The Gita and GenY

TIME: It is the year 2032, twenty years from now
SCENE: A class room in any city/town of Andhra Pradesh

Teacher asks, "Can anybody tell me what Bhagavad Gita is? Only one student raises his hand to respond. He says "Ma'am, it is the song played to mourn when someone in the family passes away." The teacher faints.

I may be rubbing the Hindu groups on the wrong side, but, this is the unfortunate state of affairs to which our scriptures and culture have been brought down. These days the Gita, albeit in a much abridged version, rendered so wonderfully by Ghantasala, is played only when someone passes away and never on any other occasion. If this is the case with our generation, one need not be surprised if the GenY (our grand children) misconstrues it to be a lamentation for the dead one.

Same is the case with the melodious rendition by M S Subbulakshmi of Sri Venkateswara Suprabhatam. No, fortunately this is not played as a lamentation for a dead one, but one hears the mellifluent voice of MSS as background music in early morning scenes in Telugu movies. That, it is played just for a few seconds, is a different matter altogether.

Isn't the time ripe enough for us to first learn, at least a little, about our scriptures and culture, and then teach them to our children?

I Broke the Vow - "Till Death Do Us Part"

After more than two decades of harmonious relationship and at times declaring "till death do us part", I decided "it's enough" to sever the ties. No regrets, it is more of elation, rather, to declare it to the world around me. And it happened on the first day of the new year. 

Trrrrng..."H'lo. Celebrate Life."

"Good Morning Sir. You are eligible for a Credit Card free of charge." This was the call I got as I was entering the office today.

Science Vs God

This is a reproduction of a very interesting argument between a Professor and a very astute student. Read on... one of The Best Arguments I have ever read.

A Gentle Nudge

A gentle nudge to all my unfortunate audience.

As a newspaper ’Middle’ writer once said, one has to cajole, caress and coax the teasing wispy feather-like words into shape for publication, either in print or on the web. Writing involves, for the occasional rambler like me, a humungous effort to churn-out a piece. All too suddenly, the thoughts converge from all corners on the mind's palimpsest as I learn the ropes of bloggery and crawl out of writer's block. Yes, it is an essay – in both its senses, as literary composition (value to be determined by the readers) and as an attempt. In those good ol’days, as the legend goes, the churning brought out the nectar and now it brings out a blogpost. Find it exaggerating?

CPUs on the Prowl. Beware.

All Ye Hyderabadis! Beware of the CPUs on the move. These ubiquitous species can be seen on all the roads in Hyderabad. No, they are not any new devices invented by the traffic cops to harass us. They are a breed apart from the normal road users of Hyderabad.

On Being Left-Handed

It is a world dominated by right-handers and the right-handed people take their dominance for granted. Can the right-handed dispute this fact? The majority of right-handed people are cruelly oblivious to the plight of those who are left to suffer the handism in equipment design, from potato peelers to scissors, to wrist watches, computer keyboards to mouses. Even the flush handle on the WC and the handles on the doors favour the right.

The Beauty in Black and White

How do I drape this perfectly shaped and skimpily clad beauty? The stunner appears in absolute dishabille every day. Seduced, I wonder if the cues really help me in doing so. I grew up looking at these in awe and intent upon covering the unclothed beauty, at least partially, but in vain. Yet, to this day it is a humongous task and yet again, with unfailing regularity, I return to ogle at the beauty as she beckons me to cover her nudity with my brainwork. Beaten black and ‘white’ (blue) and lost in those labyrinthine squares, I seek solace from the Random House Dictionary.

Neither a borrower, nor a lender be

Recently I was skimming through the Shakespearean drama Hamlet and had to set aside my scan reading abruptly to read carefully the haughty, if not trite, kernels of wisdom bestowed by Polonius, the father, on his hotheaded son Laertes. I reproduce the lines:

My Love for Language

Being the son of teachers - an English Lecturer and a Telugu Pundit - language, more than science or math, cast its spell on me. I grew up among books, books and more books. It doesn't mean that I have read them all. I've had a sneak peek at some of them. Anyway, while in school, like any other child of that age, my interest lay in comic books and Enid Blyton's Famous Fives. Though my college education dragged me away from them, forcibly diverting my attention towards sciences and mathematics. It felt like I'd landed in a suffocating cul-de-sac, those years. Being the enfant terrible that I was, I failed to live up to my parents' expectations of becoming an engineer. Damp squib was my attempt. And so, back to reading books of interest, drawn by the love for language. Poring through the Random House Dictionary that my father has, was my favourite pastime all through. The syllabic division, pronunciation keys provided alongside each word always held my attention.

My Magnum Opus

One fine morning I woke up with the brilliant idea of penning down a poetic work of epic proportions, the canvas as grand as that of Paradise Lost of John Milton a la