Religion

Today I spent lunch hour arguing with colleagues on faith and religion. It all started off with an innocuous discussion on when the Mahabarath and Ramayan were said to have happened. We were all speculating when a colleague triumphantly announced that as per both mythologies, the world is divided into 4 yugas. The current yuga is around 3000 years old and started at the end of Ramayan. During Ramayan 3 yugas had passed and hence the story must be roughly 12000 years old. I pointed out the fallacy in placing the timing of a mythology by concepts told in the mythology. And before we knew it, all of us were in a full fledged discussion on how true the mythology is.

I have always been an ‘on the fence’ person not being able to make up my mind on whether God exists. In practice, he does, since most of my toughest times involve some serious prayers and results. One thing though I am clear on is that the concept of religion is nothing but a mass movement that evolves based on local politics and cultural ethos. This is why you have a choice of religions across the world. And each of these religions has its own mythologies. Most of these mythologies should be grounded in some kind of historical happening. However, obviously over a period of time, they have been told and retold till the principal characters have reached some status of divinity. So from who was probably a local tribal chieftain’s son, Rama is now a major God.

I thought this argument made plenty of sense. Apparently not. My colleagues insisted that the entire stories of Mahabarath and Ramayan are as divine as they come and it was none other than God who played the principal characters in them. Infact all of them agreed that the Ganges is not on account of the simple geographic phenomenon of continental drift leading to the Himalayas being formed and glaciers being formed and then melting to form a river. Faith makes them believe that the Ganges was created when it fell from Lord Shiva’s hairlock in the heavens above.

Lesson learnt - You can argue with facts. But not with faith. And that is why religion, for all its goodness, is such a dangerous concept.

Men are from Mars...

Conversation with my male Salsa classmate:

Classmate: So why don’t you like dancing with T

Me: Because he is very conscious of his movements. Besides he stepped on my toe nail once

Classmate: Umm…(too polite to ask why that would matter)

Me: and the toe nail broke and don’t think it has been growing since

Classmate: Shouldn’t you be happy then. You have one less nail to cut.

Me: ???!!!

Classmate: Sure. I hate cutting my nails but they keep growing so fast I have to cut them all the time.

Me: Even more ???!!!

(I only hope he has not spent today jamming all his nails in the door hoping to cause enough damage to permanently curtail growth. )

Holy God

Here is an interesting article my friend sent me

http://www.forbes.com/feeds/ap/2007/04/11/ap3604705.html

The first line is rather catchy I would say since it goes ‘A federal bankruptcy judge Wednesday ordered an external audit of the Roman Catholic Diocese of San Diego amid accusations church leaders are trying to hide assets to avoid payment to sex abuse victims.’

Firstly, I have never heard of churches going bankrupt (and just imageine, the article goes on to say there have been five church bankruptcies recently). Largely because I have this romantic image of religious institutions being some sort of charitable places that run on divine intervention (or maybe govt funding).

Secondly I never thought churches go bankrupt because they have run out of money to pay victims who are sexually abused. I mean, why become a priest if you are clearly not going to be able to do your job viz. toe the moral line. (Though this does explain why funding does not come on account of divine intervention)

Thirdly, they hide assets in order to avoid payments!

Don’t get me wrong. I am a believer in religion to a certain extent, no matter which one it is. But really when statistics show that more and more people lack faith these days; you don’t have to look too far for the reason do you?

How to drive

The first time I learnt to drive, I knew it was a hopeless task. It was too complicated. I could visualize the exact scenario when my inability to drive would come into sharp focus – after managing to give the slip to a homicidal maniac stalking us in our secluded holiday home in the forest and all the little innocent golden haired children pile into the car waiting to be driven away to safety, there I would be muttering ‘er..would any of you know how to drive?’. Embarrassment, as it turned out, came from a more mundane source. I was standing with a client at the foyer of an expensive restaurant waiting for her car to come up. She asked how I commuted to work and I nonchalantly told I took the train. She looked rather puzzled and with a faint tone of disdain asked me I did not drive. I made up my mind to learn that very day.

My dad arranged for our old driver to start my lessons and at the end of what seemed like a very long twenty days, I was technically driving. Today, atleast three people told me I drive very smoothly (aha) and it is difficult to imagine there was a time when my car would just keep going left thanks to a woeful lack of steering control. So I guess driving, like many other things, comes with learning, patience and practice. In case any of you is learning to drive in India, here is what to expect

Step 1: Getting a license. You sign up for driving lessons. At the end of it you get a driving license thanks to your driving school’s network with the RTO office. If you were really good, you would have learnt how to drive. Most people emerge with an idea of application of important car parts such as gears, clutch, accelerator, brake, rear view and side view mirrors. Most people infact stop at this stage and vaguely mutter ‘oh I know how to drive if there is not much traffic’. That is not true. You still don’t know how to drive even if it is an empty field you are driving in. Do not kid yourself.

Step 2: Getting someone to sit beside you while you actually learn how to drive. The first step is to get behind the wheel, start the car and learn how to get the car into first gear without the ignition going off. This takes enormous effort and even after you have learnt a lot of other things, this one will take a while to master. Don’t worry about it. At this stage, you still don’t have steering control i.e. your car veers towards the direction of the oncoming water lorry even though you fervently wish it weren’t. The person sitting next to you grasps the wheel often and steers you back onto the road. You are also still not adept at changing gears. Firstly you don’t remember which one is what gear. Secondly you cannot press the clutch, change the gear, hold onto the steering wheel and look at the road simultaneously. This also takes time. The best thing to remember at this stage is that you need to hit the brakes when you panic and not the accelerator. No bad situation (eg water lorry coming head on) is so bad that you cannot escape by hitting the brakes but even an OK situation can get really bad if you hit the accelerator. I got tons of practice in an empty road in the mornings where I could go from the 1st to the 2nd to the 3rd gear (never the 4th and I did not even hear about the 5th gear till the very end). No one would be around and the chances of killing myself or anyone was pretty low

Step 3: Getting better control but still not alone. Your steering control is slightly better. The person sitting beside you touches the wheel only once in a while. You are capable of changing gears after just 5 seconds of thinking about what position your gear stick should be in. At this stage, you will also be introduced to reversing which will challenge your orientation completely and entirely. I could never figure out if I had to steer right to reverse right or steer left. You also get some lessons on parking.

Step 4: Going solo. One fine day, the driver stopped the car in the middle of an empty road, got out and sat behind in the rear seat and then asked me to drive. Hands cold with terror, I managed to do ok. I was driving at about 15 km an hour, letting cycles overtake me. But I was atleast not hitting anyone on the road. You also finally learn how to hold the first gear without the car switching off. Which means you can tackle slopes.

Step 5: Really going solo. After about 20 days of all the lessons above (which could have easily extended into 40 days if I had not attempted to learn driving atleast twice in the past), I took the car out by myself with my mom as a co passenger (she does not drive). I had to wait 5 minutes before I was brave enough to attempt a U-turn to our destination. And when my dad called on the mobile to check how we were doing I went mad insisting that everybody keep quiet while I drove.

Step 6: Really really going solo. No one else in the car (which surprisingly is scarier than having a non driver in the car). I took the car to work on a Saturday. Very slowly. Then, I started driving to work in the mornings. But in the evenings the driver still had to come and get me since I was not used to night driving with all those glaring lights. This must have lasted about ten days before I finally got the courage to drive by myself at night.

Step 7: Spencer’s Plaza parking. The basement parking is stunningly steep and curving and you really need to be in good control of your car. For one reason or the other, I never got around to going there for nearly 3 months after I learnt to drive but by the time I went, I was sure I would not crash into the walls. Between Step 6 and Step 7 I had graduated from driving in non-peak hours in relatively safer roads like R.K.Salai to driving in rush hour traffic in Mount Road. I switched from taking autos most time I went out to taking the car whenever I could.

So it turned out that learning to drive was like learning English. You do your A, B, Cs first and eventually tackle Shakespeare. Just go ahead, relax and zoom away.

Kudremukh to Mangalore

When the rest of the gang left for Bangalore, I returned to the room to indulge in my favourite activity on holidays – watching TV. Having no access to cable in Chennai, all opportunities when one can catch up on the latest Bollywood songs (still Himesh Bhai) and music videos (still vulgar) is used by me with enthusiasm. I lay in bed entranced for nearly two hours.

I had contemplated endlessly on the return leg and had finally decided to hire a cab from Mangalore. My train that night was at 9 and the journey from Kudremukh by car would take just a couple of hours. I had thought of an elaborate plan involving leaving in the morning and checking out Dharmasthala and Kukke Subramanya on the way. Eventually, the cost of hiring a car and more importantly, the fear of Naxalites (supposedly the area has its share) looting a single passenger overwhelmed all other thoughts and I decided to take the local bus to Mangalore. This also meant that I could not do the planned detours and as I lay watching the flickering images on screen, I was happy enough to have a relaxed itinerary.

My bus was at two in the afternoon. By twelve thirty, I had packed, bathed, had lunch and reminded the surly old man at the counter about my rickshaw to the bus stand at least three times. Each time, he showed further indifference and at one fifteen, I planted myself next to the reception with my luggage, pretending to read the newspaper. Then I decided to infuse some life into his interest levels on the rickshaw by informing him I had to buy a water bottle on the way. So when the rickshaw had not turned up by one forty, he got a bit worried. Finally, the vehicle turned up in full speed and like a knight in shining armour, the young driver jumped out and stowed my bag at the back and set off. I tipped the surly old man with whom I had now bonded well enough for him to tell me about the delights of Udipi, his hometown. Two minutes into the ride, we were at a large tree. The driver informed me that this was the bus stand. There were no signs of life there barring the three people standing around desultorily. The driver volunteered to go to the store and buy my water bottles lest I missed the bus. Touched and guilty (I already had a full bottle of water and had used the story as a ruse), I went to the store myself. The driver then instructed the three bystanders to put me in the Mangalore bus. Apparently my inability to speak the local language had been equated with an IQ level too low to board the correct bus.

The bus arrived with ‘Mangalore’ written in big, bold English lettering. Nevertheless, the three locals gestured to me wildly that this was the bus I was to take and instructed the fourteen-year-old conductor to look after me. Hauling my luggage inside, I placed myself behind the driver’s seat. This provided a strategic view of the road and would give first hand info about any Naxals who may care to attack. As it turned out my most exciting challenge seemed to be balancing my suitcase, my bag and my water bottle as the bus winded through various hairpin bends with gusto. I dozed a bit and then began to watch with interest as town upon town passed by with Gomateswara temples. This place seemed to be a major Jain hotspot.

After nearly an hour and a half, we arrived at a major town. I had not heard of the place till then but it was big enough to boast of a DTH operator. We were asked to switch to another bus, which was headed to Mangalore. The conductor, remembering my alleged low IQ, gave me special instructions by gesturing wildly. Along with the other passengers, I rushed to the other bus to bag a good seat. Despite my modest Salwar kameez, I was still sticking out like a sore thumb thanks to my short hair, height, trolley suitcase and other signs of being urban. So when my suitcase tumbled and fell, I heard a louder guffaw than what I had expected. Amused and mortified, I boarded the other bus and sat behind the driver again.

This bus was pretty crowded and was getting more so. One of the prime reasons was the driver’s tendency to stop the bus for any passer by who looked like he might want to go to Mangalore. More often than not, most people simply stood outside their homes, stuck their thumbs out when the bus approached and boarded the bus. I was more than happy since reaching Mangalore early would be mean more efforts to entertain myself and this journey was quite entertaining. We passed through Suratkal and I caught a glimpse of the famous REC (now NIT) where a lot of my friends had studied. The road had been good till this point but deteriorated steadily after this. However, Mangalore was only 30 kms away.

When we reached Mangalore, I waited till the last stop to get off. Then turning to the driver, I asked him directions to the railway station. The driver began to scold in Kannada. I watched perplexed and then asked the conductor for directions, who scolded me too, but in Hindi. I finally understood that both of them were upset that I had not told I wanted to get to the railway station beforehand since it was on the way and they could have easily stopped the bus there. I was touched yet again and began to finally appreciate all the help I had been receiving on the journey. I bade them goodbye, went to the railway station, checked my luggage into cloak and headed back to the city.

My first stop was the Poonja Intl hotel where I had stayed during the Konkan trip in November. I walked into the empty restaurant on the first floor. The curtains were drawn, the air conditioning was off and when my eyes got used to the darkness, the first sight that greeted me was that of a dark Santa Claus approaching me, grinning menacingly. I nearly jumped out of my skin and then remembered it was Christmas. Being an up market place, the hotel had thought to put up decorations and hire a local to dress the part. Upon closer examination I realised that Santa was clearly embarrassed by this alien tradition that involved him approaching strangers and going ‘HO HO HO’. My negative reaction had not encouraged him and distraught, he soon left. I gestured to the group of waiters crowded around a TV and placed the order for tea. The air conditioning stayed off and instead a giant table fan was placed next to me. The waiters also kindly tuned the TV next to my table into a Hindi channel and went off to continue their Kannada movie in a TV at the other end. We were a contented group, doing our own thing.

After hot tea and a wash, I browsed the streets to pick up second hand books and then had dinner at Mangalore’s best restaurant, Palki. The restaurant employees were nice and if they found a young woman dining alone disconcerting, they did not let it show. Being there for the second time and not being a stranger gave the city a charm I did not know it had. Not to mention, the friendliness of most strangers there also made me realise that there was more to the place than gorgeous beaches. My trip was now at an end and I boarded the train happy and content.