Recently I sang at a venue that does not normally attract huge crowds even for the top concerts. Being anything but a 'top' musician, I entered the hall, ready for the single row of listeners that I fervently hoped would be there. (It's not very heartening to count more people on stage than off. More so when the only accompaniments are the mridangam, violin and the tambura player!)
Imagine my surprise when I found people entering in decent numbers. Before long, the hall actually had filled out rather well.
I also noticed all the 'rasikas' walking in with a piece of paper resembling the token at the slipper queue in the temples.
Before I could chew on this phenomenon the concert had to start. And then, the happiness of an actually audible applause was so heady that I went on to sing with gusto, even more surprised that nobody was even walking out .
Luckily, I 'm not susceptible to flattery. Nor do I have a very inflated image of myself. Or else, the rapt attention of the sizable crowd not to mention the 'listener's choice chits' would have had me feeling like a celebrity.
Just after the thaniavarthanam though, the bubble burst. The organiser borrowed the mridangam artiste's  microphone to 'say a few words about the performers'. The job done, he came to what I think was the most interesting part of the concert.  All this while, during his speech,  a little boy had been busy arraying bright stainless steel  utensils just in front of the audience. Now, a juvenile member among the listeners was called upon to pick a number from a box of chits. This number was called out and the  next thing I knew, was the slow advent of a senior citizen who, after a lot of deliberation went on to choose a bright stainless steel pail and make his way back... home!

This sabha had done what many big banners have not been able to. A small 'lucky dip' announced at the beginning of the concert, to be given at the end of the concert keeps  the audience in a state of delicious suspense. And if the music is not too bad, they surely get to have a pleasant wait for the ultimate verdict.  Everybody is happy in the process. There is nothing cheap about it, nor desperate. It is just a gentle tactic that keeps people coming to the music halls.And when we hear of so much publicity seeking taking place in a field where the supply far exceeds the demand, it keeps me thinking: Why not?
 

What’s Up?- It’s Whatsap

All through my life, I have been used to starting my day, palms open and saying the age old Mantra:

Karaagre Vasate Lakshmi

Karamoole Saraswati

 Karamadhyetu Govinda

Prabhate Kara Darshanam.

 Not always so now. With sheepish frankness I have to admit that very often nowadays, my morning does indeed begin with a look at my palms, but focused on the object nestled safely within them: that little oblong bedfellow that follows me like a shadow, and christened ‘Samsung’. Or rather, focused on what lies within the small confines of its glassy countenance as I try to open the video whose arrival has just been announced by a dignified tinkle of a  ‘Temple bell’- my ring tone. I wish I could say that it was only the younger generation that had been attacked. But that would not be true.  Whatsap fever has taken us by storm, young and not so young alike. Whatsap groups have united humankind as never before and I just love being a QMC Chatterbox, Illuminati, an Ignited Mind or an Esprit Indomptable!

On that historical day, earth shaking events were to take place: a volcano had erupted somewhere in the world,  a violent storm had caused havoc somewhere else.  But nothing could equal the magnitude of the personal crisis I was to go through. It was 5.30 am. I gently pulled towards me the Old Faithful that was called a mobile phone, but in effect, was my alter ego,’ to check the time’ I assured myself. I tried to de-blur my eyes to fix them on that magical screen. And there it was, catastrophe staring me in the face: an intimation- my Whatsap chat history had been deleted. Would I like to restore it? If so, could I kindly press ‘Yes’?

Chat history deleted? Did I really want it restored? Could I kindly press ‘Yes’?    Only a state of extreme hysteria could have prompted me to commit the ultimate blasphemy by crying out : Karagre Vasathe Display Profile, Karamuley Status, Karamadhye tu Group Chats…As I feverishly tried to operate the miniscule key pad, every microsecond was an agonizing wait for the ultimate verdict. I just had to restore Whatsap to health and, in consequence, my own.

After what seemed like a journey through a catacomb, I was done with the instructions. Now came the … momentous moment. Would I recover my lost treasures? Would I get back my peace of mind? I held my breath, said a small prayer (plain bribery).  I clicked on my friend Poorna’s contact icon.  Her profile photo was very much there, and so was her ‘last seen’ details. Just when I was about to celebrate, I scrolled down, to be greeted by a silent stretch of empty green. Mission Failed. Oh Cruelty, thy name is Lost Chats!

So that was that…. Good bye text messages, good bye contact details of people who weren’t in my contact lists given to me by people who were in my contact list. Good bye D.K.Pattamal’s mind blowing rendition of Mamava Pattabhirama. Good bye sound words of inspiration and advice, mini moral science classes which, very often, used to escape my eyes in favour of the funnier snippets. Now that I didn’t have them anymore, these took on the status of Teachings from Heaven itself.

My state of mind could best be portrayed by a colon- closed bracket emoticon. I forgot the well chosen words about time wasting on Whatsap that I had exchanged with Poorna only the previous night- in a Whatsap chat of course.  It seemed to me that my very being had come to a grinding halt.  Not wasting time was going to hurt badly.

I may be in deep waters, but still, life had to go on and there was a family to cook for. Three blows of the cooker whistle stretched out into 6 distracted ones when   suddenly, the Thought occurred. Let me seek help. Help from ‘Help’ I mean. Re-enter Hope as I picked up my well used Android, dull and scratched by dropping and trying to remove stains of idli batter (I can perform the supreme multitasking act of stirring, using the mixie and transferring ground flour into a container all the while talking on my phone) from my window sill  (could I call this sill a throne?). 

Whatsapping and Facebooking are pieces of cake to handle provided things are smooth. But when there is a problem, Troubleshooting itself requires troubleshooting, at least for me. Still, the stakes were high.  I had to retrieve my Whatsap to its normal dignity. With fumbling fingers, I tried to follow the instructions in the FAQ section.The answers appeared before me in a barrage of information. Much head hitting and perspiring later, I understood slowly that I was asked to de-install and then re-install Whatsap. The frenzied session that followed resembled what must have been the scene minutes before a rocket launch at Sriharikota. Click on this, then on that… Much of it was re -clicking and reviewing though, mainly because my Old faithful was really old, and obese too: only a major dietary schedule could lighten the burden of the laden storage space in her long suffering silicon chip. Deleting old files was something my busy schedule (yet never too busy to go into Whatsap) had not permitted me to do. Somewhere in the course of these frenetic steps, a sharp smell vaguely registered   and I was  aware that the lady’s fingers were getting overdone, soon they would resemble half burnt beedies. But then, a meal was only a meal but Whatsap was a window to the whole, wide world. Perhaps I could take a picture of the charred remains and forward it to my contacts as the remnants of a recently erupted volcano. But then, I remembered: I was deinstalling whatsap! I felt a poignant lump in my throat, like the man who thinks of his hometown 5000 miles away. Oh my God, not to be on whatsap? Was it retribution for some past sin?

Yet every river reaches the sea. A few clicks and OK’s later, oh joy!Whatsap reinstalled! I was back!   Congratulations to myself! My celebration consisted of adding two cups of water to reinstall sambar status to the semi solid mixture in front of me that had been silently and sullenly brewing the past half hour, unheeded and untended.

It remained to open my account and admire the restored chats that the troubleshooting menu had reassured me would be retrieved. As a first, I chose the contact of a certain Ganesh (may the Lord with whom he shares his name remove all obstacles in the course of my noble attempts), I opened it… The same green stretch of gloriously unlettered background welcomed me. I went into a group contact dating back to two years: I was informed that I had just been added.

The situation took some digesting.  I was now in the status of ‘New Whatsapper’ It hurt. Before I could reach for my smelling salts, I suddenly I saw the innumerable pros in the midst of the cons- memories from an old Whatsap inspirational message. At least my contact list was intact. The images were still stored in the gallery. I was back on Whatsap. And what’s more, I had got wiser in the two hours gone by.

Much wiser. Now, when I need to store something important, I do it with a more primitive set of instruments. This set has its disadvantages, it’s slower and more cumbersome. But we can’t deny that it is the most reliable.  And most definitely can’t be deleted by technology. That is what is known as paper and pen.

Moreover, it was raining ‘Temple Bells’. As I got ready to attack all the messages that were assuaging me, my heart felt considerably lighter. So what if the old messages had gone away? Many new ones were waiting to use up my phone’s already depleted storage. Long live Whatsap!

God’s in heaven and all’s right with this world….

By

 Varalakshmi Anandkumar

"Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream:"(Julius Caeser, Act II, Scene 1)

Knowing that something horrible is going to happen, that is going to shatter one's peace, emotions and stir in them the greatest of fears, anxieties, propel them to the heights of depression is surely what Brutus meant when he stated those lines.
For those of us who are not likely to assist in great assassinations or change fortunes of states, our personal situations however are the greatest events in the drama that is life.
The well being of our kith and kin, people with whom we have shared the best moments, both eventful and innane is what determines our happiness or otherwise.
Knowing and anticipating very adverse circumstances can mark the darkest days of one's life.

For anticipation carries with it fears of the unknown, a faint (very very faint) hope that things could turn round too, in short, an uncertainty that can be punishing by its very force.

The realisation of an event could perhaps lead to greater despair, no doubt, but lifts the clouds of unsure, thus forcing one to move forward (albeit in great sorrow) and do something. That itself could be a great palliative.

Pondichery. A drizzly morning in, hold your breath, May. The Sharada Temple. The occasion? The Jayanthi (birth anniversary) of Saint Thyagaraja, one of the greatest composers in Carnatic music. It is 8.30 and a set of musicians gets ready to sing the Pancharatna kritis - his five gems. There is hustle and bustle all over the place. Regular visitors to the temple make their salutations. The tambura drones on in the C pitch- its haunting resonance more mesmerising than any incantation. It seems that our heart beats to the same frequency as the unified notes that emanate from it. Children also form part of the Pancharatna rendering. Neatly dressed in 'pavadai', the traditional attire of South India, hair neatly braided, shining with all the ornaments they have in their store, they also have a copy of the notations of these exacting songs.
The picture of Saint Thyagaraja, next to that of Lord Ganesha is fully decorated with flowers. The artistes sitting facing him feel his presence there and then. To their right, behind these pictures, is the sanctum sanctorum of Sharada Devi.. So the singers have an interrupted view of divinity. One of the organisers, the noted mridangist Neyveli Skandasubramananian chants the Purusha Suktham over the microphone. His sharp voice, clear enunciation in the backdrop of the tambura drone create sharp vibrations that permeate into our very being. Outside, at the 'sannidhi' of Lord Hanuman, bells are ringing .
The combined melodies of bells, tambura, mantras in the presence of the deities make for an experience that cannot be described.
Suffice to say that for the space of a few moments at least, we were transported to a world beyond all mundane thoughts or desires. For a short while, we identified ourselves with the divine. It was Sat Chit Ananda unadulterated.
This is our land, where such sublime experiences are part and parcel of daily life. Can this ever, ever be replaced by the material comforts of a foreign land?

What are we in search of really? Wealth? Fame? Love? Power?
Well, all of these, surely. But finally, we hunt for all these in the hope that they will give us that elusive entity called happiness. Which takes us to the question: What is happiness? I don't know what the dictionaries say, but I would describe it as something that makes us feel good inside. To put it in a nutshell, we are in an eternal quest for internal fulfillment. When we say we like someone, it means that that person has made us feel good about ourselves. The reverse is true. I remember reading the following quotation that went somewhat like this- " It's easy to be nice when others are nice. But to be nice when someone is not, is REALLY nice!'
Niceness takes the form of helping others, of course, and saying kind words. But beyond all this, niceness is, I feel, recognising that the other man is also a fellow human is as such, is entitled to be treated with respect.Whatever be his station in life. You can get angry and still be nice, provided you attack the issue and not the person. I have often found that superiors who are nice get more work done by the simple tactic of whole heartedly praising every effort of their subordinates. 'I can live a whole day on a compliment' went a title in an old issue of the Readers' Digest. When we are praised, we feel good about ourselves. That naturally prompts us to attempt further work in the hope of more appreciation.
So let us all think about being nice even when forced to be critical or reactive. Let words like empathy, consideration and humaneness come into our vocabulary and ... into our lives.

We never take a break till we break. How true! We are accused of never really listening to people. Our conversations alternate between us talking and then thinking of what next to say when the other man talks. Unfortunately (or fortunately), we can't do that to our bodies. For, our body is a silent worker. You can abuse it only that much and no more.  The human body is one of the most dignified pieces of existence ever conceived. Look at it: Look at our digestive system : Like an akshaya paatra, it takes in all the muck we eat and tries to digest it. It suffers all the polluted air and valiantly filters it  before sending it down to the lungs. Our vertebral columns suffer our terrible postural eccentricities right from the defeatist's slouch to the computer 'question mark pose'
So far so good. But then once the limits are crossed, the no-nonsense attitude strikes. Enter the dragons of acidity, asthma and arthritis. And before one realises it, one comes to terms with the fact that one is no longer the invincible machine that can do every feat in the universe, but is actually a slave of the super computer that encases one.
Prevention is better than cure, what?
Certainly. And to those workaholics that feel that every minute not spent in 'doing something' is a waste, let me tell you: take that break every now and then. You won't regret it. And, let me add that it does feel good to be inactive for a while, with a clear conscience!

Who said the best things in life are larger than life? To an average Indian housewife, I would rate the following as the greatest bits of happiness:
The doorbell announcing the arrival of the domestic help (attendance marked for today!)
The milk basket filled with sachets at 5.30 on a morning when there is absolutely no extra milk.
The sight of spongy white idlies on lifting the steaming cooker.
The vegetables all chopped up in readiness for cooking.
The pressure cooker that doesn't let out steam from the sides.
The arrival of the LPG cylinder when the gas supplies are almost over at home.
The array of washed clothes that have dried completely.
The electricity supply that resumes just as one is about to start using the grinder or mixie.
...
and of course, the list goes on...