"...Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour"

Train buffs, travelers, truth seekers, and tea-connoisseurs: these four Ts sum up Alice and Larsk, the two young Swedes, who pitched their tent for a couple of weeks in my mom's guest house, next door. Larsk, a yoga instructor and Alice, a budding artist had decided to take off on a journey of self-discovery across the world. Yes, all the way from Sweden to India, they had come by land, and that too, mostly by trains, including Trans-Siberean express!  While walking around with their backpacks, it was the "Orange Peel" tea gallery sign, which drew them in. Being tea experts, they needed to taste and learn about ours. 

"So, which tea do you have: green, white, red, yellow, black, oolong, or jasmine?"

 "Sorry, we only serve floral and fruit teas here, with a dash of green, or Darjeeling.   And, right now, we should be able to offer you hibiscus orange, and blue cowpea with rosemary". The apologetic tone of my answer was clearly audible.

 'Adventure' being the duo's middle name, they were ready to explore our options. 

After having had, what I thought and hoped a satisfactory experience of our little gallery, they decided to move into the serene premises of the guest house for the duration of their stay, promising to give us a taste of their collection of teas in a near future. 

And lo, one  morning, there we were, five of us, at a table under the keet roof, each one fronted by a small off-white cup atop a blue cotton coaster. The February air was cool, and quiet, with an occasional volley of questions, being aimed in our direction, from an inquisitive  brainfever. Assisted by Larsk, a 750 ml bottle of hot water, and a little pouch of white tea teamed up to give us an experience we shall all remember for a long time to come. Larsk had decided that white tea would be a good introduction for the uninitiated. Unprocessed, and unblemished by time, white tea with its yellow tinge, is known for its cleansing property. And, if taken with intentions, it could also help gain a clarity of the 'self'.

The tiny kettle from where the tea was being poured, was getting refilled from  the hot water bottle, which, in turn, flowed into our cups. We sat in silence, slurping our tea, a tad noisily, to gauge its auric depth; talking only if impelled to. 

Our tea session must have lasted more than an hour, by the end of which the five of us had managed to  absorb the whole 750ml of tea, which is just a little more than one and a half pints, which, if divided into five would equate to150ml (almost two thirds of a cup) per head. And yet, when we finally decided to take our leave, we felt not only aesthetically and spiritually fulfilled, but also gastronomically satisfied. 

Midst all the madness of our daily life, midst the growing threat of Coronavirus, midst the political and communal upheaval the country is going through, midst the uncertainty surrounding the Olympics in Japan,  here we were, finding our own Nirvana in a cup of tea.

A Wall to Wall Brotherhood

Flashback, year 1988. Dr Venkatraman, the 8th president of India visits Pondicherry. A week before his visit, the preparations begin. The outer walls of the road-facing buildings from where the convoy is going to pass, are rigorously white-washed to remove any sign of mould or decay. The beggars from the boulevards and the Ganesh temple are hurriedly transferred to some obscure part of the inner city. "Only temporarily," they are assured. The side of the footpaths are painted neatly, and white powder sprinkled along the curbs. And lo, for one brief moment, Pondicherry is restored to its erstwhile glory of the French era. Women in colorful silk sarees,  men in white dhoti, and children with fistful of flower petals line the roads on the scheduled day of the arrival, waiting to welcome the President. 

Fast forward 32 years. Year 2020. India prepares to welcome the American President Donald Trump to Ahmedabad, a sprawling metropolis. It also happens to be the capital of Gujarat whose development model as pursued by Modi, the then chief minister of the state, won him many accolades and pitched him into the national arena, to become the undisputed leader of the country.

 Preparations are in full swing.  President Trump is thrilled to learn that at least 50,000 beautiful smiling people are expected to line up along the 22 kms route of the roadshow. Even people from other states, wearing their traditional attire would participate in the event, a panoramic way to showcase the cultural as well as the hi-tech facets of India, with only one hiccup. The route passes by a sprawling slum, a real embarassment to our image of an emerging superpower nation. But, trust the genius of AMC (Ahmedabad Municipal Corporation) to come up with the most creative solution: Make these destitute people and their whole caboodle invisible! Sounds like magic, but it is really just a matter of building a wall along the 600 meter cluster of stench-ridden, poverty-stricken hovel! A mere 100 crore! A drop in the ocean for a country, which, almost a year ago, completed its successful launch of ASAT Shakti, becoming the fourth nation to accomplish such a feat! And, if America can build a wall, so can we. If Jack can do it, so can Jill. What a partnership, and what camaraderie! Long Live America! Jai Hind.

Reality Show: Not Really...

My friend Cecil, who lives in Omaha, 30 miles from the place where officials in personal protective equipment, are doing dry runs on the interstate, and where the  returning Americans from Wuhan  are quickly being  sent in quarantine, is nervous. And, she has reasons to be. "We feel like props from a Hollywood movie, or  extras from "Walking Dead"," she tells me. Her description of the biocontainment unit for infectious diseases  in Ashland, Nebraska, does sound like a plot from one of those umpteen end-of-the-world/doomsday/apocalyptic movies  we so love.  But, when the familiarity of such movies lends itself to our day-to-day reality, it must feel almost surreal on one hand, and outright frightening, on the other. And yet, real it is.

Yu Yan, the 34-year-old Chinese lady, from the great port city of Guangzhou,  is staying in our family guest house next door for a while now, and keeps us updated by whatever little news she gets through her mom, and sister back home. Initially, she was very optimistic, confident that the 1000-bed hospital in Wuhan, built in a record time of under two weeks (yet another emblem of Chinese efficiency), would suffice to put a break on the spread of the virus. But, with every passing day, the number of cases rising exponentially across China, her hope for such a scenario is fast dwindling, "Quite a few people have been hit by the Corona virus in my city too. Most work places have been shut down. My folks hardly leave the apartment, except for an occasional visit to the supermarket!" She told us. Yes, believe it or not, the supermarkets are still open, and people still shop. Yet, realistically speaking, what are their options? Guangzhou, famous for its multi-cultural cuisine, and dining-out culture,  recently decided to close its innumerable restaurants as a preventive measure, but, somehow did not include supermarkets... 

A few weeks ago, Yu Yan contacted a pharmacist in Delhi, whom she had befriended during her visit to the capital city, and inquired about the possibility of shipping a few hundred masks to her native place. Since he seemed quite enthusiastic to collaborate on such a philanthropic venture, she immediately transferred the requisite amount to his account, certain that he would do the needful. But when the masks didn't  reach their destination, she contacted the friend again, who, in turn, confessed that because of the emergency situation on a global level, the prices of the masks had shot up, and some more dough could expedite the process. Yu Yan obliged. Yet, unfortunately, the shipment of masks never left the shop, and the supposed friend does not answer her call/messages anymore. 

 But, such deceptive behaviour on the pharmacist's part, or the refusal of the Indonesian governmentven to issue her a visa to go to Bali, even though she had bought the tickets much in advance, have not dampened Yu Yan's spirit. She continues to greet every new day with her sweet smile, pray for the quick recovery of her country,  her people, and  the world at large, learn French, try her hand at Indian cooking (yes, she can now make some great chapatis and curried potato vegetable) and "do plenty of yoga". Bravo!

Looking back into the future

Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime.

No one tried to embrace the spirit of the above proverb more whole-heartedly than the nineteenth century visionary Jane Addams. Even though born into a very wealthy family of Illinois, Addams was not impervious to the woes of the down-trodden. Moreover, she understood that the long-term solution to the problem of inequality inflicting the human society lay in empowering the individual, and not in enabling him/her. During one of her visits to Europe, awed by the settlement homes in London, she returned to the U.S. to found the Hull House complex, in a destitute neighbourhood in downtown Chicago. It was to be the country's first settlement home, and would become the standard bearer for the 500 others,  which burgeoned nationwide, in the next 40 years. It was here that Addams decided to move her precious possessions, including books, paintings, objects d'art, and even heirloom silver, and welcomed people from all walks of life to capitalise on them.  For, Addams was convinced  that beauty and knowledge could stir the spiritual depth of an individual, and aid in drawing one out of the mechanical tedium of the daily life, to aspire for something higher.

Similar to settlement homes of London, where University students from affluent background mingled freely with the poor, without affectation, Addams's objective was to create an atmosphere of ease and self-esteem for those who came to the Hull house. Besides presenting an opportunity for the dispossessed and the uninitiated,  to cultivate and enrich oneself from the refined  home environment, the Hull House also helped create a  network of family and neighbourly bonds. The volunteers who came, intrigued by Addams' social experiment,  provided a complex learning platform, wherein anyone could take classes in subjects as varied as acting, weaving,  carpentry,  art history, philosophy and music! Before long, 2,000 people a day were thronging its premises, taking and teaching courses, offering and receiving day care, sharing experiences, and stories. 

This was not rich serving the poor, for Addams abhorred the patronizing attitude of the former. Everyone here "worked and lived together in reciprocity,  bridging social chasms", and most importantly, coming to understand one another.  Apt in feeling the pulse of the adult immigrants, some of whom were still groping in the dark, as they tried to discover their new country, with a new culture, and a new language, she assigned them the role of caregivers for the local children, to ensure a mutual learning process, and help the next generation develop empathy and love for the continual influx of the alien population into the country.

In this day and age, when our country, and the world at large, is once again faced with a sagging social fabric, growing inequality, disputes over immigration, we can draw inspiration from the pioneering vision of the likes of  Jane Addams. Her response to a similar set of problems, some 130 years ago,  was far more revolutionary and effective than our own.

To be or not to be: the challenge question

Mathew was ten years old when we first met him at a birthday bash. Halfway through the party, the front door opened, the cold  Arctic air rushed in, and someone quietly sneaked out, followed by who, but my eight-year-old son Dan, in his bright orange cap. Alarmed, I too left my unfinished cake  on the counter table, and scooted out. And, there was Mathew already busy displaying his authentic Swiss army knife to my little Dan, who, in turn, looked clearly awed by being  the chosen one. Embedded in a foot of snow, they stood, the older one pulling out every tool and bubbling out its functionality, and the younger one trying to match the former's enthusiasm with a smothering succession of oohs and aahs.

"You are sure, you are allowed to handle this? It's quite dangerous, you know," the horror in my adult voice, as I caught up with them, was palpable. 

"Oh, yes. I got it as a gift from my dad when I was four,"  shedding his usual shyness, Mathew was rather eager to answer.

"What?"

"See, this is a cockscrew, and this, a 6mm screwdriver, and this here is a bottle-openner...and with this one, you can punch a hole..."

The show over, Mathew proudly shoved the prized possession deep inside his pockets. Little did I know that the show, in fact, had just begun. As we walked through the backyard woods, my feet, through the suede boots, and alpaca wool socks were beginning to hurt with the cold, and the wind stung my face. "Let's go in and play with the Transformers," I suggested. But, the obvious desperation in my voice fell on deaf years, as Mathew stopped for the umpteenth time, to break a twig from a black spruce, or pick up a nice piece of kindling jutting out of the snow. When he thought he had had enough of foraging, he pulled out the shiny red knife and began to whittle: short, confident strokes set out to chisel the pieces of wood he had collected.  By now, I, the unsolicited chaperon, was beginning to feel that a nasty frostbite was about to claim my toes and fingers. So, I decided to bolt inside and throw myself by the roaring fire of the woodstove, and  beckoned the boys to do the same. 

Needless to say, the boys, unbothered, unhurried, lingered on a while longer. And, when the door finally opened to reveal the cherry-red faces of two beaming youngsters, each one was proudly holding up his treasures. Dan came running to me to show his new acquisition, "mom, mom, look! Mathew made this for me!" In his outstretched palm lay a beautiful carved mini totem pole! And, in Mathew's,  was his Swiss army knife.

Joanna, Mathew's mother, sitting beside me, sighed. "This is all he does: whittle!" 

"But, it is simply beautiful!" I exclaimed.

"You know, we have been here for two years, and, he hasn't made a single friend. He cannot concentrate in school. His grades are constantly falling. Imagine, when he goes to Middle school! How would he ever cope with that?" Joanna was positively stressed.

On the eve of the second anniversary of International Day of Education,  let us  commemorate the Mathews of the world, who get the axe for not being able to assimilate the deadwoods of  the conventional schooling system, and yet, can bring any number of deadwoods to life with their gift of imagination and untapped talents. 

My Brother Anand

Today is my younger brother’s birthday. He would have turned 48. Born after much fasting and litany, on behalf of my mother, whose womb was jinxed to produce one girl child after another, he was rightly named `Anand’, meaning `joy’. For, much joy did he bring to the five sisters who needed a brother, and to the parents, who wanted a son. 

I remember how during her long months of pregnancy, my mother would urge me to pray to dear God to send us a little `babua’, a boy doll, to play with. Just round the corner of the road where we lived, was a beautiful temple. I would often totter down there, and looking deep into the bright faces of myriad gods, stationed under its canopy, plead with them to send us a brother. My solemn request was followed by the gesture of touching my forehead to the marble steps which lead to the inner sanctum.  It was a ritual I had invented, and followed it rigorously with an uncanny fanatical zeal. So, when my brother was born, I had no doubt that the god almighty was indeed kind and had listened to my ardent prayers. My ecstatic mother too was more than happy to pass on all the credit to me for his arrival, making my four-year-heart swell with sisterly pride.

So, in Nov. 2015, when he passed away because of an acute kidney and heart complication, somewhere I felt as though it was I who had failed him. But, on the other hand, inwardly he was too strong to rely on anyone, let alone me, to help him sail through life. As a Master Navigator, he did not believe in sails, nor a compass. The wide, wild sea was his to tame and befriend. And befriend, he did, with a mischievous smile on his face, and twinkle in his eyes. He loved this Ocean with all its billowing fury, and its beguiling calm. Just as much as he loved to dance, sing, do gardening, heal, indulge his muscular body into every kind of martial art, from Indian wrestling, boxing, to lathi, Judo  and Kalaripayattu. I remember the last time we met; I was visiting him from New York. He was already very sick. His body was swollen with water retention.  I avoided looking at him, for the memory of his once healthy, alive, and glorious self was too difficult to erase.

One morning when I was up eary, he asked me if i wanted to go to the terrace to watch the sunrise with him. I didn’t know how he was going to make it all the way up to the fourth floor, yet, sensing his aversion to be reminded of his illness, I consented. Silently, we climbed, step after step...right to the terrace, to find a brand new day slowly lifting itself up from the Bay of Bengal.

As we stood watching, woven into the magic of that moment,  Anand suddenly began to stretch himself in a slow focused manner, encompassing the sky, the earth, the waves crashing in a distance,  the jungle crow poised on the TV antenna.  And as he stretched, he moved, covering the large terrace in the blink of an eye.  Unhindered by his physical condition, he had become boundless, weightless... and unfettered. Each posture effortlessly flowed into the next without pause, ensuring continual motion. His feet hardly touched the ground, as he leaped, and flitted...golden rays of the rising sun lit up his face, his whole body, until he became engulfed in light, and turned into a ball of pure energy, into chi.

Much later did I learn that my brother Anand, amongst many other things, was also a Tai chi master. 

Being Vocal about Local...

When I walked into The Ornamentry, carrying a cardboard carton full of christmassy stuff I had created during my first winter in Alaska, the place resembled a household, poised for a big move. Crates of all sizes lay haphazardly: some leaning against the wall, some sprawled on an empty table, and some jutting out of the semi-opened cabinets. Judy Grahek, the 70-year-old owner of the shop, examined the few things I had brought in: painted tiles with stands, birch bark cards, paperweight pebbles depicting Alaskan scenes, candle votives, with motifs of ravens and wolves, she nodded, "nice work", and handed me a form to fill. No questions asked. A form, an inventory...and a hug. That's all was needed to join a fleet of 80 some artists, artisans, and crafters who showcased their work at The Ornamentry, Fairbanks, Alaska.

Once  the shop opened for the season, it was hard to imagine that this was  the same chaotic place I had walked in a week earlier with my stuff, and filled up a form. Soft music in the background, meandered from room to room, through its maze-like structure. It was as though, everything, by a sudden touch of the magic wand, had found its rightful place.  Gift items of all shapes and sizes looked snug in their new surroundings. From the ornaments hanging from the chandeliers, to the beautiful, handwoven tapestries on the wall,  to handmade gift baskets, to musk-ox wool knitted into mitts and scarves, to pottery, jewlery, peanut brittles, dill pickles, and preserves: everything  looked exquisitely jubilant and unique.

However, tucked away  in a quiet alley in downtown Fairbanks,  it was easy  for a newcomer or a tourist, to miss The Ornamentry while strolling past. But, if your horse sense pulled you in to its festive interiors, you would want to come back to this one-of-a-kind gift shop again and again. But, you couldn't. For, The Ornamentry used to open only twice a year: once before the thaw from mid-March to mid-April, and once in the dead of winter from November to the third week of December. Even though seasonal, Judy had over the years, built up a strong following of 1500 some customers, and that too without ever advertising. She did nevertheless send out a notification to everyone on her mailing list, reminding them of the dates and timings The Ornamentry would remain open. 

Store overheads were low since Judy, the brainchild behind The Ornamentry owned the property, and was thus saved the cost of leasing/renting a place. "So, three months of sales a year is enough to go for a vacation somewhere, and be able to spend the rest of my time with family and friends," was  Judy's simple rationale. Fair enough. 

So, for those who wanted to avoid "made in China" souvenirs, sold in Walmart, The Ornamentry was the perfect place to shop. Moreover, it was the only outlet in the city which gave the local artists and artisans from around the state an opportunity to display and sell their  work. Dedicated to promoting 'buy local', Judy took a meager 20 percent cut from the sales. "I believe, it doesn't matter what the economy is, people come here  not only to buy something exclusive, and 'made in Alaska',  but also because they know that the money is circulating locally", Judy told the Daily Miner in an interview. And the success of The Ornamentry was proof enough to uphold her belief. 

Great lesson here for all of us. When you are shopping for gifts this holiday season, or just wanting to buy something special for yourself or your home, buy local, and support the local economy. A product made by people who bring their personal experiences, skills, and imagination to  give it that rare edge is bound to have more character than the one which catapults out of an assembly line into a  big box-store.  Right? And, as I  like to say, going off the beaten track, looking for that small-time vendor, sitting in the corner shop, and rummaging through his/her trove of treasure, is always more fun!