and at an affordable cost.  Not all may be equally competent but we are fortunate in knowing a few who always manage to solve our problems (and of course some who manage to make a mess of things! - but those we obviously stay far away from).

One such person is our carpenter, Farooq, who has been visiting us for over a decade.  He rolls up (not always very punctually, but at some moment of the day!), carrying his little kit of nails, a measuring tape and a small drill, with which he is able to take care of a large number of our troubles.  He has a little pencil stuck behind his right ear and he borrows a small scrap of paper when he comes, to write down dimensions.  We ask for his help not just with woodwork but all kinds of things in the house and he provides very simple, practical solutions.  He works quietly and efficiently and is always concerned that I should not be inconvenienced in any way while he is working.

He has helped baby proof our house by fitting some gates which had to be assembled but came without any instruction manuals.  Our doors, which have a tendency to slam shut with the breeze, were stabilized by means of little hooks which attached them to the walls (they have steel frames so nothing can be hammered into them).  He has made an endless array of shelves to suit alcoves of varied shapes and dimensions, sliding doors for lofts which stood gathering dust, stools that neatly slid under our kitchen counter and so on.

Yesterday he trundled in to cockroach-proof our kitchen shelves.  This is an ancient set of shelves that are so porous that I believed cockroaches might be dwelling within.  I thought we might need a new set.  But he just cleaned them up and said he would seal all gaps between the shelves and the wall, which was where the cockroaches lived.

The next thing I wanted was a new lock for the front door.  Our old one would keep getting stuck.  This was tricky because of those wondrous steel frames on our doors, which require locks to be welded on and therefore new locks to be of the same size as the old ones.  He looked at the door and said the lock was fine, it was the door which was misaligned as some of the hinges had come off!

So finally nothing new had to be bought; he sat down and assembled a small baby bassinet which we were going to give away (again without an instruction manual).  My baby (who has an inordinate fondness for all things mechanical) crawled around, watching him and playing with some pieces of wood.

The carpenter worked for an hour or so - drilling, fitting, cleaning, nailing, hammering and so on.  Then had his customary snack and drink (which I always like to serve, this time it was lychee juice and cashewnuts) and said goodbye.  For all this he charged five hundred rupees (less than ten dollars), despite the fact that he had come on a weekend, at short notice and that he doesn't really earn a huge amount each month.  After this he got onto his scooter, tool kit and all, and headed out for his next job of the day, in good cheer.

Thoughts On Teachers

I recently came across a lovely little quote by William Yeats that triggered many memories: Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.

This is so perfectly worded that there is nothing really that I can add, but it makes me think of my teachers - some exceptional ones that I have been fortunate enough to come across.  

My mother was probably my first such teacher, though I didn't know it then.  She taught me a few basic principles of how to deal with life and then left me alone to figure out the specifics.  I could always approach her but she rarely interfered especially when it seemed that I was able to tackle things on my own.  

Of school, I remember not very much of specific learning - the bucket filling kind doesn't stay too long, it dribbles out over time (though is easily refilled, if one really wants).  I did learn how much I enjoyed writing and reading, and in this I was encouraged by teachers who knew their subjects.  

From my grandfather I learnt how to try and take everything in my stride and maintain an even keel in stormy waters.  I spent many years growing up in my grandfather's house and I remember he always had time to sit with us at mealtimes and go for walks in the evenings.  He was actively involved in his business at the time and there were many stressful moments (as I now recollect) but he left them behind when he sat at the table with us.

Life moves in unexpected ways, offering us choices and options - requiring decisions, sometimes rather drastic, lifestyle changing ones.  Again, at crucial moments during my education, it was not experts in academic subjects but other kinds of teachers who helped me decide on the path suitable for myself.  They did this not by suggesting options but by allowing me to relax and look inwards and see for myself what I wanted to do.  Notable amongst these are Nora, a friend and practitioner of five element acupuncture and (Masterji) Vishwanath, a teacher of yoga.  They rekindled a spark which was already there, but which I thought I had lost and didn't know how to find.

Trekking In Tekal

Bangalore is surrounded by hilly outcrops, streams, rivulets, patches of forest and other places where one can spend a day trekking, climbing or swimming.  Of course, these have become more inhabited, polluted and/or crowded with visitors over the years.  One exception is the mammoth rock cluster called Tekal.  Unbroken by regular paths or green cover, it looks more daunting perhaps than it actually is.  There are no religious trails or holy sites at the top of the hill, so the number of visitors is relatively small.  It is, of course, a haven for rock climbers, and this is how my adventures on Tekal began – and continued- each trip being memorable for its uncomfortable moments (and also, once I relaxed, for the stark beauty of the place).

The first time I visited, perhaps twenty years ago, was with my husband and some of his friends who were keen rock climbers.  By keen I mean that one of them won first position in the state wall climbing contest.  Along with her were two others who didn’t do too badly in the contest either, one has now started a full time trekking company, and so on.  I myself am no climber and have a very average head for heights, so you can imagine my initial feelings when I saw rock upon rock that I had to clamber over.  

Appearances are deceptive in Tekal; though it initially looks insurmountable, almost everyone reaches the top (and returns relatively unscathed!) for there are just a few tricky sections, and the rocks are not as slippery as they might appear.  The tricky sections, of course, look innocuous, and vice versa, so one really needs to stop judging a rock by its looks.  One also needs to realize that one will not slip and fall through the cracks and spaces between rocks that one has to leap over.  Then you can relax and enjoy the view!

On my first trek there, I was lagging behind, trying to get familiar with the feel of the rocks.  It didn’t matter how slow I was, for I would eventually reach a point where everyone else was standing, working out some tricky manoeuvres on a rock.  Here I would catch my breath and wait till they finished and then lag behind some more.  In the middle of our journey we met two barefoot boys from an adjacent village, who happily leaped (higher and faster than what perhaps was necessary) and periodically held out their hands to try and get me to move faster.  Hands were a big no-no amongst the regulars (even your own hands, when descending slopes), so I valiantly and successfully managed on my own two feet.  I learnt some nice things in between all the adrenalin rush; the nicest being how to climb a chimney, which is perhaps the only kind of rock formation that I thoroughly enjoy climbing – wedging oneself into a crack and magically scaling two vertical cliffs.  I was bruised and exhausted at the end (having used my hands and butt to slide down steep slopes) and happy to finally take the local train back to the city.

The second time round was with my husband’s lab (also known as the RV lab) and I was mentally prepared for the trip.  My husband's cousin (who accompanied us), however wasn’t and she was a bit scared when we reached the base.  Having spent decades in convents, she let out a volley of Hail Mary’s; lo and behold rescue arrived in the form of a large goat, which materialized from nowhere and stood patiently behind her on a rock until she began to move forward.  And once she began to climb, there was no looking back; she managed without much trouble.  After scaling all the difficult parts, we were looking forward to ambling towards the top, when suddenly we heard a loud angry buzz and looked to see a cloud of wild bees heading our way.  The slopes that had taken half an hour to climb were descended in about two minutes – a true test of the power of the mind!  As soon as we began our descent, the bees left us alone and we looked back to see them flying back towards their giant hives that we had not noticed earlier.

The next trip was also with the RV lab with the addition of one student who was not part of the lab, but who joined us that day.  He was a pleasant fellow with a habit of ambling aimlessly along.  In those days, I generally went at the very end of the line, partly because I liked to go at my own pace and partly because I didn’t want anyone to be left stranded anywhere.  So I let this fellow go ahead but it took me twice as long, especially after we all climbed down some ravine (why we did this I have no idea, probably just for the experience of it).  Anyway, everyone climbed back up and this man was still ambling below, humming to himself for a while.  Even I began to get restless waiting down there especially because dark clouds were gathering overhead.  Finally he began to climb, got stuck in several places, and had to be pulled to the top by some others.  At this stage, it began to rain.  Wet rocks are terribly slippery.  I wondered what to do.  “Throw your shoes up and climb barefoot,” yelled an unfazed RV.  And so I did.  The first two throws were unsuccessful; I couldn’t get them high enough and I hoped the shoes wouldn’t fall into some crack within the rocks.  Third time lucky, and I managed to climb up and once the rain subsided, climb-slide down along with the rest of the group.  After that I have given up my polite ways of ‘pehle aap’.

The next time round was also a trip with the RV lab, I remember one of the research fellows being extremely scared while going up.  He was convinced he wouldn’t live to tell the tale and promised everyone a round of (soft) drinks to celebrate, if he returned unharmed!  Perhaps everyone ensured he did, or perhaps he had a safe and smooth ascent and descent, for drinks were generously doled out at the end of that trip.  Everything was humming along for me, and I was third last this time (the second last person being RV, who was trying out some tricky rocks as a last minute treat, and the last person an old friend who was called Hua, who had a knack of attracting solitary flying kites wherever he went – once the kite began circling above him, nature and gravity would take over and the inevitable would occur.  His name was unfortunately convenient for people – everyone would look up at the sky and ask “Hua, hua?” (Hua, has it happened?) – and he would often nod sheepishly.  But I digress.  At this moment, he was busy cleaning himself with some stalks of grass and a handkerchief). 

Suddenly (and I don’t know how), I found myself tripping and sliding many feet down.  I leaned forward to slow my fall and the friction on the rocks did the rest.  After the initial shock, I didn’t mind too much; it had saved me the trouble of walking down some especially steep sections.  My hands were grazed but not terribly.  It was only when I stood up that I realized that my clothes had been torn to shreds at the back.  I wondered what to do.  “Exchange T shirts with Hua who is just a size bigger than you,” muttered an unfazed RV.  I waited for Hua and then requested a swap of T shirts (fortunately the kite had only dumped on his head and not his clothes; of course I would have taken his shirt in any condition).  His long T shirt amply covered my backside and he gallantly donned my tattered one).  When we reached the bottom of the hill, everyone was focussed on their drinks and didn’t pay any attention to our strange garb.  Once more I boarded the local train with a sigh of pleasurable relief.

It has been many years since I visited Tekal but a recent video from the RV lab reminded me of my previous experiences.  It is quite a terrific snippet of a long trek, and the photographer, Siddharth Patel, has kindly allowed me to use it here.  I attach a link to the site:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CvQQP0dSHkw

Prelude To A New Year

This year has sped by, bringing excitement and unpredictability.
I lost some old friends to illness and accidents.
Discovered a large set of still older friends through the internet.
Brought a new life into this world.
Spent hours in hospital corridors and rooms.
More hours, housebound, joyful, tired, confused and delighted.
Held, nourished and nurtured my baby.
Was nurtured in turn, by loving friends.
Discovered the joys of a mini ipad and kindle.
Relied on internet shopping
Spent time outdoors in long walks
With kites soaring overhead and trees swaying in the breeze.
Learnt not to fear fear
Learnt to give freely of myself
And accept gratefully unexpected gifts
To welcome life as it appears
And not force its pace, nor ask it to slow down for me
And now, just as I thought I had learnt to deal with all possible situations (!)
The new year brings -
Travel, travel and travel, to places familiar and unknown
More people, known and unknown
And other challenges that I wonder if I'm ready to deal with.
I put aside my apprehension
For I know I will only be given what I can handle at any moment
Things that will help me learn and grow
I bid goodbye to a year full of surprises
And welcome a new year, with gratitude and joy.

(And what better way to end the year, than with this little video of Michael Jordan's)!!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JA7G7AV-LT8

Happy New Year!!!

When The Going Gets Tough

I never realized before how much reading thrillers would come in handy.  Some days, everything that can possibly go wrong does, but then one can always remind oneself that things could be far worse.  Unlike my favourite detectives, I am not being chased down dark alleys, being shunted off to inhospitable cells, being shot at by men on horseback or attacked by ravenous crocodiles...

Today being a prime example.  I awake on this crisp clear Sunday morning to messages on my cell phone from the government teleservices - please change to one of three plans or your connection will be terminated tomorrow.  These messages began arriving at a gentle pace from Saturday afternoon and are coming in a faster, more frenzied way alternately in English and Kannada today.  I would be almost gratified at the trouble someone is taking to ensure my connection doesn't lapse if I didn't know that these are all computer generated, with a delightful programme that increases the frequency of messages as the deadline approaches.

Anyway, there's not much I can do.  The helpline number rings endlessly and no one picks up.  The website is filled with all kinds of details except how (and if) I can change to a new plan instantly online.  But... things could be worse.  I could come down with a migraine...  Well, now that I think of it, I do feel a twinge...

I put on my sneakers and the baby and I head out for our morning walk.  It's a nice day and being Sunday, there are even fewer walkers at this hour than the usual.  The trees are filled with little chattering birds, who are startled by our sudden arrival.  We are the first humans to tread this ground today.  Keeping a sharp eye for predators and spies (we see only one stray dog of a friendly kind, who doesn't really count) and fast moving objects of assault (namely the branches overhead which occasionally crack and fall to the earth), we move with our usual agility and speed, covering several centimetres per second.  We stop to look at the birds and smell the roses (which have no particular smell) and smile happily.  A mission successful.

As the first few other morning walkers straggle in, it's time for us to head home - for breakfast.  All goes well, except for my multiple sprints up and down the staircase to check if the garbage collector has come.  He is supposed to ring a bell when he approaches but strangely forgets to ring outside my house.  Anyway, that is dealt with.  The baby's breakfast is simmering and my tea is ready when I realize the toaster is jammed.  Not a matter of life and death of course, but one thing I hate is cold bread.  So I try and think innovatively - what would my heroes (and heroines) have done under the circs??  And I turn on the oven.  Of course, it's a bit of an overkill, and it takes five times as long before the bread converts into toast, but this mission too has ended satisfactorily.

The washing machine beeps in the background, spewing out some slimy scaly material from its innards onto the clothes and switching itself off.  It doesn't matter.  I reset the power and it is fooled into restarting from where it stopped.  The scales I will scrape off one by one by hand from the clothes (probably equivalent to practicing an ancient Shaolin exercise to focus the mind and develop concentration).

The baby begins to cry and my thoughts turn back to feeding him and myself.  Breakfast is finally dealt with and the baby falls asleep.  Ah!  Time for my bath.  At this moment, the gas delivery truck arrives, the gas man hauling off cylinders and rolling them down the road one by one.  It sounds like cannon balls being thrown on a bowling alley.  Fortunately my baby sleeps through the din.  My maid arrives, throws the cutlery from one end of the kitchen to the other (or that's what it sounds like).  The baby, of course, wakes up.

Meanwhile, I see a spider crawling on his cot.  Time for some quick action - a mug, a nappy, a few swift hand strokes and the spider is tossed into the garden outside.  Whew!

My cell phone beeps again.  My head begins to throb, but it's not a migraine.  Hurrah!  It's only eleven in the morning and there's plenty of time for more action on the front.  I am optimistic.  After all, this is far better than being marooned on an isolated tropical island with sharks for company.

Footnote:

These are a few of the mystery/action books that have sustained me this past year.  Some are gentle, some violent, but all are intriguing... (and all are part of a series) -

1) The Limpopo Academy of Private Detection, by Alexander McCall Smith

2) The Turkish Gambit, by Boris Akunin

3) Come To Grief, by Dick Francis

4) Twice A Spy, by Keith Thomson

5) The Shape Shifter, by Tony Hillerman

6) Inspector Ghote Breaks An Egg, by HRF Keating