Repetitive Ropeway Urge Syndrome

From Now Scientwist:

Researchers in the field of Social Psychology from NAMHANS in India have given a name to a phenomenon that has been observed for quite some time now. This phenomenon has been known in the field Organismic Social Psychology. (Study of communities as if they were living organisms) The new name is Repetitive Ropeway Urge Syndrome (RRUS).

RRUS

Scientists have long observed that within each Community there is a group of people elected, appointed or selected to lead the Community and take care of the Community's interests. This group is called Authority Group (AG). Every now and then AG loses touch with reality and loses common sense and executes or plans to execute, things that are not in the interests of the community, thereby not fulfilling the very purpose of AG. When the Community wakes up to this, it has to organise itself to stop the plans from being executed or undo or mitigate the effects of the things already excuted. A struggle ensues in which the AG loses touch with the Community and reality more and more. Much money, effort and time are lost in the process.

The name for this phenomenon was prompted by one strange manifestation of it in a city in South India. This city boasts of an extraordinarily beautiful range of hills rising a 1000 feet (locals always use this archaic unit since 1000 (ft) is far more impressive than 330 (m), whatever the units may be) from the plains around it. Atop it is a temple dedicated to the deity of the erstwhile royal family of the kingdom which bore the name of the city itself. The hills are eponymous with the deity. Repeatedly, the AG of this city has been seized by an urge to build a ropeway to the hilltop and has announced its plans. When the Community came to know about the plans, it organised itself, gathered public opinion - strongly against the plan - and thwarted the AG successfully. It has happened at least twice already. The AG of this city is in the throes of the urge once again, at the time of this report. It was during this latest episode that the researchers coined the new name.

Now that the phenomenon has been defined and named, the researchers show how the AG is disconnected from the Community by enumerating the reasons why the Community feels that it does not want the rope way. The reasons are many. Some are listed below.

1. It is unnecessary and hence a waste of public money: If it is impossible or very difficult to build a motorable road to the top of a hill, it may be necessary to have ropeways. The hills in question have very good set of roads, with hardly a hairpin bend. This makes the ropeway unnecessary, the members of the Community feel.

1.1 The AG says that that it will attract tourists. The city itself and the surrounding areas, within a 15 km. radius, have so many tourist attractions that one more is of not much value. As it is, many tourists have to choose from the many worthwhile attractions and are forced to leave out a few. Some tourists may be tempted to devote some of their time and money for a ride on the ropeway and miss the more historically and aesthetically significant ones.

2. The ecological impact: The hills are covered with thick scrub jungle. Installing the ropeway will necessitate clearing parts of it. This and the human activity during the construction will cause irreparable damage to it.

3. Noise and Light pollution and garbage: Some members of the community are concerned that the two ends of the ropeway will attract commercial activity - eateries, curio shops and give rise to noise, lights, garbage and make the hilltop more congested than it already is.

4. Sociological: Some members of the community say that it is meant for the pleasure of the rich and ask why the rest of the Community should bear the ill effects?

5. Suspicion: Finally, one oft-repeated concern expressed by many members of the Community is about the AG making money illegally from the ropeway project. If the project is allowed, the AG "eats" a large portion of the funds allotted and very little of it actually goes into the stated purpose – is how it is expressed. People who express this opinion are called cynics. (One particular dictionary defines a cynic as a realist)

Even though the name of the phenomenon described has the term ‘repetitive’ in it, signifying that the same (stupid, as some call it) idea keeps popping up repeatedly, it is not a necessary condition. Repetitive may refer to different (stupid) ideas occurring to the AG one after the other.

Here are some pictures of the Community that has organised itself to stop the latest Ropeway Urge of the AG of the city that gave rise to the name RRUS.

The first few steps of the thousand or so steps to the top

A poster explaining the reasons for the opposition to the ropeway

A signature collection campaign to oppose the ropeway

Some of the people conducting the campaign

*Photographs Copyright: J L Anil Kumar

Save This Beauty for Posterity

Look at these pictures below. LIke them? Love the beauty of it?

So do the birds. Bee eaters, Indian Grey Hornbill, Purple Moorhens, Pelicans, Sunbirds, Mynahs, Wren-Warblers, Bulbuls, to name a few. The lake is also home for fishe and also a few crocodiles. All quite in the city limits!

How would you like the idea of building a musical fountain in this area, bringing with it crowds, noise, garbage, lights and ruining the whole thing for man and bird?

This is being contemplated as a part of the centenary celebrations of the University of Mysore. Surely the University can come with better things than ruining a thing of beauty which will be a joy for ever, if preserved?

If you do not like the idea, please support my petition to the authorities by clicking here. 

You do not have to be from Mysore. You may never visit it. It does not matter. If you agree with the principle of it, please support it!

Disclaimer: NONE of these pictures is shot on expensive high resolution cameras by professional photographers. They are shot by by amateurs who love this place. They have been shot with mobiles.

Please support my petition by clicking here.

Prof. K. Srinivasan aka Srinivasan Maama

HAB Parpia, G T Naryana Rao, J R Lakshmana Rao, T S Satyan, K Srinivasan - activists all, Picture from Star of Mysore.

I had the good fortune of being taught by four of the finest teachers in Mysore, of their respective subjects, during my PUC days. For the uninitiated, PUC is pre university course. It was a one year course between High school and college. Later, it was a two year course. One of those teachers was Prof. K. Srinivasan and he taught me Physics. He was also my father's classmate in Intermediate and B. Sc. classes. He entered active politics and did his M. Sc. years later.

When I sit down to write about him, it feels strange realising that I know him at two completely different planes. One, as I knew him personally and the other, as I heard my father talk about him. Here are my recollections as I saw him and also from what I had heard of him.

His first class addressing the new students in Yuvaraja's college was an experience in itself. There were nearly hundred and twenty students in the main Physics lecture hall which was huge. In comes this thin man in Khadi trousers and white Khadi shirt. When he started talking, a hush descended on the class. His voice was commanding and surprisingly loud and of a timbre that reminded me of a good temple bell. His command over the language, clarity of thought and expression and confidence was nothing less than awe inspiring. He did not teach anything that day but gave the rules of the game governing the lecture classes and the practical classes. Later, when he taught in the theory classes too, the same qualities were evident in ample measure. In the practical classes, his familiarity with the instruments appeared magical to me. The flow of thought and expression were so good that I can't imagine anyone not understanding what he taught.

Maama was politically very active in his student days. He entered active politics with M. N. Roy’s Radical Democratic People's Party. So, you could say that he was a Royist or a radical humanist in those days. He was also influenced by Marxism and in later years turned a Gandhian. I have heard him being referred to as a Gandhian in his later years. I have heard my father talk of him with great admiration - that he had a brilliant mind.

Though he always treated me with great affection, I was in awe of him when I was young and perhaps was very reserved and respectful. Only after I started working did it recede a little and it was always a great pleasure talking to him. He would often talk to me about work and what I did. One thread that was quite common was economics and the management - labour relationship at my place. His insights and comments were always enlightening.

Maama was a connoisseur of Carnatic Classical music. The two families would often go to concerts together and walking back from the concerts was always a pleasure since he would discuss the concerts with my father and they would also talk of other things and what an education that was.!

Maama took a great interest in Philosophy once again and a special interest in the philosophy of science, if I remember right, so much so that he registered for a PhD after he retired from the university and worked on the subject a seriously for years. He never completed it though. Even in his later years he remained a social, political and environmental activist. He helped organise and participated in various movements.

Apart from all this, visiting his house was always a pleasure. Thanks to his wife, whom we referred to as Subbulakshmi atte or Srinivasan maami and addressed her as atte*, the house was always spotless, bright and cheerful. Maama would be ready for a good conversation fueled, at the least, bya strong, aromatic cup of coffee served with great care and affection by atte.

Both maama and atte were excellent hosts - whatever the occasion. My eldest sister's first music concert was organised at their home. This and many other things made his house a second home. I have never learnt to cook. One of the people to be "blamed" for this deficit is maama and atte. When I was alone at home with all the others away from Mysore, it would be treated as a serious and personal affront if it was even suggested that I ate elsewhere or cooked for myself. (The other party to be "blamed" is referred to here) It seems almost churlish to use the term "blame" while talking about this but they would understand. They had such a great sense of humour. It always fascinated me that these people, with such serious interests and deep knowledge had such great sense of humour and never ever took themselves seriously.

I will end this with just a couple of anecdotes about how he allowed us to pull his leg. Maama had a large imperious nose. Especially on such thin, frail looking man it really stood out. Once when he was at our home, he was given a small glass of juice. The glass was shaped like a wine barrel. Maama could not drink since the nose came in the way. He loudly complained that we had chosen such a glass just for his discomfiture. He questioned our hospitality. Whenever my mother offered him a juice or something when he visited us later, he would say, "yes, but not in that glass!" Another time, many of us were atop Chamundi hills on a very windy day. Maama was wearing a Khadi coat. Every one of us was cautioning him to keep the coat buttoned lest the wind would carry him away. We also advised him that whenever he wanted to get home, all he had to do was unbutton the coat and fly!

With those two anecdotes, I have to come to the last and sad part of this piece. Maama passed away a couple of weeks ago. When I attended the last rites, my mind kept on wandering and I recalled my association with him a great sense of loss. I have put some of those thoughts down here, with great affection and admiration, as a tribute to a very special man.

J R Lakshmana Rao, Pioneer of Science Writing in Kannada

This is a translation of an article in Kannada about my father by Sri. T. R. Anantaramu, translated with his permission. Since some friends who do not read Kannada were interested in the English version of the article, I translated it.

*****

This is an incident from 1937. Kuvempu*¹ was still in his youth.  Just 32 years young. In the intermediate class of science students, before teaching Raghavanka’s Harischandra Kaavya, he said, “many of you believe that only what is in Gregory and Hodges*² is science.  That is not right. As a part of the curriculum, two or three branches of science may be prescribed for study. When you take up more advanced studies, it may be limited to just one. But, you should not become a “turtle in the well” by limiting your studies to only that field. You should at least have a broad understanding of the other branches of science. You should understand the expanse of science and imbibe the scientific method. There are books written for laymen, not experts.  By reading such books you can learn about other branches of science.” He showed them the book The Mysterious Universe by Sir James Jeans. “This is a very interesting book. Even people like me can read and understand it”, he said.

We don’t know what impact Kuvempu’s words had on others but one student, J. R. Lakshmana Rao was mesmerised by that talk. That very evening, he went to the bookshops and searched for the book. Apart from the book suggested by Kuvempu, he also bought Sir Arthur Eddington’s Expanding Universe, J. W. N. Sullivan’s The Bases of Modern Science and Julian Huxley’s Essays in Popular Science, for all of two rupees. Lakshmana Rao reminisces now that he read all of them in the next seven or eight weeks. “For me, it was like opening the doors to a new world. He adds, “It was not the science teachers who made me aware of the greatness of the scientific view but the Kannada teacher, Kuvempu”.

Teaching chemistry, grasping the essence of life, creating popular science literature, editing science magazines, creating a dictionary, managing conferences, founding organisations such as the Karnataka Rajya Vijnana Parishat, and along with these nurturing an unshakable belief in Marxism – each one of these were paths he created for himself throughout his life. He asked himself the fundamental question - what kind of science does the common man need - and went on to say some interesting things in answer.

“There is a sort of elitism among many experts who have studied science. They feel that it is beneath them to come down from their ivory towers to the plane of the common man and write and talk about science. Theirs is the dry ideology of “art for art’s sake and science for science’s sake”.  While he cautions them so, he conveys another truth:  “They have not been shaken even by examples such as Einstein, Max Born, Huxley, Haldane and Gamow, who came forward to write for the common man because of their natural broad mindedness.”

Give up Elitism

Like Kuvempu who preached the mantra of scientific thought with the words, “give up temples, churches and masjids, and come out” Lakshmana Rao has swung the whip of righteous anger at researchers with the words, “Give up the elitism of scientists and come out”. He has been constantly calling for science to be taken to the common man. He has not just waited for results while giving that call. “There is science in the dOsé” he said and explained fermentation. He has written about the retrograde movement of planets clearly, in a way understandable even to a school student. Every article he has written in the last fifty years is in this vein. Each one of them could be a model for how popular science should be.

Lakshmana Rao is now 94 years young. Even now he is restless. He translated Arnold Kettle’s work, Karl Marx, The Founder of Modern Communism, at the age of 93. “Is it printed? It is already a month now. Please send me the proofs” - he has prodded the publishers affectionately and has placed a unique work in the hands of Kannadigas.  This Marxist, who has never addressed the likeminded as “comrade” in his whole life, got attracted to Marxism while still in his honours classes in Central College.

Background

JRL was born in 1921 in Jagalur, in the then Chitradurga district, in a Shanubhog’s (Village Accountant) family. He had his middle school education there. Even though the name is Jagalur, (Jagala means quarrel, in Kannada) he never fought with his classmates. When he came to Chitradurga for his high school studies, he lost his way. He failed in the exams too. He has written about all this openly in his autobiography – Nenapina Alegalu. (Ripples of Memories). By the time he came out of the Intermediate College in Mysore, he had attained a certain maturity. When he did his honours in Central College, along with Chemistry he had an introduction to the evil of casteism that had already infected Central College. As if to make him forget all that he also got teachers like Veesee*³. Soon after he finished his M. Sc. Examinations, in 1943, he got a call to be a lecturer of Chemistry in Tumkur. There, he came into contact with the incomparable Rajaratnam. (G. P. Rajaratnam was a great Kannada writer and poet) When he says that he ‘worked out’ in Rajaratnam’s Gymnasium, his eyes light up, even today. Those days, Rajaratnam organised University Extension Lectures. He was instrumental in bringing out Lakshmana Rao’s lecture on food (Ahaara) in print. Inspired by this, he asked Rajaratnam to edit the manuscript of ParamaaNu Caritre (History of the Atom). Rajaratnam extended a hand of friendship and said, “No! Let us read it together. The mistakes in your writing will catch your own eye”. He went through the whole manuscript like this. Later, the Madras University awarded it its prize for the best book written in the languages of South India. It was also this jewel of Kannada who helped him bring out that book in print.

In 1966, when the University of Mysore formed a committee to edit its English - Kannada dictionary, JRL’s was the first name to come up for the expert on scientific terms. It was here that he was introduced to the famous poet Pu. Ti. Na.*⁴ The opinions of Pu. Ti. Na. and Lakshmana Rao diverged on the question of tradition. Lakshmana Rao did not argue when Pu. Ti. Na. declared, “However much science you may have studied, however much Marx and Lenin you may have read, you are essentially an Indian”. Nor did he agree with him. He also met the great teacher of English, H. K. Ramachandra Murthy, while there. With him, Lakshmana Rao translated beautifully, Berthold Brecht’s play Life of Galileo.

Multifaceted Talent

Lakshmana Rao is a well-read scholar with many interests. His interest in music was so deep that Doreswamy Iyengar*⁵ once gave a performance in his house. JRL has recalled the occasion and the unforgettable experience that it was, in his autobiography. JRL’s wife, Jeevubai, has been his companion and helpmate all his life.

Among the many books that Lakshmana Rao has written in his long journey, some have received the Karnataka Rajya Sahitya Academy award. He has received the NCERT award and the Sahitya academy award for his work Galileo. The play Galileo has received the Nataka Academy award and the Sahitya Academy award. Vijnana Vicaara, Archimedes, Meghnad Saha, and the collection of essays, Chakra, have received awards too. He is also the recipient of the Indian Government’s National Council for Science Communication’s national award for communication of science in 1992. Mudabidare’s Shivarama Karantha*⁶ Pratishthana has honoured him with its Shivarama Karantha award in 1977.

There are many high points to the achievements in JRL’s life. The two volumes on science brought out by him during the golden jubilee year of the famous Kannada magazine Prabhuddha Karnataka were path breaking for Kannada. He ventured to trace the history of science in those two volumes. He was the editor, for eight years, of Vijnana Karnataka the ‘daughter’ magazine of Prabhuddha Karnataka, and through it, made writers out of teachers who had never wielded a pen. He took on the editorship of the magazine Bala Vijnana in 1978 and breathed life into it and cultivated it. It is still being published uninterrupted. He founded Karnataka Rajya Vijnana Parishat on the lines of Kerala Shastra Sahitya Parishat (along with another activist, teacher and Marxist classmate, M. A. Sethu Rao) and created a platform for publications in science and science communication.

The English - Kannada Vijnana Pada Kosha (Dictionary of Scientific Terms) that he published along with the famous science writer Adyanadka Krishna Bhatta has already seen many editions. Feeling that he had sinned by writing ParamaaNu Caritre, he wrote Baijika Vidyuttu as atonement. (ParamaaNu Caritre was pro atomic energy.  Baijika Vidyuttu is against it)  The part played by J. R. Lakshmana Rao, G. T. Narayana Rao and Adyanadka Krishna Bhatta in smoothing the path created by Bellave Venkatanaranappa, Shivarama Karanth, and R. L. Narasimhaiah is really big. The writers of the present generation are cruising on that path, like vehicles travelling at high speeds on a highway.

Recently he received the Shivarama Karantha Award for lifetime achievement, given by the Shivamogga Kannada Sangha. Like Shivarama Karantha, Lakshmana Rao has not moved away from the values he believed in all his life. In spite of old age embracing him, he has not jumped ship.

*¹ K V Puttappa, poet laureate of Karnataka, popularly known as Kuvempu

*² Experimental Science for Indian Schools, by Gregory and Hodges

*³ Verse, V. Seetharamiah, famous Kannada litterateur.

*⁴ P T Narasimhacahar – a great poet of Kannada

*⁵ Mysore V Doreswamy Iyengar, a great Veena player

*⁶ Shivarama Karantha, A great Kannada litterateur

The World has not Changed Much

I was reading an article in a German magazine about a famous person. I read that she was raped by a neighbour when she was just eleven. I should not have understood the next sentence because it had two words critical to its understanding that were not in my vocabulary. But, I did, without even thinking about it.

It said that the police accused her of having seduced the rapist.

I could understand that  because the story has not changed, since then.

That was the year 1926.

A helpless child was raped.

A helpless child who was poor was raped.

A helpless child who was poor and belonged to a minority was raped.

And she was blamed.

The world has not changed much.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Billie_Holiday
http://www.spiegel.de/einestages/billie-holiday-100-geburtstag-der-jazz-saengerin-a-1026624.html

Dada

It was the year 1985. I had just then returned from a three month stay in England. It was mandatory visit that took me to a shop. The shopkeeper, Dada, said, “So! You are back!?” I said, “Yes Dada, how are you?” My question was ignored.

The greetings part done, the first question he asked me is indelible in my mind. “ಏನು? ಅಲ್ಲಿ ಎಲ್ಲಾ ಕ್ಲೀನಾಗಿದ್ಯಾ?” (“Is everything clean over there?”) I said “yes, Dada.” An imperious grunt of approval and satisfaction was the reply. I had visited Switzerland too on the way back from England and felt that Dada could teach a thing or two to the Swiss about cleanliness and orderliness!

Dada was always immaculately dressed in a simple way. Trousers and half sleeved shirt, not tucked in. A spotless chin and hair combed such that not a hair was out of place. This completed the picture. Surprisingly, I really do not remember what footwear he wore. I am sure, whatever they were, they matched the rest of the man.

Now the shop: It was called Mysore Curios, Arts and Crafts, selling, well, you know what. The shop matched the man. Every item on sale was placed or hung perfectly. Not a thing was out of place. If a dust particle settled on anything, it perhaps had a half-life of about an hour. The trusted shop assistant, Peer Saheb, (Who I referred to as the peerless Mr. Peer) would dust everything in sight with a short handled duster. Once in a while I would be worried that if I stood still too long in the shop, I would be dusted too!

There was a board in the shop. Fixed Prices. No Bargaining. (I think the latter is a figment of my imagination. The board said only the first. It sounded as if it brooked no argument and in my mind there is the other board as well.)

A customer walks in saunters around in the place, actually, pirouettes around carefully. That is all the space there was. He selects an item. He asks the price. There was no need. Every little thing for sale in the shop has a price tag. Dada either tells him the price by memory or looks at the price tag and reads it out to the customer.  He asks for a rebate, discount or asks what the ‘real’ price is. Dada either shows him the “fixed prices” board or just plain ignores him.

I have seen prospective customers leave at this point only to return later in the evening to buy the very item at Dada’s price. Once I asked Dada’s elder son about it. “Don’t you lose customers because of this?” He told me, “You just wait. He will come back”. Come back they did, with astonishing regularity.

I have been a witness to the scene any number of times.

To understand this in its true magnitude you need to know how this business usually works. Many shops do not have a price tag or list at all. When a customer enquires about the price, the price quoted is based on the person’s buying power. Tourists from abroad attracted the highest quotes, rich (looking) Indians a little lower and “ordinary” people the lowest and perhaps “actual” prices. The customers, mostly tourists, would bargain and finally either bought or left. Many times, those who left Dada’s shop, not able to strike a bargain, would come back when they realised that Dada’s strictly fixed price was fairer than bargained prices at other shops.

Dada’s sales technique was unique and simple. He ignored everyone! Or so it appeared. He was aware of what the customer was doing and so on. But he never intruded. I asked Dada’s son, why the customers were ignored. By long experience, they all knew that the customers felt comfortable when no one was trying to sell them anything. They never felt unwelcome.

I was a careless dresser when I was a student. Trousers, a kurta or a shirt, Kolhapuris or tyre soled* Gandhi slippers.  That was my usual attire. I shaved once in three days or so. The only thing relatively neat was my (tending towards shoulder length) hair. The reason was my father permitted me to grow my hair long provided it was clean and combed neatly. I suffered the ignominy of that for the sake of the other. If you are wondering why I am suddenly talking of myself, wait!

One day Dada took me to task. “Why are you young people so slovenly. You should dress well. You should look trim. Look at me! Have you ever seen me differently?” No I had not. He went on and lectured me “at length” for all of about three minutes. For such a taciturn man, to go on like that, you can imagine how I must have irritated him!

Dada was a man who lived by some very high standards at the pinnacle of which was cleanliness, orderliness. He expected others to do so too. He was also tolerant and never preached. He just practiced what he did not preach.

*******

Dada was Nagesh Rao Nikam.

The “elder son” is Niri, Niranjan Nikam, my high school classmate and friend.

The younger son, not mentioned in this post is, Giri, Girish Nikam.

If you wonder why I spent so much time in the shop it was because it was our aDDa.

I had been planning a note on Dada a long time. When Giri posted a note on him, on Facebook, I did not want to miss doing this.

Plea

We climbed down from the trees,

We ventured out of our caves.

We clawed our way out of the abyss of ignorance,

We waded out of the morass of stupidity.

With passion and compassion in our hearts,

With science and humanism as guides.

We have paid for it dearly,

With the heads of a Plato and a Bruno,

We have paid for it dearly,

With the freedom of Galileo, Rushdie, Badawi…

We have paid for it dearly,

With the blood of a Gandhi and a King and countless others.

In the cause of a freedom from indignity,

Freedom from vengeance and barbarism.

Let not religions dictate what is right,

Our humanity is enough to put us straight. 

Let us not lose the hard won battles

Let us not let medievalism hurl us back to where we started.

Let us soar up so that one day We can say,

“we are humans”, justifiably proud.

*Triggered by some recent trends and events. The last one being the lynching in Nagaland

Arakere Narayana Rao (ಅಣ್ಣಣ್ಣ)

A cousin and I were studying Engineering in the same college. He was my senior by a (academic) year. When the examinations appeared far away we both read novels, mainly popular novels. Those were the days when Alistair McLean, Arthur Hailey, James A Michener, Harold Robbins, to name a few, supplied a large part of our reading. One day, the two of us were talking away about some of the books we had recently read. My father and this cousin's father were listening to us. But we were unaware of it.

Suddenly a soft voice asks, "ಅವನು ಯಾಕೆ ಬರೀತಾನೆ?" (Why does he write?). It emanated from a diminutive man with unkempt grey hair, clad in a faded white cotton, perhaps khadi, dhoti and an un-pressed, nondescript bush shirt. An expectant pair of inquisitive eyes stared at us from behind fairly thick, glasses. We were stumped. We struggled for an answer. Did not find any, convincing or otherwise. Eventually I came to the conclusion that he/they wrote for money, fame and so on. Did they really have something to say? Perhaps Michener had. Did we get an idea of what the characters in the novel felt deep inside them? The answer surprised me – perhaps Harold Robbins’ characters did. Did the problems the characters faced have any bearing on my life? I later read about literature and art and got a ghost of an idea of what makes good literature. Perhaps this question had a lot to do with it.

That innocuous sounding soft question triggered a lot of things.

The man behind the question passed away recently, aged about 96. When I looked back at the times I  had with him and what I had heard about his life, as happens when we lose someone, my admiration for and fascination with and respect for him were all renewed.

My sisters and I called him ಅಣ್ಣಣ್ಣ (aNNANNa). He was the elder cousin of my father, whom we called ಅಣ್ಣ (aNNa), which means elder brother. Being aNNa’s aNNa, he became aNNANNa. He was one of the most well-read people I have met. His formal education ended perhaps at intermediate (12 years of formal education). Though he had to take up a job, (as a ticketing clerk in a touring kannaDa drama company, if I remember right) he kept in touch with his deep interest in literature, mathematics, philosophy and politics (leftist philosophy) and life and the world in general. When younger, he read mathematics in his spare time.

Later, he managed the agricultural lands of a landlord, in a place called kilAra. He bought a small house in Mysore to enable his children to study further. That is when he became more of a regular visitor to our place. He came home and talked to my father about various things. Sometimes the discussions would get really heated and voices would be raised. My mother had to come out and calm them down – “The neighbours will think that there is a fight on!” The discussions were most illuminating.

He was shy and unobtrusive. After talking to my father for an hour or so, my mother would offer him something to drink. Invariably his drink of choice was hot water as he suffered from Asthma. He used to drink coffee, once upon a time. He was an ardent Gandhian. Once he was trying to make a man from his village give up alcohol. That man challenged aNNaNNa “it is easy for you to ask me to give up drinking. Let me see if you can give up coffee!” He never touched coffee again.

It was almost impossible to make a biased, sweeping, generalized statements in his presence. With a sweet and inquisitive smile on his face, he would challenge it. I had to either withdraw it completely or modify it so much that it was no longer as broad or as sweeping or as biased as it once was. I have a feeling that it taught me to weigh my words before I speak. And eventually it made me wary of almost all kinds of generalisations and biases.  My father had a very big role in this too. But what aNNaNNa did was different.

He passed away when I was on travel. I was back for the 13^th (?) day rituals. At lunch that day, along with the usual “tAmbUla” all those who attended were given a copy of DVG’s “mankutimmana kagga”. I thought that THAT was a befitting way to end those rituals.

Hyperbole

Boy of marriageable age. Parents seek alliances. Boy sees many girls. Does not accept anyone. A relative asks him what kind of girl he wants to marry.

He wants to marry someone who is like the girls he has read about in literature. A girl with lotus-like eyes, rose-like cheeks, moon-like face, Champak-like nose, snake-like hair. Arms like the stem of a banana plant, etcetera.

One evening, the young man is asked to go into a room where a girl with all the characteristics is waiting. He walks into the room, screams and falls unconscious.

Soon, he marries a comely girl and lives happily thereafter.

The elders had created a mannequin with lotus for eyes, roses for cheeks, a champak for nose, arranged over a picture of the moon. The face is adorned by a rubber snake for hair, banana stems for arms and legs, all draped in a saree. The boy sees this abomination in the dim evening light and faints.

This is the gist of a delightful kannaDa short story by M K Indira, if I remember right, I read decades ago.

I was reminded of this story when everyone went hyper because URA talked of leaving the country. I felt that they all acted like this immature young man.

Instead of taking it as an exaggerated expression of his dislike, they took it as literal truth. They urged and taunted a feeble old man to leave the country a la Husain.

"Hyperbole is the use of exaggeration as a rhetorical device or figure of speech" - Wikipedia

Maria, Sachin and all that - 2

Sequels hardly ever match the first creation, whether in movies or novels. I am almost certain that the same fate befalls this post too. But these stories are struggling to get out. I will let them out and inflict it upon whoever reads them. The other reason for writing this is a comment to the original post.

Dr M R Raghavendra Rao had narrated another story. A bit of background: MRR Rao had played cricket in his college days. He had represented the state and had played in a few Ranji Trophy matches too. Later, he thought that cricket was a silly game and a big waste of time - especially for a poor country like ours.

He was once on a flight from Bangalore to Delhi. I tall and handsome young man came and sat next to him. He soon realised that the other passengers and the air hostesses were all excited and were fussing about him. Once the flight took off and things settled down, he talked to the young man. Now I switch to the as-if-in-his-own-words mode.

"I said, "I see that everyone is making a fuss about you. May I know who you are?" He said, “I am Roger Binny, Sir". He spoke with great respect and he was very well behaved. I said, "I see that that is your name. But, what do you do?" He did not seem to be offended and said, "I am a cricketer, Sir." I asked him, "At what level do you play?"  "I play for the country Sir", he said.

"I told him what I thought of cricket and gave him my lecture on cricket. You know my lecture. (This was said with a self-deprecating smile). He agreed with all I said - smiling and with respect. Finally I asked him, "you agree with all that I say. Then, why do you still play cricket?"

"He was completely disarming and said, "I simply love the game Sir" "

This speaks volumes about both of them.

The next incident I want to narrate is something I read about forty years ago. I take no responsibility for the accuracy of my version of it. I just tell you the story as I remember it. This is from the autobiography of Mohammad Ali, "The Greatest".

It was the height of the Vietnam war. Ali was to be conscripted into the US army. Ali refused. He even wrote a poem which went something like "I ain't got nothing against the Viet Cong" He was to be arrested and sent to jail. When the world was abuzz with this news, Ali received a transatlantic call. The caller announced himself as Bertrand Russel and asked Ali if it was true that he was against the Vietnam war and that he had refused to join the army and was ready to go to jail for it. Ali confirmed it. Russel congratulated him on his stand and the courage to stand by his convictions.

Ali said to Russel, "Hey man, you are not as stupid as you look". Russel chuckled and ended the call.

Ali indeed went to jail, lost his title, came back from jail years later and regained it. A sporting legend to beat all legends!!

After this, he was in his publisher’s office in connection with his book - "The Greatest". He had some free time and was browsing through the Encyclopaedia Britannica and came across the entry on Russel. It described him as one of the greatest mathematicians and philosophers of the twentieth century, a pacifist, Nobel laureate in literature and so on. Ali had remembered the name of Russel after the phone call and was mortified that he had talked so lightly and disrespectfully to so great a man.

He called Russel and apologised profusely. As Ali puts it, the two years (?) of school education he had received had not prepared him to know about Russel. Russel brushed off the apologies and made light of it.

Maria, Sachin and all that

Dr M R Raghavendra Rao was a friend of my father from their college days. He was the deputy director of CFTRI in Mysore. A gentle gentleman who was enormously well read, with highly cultivated interest in the arts, especially Hindustani classical music. He used to travel  often on work and he once narrated the following incident from one such journey. He spoke very softly, had a wry sense of humour and thought very logically. Here is the story - as if in his own words.

"I went to Delhi last week. I was seated in the aircraft when a gangly young man, not very handsome, walked in. There was a buzz around and many craned their necks to look at him. I also looked to see what all the fuss was about. My neighbour looked at me excitedly and exclaimed, "Amitabh Bachchan", as if that was explanation enough. It was not.

"I asked him, "who is he?". He looked at me contemptuously, almost pityingly, and said,  "he is a film star". I was not impressed since I had not heard of him at all. I felt a little superior - not knowing a mere film actor.

"On the return flight I saw Ravi Shankar (Sitar maestro, Pandit Ravi Shankar, not the triple Sri) walk in to the aircraft. I was excited and turned to my neighbour and exclaimed, "Ravi Shankar!!". He craned his neck, took one look at him, was not impressed or excited, sat back and started turning the pages of the in-flight magazine. He did not even ask me who he was.

It served me right. I was exicted about one man and others about another. There was no need for me to feel superior."

I remembered this incident when I read about the brouhaha about Sharapova and Sachin. Sharapova not having heard of Sachin is an incident that could tell the fans that their god is a god with a very limited sphere of impact and tone their admiration for him.

In another incident from days gone by, when Borg won Wimbledon for the fifth time, in a row, reporters asked him if he knew of any other sporting achievement that could be comparable to his. When Borg said that it could be Eddy Merckx winning the Tour de France four times in a row the reporters were pleasantly surprised that he knew about that at all! 

Most do not realise that at that level of most sports, especially individual ones, the players live like hermits. Every minute of their days accounted for in activities oriented towards achieving excellence in their chosen sports and practically nothing else.

Sharapova has not heard of Sachin. So what? Perhaps our admiration for her should go up a notch or two.