"Go"Karna

An extended weekend. Well for an MBA student undergoing the regular  rigors of an MBA routine, 3 days of no exams and no submissions amounts to an extended weekend. Having being confined within the greenery of the campus with all its little (and big) angels and demons of varieties, I finally listened to my heart (and my husband) - a budget trip just to escape this place. Moreover, I felt it was the ideal opportunity to quench my wanderlust.

Place after place checked, then striked out - location : not too far from Bangalore , budget accommodations, idyllic scenery and setting, just laze around.. hmm.. Goa would have been an option but then it hit us there was Gokarna. For all those who love words, it technically (and literally) has Goa in it. So off we went on a KSRTC bus booked at the last moment. "Shambo Mahadeva" said the man sitting behind me.

When I woke up I found myself in a place apparently known for honeymaking. The bus stopped a while there, and then finally through narrow roads we finally elated at Gokarna Bus station. I had the feeling of entering a village. The place was small and reminiscent of my village back in Kerala.

We had booked accommodation at Namaste Yoga Farm.

One point to note - Gokarna is a small place, and the auto drivers do like to make their business with the unassuming tourist. The prices are pretty much fixed among them though one can give bargaining a shot. 

Another point to note Gokarna is aptly named "Go"karna. The place has cows freely roaming around everywhere. Be it the steepest slopes, narrowest streets or even the hard-to-climb stairs. 

The auto whizzed through the narrow streets, and came to the main road where we were met by a vast expanse of plain, and then downhill to a narrow road again. Backpackers, tattoos, yoga mat, the matted hair - this place was screaming spirituality from both extremes. On the one hand near the main temples - the Indians with dhotis, ladies with colorful flowers on their heads going to the temple and on coming to the beach it was a different sight which greeted us. 

Spirituality has different meanings for all of us .. eh? 

Kudle and Om are the main beaches. Kudle was closest to our acco but a decent trek (nah!! I am exaggerating ) . Navigating through the stony trails, we finally are greeted by the waves, the sun and the sand.

Borrowing a line from my friend - sea, sand, shack and smoke, sums up the Gokarna beach experience. 

The part which I enjoyed the most was the trek from Kudle to Om. Our hostess had informed us how to get there. 

Its a straight road - up the hill, and just follow the arrows.

We followed a straight road, up the hill - but were not so sure, there was no clearcut path there. After making some more enquiries, we continued on the same trail till we reached a paved road facing a hill.

A passer pointed to the hill. However we thought we were getting nowhere as again no road. Luckily another party was going to the same place, and there we found it -- the arrows , marked on the grass in white chalk. 

Om Beach was more crowded. Namaste cafe was the largest shack/cafe on the beach. Yoga enthusiasts, swimming, couples posing for photos at sunset (as seen above :) ) , birdwatchers ogling at bikinis adorning the female anatomy, cows climbing up and down those narrow stairs leading to Om, and also a sight of completely suited up businessmen walking with his entourage (2 other suited up guys) are some forgettable sights. What you cannot forget though is the beauty of the sunset, the crash of the waves, the Om shoreline along the beach, and the gentle descent across the horizon as the sun says goodbye to the day and welcomes the night. 

Woes with Hues

"Don't see the world as black and white. It's actually varying shades of gray." This was a phrase I heard in a movie. Color adds beauty to this life, and the wonderful aesthetic feel which stimulates serotonin and then makes you happy.

At B school, we are taught to celebrate diversity. Yet, when it comes to grooming, for making our mark in those heady halls of corporate culture, which is our short term goal at the end of a year(s) - We are trained to be uniform. Uniformity may make it difficult to make those big shots pick yet, we are trained to look alike, speak alike, talk alike - such that we become black or white. 

A perpetual question for which no convincing answer has been given to is the query on why to look alike - wear only black and white. The politically correct are quick to qualify - light colors, not necessarily white and dark colors - not necessarily black. 

But despite being in a sea of engineers, they fail to clarify that light -> (tends to ) white, and dark ->(tends to) black, is what they are REALLY looking for. I suppose they are learning the language of journalists. However, the microminiscule minority of Arts students among us see light as a light shaded color, and dark as dark shaded color. Spoken in the language of science, learnt in hight school, (Ah! the memories) the light color which absorbs more and the dark color which reflects more. 

Yet to be presentable and to be present at the presentations and show ourselves as creme de la creme, literally, we are asked to be the color of cream/ softy ice cream on top on a "dark" bowl. 

If anything besides these light (read "white or tending to white") and dark (read "dark or tending to dark") colors, you just don't fit into the crowd that would make their mark in the heady halls of corporate culture. In other words, you are pulled out by the guards (Juvenile PRick), headed by Head of Security ( Senior PRick) , denied entry and made to watch the long line of potential markers in the heady hall of corporate culture.

To the scientists : Where art thou curiosity? To the managers : Where art thou diversity?

As for me , you won't see me. I am lost in this sea of white and black.

Picasso predominantly used grey, black, white and light blue during his “grey” or sad period, where he went hungry in the streets of Paris while awaiting his big break. Is this thine way of saying this is a premonition for the years to come?

We are told not to see the world as black and white but we are taught to be seen as such. Elementary, my dear Watson. C'est la vie. 

Everyone has a story..

This would be my first post after joining MBA, or PGP program to be more specific.

In the movie Rockstar, the Hindi one, Ranbir Kapoor cribs to his friend that he had no interesting life experiences to become a Jim Morrison. He says he was never adopted, and no major life changing event happened for him to get "inspired". Finally in the course of the movie he meets his "heartbreak machine", and while he got all that he dreamt of - the money, fame, appreciation for talent - he did not get the girl he loved.


Everyone has stories, and experiences and it is truly remarkable just to talk to them and get a feel of their experiences. I met a girl who taught in the centre for special education, who was two years my senior at school. She had an interesting story. Dyslexia - which is treated as a learning difficulty in other parts of the world, is treated as a disorder in India, and kids are sent to special education schools for dyslexia.

When I was little girl, I had always wondered how it felt like to be unconscious. Would I have any near-death or after-death like experiences ? I got to see how it actually felt while I "fell" off a bus in college. I had passed out for a few minutes, and then I realised it was all black.

There was a person, who was so curious, and so frustrated, with life in general, he chose to explore his then unchartered areas where the body could go. His frustrations found some solace in the carnal pleasures a certain country had to offer, which he mixed with his then business training.

Another person I studied with left her high paying corporate job to teach underprivileged school kids. Her most moving experience was living at the home of one of her students. Despite being  a cramped one bedroom house with a family of 5, the hospitality and generosity of the family was overwhelming. She went on to describe how the mother was adamant that my friend sleep on the single cot, despite her reservations of doing it.

It is also an experience when while traveling in a train, against the rickety noise of the engine, in the wee hours of the morning, when the sun has not climbed up the mountains, yet announcing its presence with those faint rays, your closest friend unravels some of his deepest, darkest secrets, and just as he finishes the first orange hits the sky.

Stories are numerous and all around us. Stories are plenty. Some cynics choose not to believe it. Some dreamers and optimists choose to and wonder at the beauty of it. Some braggards love to go a step beyond. Some love the shell they are in and refuse to venture out. But, the beauty in this world lies in the experiences and the stories. The beauty of everyday life is because of the stories which churn out. The beauty in life is discovering the stories both of yours and everyone else's.

Tales and Lore .. from Here and There

1. When my sister fell in love with a Gandharvan..

It seemed like every other day for me before I went out to play. It was sunny and hot . Most men were  working in the paddy fields. Motu, my friend and playmate had already thrown three stones and not a single mango had dropped We gazed longingly at those sweet mangoes comfortably resting on their trees. There was the usual good smell of food in the kitchen around lunchtime and playing in summer had made me hungry. 

When I went back home around lunchtime that's when I knew something was different . All the elders were speaking in hush tones. My mother was crying silently. My father, the head of the house, being the eldest had an angry face. I had seen this face earlier when I had eaten up all the sweets kept for guests when mom was not looking and fed the left overs to the cow Lakshmi. 

This was the face he had, before he beat me 20 times with a stick. I could not Walk for a week after that. Later Amma told me that I had dishonored him in front of the guests. Amma explained that family honor and reputation are the foundations of our tharavadu, our ancestral house.  "He s the head of the house " she explained, "his reputation is my reputation." 

I did hear from a couple of aunts later that the because of my father’s anger people respected and feared him. They were in awe and terrified - just like me.

This time however his anger looked like he would give 100 canes. My dad’s younger brother, Kelu aleppan was whispering in his ear . Somehow the whispering did not help his expression and I saw it getting angry to disgust to a red faced anger . 

I saw savitri chechi brought into the house . Amma went with her to the east side of the house where all the teenage girls live till they are married off .
Savitri chechi is normally brought in to bring babies. When my father’s sister, Leela Ammayi had a round belly she was called and there was a lot of crying. I had wondered if Savitri Chechi had hurt her but after a long time and a lot of crying, I was startled by the shrill cry of a baby. My father who was very worried and pacing around suddenly looked relieved and happy.

Amma explained I had got a new brother. I was so happy then - One more person to play with . But Amma explained I could play with him but he was too small to play with me . 

However, this time my father was tensed, when Savitri Chechi was brought in ,  but in a different mood "Will I have a new brother or sister ? " I had asked Kelu Aleppan. 
"Shhh.. go play outside ."
Kelu Aleppan was never like this . 

Everyone was busy and I was hungry. So I went back to the orchard and began climbing the mango tree . That's when I saw Savitri  Chechi  in Chiri  Chechi’s room through the window on the upper floor. Chiri Chechi was my older sister. Her sleeping room window looked over the mango trees.  Chiri  chechi was lying on the bed but I could not see her face, only the back of her head. Savitri  chechi was facing the window and touching the spot between her legs .  Somehow this did not feel right. I stayed hidden between the leaves of a tree.

The old Savitri Chechi looked at Amma and began speaking.

I edged closer to the window trying to hear what was being said. Amma already had tears on her face.

"Her cover is intact. Yet she is bearing child ."  Savitri  chechi told Amma ."Your daughter is a Virgin  yet her pulse says she is three months  pregnant. This is a divine Birth – a divyagarbham."

Amma turns sharply to Chiri Chechi . " Has a man ever entered your room in the night ? You stopped talking to girls your age the past few months ."

Chiri Chechi looked at Savitri  Chechi  then Amma and looked down, and nodded .

"Who?"

"He called himself a prince among the gods.. a god among musicians.. he is called Lomadevan"

Both elder women looked at each other shocked . 

"He is the Chief Veena  player in Indra's court . He serves the gods .
Yet the gods need him for their entertainment . We met here by the mango trees and that is when he enchanted me with his music . He showed me visions of heaven . He’s a heavenly entertainer - a gandharvan" she went on.

"You are mad !! " cried my mother . “None from our tharavadu has ever spotted a gandharvan or heard them sing or play.”

I knew she was not mad and this was the truth.

I was closest to Chiri Chechi in the entire family . She was very pretty and had the kindest eyes . We all adored her .

Around two months back she kept to herself in her room. I did not why . And we were not allowed to go to the women’s quarters unless with our mother or sister.

When the elders were sleeping around a week ago I had gone to the mangrove and crept near her window in the night, hoping to talk to her.

That's when I heard this wonderful music from near her room . I saw a light coming from her window and as I crept closer I saw a man dressed in rich clothes and jewels. The light was coming from him . He turned around and it was the most handsome face on a man I ever saw. It must have been the light . I don't remember falling off the tree. I don’t remember sleeping or fainting. In fact, I don’t remember anything after .

When I woke up I was in Chiri  Chechi’s bed . She was looking at me . 
"You swear you would tell none about what you saw . It is our secret ." She held out her hand . 
I did not want to but I promised to keep her secret.

"Keep this with you . It is his ring ". Saying so she placed a silver ring on my palm. 
A tiny image of a veena was engraved on it along with some Sanskrit  words I did not know.
                                                                                                                               

***
Amma began howling and hitting my sister. She also hit her chest many times. I was really scared. Chiri Chechi was not mad and I knew she was speaking the truth. I remembered the ring and immediately climbed down the tree . The room I slept was in the western wing.

I had put the ring in a crack on the floor near the bed. Only my hands were small enough to get through that crack. People with hands smaller than mine would not look there either. Holding the ring in my palm I ran to my father.

"Don't punish her " I said giving the ring to him . " It is a Gandharvan who visited her . She told me stories of meeting him. She is not mad .

My father first looked at me. "You knew and you never told me !!" his loud voice rang across the house . There was a dead silence. I looked around . Scared faces of aunts and uncles looked back at me – scared at what is going to happen next. My father resembled the lone tusker in the jungle – none knew what would happen.  He grabbed the walking stick near the arm chair , and the canings began. Then everything went black.

When I woke up, I first saw the ceiling and then the wooden cupboard . I was wondering where I was. Someone had placed a wet towel on my head. I then remembered I was in my mother’s room. Amma just walked in . 

" Where is Chiri  Chechi ? " I asked her. 
Amma burst into tears . "You will never see your sister again . She is gone .. forever .”

" Where did she go to ?"

Amma sat silent for a while. She could not look at me for long or listen to the silence after my question. She left the room .

A little after sunset my father came in . The chirping of the crickets had just begun.
" Your mother told me you asked of your sister. You should never speak of her again . People who bring dishonor would be punished and she was punished too . She is dead to me and she is dead to this entire family. " He fixed his eyes sternly on me. “If you wish to stay in the family, she was never part of this household and it should stay that way.”

Kelu  Aleppan  visited me a little while later . He was happy to see me well ." Your sister is somewhere far away. You don't worry of her I am sure she is happy wherever she is . "  and he took my hand and placed something cold and metallic in it. I looked down. It was the silver ring I had shown my father. Then before I could ask more he turned abruptly . 

I looked at the ring. I remember Grandma telling me stories of Gandharvans marrying pretty girls from Earth. My parents should be happy for her. I hope she found her happiness with the Gandharvan , and he took her to heaven like how she wanted. I could make out the outline of the veena on the ring in the faint light of the full moon and stars coming through the window. As the chirping of the crickets grew louder, I heard the strings of a veena playing, the same tune I heard that night. I smiled looking at the moon. My sister was finally at peace.