Bhagat Singh

Bhagat Singh, in Punjab he lived
One day his wife bawled, quite livid.
You see, Bhagat, he had been out of sight
And his speed, it was faster than light.
The Sardar had left home one day
Albeit in a relative way
And returned on the previous night.
(adapted from Anon)

Thought, Word & Deed

Keshav considered himself a Sai devotee. He was a regular attendee at the Sai Bhajans. He sang and clapped. He even spouted Sai teachings on and off. For him, Sathya Sai Baba was God. He avoided temples. The rituals and the money grabbing priests put him off. Not to mention the tiring antics of the pious Hindus like loud and unending prayers , coconut breaking, abishekams with an assortment of materials, and so on.

But in a confused way, he still considered himself a Hindu. He chanted the Ganesha mantra every morning. And whenever he faced a problem, he had no qualms about calling on Ganesha to remove the obstacles.

He spoke pleasantly to everyone. But he despised most of them. His family members in particular. His wife’s nagging was unbearable. When he faced her, he would often wish within himself that she would just disappear from the face of the earth. But he would smile and oblige. He led a good life, materially speaking. In no small measure due to the largesse he received from his in-laws, as a sort of continuing dowry. His children irritated him. In particular his teenage daughter, who was so goody-goody. She had advice for him on practically everything. But he would lavish praise on her. “What a model child. We are so blessed”. Inside, he fumed. His colleagues, he considered such a pain. All of them earned praise from the boss. Apple polishers. To their face, he would praise them too. “How lucky I am to have such great buddies !”.

The message for the week was read by a child. She read haltingly, “Thought, word and deed. They must be in harmony”. For a moment, Keshav felt a stirring within. But got over it soon enough. He carried on as usual.

The day began as usual. Sitting at the altar for the obligatory prayer and “meditation”. More often than not, Keshav would be thinking of how to get back at that pest Sharma at the office. Or to avoid his wife’s nagging that morning. But as he got up, he had a seizure.

Keshav was bedridden. In the beginning a constant stream of visitors would come. He would curse them and scold them and tell them how much he despised them all. He would tell them what animals they were. He told wife that she was a nagging bore. And his daughter that she was an unnatural pretender. Everyone heard from him what he really thought of them. Sometimes he would grab anything he could and throw it at them. He couldn’t help it. And so the visitors stopped coming. Everyone did all they could to avoid him. He was a lonely old man. But his thoughts, words and deeds were in harmony. At last.

The Flash

Water H20. Propene H2C=CHCH3. The brilliant light flashed in Marks's mind. He was in one blinding moment exposed to the Truth.
Water consists of only hydrogen and oxygen. Everyone knows that. But these two elements have natural stable and radioactive isotopes. Due to these isotopes, the relative abundances of isotopic water molecules follow the natural DeClerc sequence.Pure water has a unique molecular structure, with O-H bondlengths of 0.096 nm and the H-O-H angle = 104.5°. For carbon, the numbers of valence electrons increase from 4 to 8. These elements require 4, 3, 2, 1, and OH atoms to share electrons in order to complete the octet requirement. Such an ideal structure should give H-O-H bond angle of 109.5°, but the lone pairs repel each other more than they repel the O-H bonds. In isotopic water, the O-H bonds are pushed closer, making the H-O-H angle less than 109°. For each hydrogen bond, shown by a rod joining the oxygen atoms, lies one proton in an asymmetric position Bond lengths, 275 pm, are indicated.
HOH(l) + HOH(l) = H3O+ + OH-
This is an equilibrium process and is characterised by an equilibrium constant,
K'w: = [H3O+] [OH-]
pKw = -log Kw DG (water) = - n
F E = -237.13 kJ
This opens the door to the creation of C-H bonds.Petroleum products are mainly compounds of only two elements: carbon (C) and hydrogen (H), thus called hydrocarbons. Liquid hydrocrabons are generally those with 4 – 20 carbon atoms. The carbon atom has four bonds that can unite with either one or more other carbon atoms (a property almost unique to carbon) or with atoms of other elements. A hydrogen atom has only one bond and can never unite with more than one other atom. As the molecular structure becomes characterized by denser carbon atoms complex "stacking" occurs on the carbon skeleton.Carbon is present in most organic matter. At temperatures above 230 C, when isotopic water (superheated steam at this temperature) is present with organic carbon, the heavier alkanes dearrange through catalytic cracking, and H-C bonds begin to form. The reactions occurring in this process are complex. Most, but not all, convert the organic carbon to simple and subsequently more complex hydrocarbons with loss of hydrogen gas. Among them are:
18XOC + H2O HC=CH + 6H2 + 6O2
HC=CH + 6H2 + 6H2O HC=CH + 3H2 + 6O2
2CH4 HC=CH + 6H2,
2CH4 HC=CH + 6H2,
2CH4 HC=CH + 6H2,
C2H6 H2C=CH2 + H2.
C3H8(g) H2C=CH2 + CH4,
C3H8(g) H2C=CHCH3 + H2.
Propene.

Holy Spirits

I am often intrigued by the politicking, bitterness, anger and the rest of the bad stuff that thrives in so-called spiritual organisations. People in these outfits should have a burning desire to uplift themselves through proper conduct and constant and vigilant spiritual sadhana. But is it not weird to see precisely the opposite happening in these groups ? A casual observation reveals people in no rush to move along in the inward path. Some leaders are no exception either. What do we make of these occurrences ? In some way they detract from the credibility of the organisation in itself. When we see the type of wheeling and dealing more suited to political groups ?

Your guess would be as good as mine as to whether these people have ulterior motives. Some of their actions cannot stand up to scrutiny of any standard.
And I am not talking of what they do privately, which to me is none of any body's business. Some of the shenanigans of these spirits reads like a script from a bad movie.

You know the organization is on the brink of defeating its own raison d’etre when you see rampant acts, largely selfishly motivated.

On the other hand, should we accept these people and what they do in the spirit of “equanimity” ? What they do is their business, and it only matters to me how I take these acts ?

One of the tests of spiritual success which I often apply is the “aftertaste test”. How do you feel after the event. Bitter ? Angry ? Disgusted ? Fail.
Serene, forgiving, ascribing the best of motives for the other guy’s failings, unaffected by it all? Pass.

This approach would transform these elements to catalysts for our own spiritual progress.

I

I
AM
N O T
S E E N
O F T EN
EN OUG H
CA R I NGLY
PA MPER I NG
WIFE OR SONS
BUT GENERALLY
OBST I NATELY
& SELF I SHLY
ORB I T I NG
W I T H I N
COMFORT
Z ONE S
M A DE
F OR
ME
!

da cook

A cook they hadde with them for the foodes
To boille the vendais with the urulais,
And poudre-chilly, puli and mancha podie.
Wel groundt coconot and paruppu, a touch of asafoetida.
He kooked and roastet, and broilled, and fryed,
Makin the most delishius meales.
But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me,
That on this great feaste we all engorged.
And developed the beestly sickenesses that forewer cursed us.

(apologies to G Chaucer)

The Sorry Tale of Mark Anton

Thunder and lightning and torrential rain. Enter MARK ANTON, in his pyjamas.

MARK: Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night: Many times hath the rumbling in my tummy awoken me. How is a man to get his rest ?

Enter a Servant

Servant : My lord?

MARK: Go order a pizza. Extra cheese. And fetch me my tomato juice. Pronto.

Servant : I will, my lord.

Exit Servant. Mark continues to pace. He occasionally looks at his watch.

The time approaches V o’clock.

Enter Mark’s wife, Anna Purnia. She is carrying Dilpo, her poodle.

ANNA : What meanst thou, Mark? Walking about at this hour of the night? You have slept not one wink this night, and worse, disturbed my beauty sleep.
Not to mention Dilpo’s too.

MARK : Mark shall do as we please: the things that threaten'd me
Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see The face of Mark, they are vanished.

ANNA: Ithu ungalukkeh romba overa theriyalla ?

Ringing tone. Mark picks up the phone.

MARK (Speaking into phone): Who speaketh, interrupting Mark at this unearthly hour ?
(after a few moments of silence, puts down the phone)

MARK: Wrong number.

Re-enter Servant

MARK: What, whither the pizza? And the tomato juice ?

Servant : Sir, the pizza joint answers not. But your drink is here. And my Lord, please leaveth me in peace for the rest of the night.

Exit Servant

MARK : The gods do this in shame of cowardice:Mark should be a beast without a heart,If he should stay hungry because of the pizza joint, which answers not.
No, Mark shall not be cowed.
Anna, thou shalt forthwith make a pizza
To appease the rumblings of my tummy,
that have now become audible
To all and sundry

ANNA: Alas, my lord,“Your wish is my command.”
Appidinnu solluvennu ninaichingala ?
Go fly a kite.
Come on, Dilpo, lets go. Anna leaves with Dilpo in tow.

Mark looks at them go.

Mark sighs, picks up remote, and switches on the TV. He settles on the couch. His tummy continues to rumble.

Mark soliloquises:
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler for the tummy to suffer
The slings and arrows of an outrageous servant,
And the insulting wife(And the dog too)
Or to take up arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them?
The tummy -ache and the thousand sharp pangs
The pangs of hunger, the pizza guy’s treachery
The insolence of the wife, servant and dog
Thus life doth make cowards of us all;
Why don’t I just raid the fridge ?
(apologies to Bill)

Appu

They called him Appu. He lived under the bridge, his worldly possessions packed neatly in a shopping cart. The first thing he did on waking up was look around him, and laugh heartily. Next he would wash himself at the standpipe near the public toilet, and dress up neatly in his old but clean clothes.

The hawkers at the market would often take pity on him, and give him the left-overs, which was breakfast, lunch and dinner for Appu. Seeing the crumbs, he would laugh. All day long, he cruised the streets, watching the world, and laughing in joy.

Some called him a crazy old man. They made fun of him. They gave him the spoilt food. Some of the youngsters would push him. Some would throw small stones at him. And they would all laugh at the fun they were having. Appu would laugh with them. He loved them all. His was a happy and carefree life.

“He lives well who laughs often, loves much and sacrifices his own happiness for others.”

Music appreciation

At a recent idle outing with the wife to a musical concert, I found out that I was more ignorant than I had hitherto believed. I found out how much I did not know about South Indian Carnatic music. The music exponent was a lady (in her late 50’s), a Professor of Music. Between renditions of pleasing numbers, she spoke effortlessly about South Indian Classical music theory. And all around me, the audience seemed to comprehend the Professor’s words, which was all the more humbling. I enjoyed listening to the song & music, but realised that this was a deeply meaningful art. It could even be said to border on the sciences.
In a second recent occasion, a young lady played the Sitar. At that moment if anyone had asked me, I couldn’t have confirmed if it was a Sitar or a Veena. Later I discovered that calling a Sitar a Veena wouldn’t be that wrong. My research enlightened me that in Sanskrit, a stringed instrument is generically referred to as a vina, which I guess is close enough.
My research then led me to the fact that the ancients of India categorised Veenas into two categories, Tat and Vitat. These mean plucked and unplucked respectively. Although this to me conjured up sickening images of chickens, plucked means using the fingers (or some contraptions attached to them), as when playing the Sitar, Veena, Sarod, Tanpura or Sarangi (I am almost literate now), while unplucked means using a bow (such as in a violin).
The Sitar has two bridges (meaningful to me), and on the upper bridge there are seven strings; four for playing the melody, and three for rhythmic variations and resonance. The lower bridge carries 13 sympathetic strings, all for resonance and occasional plucking.
My casual observation before this gave me the impression that there were at most 2 strings, and no bridges to talk about.
Coming back to this young lady, who looked quite frail, I was concerned that the heavy Sitar was going to crush her under its weight. I did marvel at how she effortlessly (though delicately) carried the thing. But now I find that a Sitar weighs next to nothing. The huge bulbous end is really a hollow gourd. In fact, the Sitar player is advised to balance the instrument between the player's left foot and right knee (takes a contortionist to do this).
I also found that learning to play the sitar is not easy. Apparently the beginner has to endure painful days, he or she begins to develop the hard calluses and black grooves on the fingers, which typify the sitar player.
And this frail young lady managed to produce a soothing melody, even by the standards of this author, which is saying something.

A Poem

The man was eloquent, and said, “aalaa”,
He looked more like an armadilla ,
But his companion, a gorilla,
Always hung around this fella,
He looked like our pal, dracula,
Going straight for the jugula.

They called her kamala,
There was kalimannu, her mandela,
Inside, not much massala,
To say she was hopeless, nyayamilla,
But her exact IQ, enakku therilla,
But today, donno why, she varalla,

What’s my point, you asking la ?

Onnumeh illa la, onnumeh illa.