Essay: Who Am I?

[Essay written for admission to a writing course]

Who am I? Yes, I am asking this question to my inner self. Instead of giving an answer, it questions me back. “Have not you been asking this same question over the ages?” I agree and I do remember those interactions.

The first instance was when I was too young. I was told by my elder sister that I am Anand. That was what my parents had named me. But why “Anand”? I had probed. And my sister had told me smilingly “When you were in mother’s womb, Appa and Amma had gone to watch a Kannada movie starring Rajkumar and Julie Lakshmi. They had liked the movie and they took a decision that if the new born is a boy, the name will be that of hero’s character in the movie. If girl, then it would be of Heroin’s”. So I came to know how I became Anand.

The next was during school going days. Then routine was simple and it repeated year after year. Get up and get ready. Reach school in time. Come back in the evening, play with neighborhood kids until it gets dark. Do the homework and sleep with books next to my pillow. My school teachers had liked my promptness and consistency in completing the assignments. They told everyone that I am a good student. And I believed in that. Even my parents never missed to tell those visiting our home that I am good at school. Now you know how I, Anand, got to be known and identified as a good student.

Then teenage came, I left home to study at college. I had become more independent. For the first time I tasted Tea at a hotel outside of home though I was a regular tea-drinker at home. I began to develop awareness of my looks and also started to notice how the world judged people by their dressing and outlook. I was not a complete rebel but yet refused getting a short hair-cut which was the norm until then. I demanded additional pocket money to buy a nice pair of shoes. Yeah, I was thinking for myself and decided what was good for me. What a phenomenal change! For others, I was a son of so and so parents and came from the place which is bigger than a village but smaller than a town. But I knew those were just external identities and I knew for sure I had a mind of my own and that was my true self.

Education was over and I started job hunting. During the interviews, the first question asked was “Tell about yourself”. I would narrate them how Anand, a good student, now is in search of a job and a steady income. They believed my story and I got a job with some disposable income. That was when the sub-conscious person in me went on a high and soon I was riding a bike, bought out of my own earnings and of course with few EMI’s to pay. Who was I then? I was a person who saw the world full of opportunities and trying to make the best out of it. Then I begin to see the inner selves of other people too, beginning with my parents. They wanted to own a house and they saw me as the vehicle to reach their desire. A part of my inner self was a part of theirs too. I was just an extension of my parent’s souls.

It was time to marry. My soul mate had chosen me for the reasons unclear to me yet. Happy times followed and the children too. I became a complete family man. Who do not like their young kids? The answer to “Who am I?” got changed again. I was observing the transformation of my soul with the changing life phases but yet simple things like career, money and indulgences in keeping the physical senses happy were ruling my soul.

I was nearing my fortieth birthday and one day I was not able to read the newspapers and magazines with the same ease I was doing before. My wife suggested to see a doctor, so I went to one. After making the checks, the doctor asked “Are you 40?” I was surprised how she knew my exact age. I got my reading glasses and I began to carry them wherever I went out apart from two cell phones in two different pockets.

It was not just my vision which was blurred but the soul too had become dim. I had realized that it does not matter who I am but what matters is why I am here and one has to know the purpose of life. My friends and colleagues shrugged it off saying it is mid-life crisis. Had they gone through the same thing I was going through? I was not convinced. I googled it which led me to spirituality. I found that Adi Shankara and Swami Vivekananda who took the spiritual path had found their answers quite early in their lives and they did not live to forty. I realized I was slow and thought of attempting to trace the routes one of them had traveled. I could form a small group of friends to reach the Himalayas. During Adi Shankara’s time, it took many months to get there from south India but for me it took just three days. After taking a dip in the holy Ganga, I went on to meet a hundred year old yogi. He was a renounced man but still a man. The concept of God became clearer to me. There is no God and God is everywhere. Hope you do not see any contradiction in it else you are not yet ready for it.

Now the question ‘Who am I’ does not bother me anymore. Bhagavad-Gita says I was here before and I would come here again. Not the time to discuss if Mahabharata had really happened but the philosophical take away is, it does not matter who I am but what matters is what I do.

Fiction: Dairy pages of an old Tiger

You humans call me a big cat. Well, the comparison looks awkward to me as I don’t like playing with kids or getting pampered by women. I would rather eat them for breakfast. Calling me a Tiger though look appropriate, I would have preferred a much scarier word than that. I did overhear the story of Rudyard Kipling’s ‘The Jungle Book’ in which a Tiger is the chief villain. Hmm…you people make up the stories rather than telling the facts as they are. For that reason, I would have behaved no different than ‘Shere Khan’ and I would never have made friendship with ‘Mowgli’. I was governed by laws of the nature until I met with an accident.

Tigers do not believe in luck or fate. So I think my encounter with human beings is purely an accident. When I was growing up, I did not know that human race existed. Playing with two siblings under the protection of my mother was the world to me. Mother would take us out and let us watch from a hiding how she hunts. All four legged animals, thinner the legs, bulkier the stomach, better the meal for us. Time was running fast. I did not know then what it meant when they say happier times. Wait for the right moment, Attack! Mother had trained us well and I learnt to hunt on my own. That is when mother’s affection started fading and soon she pushed me out of her territory.

         I was on my own comfortably. An ambush strike on the way to waterhole would keep my hunger satisfied for couple of days, then I would sleep well and keep my cool before the need to hunt again. During my walks marking the territory instinctively, I noticed how scared other animals are seeing me. Am I the prince of this jungle? Yeah, looks does matter. Scarier the appearance higher the respect. A plain growl would keep my path free. It did not take much time to transform from a prince into a king.

All was well until I met a human accidentally. There was not one but many. They appeared like large monkeys (you remember you called me big cat), walking on two legs but they were not jumping from tree to tree. They appeared weak. I did not want to eat them but I was irritated a lot by their presence. I waited until one of them singled out and made an appearance before him. My intention was to scare him out of my territory. No doubt he was scared but he shouted and all the crowd began to gather. I just disappeared from the scene, not of out fear but sheer disgust.

After that incident, I had a sense of being watched whenever I went out. Soon I had to meet a human being again. At some distance he was standing on the top a tower, holding a stick aiming at me. Blood rushed to my face and I instantly jumped on him. What a surprise, his stick fired something which pierced my hind leg. I fell down and could not run anymore. In no time, I lost my senses and collapsed.

After what it appeared to be a deep sleep of many days, I woke up in a small island like place surrounded by barricades. There is room to walk but not big enough as few steps would bring it to end. Go back and go round. ‘Oh, this is a confinement’ I realized. I was captivated. Food came regularly, what a relief but it is boring to eat at same time of the day. I missed unpredictability of the jungle. I hear sounds of other animals in the vicinity and understand that they are captivated too. Each animal has a confined space here. What kind of a place on earth is this? No exercise to muscles and I am not using my paws and teeth which were my ultimate tools in hunting. I started looking at what is outside of those barricades. There were humans, tens of them, standing on the other side iron bars and staring at me. The moat is wide between us. While I can attempt a jump off the moat, those iron bars would still hurt me else I would have taken lives out of those bodies one after the other. I am out of options. I just lie-down and stare back.

You know no Tiger keeps a dairy. Reading and writing is such a waste of time and a Tiger would rather live life to fullest remaining in action. As my hunting skills and tools are rusting, I am learning to think like humans. Yes, there is nothing else to do. I don’t mean life is bad in confinement but there is no excitement. To kill time, keeping a dairy, spending time in the reminiscences may not be a bad thing. Will they ever leave me back in the jungle? I am not sure if I want to go back. You think Tiger loves freedom over timely food? You can find out for yourself which Tiger lives longer. Then extended life is the price for freedom. Is not it? I don’t like thinking this much. Let me take a nap.

Short Story: Return of the Protector

It is historical town of Hampi, situated in South India. It was home to a forgotten kingdom. Historians called it India’s Rome. But unlike Rome, residents of this town had deserted this place soon after their king was killed in the decisive war. It has remained uninhabited for centuries since then. It has only visitors. People come to offer prayers in the temple to Lord Virupaksha. Not all of the temples see prayers being offered in them. Many of the temples were destroyed soon after the war and some were damaged by treasure hunters in the period aftermath. River Tungabhadara does not overflow during season, like she did in the times when Hampi’s fame was at zenith as a dam built nearby collects the water and lets a small stream flow through the river path. Tourists arrive in big numbers to this place attracted by its glory, beautiful monuments and architecture. But at the night all visitors return to their respective hotels and houses in the nearby town named Hospet, which means “A New Town” in the local language, leaving Hampi to its darkness and a ridiculous quietness.

In this town which found a permanent place in Indian history, one man earned his living working as a Guide. He is a guide with a precise knowledge of history and deep insights into the lives of those who lived an ordinary life and those ruled as kings during the times of Vijayanagara kingdom. His tall and healthy physique gave him a commanding presence. He would have been a soldier if not a guide, such was his stamina and he never appeared tired in the day long walks. Tourists could not keep up with him while climbing the small hills and big boulders to get a better view of the place. He was able to read people with ease and had the ability to take people along with him, more like a leader than a guide. His dramatic gestures, vivid expressions on face coupled with pitched but loud tone would make it easier for even the least creative human being to imagine the sequence enacted by him. The details he provided seemed to be more realistic for those tourists who had done their reading before visiting the place. His poetic exclamations would make the places of Hampi more interesting and human. The travelers who came from different corners of the world were in a treat if they got hooked up with this Guide and they would return with a sense of satisfaction of knowing the place better and a day being well spent.

All travelers won’t be done in a day and some stay back as they think visit for a day won’t be enough for a place like this. On the second and the successive days of their stay, who else can guide them well than the one they had on their first day? They naturally turned to him. And they would ask now, what is his name, by the way? On the first day, it never mattered. A guide is a guide, what name he has should not matter much as long as he had done his job well. But on the second day, it makes sense to know the name of the person who is guiding them. But this Guide would tell some name and he would not respond to it when the tourists called him by that name. The next day, he would say a different name for himself. When the tourists ask how come it is different every day, he would say in return

“What is wrong with that? We have different names for different seasons, why should I stick to one name forever?”

It made no sense to the tourists but they would smile and rather focus on their purpose of visit. When someone else raised the same question again, the Guide would argue

“People change things. They get new clothes for themselves. Few change their life partners with ease. I changing name is not a serious matter”.

Though not pleased with this answer, tourists would stop arguing with him. They understood it is none of their business and they would simply call him ‘Guide’ and get on with their business.

This Guide was always to be found at the foothills of Hemakuta if he is found nowhere else. So tourists had no issues in locating him. From there the Guide would take them for exploration of the town. On the walking trails, the Guide would narrate how the caves in the surrounding mountains served as temporary residences for those visiting capital of Vijayanagara kingdom during 13th century and how the kings learnt the hard way that, it was strong horses which gave an upper hand to their enemies during wars and the resolutions Vijayanagara Kings took to strengthen their cavalry but yet how their failure to breed horses was causing them troubles. Such details were making the walks of tourists less tiresome. Few tourists wondered how he has more details than the book of Robert Sewell. Some thought this Guide belonged more to past than the present. Others thought he just makes up the stories to make the tour interesting.

He would take the tourists to numerous temples and demonstrate how they did not just serve religious purposes but doubled up as the stage to showcase the talents in music and dance by the evening. They were the places to bring cultural transformation in the society which had suffered from multiple attacks and suppressed from its natural expression. He would emphasize on the efforts of Vijayanagara kings to popularize the festival of Vijayadashami also known as Dasara, a festival for celebration of the win of good over evil. On the way to their next spot, he would show tall watch towers and explain to tourists how the multi layered defense system of the town worked. He would detail out the preparations the kings made before the wars and how a war fought wrongly would reduce the army size to a miniscule which would push out the next war by at least a decade as they had to wait for the natural population to catch up and provide soldiers for their army. He would also take them to water feeding canals running from the river which aided agriculture and also filled up multiple Pushkarani in the town to provide drinking water, then to neatly laid out streets and rows of houses of those serving the royal family explaining how the subject of “Town Planning” was put to good use.

By the evening tourists along with the Guide would return to Lord Virupaksha temple or sit on the banks of Tungabhadra River. Tourists would sit in the form of a circle around the Guide and he would tell them few more stories. On one such evening, they began to discuss the historical events behind the birth of this town. Kampilaraya, a king ruling over the small state with capital at Anegundi had lost the war to northern invaders. Sangama, who was father to Hakka and Bukka was at the service of Anegundi rulers as a treasurer and as a head of an army branch. When they lost the war, the entire Anegundi kingdom was put to destruction along with their king. Sangama too had died in the war. Hakka and Bukka were held as prisoners in that war but they managed to escape after a couple of years. Once they returned, they found a mentor in sage Vidyaranya. And their dream to establish a new kingdom took shape.

The Guide opined that, the rain of gold coins was an exaggeration but it is Hakka and Bukka with the help of sage Vidyaranya being able to locate the hidden treasury of Anegondi kingdom helped them to build this city of Vijayanagara, the city of victory and establish a new rule. Hakka and Bukka were brave and ambitious. The political situation was in their favor. They had the right mentor too. Their efforts did not go waste and their success was phenomenal. The small state born on the banks of Tungabhadra River expanded its horizons to the basins of River Krishna towards north and River Kaveri in the south. It erected a strong defensive wall against the northern invaders, revived the unique culture and traditions of southern India. Art and literature gained the prominence in a land free of fear. Society flourished. Fame got spread.

A tourist asked “How Hakka and Bukka did look like?”

The Guide replied “Hakka was tall, lean but strong and Bukka was short and fat”

The Guide provided some more details on them. Hakka was focused on raising army and expanding the empire and Bukka being a fine administrator, took care of domestic matters and the shouldered the responsibility of building the town of Hampi. Both brothers had unquestionable commitment towards their people and the town they had built. It was their life energy. Even after their death, people did not forget their love for Hampi which led to birth of a legend. Locals believed that ghosts of these two brothers visited the town whenever it was in danger. Their appearance served as a warning to the people to become cautious. One of the tourists mentioned he had read about this in a novel and he felt it was a good fiction. Nodding his approval the Guide continued:

“Though their appearance was taken seriously initially, it lost importance in the continued glory, unquestioned supremacy of the later kings of Vijayanagara and their arrogance proved too costly for them in the fifteenth century war”. 

The war fought at Talikota was against the union of five kingdoms but yet the soldiers in the army of Viajaynagara had outnumbered their counterparts and were expecting a victory like they their numerous wins in the past. But the destiny had a different plan. They lost the war and their king was killed. A two century long glory had come to a sudden end. Magnificent city of Hampi was reduced to ruins in a matter of days.

“It would have been a bad time for the ghosts of Hakka-Bukka” said one of the tourists. 

“A terrible one” said the Guide with noticeable pain on his face.

“Why they did not try to revive the place?” asked a tourist.

The Guide replied “Brief attempts were made but they did not see success as the destructions were devastating. Residents did not have the heart to return to the city they loved and held in pride”

He continued “The survivors of the royal family moved to Penugonda and continued to rule from there. But the shine was lost forever”.

He went on to add “Though past residents of Hampi found a new home somewhere else, they did not desert Hampi completely. Even after the extensive destruction, some charm was left in the remains. Fascination for their once beautiful town brought the people back occasionally and the prayers in the temples continued uninterrupted. Many monuments stood test of time and they are mute witness to the rise and fall of Hampi. But they too need some care and protection. If we cannot build things any better, we should protect what is left behind for us”

He pointed his finger towards the tower of Virupaksha temple which was coming off in the corners losing its originality and said:

“Hakka-Bukka would not have tolerated it”.

It was not just that tower but many of the structures in Hampi were in sorry state and badly needed a revival.

One of the tourists joked “What would ghosts of Hakka-Bukka do now? Will they cry on the boulders of Hampi at night?”

The Guide did not respond but looked at the infinite sky in silence. He appeared to be lost in thoughts. Tourists too fell into silence. Some time passed. It was getting dark and the mild touch of cold breeze reminded them it is time to leave. Tourists called it a day to and bid a ‘Good Night’ to each other in the darkness.

It was rainy season ahead. Travelers left Hampi. Some of them wrote to the local Govt. and to UNESCO seeking their attention to the issues at Hampi. Few in authority had met the concerned personnel demanding them to take necessary actions. Some change was about to happen. Local Govt. had decided to revive Hampi and make it a top tourist attraction. They pooled the funds more than they would spend regularly and began their work. Most of Hampi had remained closed for tourists during that work. But the wait was fruitful. Many of the structures got face lift including the tower of temple. It appeared like the whole town of Hampi had got a fresh lease of life.

Then came the summer and the tourists returned as before. But the Guide was nowhere to find. What was his name, he had several of them. At the usual place he was available to tourists; there stood a brand new information center to help them.

Short Story: Few mysteries are not to be solved

Kunigal, a place in South Karnataka is bigger than a village but not a buzzing town. Due to it is location on the highway connecting Bangalore to Mangalore, it has traffic on that road all the time. But the town goes to sleep quite early. It has a large and beautiful lake on the outskirts and a walk there in the early morning or evening can refresh anyone’s mood and uplift the spirits. A plain patch of land outside the town was the farm for Tipu Sultan’s horses. That stud farm is now owned by a big businessman who owes more money to banks than his worth. Is it the curse of stud farm to bring an end to glory of their owners? But the royal attachments were limited to that farm and most of the town residents earned their living by working in their fields.

In one of those farmer families of this town, Ravi was born. The Sun God is a symbol of positive energy and hope. That belief had made Ravi’s parents to choose this name for their son. They saw that their expectations were coming true as Ravi grew up. Poor background had made him only more determined and there were no clouds to mask his shine. Agriculture was his first interest. He got a degree and masters in an Agri University. The exposure he was getting and his drive to serve a bigger a purpose in life was attracting him to a top job in the Government, that of an IAS officer. His efforts saw that he reached his goal. Only a few hundread are chosen a year among lakhs of aspirants. Ravi had the merit and determination.

While going through the required training in the hill town of Mussorie, he developed strong relationship with his fellow batchmates. When the brightest minds of a nation come together, they come out good. They shape each other and the influence lasts even after they are out in their jobs of running the Govt. machinery. They have the necessary knowledge and ability to judge, some skills are imparted and the rest they learn on the job to keep the best interests of the society. They are trained to take care of the society. But these IAS officers too are human beings and need a shoulder to cry on when the work pressure or personal stress becomes unbearable. Ravi too found a friend in his batchmate. She was smart and ambitious. Did Ravi love her? Did she love him too? But both found their life partners in different persons.

Ravi got his posting as Assistant Commissioner in his home state of Karnataka. It was in a north Karnataka town but in a year he had to shoulder higher responsibility as District Commissioner of Kolar district. And a reformer in Ravi got into action. He got rid of encroachments of Govt. lands. The honesty in him could not tolerate the irregularities and the sand mafia. Quality in civil infrastructure could not be compromised to feed the corrupt elements. Public began to notice the changes and the driving force behind them. It took less than a year for Ravi to become a celebrity. It is not a common sight to find a person who has authority and position but yet simple and down to earth. People of Kolar thought they were lucky to have him but those troubled by his action did not want him to remain there for long. All civil servants know they need to pack their suitcase and move on when the call comes. Ravi was transferred to Bangalore. People of Kolar protested but Ravi had to move on to take charge as Additional Commissioner in Commercial Tax department.

You cannot train a dog not to be loyal. It is what they are made up of. Similarly few people like Ravi would not compromise their honesty even if they are asked to. Ravi in his new role found that there was lots of tax evasion happening to the tune of Rs.1,000 crores. Just two weeks of rides on such businesses brought Rs.138 crores of tax revenue to the Govt. Businessmen does not operate in a silo. They looked for ways to silence Ravi. Death threat calls did not seem to deter Ravi. But something terrible happened. Ravi was found dead.

The sudden death and the mysteries around it created a suspiscion that he could be murdered. Media too strongly supported the suspicion. Protests began. Opposition party blamed the ruling party. Support to Ravi’s family came from all corners of state. Ravi was on everyone’s FaceBook wall. Common men talked if this is going to be the fate of an Adminstrator in the highest authority, what of those without power. Protests became fierce. At the same time, there was news or rumour of Ravi having called his batchmate several times before the day of his death. A failed love story was framed around them. Also of Ravi’s intention to get into real estate business. Then, was it plain suicide? Why a person of Ravi’s caliber would commit suicide, so asked the public. The investigation was assigned to a central institute of some repute.

Everyone had their side of story. No one knew the complete truth. Is it possible for a human being to know another person completely? Victors get to write the history and victims are already dead, they do not stand a chance to tell their side of story. So any history we know of is always one sided story. In the fifteenth century, famous king of Vijayanagara kingdom, Sri Krishna Devaraya had untimely death, before he had turned forty. Was it suicide or murder? There are theories which support both the views. The brave king who did not lose a single war of many wars he fought, committed suicide saddened by his son’s death, so goes one argument. Those who poisoned king’s son also killed the king, says the opposite camp. But the truth was buried along with their death. Speculation never become the truth.

Limelight won’t stay on one individual for long. Though public were still outraged, there were other things happening. A cricket match, a local election, release of ‘Bahubali’ movie, there were so many things seeking public attention. In between all of that, investigation agency concluding that Ravi’s death was a suicide went almost unnoticed or public was not convinced but let go of it. A reformer is dead. God knows the reason. Public will ensure that the saying ‘Public memory is short’ does not turn untrue.

Even if they look back their memory lane, the puzzle of Ravi’s death would remain a mystery for the common person. Like ‘Chidambara Rahasya’ (Eternal secret), few mysteries are not to be solved. They are to be forgotten, comfortably by some, painfully by others.

[It is comfortable to call this a fictional story as what I wrote here is a perception too]

Mini-tale: A page from the diary of a soul

I am not the soul of a human being but that of a small bookshop. Though I cannot speak, I can yet see and listen to all those humans who walk into my store. I do become aware of their emotions too. That student, who walked in worried, was worried about passing in his exams; so he was in search of a ‘Guide’ as text books did not help him get through. That middle aged person who spent hours in comics section, was assessing what kind of comic is good for his daughter. In the fiction lane, there were few exploring the new arrivals but they all ended up asking for help to find where their favorite author’s books are stored. There were many college going boys and girls visiting the bookstore but they rarely bought anything. They shared jokes and laughed as they do in canteen and moved on. Encyclopedia section did not attract any buyers at all and they say thanks to Wikipedia and Google!

Owner of the store is served with a notice to vacate this building along with its co-occupants, as it is set to be demolished to widen the road and ease the traffic. He does not seem to be worried as this business is no more profitable and he is checking what else he can do to earn a living. When he got this notice, he understood it is time to move on. If he is not moving this store to somewhere else, what I, the soul of this bookshop, should do? I do not wish to go to warehouses of Amazon as they are not lively. I always enjoyed seeing people from all walks of life visiting this small store. Yes, I am not a human soul and do not have emotions but it is so boring to occupy a warehouse where humans rarely walk. And I am not that daring to drive on the bikes like Flipkart delivery boys do to visit the customers at their homes.

Image source: The Guardian

My future looks bleak now. During good old times, those who wanted to shape their destinies, walked into bookshop to see if they can get help and they would not be rejected. I heard they now depend on Internet. Times change, so the ways. I shaped destinies but I don’t have one now. I remained relevant and important for a century. I would rather be happy with the memories of it. Human world evolves, as always. I was part of it before but now our ways are going separate. I do not feel sad as I do not have emotions (I have said  it already). While those human beings who spent time with me (without recognizing me) would still remember the ambiance of a small bookshop, but the new generations will fail to notice the fading away spirit of it as all the info is available at fingertips on their smartphone.

Every soul will rest in peace when its time comes. I am waiting for mine.