My Friend Donald Groom
I first met Donald in 1949 at Kodaikanal in South India. Both of us were participants in a Quaker seminar, he as a senior resource person and I a young college junior. There were several other distinguished men and women attending the seminar; poet Gurdayal Malik, American clergyman turned Gandhian Ralph Keithan, Dr. Ada Scudder, poet P. Lal, a Chinese professor of Education and several others.
Having never been in such a distinguished gathering I was awe struck, but Donald became my hero. He was short, blond, pensive, but genuinely humble. He certainly did not fit my image of an Englishman. Khadi (hand spun cotton yarn woven on a handloom) Kurta Pajama was his normal daily dress and he spun cotton yarn in spare time on his small book sized Charkha (spinning wheel). His Hindi was fluent and he had no difficulty squatting on the floor and eating with his fingers. His tone was mild, his words convincing, and demeanor very friendly. He treated everyone as equal including us youngsters. I had heard of Europeans who understood and admired Gandhi, but never did I imagine meeting his British follower of such total convincement. As I discovered many years later, Donald too was drawn by my uncouth simplicity and imagined someday of attracting me to work with him. On returning to Batala I began to read Gandhi’s writings and buy Khadi clothes. My college Principal Ranjit Chetsingh, who knew Donald Groom well, noticed the change and one day remarked, “So, I can see. Donald did manage to make you a Gandhian!”
In 1952 I met Donald at his home base, Friends Rural Center, Rasulia in M.P., where I had gone to a reunion of Quaker seminar alumni. I was then working on cattle improvement and optimal composting of organic waste at a Gandhian institution in Wardha. He showed a lot of interest in my work and invited me to continue the same at the Friends Rural Center. I felt flattered when he made it a standing offer.
About three months later, carrying on my back a cloth bag with clothes and all my other worldly possessions, I arrived at Rasulia to a very warm welcome by Donald. He immediately found me an independent hut furnished with simple necessities and arranged for my meals at the schoolboys’ hostel. A couple of months later he invited me to start eating at his house with his family. We never talked of remuneration, for he automatically put me on the same stipend as the American and British volunteers.
Organizing compost making for the small Rasulia dairy did not take very long. I then moved to Palanpur, a small village about 10 miles from Rasulia, where a new center was being built. Donald himself spent lot of time there and participated in meetings with the villagers. I noticed that his command of Hindi was as good as mine. Soon after, AFSC became actively involved at Rasulia and our money and volunteer power increased. In a very short time we added two more extension centers within a 10-mile radius. As workload increased Donald slowly made me his assistant and involved me in all new projects. His confidence and trust pushed me to the limits of my ability and strength.
One very significant development took place within me at this time. My antagonism for the British began quickly to become watered down. Having grown up in a family of ardent freedom fighters I learned to believe that all Englishmen were conceited, haughty, and rude especially with us Indians. Donald’s decent behavior shattered my prejudice. I learned the simple truth that not all Englishmen were alike.
Independence and After
When India attained Independence Donald was as happy as the Indians and felt a new burst of energy to work for Free India. He had been deeply involved in India’s struggle for independence. He went to the extent of arranging underground for Indian leaders. Freedom fighters had free access to the Friends Rural Center day or night. Many took night shelter at Rasulia. Dr. Rajendra Prasad, who later became India’s first President, once quietly spent a night on Donald’s veranda. Numerous freedom fighters at times received much needed financial assistance at Rasulia. Many of them later became ministers in the new government in the states or at the center. Donald thus had many friends at the highest level in Nagpur as well as New Delhi. I learned this first hand when in l954 Donald sent me to Delhi as his emissary.
He had heard that a mill to make high fiber currency-note paper was being planned by the Delhi government. A huge area of land was being acquired outside of Hoshangabad. There were rumors that FRC land was also on their map. Donald thought that it was time to seek intervention from the highest level. He sent me to Delhi and told me to meet and talk with Professor Mohammad Mujib. He was a prominent nationalist Muslim leader, a learned scholar, writer, and an educationist of considerable renown. On enquiring in Delhi I learned that he lived in East Delhi where he had founded a new university named Jamia Milia Islamia. He was a close associate of Education Minister Zakir Husain. Both Mujib and Zakir Husain had worked together on Gandhi’s Nai Talim, or basic education for all. They knew the Quakers and Donald and had close link with Prime Minister Nehru.
Professor Mujib was sitting in his simple office in a modest new building. He was a thin, small, fair, and very gentle man. On seeing me he smiled and said, “Welcome, so you have found me even in this wilderness. You had said you will come in the morning, but I knew you would not arrive before noon. Now tell me what brings you here.” I introduced myself, and said that Donald Groom had sent me to see if you can help prevent takeover of our very old Quaker institution. He answered, “I know about the Quakers and have heard of Rasulia’s bold cooperation during the pre Independence years. I will talk with Zakir Saheb and we will see what we can do. Tell Donald that in all probability your land will not be acquired. We will do the best we can.” I am not sure but I vaguely remember that he took me to his house and we had lunch together. I was much impressed with his sweetness and his gracious generosity. Wonder of all wonders, however, many years later my son married Prof. Mujib’s granddaughter. This lovely daughter-in-law of mine calls me ‘mian jaan’ for she wants to emulate the example of her own mother and the practice in her father’s family.
Gandhi lived simply like ordinary Indian villagers and spoke plain words but his true message was grasped by few even of his closest followers. It was clear to all that he wanted the British to quit India for moral reasons. Also everyone knows that Gandhi thought that India must revive the traditional Indian society of self-reliant village communities that was fast eroding under foreign rule. But what escaped the grasp of most people was his caution against the Industrial Culture per se. Gandhi’s reasoning was clear as full moon in cloudless sky. Even that far back it was clear to him that Industrial culture was destructive of the natural order and such a way of life cannot be viable. In his bold little book Hind Swaraj (1905), he pointed to the hidden evil side of Industrial society’s most cherished institution, parliamentary democracy. He also severely criticized the railways and mass production with machines. When he saw that India’s new government under Nehru was tilting toward industrialization, he very bluntly warned us ‘You will perish if you industrialize.’
Donald understood Gandhi’s view of industrial society very well. Therefore he had set up simple projects aimed clearly at revival of the old traditional villages. Some of them were: a boarding school to prepare boys
to reconstruct their own villages, industries such as a bullock driven oil press, spinning and weaving, organic farming, local health care practices, simple living, sharing, caring of animals and so forth. Most visitors privately scoffed at Donald’s projects. His overall support, however, was never in jeopardy because Quakers are known for patience with mavericks.
Winds of Change
By 1953 strong winds of change had begun to blow. Their impact, however, was felt very slowly at Rasulia. The central government initiated a nationwide program for rural development soon after independence. Its model was America’s extension service for farmers. It was called Community Development Program and Hoshangabad district was chosen in its very first phase. Unsuspecting of its implications Donald welcomed it and cooperated with the administrative machinery set up at the district level. Consequently, Friends Rural Center was recognized as a sister organization and was given a lot of freedom to function in its own Gandhian style.
Just about this time American Quaker body AFSC became Rasulia’s second supporter. British FSC continued its support as before but it paled in comparison. Motor vehicles came to facilitate our movement to various village centers. A tractor came to cultivate the land. Young American volunteers started coming on two-year stints. A British volunteer with work experience at Rolls Royce came to help maintain the machinery. All this worked like a shot of adrenaline and the pace of work increased. New staff was hired. I was one of them.
Meetings and workshops of various kinds began to be organized, a small weekly farm journal was started at Nitaya, bullock cart races were arranged, a supervised credit scheme was initiated, and seed banks were organized. Many other activities that are common these days were begun. In those days America shone and smelled like a rose. Having ‘liberated’ the world from Hitler and, with skills and money, it rose as the world leader to show the way to the future.
To the young, foolish and impressionable like me, America’s attraction was irresistible. Donald was older and mature and was less affected initially. But he was puzzled and felt very uneasy. Perhaps as a result he began slowly to withdraw from Rasulia and take active interest in imbibing wisdom of the ancient Hindu culture. He began visiting temples at the Narmada riverfront more than before. In one temple he became a committee member and helped as much as he could. His interest in the study of the Upanishads deepened. He studied Ishavasya-upanishad intensively and subsequently translated it into English. Few years later it was published commercially and sold widely. All this influenced Donald so deeply that he began to call himself a Hindu Quaker. He also bought a small house site across the road from the FRC and contemplated building a small house for his old age.
In early 1955 a providential disaster occurred at Rasulia with devastating effect on Donald. He took a bunch of kids for a bath in the Narmada River. A small boy of about 6 got drowned. His mother Madhuri, was a widow. She had come five years ago to live at Rasulia with her husband who was employed at Rasulia. After a couple of years he died of tuberculosis. They had two sons. Donald sent Madhuri to Kasturbagram for training in midwifery and employed her at Rasulia. Now her older son had died causing deep anguish.
Donald took the entire blame for the tragedy on himself and increased his agony. To comfort grieving Madhuri and to come to terms with his own emotional upheavals Donald camped in her house for
several days. This did not go well with his family, nor was it taken kindly by the rest of the community. But Donald was in agony till time did its work and he began to heal. I too was badly affected by this turmoil. Luckily there was an invitation from the AFSC for finding two suitable young Indians in a 6-week seminar and work camp program in Japan. Donald recommended my name, probably to get me out of the Rasulia muddle. My stay in Japan was extended to six months perhaps by Donald’s intervention.
On my return I found life in Rasulia outwardly tranquil. Donald received me back warmly. But he was far from healed. Finally, the decision was made to get Donald and his family out of Rasulia. The family returned to England, and Donald joined Vinoba’s bhoomidaan (land gift) movement. He walked with the saint for two years, got healed and finally reunited with his family. I visited the family in l960 in London on my way to join Cornell University in upstate New York.
The Groom family moved to Australia in the early sixties and Donald got involved in Quaker peace work. But his heart was in India and he kept returning to visit the village centers he had established. Every time he came he brought money to support the workers at these centers. On one of these stops while traveling from Bhopal to Delhi Donald died in a plane crash. His body was cremated on the bank of his beloved Narmada River and his ashes and few remaining bones scattered over sacred water. He couldn’t have asked for better after-death rites.
I count Donald among my closest friends to this day and feel thankful for his enlightening companionship.
Partap
June 30, 2007
Fascinating Little True Kerala Stories
Fascinating Little True Kerala Stories
A very dear friend of mine told me the following episodes of his own family members and himself. They are fascinating and true. Today I will briefly sketch just three.
1. There is a tradition in Kerala called Vidyarambham. It is a little ritual performed for every child symbolizing his or her initiation to literacy. He still remembers his own and seeing the same of many of other children including his own daughter. When he was about three Vidyarambham was arranged for him. One of the elderly village women who officiated over these rituals was called. Dressed in silk dhoti he was seated on a slightly raised sand seat in a pit used by children to play in. The priestess made a colored decorative design around the seat and chanted some mantras addressed to the divine builder Vishwakarma and the goddess of learning, Saraswati. She then put a little twig pen in his hand and helped him write a few letters of the alphabet. This marked the beginning of his formal education. He quite clearly remembers going to another teacher few years later to learn reading, writing and arithmetic. This had been the tradition passed down from generation to generation through the centuries.
2. In Kerala the carpenters, masons and architects were highly respected. Their art was revered as divine. Architects were well versed in Vastushastra, the art of orienting buildings in respect to the elements. They also gave attention to details of suitably placing kitchen, bedrooms and other functional sections of the house. For instance, a family dwelling was oriented in such a way that it would be comfortable in all seasons of the year without requiring fans and other additional aids. My friend’s brother is a nationally known architect. On visiting some famous old Kerala buildings he found them fascinating and worth studying closely. Part of his family is still in Kerala and his own ancestral house retains marks of the superb local skills. At the height of his career he decided actually to seek training from a traditional Acharya. A suitable teacher was not difficult to arrange but it was not easy to follow the disciple he prescribed; for instance, minimum of six months without break, wearing only traditional attire, following strict metal and spiritual discipline, rigorous work hours and attention to minute details. He used much of this in his professional work afterwards to his great joy.
3. The third story is the most fascinating of all. There are small groups of Afro-Asian aboriginal groups still living in remote areas on hilltops or deep valleys in the thick forests of Kerala. People avoid them from fear of their knowledge of black magic. My friend’s younger brother became fascinated with these people and wanted to actually learn black magic. He found out about a man who sounded just right for his purpose. So, one day he walked into the forest, found his house and knocked at his door. The man was surprised to see him and said, “Most people are afraid of coming here, have you no fear? What brings you to me?”
“I have come to be your disciple. Please teach me the art of magic,” said my friend’s brother.
“What you seek is most unusual, but to learn you must agree to do whatever I say without question.”
He then spat on the man’s hand and asked him to drink the spittle. This he could not do and was therefore rejected.
There is much more to share. Perhaps we will be able to do that later.
Partap AggarwalJune 23, 2007
Lina Krishnan to me
show details Jun 24 (17 hours ago)
Yes, we celebrate Vidyarambham each year on Dussehra day. The Daybefore (9th day of navaratri) is for Saraswati pujai, where books,pens, musical instruments, even needles & thread... are kept in puja &kids are not allowed to read that day (hardest day of my childhoodyears!). Next day, after Vidyarambham, the ban is off with a lot ofsinging.Apart from the 1st writing its also a day for initiation into music,and for paying respects to your guru if youre already learning.Thought these extra snippets would interest you.Love & Peace, Lina
A very dear friend of mine told me the following episodes of his own family members and himself. They are fascinating and true. Today I will briefly sketch just three.
1. There is a tradition in Kerala called Vidyarambham. It is a little ritual performed for every child symbolizing his or her initiation to literacy. He still remembers his own and seeing the same of many of other children including his own daughter. When he was about three Vidyarambham was arranged for him. One of the elderly village women who officiated over these rituals was called. Dressed in silk dhoti he was seated on a slightly raised sand seat in a pit used by children to play in. The priestess made a colored decorative design around the seat and chanted some mantras addressed to the divine builder Vishwakarma and the goddess of learning, Saraswati. She then put a little twig pen in his hand and helped him write a few letters of the alphabet. This marked the beginning of his formal education. He quite clearly remembers going to another teacher few years later to learn reading, writing and arithmetic. This had been the tradition passed down from generation to generation through the centuries.
2. In Kerala the carpenters, masons and architects were highly respected. Their art was revered as divine. Architects were well versed in Vastushastra, the art of orienting buildings in respect to the elements. They also gave attention to details of suitably placing kitchen, bedrooms and other functional sections of the house. For instance, a family dwelling was oriented in such a way that it would be comfortable in all seasons of the year without requiring fans and other additional aids. My friend’s brother is a nationally known architect. On visiting some famous old Kerala buildings he found them fascinating and worth studying closely. Part of his family is still in Kerala and his own ancestral house retains marks of the superb local skills. At the height of his career he decided actually to seek training from a traditional Acharya. A suitable teacher was not difficult to arrange but it was not easy to follow the disciple he prescribed; for instance, minimum of six months without break, wearing only traditional attire, following strict metal and spiritual discipline, rigorous work hours and attention to minute details. He used much of this in his professional work afterwards to his great joy.
3. The third story is the most fascinating of all. There are small groups of Afro-Asian aboriginal groups still living in remote areas on hilltops or deep valleys in the thick forests of Kerala. People avoid them from fear of their knowledge of black magic. My friend’s younger brother became fascinated with these people and wanted to actually learn black magic. He found out about a man who sounded just right for his purpose. So, one day he walked into the forest, found his house and knocked at his door. The man was surprised to see him and said, “Most people are afraid of coming here, have you no fear? What brings you to me?”
“I have come to be your disciple. Please teach me the art of magic,” said my friend’s brother.
“What you seek is most unusual, but to learn you must agree to do whatever I say without question.”
He then spat on the man’s hand and asked him to drink the spittle. This he could not do and was therefore rejected.
There is much more to share. Perhaps we will be able to do that later.
Partap AggarwalJune 23, 2007
Lina Krishnan to me
show details Jun 24 (17 hours ago)
Yes, we celebrate Vidyarambham each year on Dussehra day. The Daybefore (9th day of navaratri) is for Saraswati pujai, where books,pens, musical instruments, even needles & thread... are kept in puja &kids are not allowed to read that day (hardest day of my childhoodyears!). Next day, after Vidyarambham, the ban is off with a lot ofsinging.Apart from the 1st writing its also a day for initiation into music,and for paying respects to your guru if youre already learning.Thought these extra snippets would interest you.Love & Peace, Lina
One Who Scattered Wealth
One Who Scattered Wealth
My middle sister’s husband Meghraj had a sister named Pushpa. She lived in Amritsar with her husband and family. In 1964 she died in childbirth at age 37. This is her true story.
She was pregnant with her 5th child, some complications developed, they got worse, and the doctors in the biggest hospital in the City of Amritsar were unable to save neither her nor her baby. Many relatives came to her funeral. An unusually large number of neighbors had come, especially the poor of the area.
Eyes of most people were wet. One young man was crying bitterly as if his own mother had died. Meghraj ji was curious. He went to the young man and asked, “You seem to feel my sister’s death very deeply, why is that?”
“Brother, how can I possibly express my grief? Your sister was like my real mother. I am an ordinary vegetable seller in the Bambewala Khu area. I started my business at a very young age. We were very poor then. Somehow we scraped together a few rupees and I started selling veggies placed over a gunnysack spread on the ground by the roadside. Your sister used to come to buy veggies from me even though there were many better shops nearby.”
“One day your sister asked me why I had such a meager stock to sell. She was concerned that my income from the sale must also be small. She knew I had parents and siblings to provide for and on income from my tiny stock it must be hard. She asked me why I did not bring larger stock to sell. I told her I did not have the money to buy more. She did not say anything but I could see that she was planning something in her mind. Two days later when she came to buy veggies she gave me an envelope with 100 rupees in it. In those days, for a poor man like me, this was a huge sum.”
“I was dumb struck with this windfall of generosity. From that day I began to worship her as a goddess. With bigger capital I began to expand my business. This kind lady had fired my zeal up. Partly to please her I put all my energy into the business. Sometimes I restocked my shop 3 times in a day. Soon I had enough money to rent a shop and then even to buy that property. This pleased your sister very much. At the time of returning her money I wanted to pay interest. But she refused it. Due to the generosity of your sister I am a successful businessman today and have a happy family. My regret is that I could not do anything for her when she was ill. I told the doctor to take all my blood if that would save her life, but my blood was not of the right kind.”
Pushpa’s husband had a small income from minor work in the textile market. From the money she got for buying food for the family she put aside a few paise every day. It is this money that she gave to the vegetable man. She must have helped many others in a similar manner, for this was her nature. No one ever knew because she did not tell any one.
She never gathered much to keep for herself but she knew the importance of sharing with those who had less than her. She knew that it was nobler to scatter than to hoard.
Partap
June 16, 2007
My middle sister’s husband Meghraj had a sister named Pushpa. She lived in Amritsar with her husband and family. In 1964 she died in childbirth at age 37. This is her true story.
She was pregnant with her 5th child, some complications developed, they got worse, and the doctors in the biggest hospital in the City of Amritsar were unable to save neither her nor her baby. Many relatives came to her funeral. An unusually large number of neighbors had come, especially the poor of the area.
Eyes of most people were wet. One young man was crying bitterly as if his own mother had died. Meghraj ji was curious. He went to the young man and asked, “You seem to feel my sister’s death very deeply, why is that?”
“Brother, how can I possibly express my grief? Your sister was like my real mother. I am an ordinary vegetable seller in the Bambewala Khu area. I started my business at a very young age. We were very poor then. Somehow we scraped together a few rupees and I started selling veggies placed over a gunnysack spread on the ground by the roadside. Your sister used to come to buy veggies from me even though there were many better shops nearby.”
“One day your sister asked me why I had such a meager stock to sell. She was concerned that my income from the sale must also be small. She knew I had parents and siblings to provide for and on income from my tiny stock it must be hard. She asked me why I did not bring larger stock to sell. I told her I did not have the money to buy more. She did not say anything but I could see that she was planning something in her mind. Two days later when she came to buy veggies she gave me an envelope with 100 rupees in it. In those days, for a poor man like me, this was a huge sum.”
“I was dumb struck with this windfall of generosity. From that day I began to worship her as a goddess. With bigger capital I began to expand my business. This kind lady had fired my zeal up. Partly to please her I put all my energy into the business. Sometimes I restocked my shop 3 times in a day. Soon I had enough money to rent a shop and then even to buy that property. This pleased your sister very much. At the time of returning her money I wanted to pay interest. But she refused it. Due to the generosity of your sister I am a successful businessman today and have a happy family. My regret is that I could not do anything for her when she was ill. I told the doctor to take all my blood if that would save her life, but my blood was not of the right kind.”
Pushpa’s husband had a small income from minor work in the textile market. From the money she got for buying food for the family she put aside a few paise every day. It is this money that she gave to the vegetable man. She must have helped many others in a similar manner, for this was her nature. No one ever knew because she did not tell any one.
She never gathered much to keep for herself but she knew the importance of sharing with those who had less than her. She knew that it was nobler to scatter than to hoard.
Partap
June 16, 2007
Karnataka State Chief Minister
Karnataka State Chief Minister
For several weeks we have been hearing about Karnataka Chief Minister, H. D. Kumaraswamy’s visits and night halts in villages. Farmers in some villages were in great difficulty because of failure of sugar mills to buy sugarcane on time. Several were driven to commit suicide. There are of course a variety of problems villagers have in their lives and the government machinery is unable to deliver timely help due to inefficiency and corruption. Young Kumaraswamy was moved to go to the affected areas to find out what was going on and to learn what he could do to help.
This is what he learned from these visits:
“Even as Chief Minister I am helpless in solving some of the problems faced by the people.”
“I did not learn a thing from the third floor of Vidhan Sauda (state legislative assembly) nor from any senior officers in the Government. I learned a lot from the people of the villages I stayed in. I am happy that I am away from my office in Bangalore for the last 15 days. I could travel far and wide from Bidar to Chamrajanagar and understand the problems of the people.”
“I heard of youths falling into the traps laid by Naxalites because the Government had failed to provide them jobs. Even the funds sanctioned for pension of widows had been misappropriated.”
“Copra prices fell steeply. Farmers were in soup. I released money for direct purchase of Copra from farmers. But it was the traders who got the benefit.”
“Banks in the rural areas are unable to respond to the schemes of the Government. I issued a cheque for Rs. 50,000 to a woman for hospital expenses in January. She could not encash it till April, when I intervened. Banks turned her away as she could not provide proof of identity. She did not have even a ration card.”
(Quoted from a front-page report in daily newspaper The Hindu of June 4, 2007.)
Kumaraswamy spent more than 32 nights in villages and tribal settlements. Inspired by what he learned from these visits he also met and talked directly with groups of liberated Devadasis, auto drivers of Bangalore and other struggling communities of the poor. He feels that all his reading of books and reports of Government officials are shallow in comparison to knowledge he gained by direct contact with the people.
The Chief Minister was so moved that he has decided to quit his office much earlier than due. This kind of daring, honest admissions and change of heart are so rare among politicians. Kumaraswamy has set a very valuable and convincing precedent for other public functionaries. I write them as a Saturday story because think the events are worth sharing with you friends.
Partap
June 9, 2007
For several weeks we have been hearing about Karnataka Chief Minister, H. D. Kumaraswamy’s visits and night halts in villages. Farmers in some villages were in great difficulty because of failure of sugar mills to buy sugarcane on time. Several were driven to commit suicide. There are of course a variety of problems villagers have in their lives and the government machinery is unable to deliver timely help due to inefficiency and corruption. Young Kumaraswamy was moved to go to the affected areas to find out what was going on and to learn what he could do to help.
This is what he learned from these visits:
“Even as Chief Minister I am helpless in solving some of the problems faced by the people.”
“I did not learn a thing from the third floor of Vidhan Sauda (state legislative assembly) nor from any senior officers in the Government. I learned a lot from the people of the villages I stayed in. I am happy that I am away from my office in Bangalore for the last 15 days. I could travel far and wide from Bidar to Chamrajanagar and understand the problems of the people.”
“I heard of youths falling into the traps laid by Naxalites because the Government had failed to provide them jobs. Even the funds sanctioned for pension of widows had been misappropriated.”
“Copra prices fell steeply. Farmers were in soup. I released money for direct purchase of Copra from farmers. But it was the traders who got the benefit.”
“Banks in the rural areas are unable to respond to the schemes of the Government. I issued a cheque for Rs. 50,000 to a woman for hospital expenses in January. She could not encash it till April, when I intervened. Banks turned her away as she could not provide proof of identity. She did not have even a ration card.”
(Quoted from a front-page report in daily newspaper The Hindu of June 4, 2007.)
Kumaraswamy spent more than 32 nights in villages and tribal settlements. Inspired by what he learned from these visits he also met and talked directly with groups of liberated Devadasis, auto drivers of Bangalore and other struggling communities of the poor. He feels that all his reading of books and reports of Government officials are shallow in comparison to knowledge he gained by direct contact with the people.
The Chief Minister was so moved that he has decided to quit his office much earlier than due. This kind of daring, honest admissions and change of heart are so rare among politicians. Kumaraswamy has set a very valuable and convincing precedent for other public functionaries. I write them as a Saturday story because think the events are worth sharing with you friends.
Partap
June 9, 2007
My American Guru
My American Guru
I talked of my primary school teacher May 5th. Another great teacher came into my life in Sept 1960. His name is Morris E. Opler. To this day I remember my first meeting with him in his office in Morrill Hall at Cornell University. He was sitting at his desk seriously writing. He looked up, greeted me with a smile and said, “How was the trip? I hear a hurricane greeted you to this country.” “No damage done, spice to the long dull Journey.” I answered. We had chatted for about a minute and a half when pointing to a pile at a corner of his desk he said, “Those things are for you, Satish will explain them.”
The interview was over and we filed out of the office. The pile contained copies of textbooks the publishers send for the professor and his assistant. The second strange item was a stack of about 200 (3x5) reference cards. They were incomplete and I was supposed to fill the gaps by checking in the library. I could see that my work had begun. In a short and mostly mute interview I had received a string of messages: you are here to work, be precise in word and deed, you need to earn your place in the world academic community.
The books were useful to read and keep for many years, but to deal with the cards was tough. Satish showed me around Cornell’s mammoth labyrinth library and introduced me to a reference librarian Mrs. Eckholm. I took her offer of help seriously and for about a month took it greedily. To this day I vividly remember that motherly lady’s generous help. She never told me to walk on my own two feet for she had other work to do. But by her patient help she made me fit to be a graduate student.
In my very 1st semester I took one of Opler’s courses for credit and wrote my first term paper. Two days later when I entered his office I sensed concern and anger on his face. He pushed my paper across the table and said, “You need to work hard to improve your writing skill. Go over my comments and come see me at 5:00pm.” The paper was more red than black and I wondered what I had gotten myself into by coming to Cornell. In the evening we went over the paper word by word and Opler explained my mistakes and showed me how to correct and avoid them. Both of us went to the cafeteria for supper together. He told me writing was difficult for everyone. Even a top stylist in the field, like himself, had to go over his work 4 to 5 times. His wife Louise edited all his writing. From that day I began to see Opler as my Guru. Years later Louise helped me edit my dissertation. We worked together for nearly a month.
Professor Opler was a demanding and very strict committee chairman. When he doubted a student’s ability to go all the way through, he advised them to get a master’s degree and leave. Grad students in the department were literally scared of him. Undergraduates did not like his seemingly rambling lectures with carefully chosen precise words ‘like in a book.’ But they knew his stature, hid their feelings, and carried on. Some of course appreciated his great strengths. Once I failed to administer an exam to a class of his. Loudly grumbling students assembled in front of his office. I came to the scene and apologized for my mistake. Prof. Opler promised reexamination in 3 days. Some complained they would have to prepare again for the same test. He told them they had learned nothing if they could not remember it even for 3 days and sent them home.
Page 2
Most students thought him old styled in his work. For he looked at cultures in their entirety and tried to identify “themes” around which thinking and working patterns formed. But in the 60’s the times were fast changing. He once told me that no one cheered after he delivered his well thought out lecture to a meeting of demographers.
But they gave a loud approval to a youngster who presented detailed figures of how
much it would cost India to bribe poor people for vasectomy or tubectomy. I perhaps was old fashioned for I deeply admired Opler’s wisdom and painstaking work with tedious ethnographic detail.
Towards the end of my third year I had several vexing questions that nobody seemed to want to talk about. Dr. Opler did not seem to be the right person to discuss them with, but one day when he appeared to be in the right mood I decided to try. I said I wanted to discuss a couple of basic Anthropological questions. 1. All civilizations have failed and ended in sand. Why do we still think it is the greatest thing that ever happened to man? And 2. Why do we fail to see the great wisdom in the way the American Indians lived? Their cultures survived for 30 to 50 thousand years and could have continued for very much longer. They were content and at peace with nature around them. On the other hand we praise the Industrial Civilization that seems to act like a bull in a china shop.
Opler answered, I think the Apache and other American Indians lived very sensibly and their cultures were perfectly viable. It is sad that we Europeans destroyed them and did not learn much from them. I have defended the Apache in many court battles as an expert witness. But the damage is done. On the question of Civilizations I think you have a valid point. But people of all civilizations have thought that they were special and would survive for a long time. The time of these questions has not yet come. My advice to you is to leave them alone, prepare for the field study, write the dissertation, get the degree and find a job. There will perhaps be opportunities to pursue these questions later.
In those days professors and graduate students had a closer relationship than they seem to have now. Most students were poor and the professors watched over them. In summer months Opler often offered me work in his home garden at good wages. In my last year we were four in the family and my research grant was meager. Towards the end of each month we were eating potatoes, beans and chapattis. Opler heard of this and called me to his office. He asked why I had not told him. I said we do not think much of these temporary hardships. He immediately picked up the phone, talked with someone in the university administrative office, and nearly doubled my monthly research grant. Professor Opler helped me to cross all normal grad school hurdles such as finding monies, equipment on loan, field-research grants, and finally even a job.
Partap
June 2, 2007
Dear Partap
I'm honored to feature in your Opler memorial! I wonder why Opler didn't arouse as dramatic an admiration in me. Partly I think it the year and a half I spent with the Freeds in the village near Delhi, so after that Opler simply fitted into a familiar image of the hard-driving academic. But also because I veered off to Africa, I was exposed perhaps to wider range of academics. But of course I learned much from him and received from him countless kindnesses.
Thank you for reminding me of the old man. I just did a google search for him. In case you didn't know, he died on May 13, 1996. May his soul rest in peace.
As ever
Satish
I talked of my primary school teacher May 5th. Another great teacher came into my life in Sept 1960. His name is Morris E. Opler. To this day I remember my first meeting with him in his office in Morrill Hall at Cornell University. He was sitting at his desk seriously writing. He looked up, greeted me with a smile and said, “How was the trip? I hear a hurricane greeted you to this country.” “No damage done, spice to the long dull Journey.” I answered. We had chatted for about a minute and a half when pointing to a pile at a corner of his desk he said, “Those things are for you, Satish will explain them.”
The interview was over and we filed out of the office. The pile contained copies of textbooks the publishers send for the professor and his assistant. The second strange item was a stack of about 200 (3x5) reference cards. They were incomplete and I was supposed to fill the gaps by checking in the library. I could see that my work had begun. In a short and mostly mute interview I had received a string of messages: you are here to work, be precise in word and deed, you need to earn your place in the world academic community.
The books were useful to read and keep for many years, but to deal with the cards was tough. Satish showed me around Cornell’s mammoth labyrinth library and introduced me to a reference librarian Mrs. Eckholm. I took her offer of help seriously and for about a month took it greedily. To this day I vividly remember that motherly lady’s generous help. She never told me to walk on my own two feet for she had other work to do. But by her patient help she made me fit to be a graduate student.
In my very 1st semester I took one of Opler’s courses for credit and wrote my first term paper. Two days later when I entered his office I sensed concern and anger on his face. He pushed my paper across the table and said, “You need to work hard to improve your writing skill. Go over my comments and come see me at 5:00pm.” The paper was more red than black and I wondered what I had gotten myself into by coming to Cornell. In the evening we went over the paper word by word and Opler explained my mistakes and showed me how to correct and avoid them. Both of us went to the cafeteria for supper together. He told me writing was difficult for everyone. Even a top stylist in the field, like himself, had to go over his work 4 to 5 times. His wife Louise edited all his writing. From that day I began to see Opler as my Guru. Years later Louise helped me edit my dissertation. We worked together for nearly a month.
Professor Opler was a demanding and very strict committee chairman. When he doubted a student’s ability to go all the way through, he advised them to get a master’s degree and leave. Grad students in the department were literally scared of him. Undergraduates did not like his seemingly rambling lectures with carefully chosen precise words ‘like in a book.’ But they knew his stature, hid their feelings, and carried on. Some of course appreciated his great strengths. Once I failed to administer an exam to a class of his. Loudly grumbling students assembled in front of his office. I came to the scene and apologized for my mistake. Prof. Opler promised reexamination in 3 days. Some complained they would have to prepare again for the same test. He told them they had learned nothing if they could not remember it even for 3 days and sent them home.
Page 2
Most students thought him old styled in his work. For he looked at cultures in their entirety and tried to identify “themes” around which thinking and working patterns formed. But in the 60’s the times were fast changing. He once told me that no one cheered after he delivered his well thought out lecture to a meeting of demographers.
But they gave a loud approval to a youngster who presented detailed figures of how
much it would cost India to bribe poor people for vasectomy or tubectomy. I perhaps was old fashioned for I deeply admired Opler’s wisdom and painstaking work with tedious ethnographic detail.
Towards the end of my third year I had several vexing questions that nobody seemed to want to talk about. Dr. Opler did not seem to be the right person to discuss them with, but one day when he appeared to be in the right mood I decided to try. I said I wanted to discuss a couple of basic Anthropological questions. 1. All civilizations have failed and ended in sand. Why do we still think it is the greatest thing that ever happened to man? And 2. Why do we fail to see the great wisdom in the way the American Indians lived? Their cultures survived for 30 to 50 thousand years and could have continued for very much longer. They were content and at peace with nature around them. On the other hand we praise the Industrial Civilization that seems to act like a bull in a china shop.
Opler answered, I think the Apache and other American Indians lived very sensibly and their cultures were perfectly viable. It is sad that we Europeans destroyed them and did not learn much from them. I have defended the Apache in many court battles as an expert witness. But the damage is done. On the question of Civilizations I think you have a valid point. But people of all civilizations have thought that they were special and would survive for a long time. The time of these questions has not yet come. My advice to you is to leave them alone, prepare for the field study, write the dissertation, get the degree and find a job. There will perhaps be opportunities to pursue these questions later.
In those days professors and graduate students had a closer relationship than they seem to have now. Most students were poor and the professors watched over them. In summer months Opler often offered me work in his home garden at good wages. In my last year we were four in the family and my research grant was meager. Towards the end of each month we were eating potatoes, beans and chapattis. Opler heard of this and called me to his office. He asked why I had not told him. I said we do not think much of these temporary hardships. He immediately picked up the phone, talked with someone in the university administrative office, and nearly doubled my monthly research grant. Professor Opler helped me to cross all normal grad school hurdles such as finding monies, equipment on loan, field-research grants, and finally even a job.
Partap
June 2, 2007
Dear Partap
I'm honored to feature in your Opler memorial! I wonder why Opler didn't arouse as dramatic an admiration in me. Partly I think it the year and a half I spent with the Freeds in the village near Delhi, so after that Opler simply fitted into a familiar image of the hard-driving academic. But also because I veered off to Africa, I was exposed perhaps to wider range of academics. But of course I learned much from him and received from him countless kindnesses.
Thank you for reminding me of the old man. I just did a google search for him. In case you didn't know, he died on May 13, 1996. May his soul rest in peace.
As ever
Satish
God’s Justice
God’s Justice
Janardan was a prankster from childhood but he was a good lad and took care not to hurt anyone by his actions. His peers liked his pranks, adults were not always amused, teachers were sometimes annoyed but knowing that he had a good heart did not punish him.
He grew up, finished college, got a job with a bank and married his wife Lakshmi. She was an excellent homemaker, but did not produce any children. They had a cat, owned the apartment in which they lived, but did not own much else of value.
Janardan suddenly fell ill and went on getting worse till his life was in danger. He prayed for help, “God, please spare my life. I will give everything I have for some good work if you heal me.” The prayer was heard and he began to feel better. Both husband and wife were happy.
Then the thought of his big pledge began to bother Janardan. He realized that he had made a mistake and would probably have to sell the house. This dilemma fully occupied him day and night. Then his prankster mind woke up and flashed a clever solution. He put up a sign announcing that his house was on sale.
On the appointed day and time many prospective buyers gathered outside his door. Janardan made a short speech: “Gentlemen and ladies, welcome. A house and a cat are being offered. The price of the house is One Rupee, and cat goes for Rupees 100,000. You have to buy both. Do not try to bargain or ask any questions. The offer is non-negotiable.”
People were puzzled. They could not think why the house was so cheap and the cat so expensive. After a few long moments of quiet a man spoke to declare that he would buy the house and the cat at the quoted price. Janardan agreed and the business was over. In a few days money was paid and the house occupied. The new owner had no use for the cat so he shewed her out.
Janardan went to the temple, bowed low before Lord Venkateshwa and put a single one-rupee coin in the puja tray. With folded hands he said, “Lord I promised the sale proceeds of he house. Here it is, sir.” The Lord appeared benevolently to smile; or that is what Janardan thought.
In a few days all was forgotten. Janaran bought a new house, Lakshmi set it up nicely and the couple began their new life in it. One day a strong earthquake toppled the house together with many others. Lakshmi was out of town but Janardan was buried in the rubble.
He was alive but badly injured and unable to move. For two days no one came to rescue him. He thought he would be forgotten and soon die. A few hours passed and he heard a meow and some fur rubbing against his arm. The old cat had found him. She eventually led the rescuers to Janardan and saved his life.
Janardan folded his hands to God and said, “Lord, your justice is infallible. I cheated you of the house and it has gone to you. Since I degraded it by putting low value on it, I cannot even complain. On the cat I put high value and by saving my life she has upped it far above what I got for her. Everything is back in place and thank you for your understanding and indulgence.”
Partap
May 12, 2007
Janardan was a prankster from childhood but he was a good lad and took care not to hurt anyone by his actions. His peers liked his pranks, adults were not always amused, teachers were sometimes annoyed but knowing that he had a good heart did not punish him.
He grew up, finished college, got a job with a bank and married his wife Lakshmi. She was an excellent homemaker, but did not produce any children. They had a cat, owned the apartment in which they lived, but did not own much else of value.
Janardan suddenly fell ill and went on getting worse till his life was in danger. He prayed for help, “God, please spare my life. I will give everything I have for some good work if you heal me.” The prayer was heard and he began to feel better. Both husband and wife were happy.
Then the thought of his big pledge began to bother Janardan. He realized that he had made a mistake and would probably have to sell the house. This dilemma fully occupied him day and night. Then his prankster mind woke up and flashed a clever solution. He put up a sign announcing that his house was on sale.
On the appointed day and time many prospective buyers gathered outside his door. Janardan made a short speech: “Gentlemen and ladies, welcome. A house and a cat are being offered. The price of the house is One Rupee, and cat goes for Rupees 100,000. You have to buy both. Do not try to bargain or ask any questions. The offer is non-negotiable.”
People were puzzled. They could not think why the house was so cheap and the cat so expensive. After a few long moments of quiet a man spoke to declare that he would buy the house and the cat at the quoted price. Janardan agreed and the business was over. In a few days money was paid and the house occupied. The new owner had no use for the cat so he shewed her out.
Janardan went to the temple, bowed low before Lord Venkateshwa and put a single one-rupee coin in the puja tray. With folded hands he said, “Lord I promised the sale proceeds of he house. Here it is, sir.” The Lord appeared benevolently to smile; or that is what Janardan thought.
In a few days all was forgotten. Janaran bought a new house, Lakshmi set it up nicely and the couple began their new life in it. One day a strong earthquake toppled the house together with many others. Lakshmi was out of town but Janardan was buried in the rubble.
He was alive but badly injured and unable to move. For two days no one came to rescue him. He thought he would be forgotten and soon die. A few hours passed and he heard a meow and some fur rubbing against his arm. The old cat had found him. She eventually led the rescuers to Janardan and saved his life.
Janardan folded his hands to God and said, “Lord, your justice is infallible. I cheated you of the house and it has gone to you. Since I degraded it by putting low value on it, I cannot even complain. On the cat I put high value and by saving my life she has upped it far above what I got for her. Everything is back in place and thank you for your understanding and indulgence.”
Partap
May 12, 2007
My First School Teacher
My First School Teacher
Today I am going to talk about a remarkable primary school teacher. He taught me for 4 years in the 1930’s. Even after 65 years a few of my memories of him are sharp as if they were of yesterday. Many, however, have blurred. My contact with him began in 1936 when I entered the DAV primary school in Karachi at age 5 and ended four years later in 1940 when I moved to high school. His name was Hazarilal, same as my father’s. He too had come from Punjab 3 earlier. The school was new and classes small with 20 or less children in each.
He was a fair, tall and handsome man of about 25. With his thin metal rimmed glasses he looked to me like a revered scholar. All this and the lovely smile covering his face attracted me to him from the day I entered his class. I do not recall being afraid of school, but whatever little fear lurked in my little head vanished in a few days. In the subsequent 4 years I enjoyed school and surprised my parents by not wanting to miss it even for a day. Luckily for me this favorite teacher of mine remained my teacher for all four years as he kept moving up in order to leave the lower classes to new teachers.
I still remember that we started with a lesson in calligraphy. Our teacher was very good in it and wrote for us first four letters of the Devanagari script on the board. Then he came to each one of us and printed the letters on our clay washed wooden slates. I watched him very closely and imbibed the magic and skill of his thin, long fingers. In about a month he taught us the whole Devanagari alphabet and then started drilling us in the Arabic script in the same patient and meticulous manner.
He put arithmetic in the second place and taught it with great interest. He made us memorize multiplication tables from two to twenty. Very slowly he began teaching us simple calculations. To make it interesting he used seeds, rocks or marbles. I remember collecting smooth little rocks and bringing them to school. By the time of our moving to the high school we could work out prices, compound interest and many other computations used in daily life. I became so interested that all through high school math was my strongest subject.
Another thing our teacher taught with great Zest was geography. He used wall maps, photos, magazine pictures and much else to put life into the subject. I still remember that I bought a very expensive glossy atlas in Urdu. Names and facts I learned from this remarkable atlas have remained vivid in my head all these years and during my travel all over the world pictures enjoyed in childhood have flashed through my mind.
In addition to teaching the prescribed syllabus well, our teacher led and encouraged us into the world of the Vedas. We regularly participated in the weekly homa (Vedic fire ritual) and chanted shlokas that we had memorized. My repertoire of Vedic shlokas had grown so large that to impress relatives and strangers I sometimes, foolishly, recited them at wrong places and on inappropriate occasions. Nevertheless, this early grounding in the robust, scientific, far seeing insights of our ancestors (the Vedic seers) remain to this day my unshakable intellectual and spiritual foundation.
Many years later, in 1948-50, my younger sister and I lived in a small town named Batala near the Pakistan border. One day I was talking with our next-door neighbor, a young lady named Gargi Gaind. On hearing that I had lived in Karachi she perked and said: “my elder brother Hazarilal was in Karachi. He was tall, fair, intelligent and cheerful. After a tiff with someone in the family he ran away from home in 1933 or perhaps 1934. We heard that he was teaching in a DAV primary school in Karachi. He must have died during the turbulent years of 1947-48. Otherwise he would have returned home by now.”
It pleased Gargi to hear that I knew and revered him as my teacher and was most grateful for his gifts.
Partap
May 05, 2007
Today I am going to talk about a remarkable primary school teacher. He taught me for 4 years in the 1930’s. Even after 65 years a few of my memories of him are sharp as if they were of yesterday. Many, however, have blurred. My contact with him began in 1936 when I entered the DAV primary school in Karachi at age 5 and ended four years later in 1940 when I moved to high school. His name was Hazarilal, same as my father’s. He too had come from Punjab 3 earlier. The school was new and classes small with 20 or less children in each.
He was a fair, tall and handsome man of about 25. With his thin metal rimmed glasses he looked to me like a revered scholar. All this and the lovely smile covering his face attracted me to him from the day I entered his class. I do not recall being afraid of school, but whatever little fear lurked in my little head vanished in a few days. In the subsequent 4 years I enjoyed school and surprised my parents by not wanting to miss it even for a day. Luckily for me this favorite teacher of mine remained my teacher for all four years as he kept moving up in order to leave the lower classes to new teachers.
I still remember that we started with a lesson in calligraphy. Our teacher was very good in it and wrote for us first four letters of the Devanagari script on the board. Then he came to each one of us and printed the letters on our clay washed wooden slates. I watched him very closely and imbibed the magic and skill of his thin, long fingers. In about a month he taught us the whole Devanagari alphabet and then started drilling us in the Arabic script in the same patient and meticulous manner.
He put arithmetic in the second place and taught it with great interest. He made us memorize multiplication tables from two to twenty. Very slowly he began teaching us simple calculations. To make it interesting he used seeds, rocks or marbles. I remember collecting smooth little rocks and bringing them to school. By the time of our moving to the high school we could work out prices, compound interest and many other computations used in daily life. I became so interested that all through high school math was my strongest subject.
Another thing our teacher taught with great Zest was geography. He used wall maps, photos, magazine pictures and much else to put life into the subject. I still remember that I bought a very expensive glossy atlas in Urdu. Names and facts I learned from this remarkable atlas have remained vivid in my head all these years and during my travel all over the world pictures enjoyed in childhood have flashed through my mind.
In addition to teaching the prescribed syllabus well, our teacher led and encouraged us into the world of the Vedas. We regularly participated in the weekly homa (Vedic fire ritual) and chanted shlokas that we had memorized. My repertoire of Vedic shlokas had grown so large that to impress relatives and strangers I sometimes, foolishly, recited them at wrong places and on inappropriate occasions. Nevertheless, this early grounding in the robust, scientific, far seeing insights of our ancestors (the Vedic seers) remain to this day my unshakable intellectual and spiritual foundation.
Many years later, in 1948-50, my younger sister and I lived in a small town named Batala near the Pakistan border. One day I was talking with our next-door neighbor, a young lady named Gargi Gaind. On hearing that I had lived in Karachi she perked and said: “my elder brother Hazarilal was in Karachi. He was tall, fair, intelligent and cheerful. After a tiff with someone in the family he ran away from home in 1933 or perhaps 1934. We heard that he was teaching in a DAV primary school in Karachi. He must have died during the turbulent years of 1947-48. Otherwise he would have returned home by now.”
It pleased Gargi to hear that I knew and revered him as my teacher and was most grateful for his gifts.
Partap
May 05, 2007
My First Train Journey Alone
My First Train Journey Alone
I think the year was 1942, I was only 12 and in the sixth grade in a high school in Karachi. After two year of repeated asking I had finally been allowed to travel alone to our joint family home in a town called Jaranwala in Punjab. The total distance from my Karachi to the destination was about 1400 kilometers. I was to change trains twice. The time of my dream had come; I was in the train alone, exited and happy as a lark.
I was in the 3rd class, the lowest of four in those days. The coach had two sections; each had four unpadded wooden benches fitted lengthwise. A luggage rack was provided above the benches. I was in the middle bench facing Southside windows. To my right sat a Sindhi young lady who, as I overheard her conversation with a fellow passenger, was a teacher in Karachi’s most prestigious English medium Grammar School. She was going to Hyderabad about 5 hours away.
Her name was Usha. She was friendly to me and two other children sitting nearby. It turned out that all three of us were from Hindi medium schools and had just begun to learn English as a foreign language. She made friends with us and asked if we would like to speak in English with her. We talked mainly in Hindi but used a few words of English we had learned. One of the boys bragged a bit too highly and Usha madam asked me, “Do you think he is telling the truth.” I understood, but could not think of correct English answer and said, “He speak wrong.” Usha corrected me, “You might say, he is lying; or more politely, he is exaggerating.” All of us liked Usha didi and we conversed a lot during our time together. We not only learned many new English words from her but also a strong interest in the language itself.
After changing trains twice I finally reached Jaranwala. My cousins had come to the station to receive me. We were happy to see each other. I was the happiest because they praised me for coming alone and made me feel like a hero. My younger cousin Raghunath (two years younger) showed his amazement at my feat all over his face. I became his idol and he trailed me wherever I went. He went with me even to the canal where he knew he was not permitted to go without adult supervision. My ability to swim raised my stature even higher in his eyes. He did not believe me when I told him I had learned to swim alone without permission of parents.
One morning I was taking a bath. A Nepali servant boy about my age was priming the hand pump. To attract my attention he joked and laughed as he pumped and often skipped pumping. I was not used to servants in the house and thought that servants were supposed implicitly to obey their masters. When he ignored my repeated calls, I got up and hit him. He began to howl which attracted my uncle to the scene. My uncle quietly settled the dispute and later gently reprimanded and told me that I should not have hit a servant who was just a child like me. I felt very embarrassed and the lesson got permanently engraved in my head.
I went on long hikes with my cousin Raghunath and engaged in many other contraband actions like stealing fruit from an orchard and sugar cane and carrots from the fields. We watched birds and climbed trees to peep over their nests. When I visited Raghunath a couple of years ago we remembered these and many other daring exploits of our boyhood days.
I immensely enjoyed the visit and for the rest of my life learned to like small town living. I also thank my father for letting me travel alone at such a young age.
Partap
April 28, 2007
I think the year was 1942, I was only 12 and in the sixth grade in a high school in Karachi. After two year of repeated asking I had finally been allowed to travel alone to our joint family home in a town called Jaranwala in Punjab. The total distance from my Karachi to the destination was about 1400 kilometers. I was to change trains twice. The time of my dream had come; I was in the train alone, exited and happy as a lark.
I was in the 3rd class, the lowest of four in those days. The coach had two sections; each had four unpadded wooden benches fitted lengthwise. A luggage rack was provided above the benches. I was in the middle bench facing Southside windows. To my right sat a Sindhi young lady who, as I overheard her conversation with a fellow passenger, was a teacher in Karachi’s most prestigious English medium Grammar School. She was going to Hyderabad about 5 hours away.
Her name was Usha. She was friendly to me and two other children sitting nearby. It turned out that all three of us were from Hindi medium schools and had just begun to learn English as a foreign language. She made friends with us and asked if we would like to speak in English with her. We talked mainly in Hindi but used a few words of English we had learned. One of the boys bragged a bit too highly and Usha madam asked me, “Do you think he is telling the truth.” I understood, but could not think of correct English answer and said, “He speak wrong.” Usha corrected me, “You might say, he is lying; or more politely, he is exaggerating.” All of us liked Usha didi and we conversed a lot during our time together. We not only learned many new English words from her but also a strong interest in the language itself.
After changing trains twice I finally reached Jaranwala. My cousins had come to the station to receive me. We were happy to see each other. I was the happiest because they praised me for coming alone and made me feel like a hero. My younger cousin Raghunath (two years younger) showed his amazement at my feat all over his face. I became his idol and he trailed me wherever I went. He went with me even to the canal where he knew he was not permitted to go without adult supervision. My ability to swim raised my stature even higher in his eyes. He did not believe me when I told him I had learned to swim alone without permission of parents.
One morning I was taking a bath. A Nepali servant boy about my age was priming the hand pump. To attract my attention he joked and laughed as he pumped and often skipped pumping. I was not used to servants in the house and thought that servants were supposed implicitly to obey their masters. When he ignored my repeated calls, I got up and hit him. He began to howl which attracted my uncle to the scene. My uncle quietly settled the dispute and later gently reprimanded and told me that I should not have hit a servant who was just a child like me. I felt very embarrassed and the lesson got permanently engraved in my head.
I went on long hikes with my cousin Raghunath and engaged in many other contraband actions like stealing fruit from an orchard and sugar cane and carrots from the fields. We watched birds and climbed trees to peep over their nests. When I visited Raghunath a couple of years ago we remembered these and many other daring exploits of our boyhood days.
I immensely enjoyed the visit and for the rest of my life learned to like small town living. I also thank my father for letting me travel alone at such a young age.
Partap
April 28, 2007
My First Fasting Experience
My First Fasting Experience
Today I am going to share with you my first and most remarkable fasting experience. But first I must say a few words about your reactions to the story of last week.
Many friends liked the fasting article of last week. Some called the healing magical; others said it is a miracle. In my view it is neither. It is simply an illustration of the wisdom and healing power of the immune system installed by nature in our bodies. All our drugs try only to augment the real healer, body’s immune system. If body’s healing power breaks down, no medicine will work. Also, there is no need to learn much about fasting, one must try it out. It works automatically like digestion, elimination of waste products, perspiration, etc. If anything does go wrong body will tell by reaction of pain, nausea, other discomforts. If dogs and cattle can do it, we can too. Here is the story.
Together with my wife Sudesh, my sister, and some other close relatives I visited Badrinath in the Himalayas in the summer of 1991. We went in my jeep and I was the sole driver. Going was tough on mountain roads. We stopped to eat and sleep in different places along the way. At times beds were uncomfortable and food poor. I picked up some bug that upset my stomach. Ayurvedic medication I took did not help. This went on for nearly two weeks. After this journey I traveled 2500 kilometers by train to Tamilnadu.
I arrived at Atheetha Ashram with a bad stomach. The head of the Ashram, Swami Sahajananda, was an ardent believer in the superb healing power of the body and fasting as a method of evoking it. He suggested that I fast for 3 days and brushed aside my plea that I had never fasted for more than a day. I was given a light meal in the evening and told to start the fast the next day. No food was to be eaten, not even fruit or coconut water. I was to remain in bed and avoid doing any work, not even reading. Once or twice a day I was allowed a stroll around my small hut, but all other exercises were proscribed. I must fast for 3 days like this, he advised. While in bed I was to closely watch both the body and the mind.
I experienced change of moods, restlessness, headache, fever, and other minor discomforts, but I survived quite honorably in the opinion of my guide. I was ravenously hungry on the third day and was waiting to eat, but after checking me Swamiji suggested that I should continue the fast for another two days. According to him my headache and fever indicated that the body had begun the healing work in earnest but needed another 2 days of fasting. I mustered all my courage and agreed.
In the evening of the 5th day Swamiji recommended that I continue fasting for 3 more days. He hinted that I might be on the verge of a lifetime experience. I agreed. On the 8th day I broke the fast with two pieces of steamed ridge gourd. They tasted like nectar and to this day it is my favorite vegetable! My first long fast was finally over and it was a pleasant experience.
In two days of near normal eating my stomach began to function almost as usual, but I had a feeling that something strange was still going on in it. I needed to go to the toilet 2 to 3 times a day and was passing two distinctly different kinds of fecal matter. One was nearly normal but the other was gummy, shiny, red stuff that looked like flesh. I suspected it to be dysentery and thought I was emitting blood and bits of muck. Swamiji wanted to see it.
Anticipated this I had left my gift to the soil uncovered. Both of us closely examined the red stuff. I tried to spread it with a stick like the normal feces but it was old, gummy and sticky. It did not spread easily.
Swamiji knew what it was; muck that sticks to the inner wall of the intestines. He told me that intestines of almost all human being have this accumulation. In some cases there is as much as 2000 grams of it, and such individuals suffer chronic stomach ailments of many kinds. I probably did not have a huge accumulation but my body had decided to clean it out. Apparently, the stomach complaint I came to the ashram with was only a minor problem and was healed easily in the first 3 days. Also apparently there was no other serious ailment calling for urgent attention. I was still fasting and not using up most of body’s energy for digesting food. So, making best use of this rare opportunity my wise body focused on scrubbing the intestine to improve its efficiency.
Cleansing of intestines went on for one full month. Every day I was able to feel how far the work had reached. Started from the base of the stomach the scrubber worked all the way to the pocket above the anus.
When it was over, I felt as if my whole body had been transformed and made lighter. My stomach moved more smoothly than ever before, absorption of food increased, and I felt rejuvenated. Sixteen years later I still feel the effect of that amazing experience.
Is it a miracle? No, it is not. This is normal work that body would do if given the chance. One marvels, however, that such power and wisdom exists in the body.
This experience changed my understanding of both body and healing forever. Since then I have fasted many times for minor illnesses and recovered fully most of the time. Fasting did not work when I was suffering heavy colds and was traveling and living as guest in the houses of friends. Apparently, it works best in ones own home or under able supervision in a place where one is totally relaxed. Also, it is helpful if one has the time to stretch the fast if needed. For best results complete surrender of the body to the body is needed. Fasting is also a spiritual experience.
Partap. April 21, 2007
Responses from friends
Babak Kardan wrote:
When I was in Toronto I attended a seminar by a naturopath who had written a book about cleaning the intestines, and she actually showed us pictures of what you describe -- in fact she said even a surgeon's blade could not cut through this material, it could even contain material (such as undigested popcorn kernels) that were eaten years ago!
Suguna Krishnamurthy wrote:
Thanks for the mail Pratapji
I liked reading both the stories and could relate well as it was actually
happening to you.
UG used to say that the body is immortal and is in the now.... and its
intelligence is what cannot be touched by thought....
I am inspired to fast at least for a day ... sometime soon.
Suguna
Today I am going to share with you my first and most remarkable fasting experience. But first I must say a few words about your reactions to the story of last week.
Many friends liked the fasting article of last week. Some called the healing magical; others said it is a miracle. In my view it is neither. It is simply an illustration of the wisdom and healing power of the immune system installed by nature in our bodies. All our drugs try only to augment the real healer, body’s immune system. If body’s healing power breaks down, no medicine will work. Also, there is no need to learn much about fasting, one must try it out. It works automatically like digestion, elimination of waste products, perspiration, etc. If anything does go wrong body will tell by reaction of pain, nausea, other discomforts. If dogs and cattle can do it, we can too. Here is the story.
Together with my wife Sudesh, my sister, and some other close relatives I visited Badrinath in the Himalayas in the summer of 1991. We went in my jeep and I was the sole driver. Going was tough on mountain roads. We stopped to eat and sleep in different places along the way. At times beds were uncomfortable and food poor. I picked up some bug that upset my stomach. Ayurvedic medication I took did not help. This went on for nearly two weeks. After this journey I traveled 2500 kilometers by train to Tamilnadu.
I arrived at Atheetha Ashram with a bad stomach. The head of the Ashram, Swami Sahajananda, was an ardent believer in the superb healing power of the body and fasting as a method of evoking it. He suggested that I fast for 3 days and brushed aside my plea that I had never fasted for more than a day. I was given a light meal in the evening and told to start the fast the next day. No food was to be eaten, not even fruit or coconut water. I was to remain in bed and avoid doing any work, not even reading. Once or twice a day I was allowed a stroll around my small hut, but all other exercises were proscribed. I must fast for 3 days like this, he advised. While in bed I was to closely watch both the body and the mind.
I experienced change of moods, restlessness, headache, fever, and other minor discomforts, but I survived quite honorably in the opinion of my guide. I was ravenously hungry on the third day and was waiting to eat, but after checking me Swamiji suggested that I should continue the fast for another two days. According to him my headache and fever indicated that the body had begun the healing work in earnest but needed another 2 days of fasting. I mustered all my courage and agreed.
In the evening of the 5th day Swamiji recommended that I continue fasting for 3 more days. He hinted that I might be on the verge of a lifetime experience. I agreed. On the 8th day I broke the fast with two pieces of steamed ridge gourd. They tasted like nectar and to this day it is my favorite vegetable! My first long fast was finally over and it was a pleasant experience.
In two days of near normal eating my stomach began to function almost as usual, but I had a feeling that something strange was still going on in it. I needed to go to the toilet 2 to 3 times a day and was passing two distinctly different kinds of fecal matter. One was nearly normal but the other was gummy, shiny, red stuff that looked like flesh. I suspected it to be dysentery and thought I was emitting blood and bits of muck. Swamiji wanted to see it.
Anticipated this I had left my gift to the soil uncovered. Both of us closely examined the red stuff. I tried to spread it with a stick like the normal feces but it was old, gummy and sticky. It did not spread easily.
Swamiji knew what it was; muck that sticks to the inner wall of the intestines. He told me that intestines of almost all human being have this accumulation. In some cases there is as much as 2000 grams of it, and such individuals suffer chronic stomach ailments of many kinds. I probably did not have a huge accumulation but my body had decided to clean it out. Apparently, the stomach complaint I came to the ashram with was only a minor problem and was healed easily in the first 3 days. Also apparently there was no other serious ailment calling for urgent attention. I was still fasting and not using up most of body’s energy for digesting food. So, making best use of this rare opportunity my wise body focused on scrubbing the intestine to improve its efficiency.
Cleansing of intestines went on for one full month. Every day I was able to feel how far the work had reached. Started from the base of the stomach the scrubber worked all the way to the pocket above the anus.
When it was over, I felt as if my whole body had been transformed and made lighter. My stomach moved more smoothly than ever before, absorption of food increased, and I felt rejuvenated. Sixteen years later I still feel the effect of that amazing experience.
Is it a miracle? No, it is not. This is normal work that body would do if given the chance. One marvels, however, that such power and wisdom exists in the body.
This experience changed my understanding of both body and healing forever. Since then I have fasted many times for minor illnesses and recovered fully most of the time. Fasting did not work when I was suffering heavy colds and was traveling and living as guest in the houses of friends. Apparently, it works best in ones own home or under able supervision in a place where one is totally relaxed. Also, it is helpful if one has the time to stretch the fast if needed. For best results complete surrender of the body to the body is needed. Fasting is also a spiritual experience.
Partap. April 21, 2007
Responses from friends
Babak Kardan wrote:
When I was in Toronto I attended a seminar by a naturopath who had written a book about cleaning the intestines, and she actually showed us pictures of what you describe -- in fact she said even a surgeon's blade could not cut through this material, it could even contain material (such as undigested popcorn kernels) that were eaten years ago!
Suguna Krishnamurthy wrote:
Thanks for the mail Pratapji
I liked reading both the stories and could relate well as it was actually
happening to you.
UG used to say that the body is immortal and is in the now.... and its
intelligence is what cannot be touched by thought....
I am inspired to fast at least for a day ... sometime soon.
Suguna
Fasting for Healing and Toning the Body
Fasting for Healing and Toning the Body
From noon last Thursday till noon today (Sunday) I fasted. I did not eat anything, but drank water whenever I felt thirsty. During this time I stayed in bed most of the time; I got up to go to the bathroom a few times and for short strolls mostly inside the house two or three times a day.
The reason was that I noticed on Tuesday morning that my right eye was red from hemorrhage. It looked so dark that it was almost invisible. I went to the doctor. She examined it and said it was a minor problem and gave me some drops to put into the eye thrice daily and apply cold compress. She said it is a common complaint and can be caused by a number of reasons, but it heals in about three weeks; there is no danger to the vision in the eye.
I did for two days what the doctor told me, after that as soon as I was able I started the fast. This is not new for me. I fast for healing very often and most of the time I have benefited. The experience, however, is different every time. It depends on the condition of the body and the environment. The idea is that you give the body over to the wisdom and healing power of the body. Very often you are healed, but sometimes the body ignores the problem you bring to it and turns to some other malady in the body that he thinks requires more urgent attention. Unless you are respectful and sensitive, you cannot hear the body and understand what it is doing. But if you surrender totally with full trust, and do so many times, you begin to understand his/her language.
My eye began to heal by Friday evening. This morning when I looked in the mirror the eye was clearly visible, and I looked like a man with two good eyes! The redness is not completely gone, but more than 50% is cleared and it is going fast.
I should not strain too much after the fast, so I stop here.
Partap
April 15, 2007
From noon last Thursday till noon today (Sunday) I fasted. I did not eat anything, but drank water whenever I felt thirsty. During this time I stayed in bed most of the time; I got up to go to the bathroom a few times and for short strolls mostly inside the house two or three times a day.
The reason was that I noticed on Tuesday morning that my right eye was red from hemorrhage. It looked so dark that it was almost invisible. I went to the doctor. She examined it and said it was a minor problem and gave me some drops to put into the eye thrice daily and apply cold compress. She said it is a common complaint and can be caused by a number of reasons, but it heals in about three weeks; there is no danger to the vision in the eye.
I did for two days what the doctor told me, after that as soon as I was able I started the fast. This is not new for me. I fast for healing very often and most of the time I have benefited. The experience, however, is different every time. It depends on the condition of the body and the environment. The idea is that you give the body over to the wisdom and healing power of the body. Very often you are healed, but sometimes the body ignores the problem you bring to it and turns to some other malady in the body that he thinks requires more urgent attention. Unless you are respectful and sensitive, you cannot hear the body and understand what it is doing. But if you surrender totally with full trust, and do so many times, you begin to understand his/her language.
My eye began to heal by Friday evening. This morning when I looked in the mirror the eye was clearly visible, and I looked like a man with two good eyes! The redness is not completely gone, but more than 50% is cleared and it is going fast.
I should not strain too much after the fast, so I stop here.
Partap
April 15, 2007
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
