Does prayer have a language? If you pray to idols and have acquired one with a silver finish recently, most likely it has come from Italy. There is a $500m dollar per annum business in these gods. That is not taking into account the idols of Indian gods coming in from China and Thailand. The idols from Italy are priced higher than those from Asia. Traditionally Gods have been a big business opportunity in India. Now these Indian Gods are helping the economy of other countries while a few Indians are unaware what happens to their prayers.
In India these days, all prayers for rain are held up somewhere and delivered to God at the same time. Then we have the floods. We all pray. Once again all messages of deliverance reach God at once resulting in drought.
Like we need onions from Pakistan do we need Gods from Italy? This may sound ironic for those who take sides in politics. Hold on, we all live with politics day in and day out. It is another matter our politicians these days indulge in exchange of abuses rather than ideas or opinions! They are not talking Italian as yet. But we have (at least some of us) been conversing in the sweet tongue of Urdu. We all enjoy shayaris as we do the Pakistani onions. But Italian Gods…albeit of Indian pedigree. Wait …is that right? Or is it the other way around?
Can we say Gods are Gods like onions are onions…we need them both, from where ever?
Le me relate my last challenge as it were, in uniform. It was June 2004 and all of 35 years to the month since I joined the National Defence Academy, Khadakwasla. I would hang up my boots in four days. The formation was involved in a big war game in the first three of those four days. All HQs up to Army HQ had a stake – the Chief was coming on the final day. As the man without a specific job, I was asked to be the ‘Arty adviser’ of the white force (umpiring organisation). I did not protest. What the heck – the call of duty had to be answered. As information/reports of battle trickled in, the Artillery battle was to be marked on the master map. The projected Artillery maneuvers of the antagonists were to be tracked and feasibility assessed.
Throughout the first two days no one spoke to me and I spoke to no one. The maps were duly marked by the team of NCOs I had placed to do that job. I spent my time in and out of the umpires’ den. I obviously did not take any particular interest in the proceedings and by the morning of the final day found myself sitting in the last seat of the last of the five rows of chairs, right next to the rear exit. By the end of next day I will be in Delhi and after a couple of days in Delhi I will be taking guard in my second innings (career) at Bangalore. It was probably while I was asking the (cricket) umpire for my leg stump guard I was awakened to the present by the Army Commander (future Chief) walking into our big tent with his entourage.
The briefings and discussions about the battle commenced with fervour. Careers were on the anvil, I presumed. At one point someone uttered Artillery and all heads swiveled this way and that and finally held directing at me. As I heard my name mentioned, I caught the eye of the MG Arty (We knew each other well as I always lost to him in a game of squash since decades ago). In that moment I knew he knew the situation and he knew that I knew he knew. That gave me some heart. My last battle was joined. I was at the FUP (Forming Up Place – a place where troops lined up for the attack on an objective) – yes you guessed right; here It was more like the F--- Up Point. I took my time walking to the objective, maneuvering through the maze of five rows of assorted chairs placed haphazardly. I was taking a long time to reach the podium, all the while hopelessly trying to formulate a brief, from memory.
Hah! Such a pause in proceedings with focused attention on a non entity (me) served nobody’s purpose. The red herring was thrown by an enthusiastic participant who saw an opportunity and probably had something at stake. The attention was diverted. The topic was changed. For a good ten minutes I stood right in front of the audience next to the podium. No body noticed me. At the end of ten minutes it was time for the Army Commander to leave as he had to receive the Chief. By now I was right at the front entrance, a tad disappointed. As the General left, I clicked my heels and gave a smart salute to nobody in particular – that probably was my last salute.
“I am very busy”. We hear this refrain every day, possibly many times over.“Busy” is often a euphemism for “don’t bother me”, “I can’t do that”, “I am bored and don’t know what to do” and such. Rest assured when some one is busy, the person either has nothing to do or does not know how to do something that is to be done.
Time has been a mystery from time immemorial. While some pass time others use it.
VVS Laxman has all the time to play Dale Steyn while some other player is hurried into a stroke. “Once upon a time” has been a favourite starter for stories; may be because there is an element of uncertainty in it. Uncertain times keep one on the alert and eager to find comfort in certainty. In times of certainty complacency sets in. A soldier is more comfortable in battle than waiting for the battle to join.
We often feel that we have captured time in a clock; unwittingly we only measure day and night as we know it, without possibly understanding time. If you move away from the human plane to the world of the departed a human month equals the length of a day. The brighterhalf of a lunar month constitutes the day time and the darker half the night.
“Do you have some time”? We ask of others. Everybody from a single person to as many as you can count can have the same time. Newton said “time is absolute”. Einstein said “time is related to space”…now again physicists are going back to Newton. If time is absolute it has no beginning or end. This cyclical nature of time as believed in Indian mythology refers to time as 'anaadi' or that without a beginning. That which has no beginning has no end!
So what is time? Do you think you can be busy any time?
I sent in my name for IPL 4 auction! In the 1960s, I had played school cricket at sub junior level, junior level and was the 12th man twice in the senior team captained by JK Mahendra who had then toured Australia as the wicket keeper with the National school team. At that time JKM was the only player from Kerala who had represented India at any level – and he was my captain! I also attended the selection trials for the battalion cricket teams at NDA and IMA. But of course these credentials were not adequate for an entry into that list. But when I pleaded with the IPL governing council and rattled out the full names of all captains of the Indian teams starting from the first, Colonel Cottari Kanakaiya Nayudu, they agreed to send my name to Vijay Mallya of Royal Challengers, Bangalore with a recommendation for selection in the ‘local’ quota.
On the designated day and time I waited outside the board room in the UB city, Bangalore dressed in my best suit and carrying all my certificates in a paper file folder (conscious of the environment – no plastic or leather). It was not surprising that I was the lone ‘candidate’ seeking appointment as a player in the Royal Challengers team – everybody else was sought after. But then what do you do when sidelined? If nothing else, I had some experience of playing cricket in the era of Gundappa Viswanath and the Nawab of Pataudi, junior. Moreover, with the passing of each day, Sachin is proving that age is just a number. There it was, Vijay had no obvious reasons to turn down my application – unless of course some one was to play ‘politics’. My portly neighbour, who did not have any particular liking for me as his wife always complimented my lean frame when ever we met, knew the ward corporator, a relative of the local MP who had voted for Mallya in his quest for that RS seat. An obligation was there to be taken and if this MP desires so, Mallya has no option but to disappoint me. I crossed my fingers.
Soon I was ushered into the spacious board room. Vijay was seated in the centre with Siddharth on his right. The air was tense. It took me a while before I recognized Dipika, seated on Vijay’s left. That brightened things up a bit. At the end of the first round, it was obvious that I did not possess the required cricketing skills. As my references, I said I had met Anil Kumble in the Domino’s Pizza joint on Brigade Road, a couple of years back. The Indian and Karnataka spinner, Sunil Joshi traveled with me from Delhi to Bangalore in November 2008. And of course, I watched Ranji matches at the RSI grounds, in Bangalore on some Sundays over a glass of beer. That made Vijay sit up. His eyes brightened. Sidharth leaned forward; Dipika smiled. I saw a glimmer of hope and also leaned forward expectantly.
“Which beer” Vijay asked. “Always King Fisher” I said. And went on to name all UB and Whyte & Mackay brands of liquor. I could see Vijay was impressed and also sensed an easing of tensions. I used this opportunity to enquire from Dipika about her father Prakash Padukone. She gushed and asked me whether I played badminton. I told her squash was my game. Amused a little, Dipika began to clarify she was not the squash Dipika. I quickly reassured her I was aware she was not Dipika Pallikal the squash player, but Dipika Padukone the ghost in OSO. That settled matters. She blushed and gushed again.
At that instance Sidharth felt we had gone far enough and intervened to enquire the actual purpose of my visit. Soon I walked away with a pass for all IPL 4 matches to be held in Bangalore. So, guys look out; I will be in the stadium though not on the field – that is, if there is no ‘pass scam’ before or during the IPL 4 season.
