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| Daksh and Parth -----Photos on the show window of a prominent photostudio in Delhi |
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| Proud of them both.......TG!!!!!! |
Sunday, 30 September 2012
My two Budding stars
Monday, 10 September 2012
From Kali to Krishna : A love song : Devdutt Pattanaik
From Kali to Krishna : A love song : Devdutt Pattanaik
Published in Speaking Tree, February 05, 2012
In one of the many Tantrik mystic traditions of Bengal, the goddess Kali, often addressed as Tara, is identified with Krishna, locally known as Keshto. Both share the same dark-complexion, Shyam-ranga, and their partners, Shiva in case of Kali, and Radha in case of Krishna, are fair as camphor, Karpura-gaur. The stories that connect these two very distinct traditions – the blood sacrifice demanding Tantrik tradition of Kali and the vegetarian Brahmanical Vaishnava tradition of Krishna – come through in phrases and couplets that make up some of the songs of Baul minstrels and even kitchen tales. The emotion that overrides all others in these stories is one of love, pure love, that transcends the demands and limitations imposed by customs and law.
They say that Shiva never spoke a single word until Shakti came into his life as Parvati. She became not only his wife, but also his student, asking questions, discussing and deliberating with him, till he revealed to the world the mysteries of life. So one day, she asked him, “What is love?” All he did then was look at her and smile. “Tell me, please, what is love?” she asked, turning away to hide her blush. This is what he said.
“When you come to me as Annapoorna, the goddess of food, and feed me and ask for nothing in return, I feel love. For you have taken care of my hunger unconditionally. When you come to me as Kamakhya, the goddess of pleasure, and hold me intimately as no one does do, I feel love. For you have made me the object of your desire. This is bhog. This is one kind of love. But there is another kind of love.
“When you come to me as Gauri, demure and delicate, and allow me to dominate you, demand things of you, take you for granted, knowing fully well that you cannot be dominated by anyone, I feel love. You made me play dice, laugh at the simple pleasure of games. You made me make you dolls and enjoy entertaining you. When you come to me as Durga, bearing weapons in your hand, and protect me, I feel secure and safe, and cared for, I also feel love. This is shakti. This is power. By granting me power over you, by defending me, protecting me, empowering me, you make me feel loved. This is the second kind of love. But there is yet another kind of love.
“When you dance atop me as Kali, naked with hair unbound, unafraid to be yourself, unafraid to be powerful and vulnerable and unafraid of being judged and mocked, I feel love. You make me open my eyes. I realize that Lalita, the beautiful one, is also Bhairavi, the fearsome one. I realize Mangala, the auspicious one, is also Chandika, the violent one. I see you totally, without judgment, and I realize I am capable of seeing the truth. That you allow me to see you fully, without judgment, tells me that I have become trustworthy. Thus you become the mirror, the Parvati darpan, that reflects who I am. You help me discover myself. You become my Saraswati. You reveal the true meaning of ‘darshan’. In joy, I dance. I become Nataraj.
“Thus there are three kinds of love: love for the body that grants satisfaction, love for the heart that grants security and love for the head that grants wisdom. Animals can give the first and the second, only humans can give the third because they have the third eye hidden inside the head. The first two loves spring from Kama, god of desire, and they sustain life on earth. But the third kind of love springs from Kamantaka, from the destruction of desire, unmotivated by fear of death.”
Shakti smiled and she offered Shiva a boon for this wonderful anwer. And he said, “As Shyama, the dark Goddess, who is Kali and Shakti, you have taught me love. You have danced atop me, forced me to open my eyes, turn from shava (corpse) to Shiva. Grant me the chance to do the same to you.” So the Goddess asked Shiva to descend on earth as the fair Radha whose love and pining would make her descend as the dark-one Krishna.
And it is Radha who taught Krishna the meaning of love as Shakti had once taught Shiva. He was until he met her but a butter-loving cowherd who fought demons and teased milkmaids but the presence of Radha changed it all. Just as Kali transformed Shiva into Nataraj, Radha made Krishna take up the flute and make music. Just as Kali had made Shiva give up his autonomy and understand the value of the not-so-autonomous other, the pining beloved, Radha helped Krishna understand the limitations of society, the struggle between faith in divinity and fidelity for the husband. Radha was demanding, as Kali once had been. Radha sat on Krishna as Kali stood on Shiva. The two thus mingled in merged in roles and thoughts and feelings. But there was one crucial difference.
Kali had made the wandering hermit, Shiva, into a rooted hermit, Shankara. Radha did the very opposite. She remained a flower stuck to the branch of a tree while Krishna became the bee that moves on after enriching himself with the nectar. And so fulfilled by Radha’s love, Krishna left Madhuban for Mathura. Kali had revealed love through shringara, romance, as only Krishna can. Radha revealed love through vairagya, renunciation, as only Shiva can.
From Kali to Krishna : A love song
Published in Speaking Tree, February 05, 2012
In one of the many Tantrik mystic traditions of Bengal, the goddess Kali, often addressed as Tara, is identified with Krishna, locally known as Keshto. Both share the same dark-complexion, Shyam-ranga, and their partners, Shiva in case of Kali, and Radha in case of Krishna, are fair as camphor, Karpura-gaur. The stories that connect these two very distinct traditions – the blood sacrifice demanding Tantrik tradition of Kali and the vegetarian Brahmanical Vaishnava tradition of Krishna – come through in phrases and couplets that make up some of the songs of Baul minstrels and even kitchen tales. The emotion that overrides all others in these stories is one of love, pure love, that transcends the demands and limitations imposed by customs and law.
They say that Shiva never spoke a single word until Shakti came into his life as Parvati. She became not only his wife, but also his student, asking questions, discussing and deliberating with him, till he revealed to the world the mysteries of life. So one day, she asked him, “What is love?” All he did then was look at her and smile. “Tell me, please, what is love?” she asked, turning away to hide her blush. This is what he said.
“When you come to me as Annapoorna, the goddess of food, and feed me and ask for nothing in return, I feel love. For you have taken care of my hunger unconditionally. When you come to me as Kamakhya, the goddess of pleasure, and hold me intimately as no one does do, I feel love. For you have made me the object of your desire. This is bhog. This is one kind of love. But there is another kind of love.
“When you come to me as Gauri, demure and delicate, and allow me to dominate you, demand things of you, take you for granted, knowing fully well that you cannot be dominated by anyone, I feel love. You made me play dice, laugh at the simple pleasure of games. You made me make you dolls and enjoy entertaining you. When you come to me as Durga, bearing weapons in your hand, and protect me, I feel secure and safe, and cared for, I also feel love. This is shakti. This is power. By granting me power over you, by defending me, protecting me, empowering me, you make me feel loved. This is the second kind of love. But there is yet another kind of love.
“When you dance atop me as Kali, naked with hair unbound, unafraid to be yourself, unafraid to be powerful and vulnerable and unafraid of being judged and mocked, I feel love. You make me open my eyes. I realize that Lalita, the beautiful one, is also Bhairavi, the fearsome one. I realize Mangala, the auspicious one, is also Chandika, the violent one. I see you totally, without judgment, and I realize I am capable of seeing the truth. That you allow me to see you fully, without judgment, tells me that I have become trustworthy. Thus you become the mirror, the Parvati darpan, that reflects who I am. You help me discover myself. You become my Saraswati. You reveal the true meaning of ‘darshan’. In joy, I dance. I become Nataraj.
“Thus there are three kinds of love: love for the body that grants satisfaction, love for the heart that grants security and love for the head that grants wisdom. Animals can give the first and the second, only humans can give the third because they have the third eye hidden inside the head. The first two loves spring from Kama, god of desire, and they sustain life on earth. But the third kind of love springs from Kamantaka, from the destruction of desire, unmotivated by fear of death.”
Shakti smiled and she offered Shiva a boon for this wonderful anwer. And he said, “As Shyama, the dark Goddess, who is Kali and Shakti, you have taught me love. You have danced atop me, forced me to open my eyes, turn from shava (corpse) to Shiva. Grant me the chance to do the same to you.” So the Goddess asked Shiva to descend on earth as the fair Radha whose love and pining would make her descend as the dark-one Krishna.
And it is Radha who taught Krishna the meaning of love as Shakti had once taught Shiva. He was until he met her but a butter-loving cowherd who fought demons and teased milkmaids but the presence of Radha changed it all. Just as Kali transformed Shiva into Nataraj, Radha made Krishna take up the flute and make music. Just as Kali had made Shiva give up his autonomy and understand the value of the not-so-autonomous other, the pining beloved, Radha helped Krishna understand the limitations of society, the struggle between faith in divinity and fidelity for the husband. Radha was demanding, as Kali once had been. Radha sat on Krishna as Kali stood on Shiva. The two thus mingled in merged in roles and thoughts and feelings. But there was one crucial difference.
Kali had made the wandering hermit, Shiva, into a rooted hermit, Shankara. Radha did the very opposite. She remained a flower stuck to the branch of a tree while Krishna became the bee that moves on after enriching himself with the nectar. And so fulfilled by Radha’s love, Krishna left Madhuban for Mathura. Kali had revealed love through shringara, romance, as only Krishna can. Radha revealed love through vairagya, renunciation, as only Shiva can.
Demon Father : Devdutt Pattanaik
Demon Father : Devdutt Pattanaik
Published in Corporate Dossier, ET, Jan. 06, 2012
Lakshmi, goddess of wealth, has three fathers. There is Varuna, god of the sea, that gives the world salt, fish and all the water it needs. This is why Lakshmi is called Sagara-putri. Then there is Puloman, the Asura-king, who rules from the subterranean realm of Patala, where the primary form of all wealth is located. This is why Lakshmi is called Paulomi and Patala-nivasini, or resident of Patala. Finally there is Bhrigu, the sage who can see the future and so bring fortune. This is why Lakshmi is called Bhargavi.
Varuna gives Lakshmi away freely without resentment; and so is blessed with abundance. Puloman resists giving away Lakshmi and keeps fighting with the Devas, who want to make Lakshmi their queen, Sachi. Bhrigu rarely shares his secret and very selectively parts with his daughter. That is why for most humans Varuna is a generous god, worthy of worship, while Puloman is demon and Bhrigu, the guru of demons.
Wealth was visualized as a daughter that we create. She sits in our wallet. But she brings value only when she is given away. This is kanya-daan, giving away of the bride. To not part with wealth, to hoard, was considered the gravest of crimes. Yakshas, who hoard wealth, are therefore visualized as demons, who are often attacked and tortured by their half-brothers, Rakshasas, just as Devas are perennially at war with the Asuras.
Through these stories value was placed on wealth distribution, allowing wealth to flow so that it brought in more value. It also revealed the mindset that was considered beneficial to society at large, and ultimately, to the individual involved in wealth generation.
Jamshed owns six bakeries across the city. Each bakery has a turnover of over two lakh rupees each day. But Jamshed does not care so much about the turnover, “ The more bakeries I build, the more boys and girls get jobs, more people get to taste my bread and my cake. There is so much joy in that.”
Firoz is also in the baking business. He has two. But he does not want to build more bakeries. He says, “It is so much headache. The vendors do not give enough credit and the employees threaten to form unions. And the taxes are so high. Customers prefer Jamshed’s breads to mine. He is too stiff a competition. I barely make profit.”
Samsher also has a bakery that makes the most exquisite scones in the city. There is always a crowd in front of his store. He does not share this recipe and makes the batter for the scones himself. He cannot expand the business, as he might have to share his trade secret. He is happy being exclusive and highly profitable.
Jamshed is like Varuna, who uses his money to take care of his employees and lavish his customers, who return the favor. Firoz is like Puloman so careful about his money that both employees and customers feel the pinch. Samsher is like Bhrigu whose customer-friendly secrets ensure his success.
While all generate wealth, Jamshed’s wealth is shared amongst many people and it gives livelihood to many, reducing unemployment and helping society at large. The wealth of Firoz and Samsher helps only them. They become rich. But when one is rich in a world where there is poverty and unemployment, one lives perpetually in fear, facing the resentment of the rest. This is unhealthy in the long run. We become ‘demons’ for other members of society.
Demon Father
Published in Corporate Dossier, ET, Jan. 06, 2012
Lakshmi, goddess of wealth, has three fathers. There is Varuna, god of the sea, that gives the world salt, fish and all the water it needs. This is why Lakshmi is called Sagara-putri. Then there is Puloman, the Asura-king, who rules from the subterranean realm of Patala, where the primary form of all wealth is located. This is why Lakshmi is called Paulomi and Patala-nivasini, or resident of Patala. Finally there is Bhrigu, the sage who can see the future and so bring fortune. This is why Lakshmi is called Bhargavi.
Varuna gives Lakshmi away freely without resentment; and so is blessed with abundance. Puloman resists giving away Lakshmi and keeps fighting with the Devas, who want to make Lakshmi their queen, Sachi. Bhrigu rarely shares his secret and very selectively parts with his daughter. That is why for most humans Varuna is a generous god, worthy of worship, while Puloman is demon and Bhrigu, the guru of demons.
Wealth was visualized as a daughter that we create. She sits in our wallet. But she brings value only when she is given away. This is kanya-daan, giving away of the bride. To not part with wealth, to hoard, was considered the gravest of crimes. Yakshas, who hoard wealth, are therefore visualized as demons, who are often attacked and tortured by their half-brothers, Rakshasas, just as Devas are perennially at war with the Asuras.
Through these stories value was placed on wealth distribution, allowing wealth to flow so that it brought in more value. It also revealed the mindset that was considered beneficial to society at large, and ultimately, to the individual involved in wealth generation.
Jamshed owns six bakeries across the city. Each bakery has a turnover of over two lakh rupees each day. But Jamshed does not care so much about the turnover, “ The more bakeries I build, the more boys and girls get jobs, more people get to taste my bread and my cake. There is so much joy in that.”
Firoz is also in the baking business. He has two. But he does not want to build more bakeries. He says, “It is so much headache. The vendors do not give enough credit and the employees threaten to form unions. And the taxes are so high. Customers prefer Jamshed’s breads to mine. He is too stiff a competition. I barely make profit.”
Samsher also has a bakery that makes the most exquisite scones in the city. There is always a crowd in front of his store. He does not share this recipe and makes the batter for the scones himself. He cannot expand the business, as he might have to share his trade secret. He is happy being exclusive and highly profitable.
Jamshed is like Varuna, who uses his money to take care of his employees and lavish his customers, who return the favor. Firoz is like Puloman so careful about his money that both employees and customers feel the pinch. Samsher is like Bhrigu whose customer-friendly secrets ensure his success.
While all generate wealth, Jamshed’s wealth is shared amongst many people and it gives livelihood to many, reducing unemployment and helping society at large. The wealth of Firoz and Samsher helps only them. They become rich. But when one is rich in a world where there is poverty and unemployment, one lives perpetually in fear, facing the resentment of the rest. This is unhealthy in the long run. We become ‘demons’ for other members of society.
Games Greek Gods Play : Devdutt Pattanaik
Games Greek Gods Play : Devdutt Pattanaik
Games Greek Gods Play
This article was published in First City Magazine, New Delhi, in August 2004
It started as a tribute to dead warriors. Homer’s Iliad mentions that Achilles held funeral games on the shores of Troy in honor of his male lover, Patrolocus. Marcus and Decimus Brutus held the first gladiatorial games in Rome in 264 B.C. in honor of their father. There are a number of possible explanations for the practice of funeral games. First, it honoured the dead warrior by re-enacting his military skills. Second, it served as a symbolic affirmation of life to compensate for the loss of a warrior. Third, it was an expression of the aggressive impulses that accompany rage over the death. Perhaps they are all true at the same time.
Games were also held to celebrate the killing of a foe. The Pythian Games celebrated Apollo’s slaying of the Python. The Nemean games celebrated Hercules’ killing of the Nemean lion. The ritual nature of the ancient Greek games and their association with death, war and victory suggests that these were organized ceremonies held to enable a people to come to grips with the eternally present fact of death. Antiquity was, after all, a time of high infant mortality, death by diseases we are now in control, and almost incessant warfare. Through ritual sport, death was brought under human control.
Sometimes the outcome of these shows was purposeful submission to death (as in the gladiatorial games); at other times, it was victory. The origin of the Olympic games, according to Greek mythology, is also enmeshed with death, war and victory. The most common story was carved on the walls of the famous Temple of Zeus at Athens.
It associates the games with Pelops, a Greek hero who lent his name to the Greek island of Peloponesse. Pelops was a prince from Lydia in Asia Minor who sought the hand of Hippodamia, the daughter of King Oinomaos of Pisa. Oinomaos challenged his daughter’s suitors to a chariot race under the guarantee that any young man who won the chariot race could have Hippodamia as a wife. Any young man who lost the race would be beheaded, and the heads would be used as decoration for the palace of Oinomaos. With the help of his charioteer Myrtilos, Pelops devised a plan to beat Oinomaos in the chariot race.
Pelops and Myrtilos secretly replaced the bronze linchpins of the King’s chariot with linchpins made of wax. When Oinomaos was about to pass Pelops in the chariot race, the wax melted and Oinomaos was thrown to his death. Pelops married Hippodamia and instituted the Olympic games to celebrate his victory and/or honour the memory of his dead father-in-law, Oinomaos, and all Hippodamia’s suitors who had died early. By being fair in the game, the athletes honored Zeus, king of Greek gods, and the keeper of the balance of universal justice.
Another story comes from the Tenth Olympian Ode of the poet Pindar. He tells the story of how Herakles, the great grandson of Pelops, on the fifth of his legendary twelve labors, had to clean the stables of King Augeas of Elis, which were reputed to be the dirtiest stables in the world. The city of Elis had long association with sports. One of its early kings, Aethlios, an ancestor of Augeas, organized athletic games in the region, thus lending his name to the words’ ‘athletic’ and ‘athlete’. Herakles approached Augeas and promised to clean the stables for the price of one-tenth of the king’s cattle. Augeas agreed, and Herakles rerouted the Kladeos and Alpheos rivers to flow through the stables, thus sweeping the stables clean. Augeas did not fulfil his promise, however. An enraged Herakles after finishing his labors returned to Elis and waged war on Augeas. Herakles sacked the city of Elis and instituted the Olympic Games at Olympia in honor of his father, Zeus, supreme arbiter of justice.
Some say, Herakles merely regulated the games Pelops had instituted. During the games Herakles taught men how to wrestle and measured out the stade, or the length of the footrace, from which comes the term ‘stadium’. Herakles honored the victors of the games with wreaths made of branches of the wild olive tree, which he had brought from the magical land of the Hyperboreans. The name ‘Olympic’ was a reminder to all mortals that the first games where death/war/victory were honored were organized on Mount Olympus, home of the Greek gods. It was held to mark the death of Cronos and the victory of Zeus over that king of the Titans.
During this game Apollo, the sun-god, beat Hermes, the messenger-god, in the footrace, and Ares, the war-god, in boxing. As a result Apollo, the embodiment of Greek male beauty, became the patron of all sports and the Olympic games in particular. Ancient written sources record the year 776 B.C. as the year when the Games began, or at least the year when records of Olympic victors began to be kept.
The first recorded Olympic games had one event, a race, called the stade (which is also a measure of the distance of the length of the track). By 724 B.C. a two-length race was added and by 700 B.C. there were long distance races (although the marathon came later). By 720 B.C., men participated naked, except in the foot race in armor (bearing 50-60 pounds of helmet, greaves, and shield) that helped young men build speed and stamina in preparation for war.
The epithet of Achilles (which literally means swift footed), the hero of the Trojan war, and the belief that Ares, god or war, was fastest of the gods indicate that the ability to win a race was a much admired martial skill. The Olympic games were not proving grounds for real combat. Just because skills in the Olympics matched valued martial skills does not mean the Greeks assumed the best wrestler made the best fighter. The games were more symbolic, religious, and entertaining. The ancient Olympics were individual sports which allowed an individual Greek to win glory.
The Olympic games forged the national, racial and intellectual unity of the Greeks. The Games connected the deeply spiritual ethos of the Greeks with their past, combined to the maximum degree the cultivation of the body, mind and spirit with universal philosophical values and the emergence of the individual as well as the cities of Greece with the paramount ideal of freedom. The games were a time when a truce was declared between the warring cities. The truce was, in effect, an interim of civic and military neutrality in honor of Zeus, the supreme judge and arbiter and source of wisdom, a pan-Hellenic gathering and renewal of cultural and blood ties among the Hellenic peoples from all parts of the civilized world, a peaceful interim.
Substitute the word ‘pan-Hellenic’ with ‘global’ and ‘cities’ with ‘countries’ and we might as well be talking about the modern Olympics. It’s a curious aspect of sports that even when they are part of a celebration of global peace, like the modern Olympics, they are nationalistic, competitive, violent, and potentially deadly. One just has to look at the ‘war cry’ of football fans, the waving of national flags by cheering crowds, the street parties to celebrate India’s victory over Pakistan in a cricket match and it is clear that it is underlying the sport is the game of politics. Sports, in general, could be described as ritualized warfare where one power competes with another, where each hero (star athlete) strives to defeat a worthy opponent within a setting where death is unlikely. Ritualized sport is undoubtedly an outlet for or way to sublimate humanity’s aggression. But defeat in the stadium is any day a better alternative to death on the battlefield.
It started as a tribute to dead warriors. Homer’s Iliad mentions that Achilles held funeral games on the shores of Troy in honor of his male lover, Patrolocus. Marcus and Decimus Brutus held the first gladiatorial games in Rome in 264 B.C. in honor of their father. There are a number of possible explanations for the practice of funeral games. First, it honoured the dead warrior by re-enacting his military skills. Second, it served as a symbolic affirmation of life to compensate for the loss of a warrior. Third, it was an expression of the aggressive impulses that accompany rage over the death. Perhaps they are all true at the same time.Games were also held to celebrate the killing of a foe. The Pythian Games celebrated Apollo’s slaying of the Python. The Nemean games celebrated Hercules’ killing of the Nemean lion. The ritual nature of the ancient Greek games and their association with death, war and victory suggests that these were organized ceremonies held to enable a people to come to grips with the eternally present fact of death. Antiquity was, after all, a time of high infant mortality, death by diseases we are now in control, and almost incessant warfare. Through ritual sport, death was brought under human control.
Sometimes the outcome of these shows was purposeful submission to death (as in the gladiatorial games); at other times, it was victory. The origin of the Olympic games, according to Greek mythology, is also enmeshed with death, war and victory. The most common story was carved on the walls of the famous Temple of Zeus at Athens.
It associates the games with Pelops, a Greek hero who lent his name to the Greek island of Peloponesse. Pelops was a prince from Lydia in Asia Minor who sought the hand of Hippodamia, the daughter of King Oinomaos of Pisa. Oinomaos challenged his daughter’s suitors to a chariot race under the guarantee that any young man who won the chariot race could have Hippodamia as a wife. Any young man who lost the race would be beheaded, and the heads would be used as decoration for the palace of Oinomaos. With the help of his charioteer Myrtilos, Pelops devised a plan to beat Oinomaos in the chariot race.
Pelops and Myrtilos secretly replaced the bronze linchpins of the King’s chariot with linchpins made of wax. When Oinomaos was about to pass Pelops in the chariot race, the wax melted and Oinomaos was thrown to his death. Pelops married Hippodamia and instituted the Olympic games to celebrate his victory and/or honour the memory of his dead father-in-law, Oinomaos, and all Hippodamia’s suitors who had died early. By being fair in the game, the athletes honored Zeus, king of Greek gods, and the keeper of the balance of universal justice.
Another story comes from the Tenth Olympian Ode of the poet Pindar. He tells the story of how Herakles, the great grandson of Pelops, on the fifth of his legendary twelve labors, had to clean the stables of King Augeas of Elis, which were reputed to be the dirtiest stables in the world. The city of Elis had long association with sports. One of its early kings, Aethlios, an ancestor of Augeas, organized athletic games in the region, thus lending his name to the words’ ‘athletic’ and ‘athlete’. Herakles approached Augeas and promised to clean the stables for the price of one-tenth of the king’s cattle. Augeas agreed, and Herakles rerouted the Kladeos and Alpheos rivers to flow through the stables, thus sweeping the stables clean. Augeas did not fulfil his promise, however. An enraged Herakles after finishing his labors returned to Elis and waged war on Augeas. Herakles sacked the city of Elis and instituted the Olympic Games at Olympia in honor of his father, Zeus, supreme arbiter of justice.
Some say, Herakles merely regulated the games Pelops had instituted. During the games Herakles taught men how to wrestle and measured out the stade, or the length of the footrace, from which comes the term ‘stadium’. Herakles honored the victors of the games with wreaths made of branches of the wild olive tree, which he had brought from the magical land of the Hyperboreans. The name ‘Olympic’ was a reminder to all mortals that the first games where death/war/victory were honored were organized on Mount Olympus, home of the Greek gods. It was held to mark the death of Cronos and the victory of Zeus over that king of the Titans.
During this game Apollo, the sun-god, beat Hermes, the messenger-god, in the footrace, and Ares, the war-god, in boxing. As a result Apollo, the embodiment of Greek male beauty, became the patron of all sports and the Olympic games in particular. Ancient written sources record the year 776 B.C. as the year when the Games began, or at least the year when records of Olympic victors began to be kept.
The first recorded Olympic games had one event, a race, called the stade (which is also a measure of the distance of the length of the track). By 724 B.C. a two-length race was added and by 700 B.C. there were long distance races (although the marathon came later). By 720 B.C., men participated naked, except in the foot race in armor (bearing 50-60 pounds of helmet, greaves, and shield) that helped young men build speed and stamina in preparation for war.
The epithet of Achilles (which literally means swift footed), the hero of the Trojan war, and the belief that Ares, god or war, was fastest of the gods indicate that the ability to win a race was a much admired martial skill. The Olympic games were not proving grounds for real combat. Just because skills in the Olympics matched valued martial skills does not mean the Greeks assumed the best wrestler made the best fighter. The games were more symbolic, religious, and entertaining. The ancient Olympics were individual sports which allowed an individual Greek to win glory.
The Olympic games forged the national, racial and intellectual unity of the Greeks. The Games connected the deeply spiritual ethos of the Greeks with their past, combined to the maximum degree the cultivation of the body, mind and spirit with universal philosophical values and the emergence of the individual as well as the cities of Greece with the paramount ideal of freedom. The games were a time when a truce was declared between the warring cities. The truce was, in effect, an interim of civic and military neutrality in honor of Zeus, the supreme judge and arbiter and source of wisdom, a pan-Hellenic gathering and renewal of cultural and blood ties among the Hellenic peoples from all parts of the civilized world, a peaceful interim.
Substitute the word ‘pan-Hellenic’ with ‘global’ and ‘cities’ with ‘countries’ and we might as well be talking about the modern Olympics. It’s a curious aspect of sports that even when they are part of a celebration of global peace, like the modern Olympics, they are nationalistic, competitive, violent, and potentially deadly. One just has to look at the ‘war cry’ of football fans, the waving of national flags by cheering crowds, the street parties to celebrate India’s victory over Pakistan in a cricket match and it is clear that it is underlying the sport is the game of politics. Sports, in general, could be described as ritualized warfare where one power competes with another, where each hero (star athlete) strives to defeat a worthy opponent within a setting where death is unlikely. Ritualized sport is undoubtedly an outlet for or way to sublimate humanity’s aggression. But defeat in the stadium is any day a better alternative to death on the battlefield.
The Rod of Asclepius : Devdutt Pattanaik
The Rod of Asclepius : Devdutt Pattanaik
Published in Speaking Tree, July 31, 2011
Asclepius was the Greek god of health and healing. He was the son of Apollo, the Greek sun-god. His mother died when he was still in her womb and he cried out when her body was placed on the funeral pyre. Apollo cut the womb and pulled the unborn child out and declared that this son of his, Asclepius, would be responsible for the human fight against disease and death.
Asclepius is famous because the original Hippocratic oath taken by doctors all over the world on completion of their education was taken in his name and in the name of his daughters, Hygeia, the goddess of hygiene and Panacea, the goddess of universal remedy. Asclepius had other daughters whose names meant ‘healthy glow’ and ‘medicine’ and ‘healing’.
His two sons were Machaon and Podalarius, surgeons and healers of repute, who helped Greek soliders who participated in the long siege of the city of Troy. They healed the archer, Philoctetes, of a wound that had festered for 10 years and was full of pus, so that he could raise his bow and arrow, kill Paris and facilitate the end of the decade long Trojan war.
More famous than Asclepius is his rod with a single serpent wound around it known as the asklepian. This became the symbol of doctors and modern medicine. This must be differentiated from the caduceus or a staff with two serpents around it, which refers more to the occult arts, which was carried by the Greek god Hermes when he took souls from the land of the living to the land of the dead.
The story goes that Asclepius was so good in health and healing that many people who were supposed to die did not die. Hades, the god of the dead, was so annoyed that he complained to Zeus, god of the sky, who struck Asclepius with a thunderbolt and killed him. Asclepius and his staff with the serpent was then cast upon the sky as a constellation.
Serpents have in all cultures been associated with health and healing perhaps because they can shed their skin and rejeuvenate themselves. In honor of Asclepius, snakes were often used in healing rituals and non-venomous snakes were allowed to crawl on the floor in dormitories where the sick and injured slept.
In the Bible, during the exodus out of Egypt and the long wandering through the wilderness in search of the Promised Land, Moses raised a serpent made of copper on his staff, much like the rod of Asclepius. This rod with the wound serpent was called Nehushtan. Those who looked upon it were healed of snakebite.
Rationalists believe that the serpent wound around the staff is actually a guinea worm that grows under the skin and peeps out of ulcers to lay its egg. Doctors and healers, even in India, use a stick to slowly wind out the guinea worm from under the skin of the patient.
The Rod of Asclepius
Published in Speaking Tree, July 31, 2011
Asclepius was the Greek god of health and healing. He was the son of Apollo, the Greek sun-god. His mother died when he was still in her womb and he cried out when her body was placed on the funeral pyre. Apollo cut the womb and pulled the unborn child out and declared that this son of his, Asclepius, would be responsible for the human fight against disease and death.
Asclepius is famous because the original Hippocratic oath taken by doctors all over the world on completion of their education was taken in his name and in the name of his daughters, Hygeia, the goddess of hygiene and Panacea, the goddess of universal remedy. Asclepius had other daughters whose names meant ‘healthy glow’ and ‘medicine’ and ‘healing’.
His two sons were Machaon and Podalarius, surgeons and healers of repute, who helped Greek soliders who participated in the long siege of the city of Troy. They healed the archer, Philoctetes, of a wound that had festered for 10 years and was full of pus, so that he could raise his bow and arrow, kill Paris and facilitate the end of the decade long Trojan war.
More famous than Asclepius is his rod with a single serpent wound around it known as the asklepian. This became the symbol of doctors and modern medicine. This must be differentiated from the caduceus or a staff with two serpents around it, which refers more to the occult arts, which was carried by the Greek god Hermes when he took souls from the land of the living to the land of the dead.
The story goes that Asclepius was so good in health and healing that many people who were supposed to die did not die. Hades, the god of the dead, was so annoyed that he complained to Zeus, god of the sky, who struck Asclepius with a thunderbolt and killed him. Asclepius and his staff with the serpent was then cast upon the sky as a constellation.
Serpents have in all cultures been associated with health and healing perhaps because they can shed their skin and rejeuvenate themselves. In honor of Asclepius, snakes were often used in healing rituals and non-venomous snakes were allowed to crawl on the floor in dormitories where the sick and injured slept.
In the Bible, during the exodus out of Egypt and the long wandering through the wilderness in search of the Promised Land, Moses raised a serpent made of copper on his staff, much like the rod of Asclepius. This rod with the wound serpent was called Nehushtan. Those who looked upon it were healed of snakebite.
Rationalists believe that the serpent wound around the staff is actually a guinea worm that grows under the skin and peeps out of ulcers to lay its egg. Doctors and healers, even in India, use a stick to slowly wind out the guinea worm from under the skin of the patient.
More Dots to join : Devdutt Pattanaik
More Dots to join : Devdutt Pattanaik
Published in Corporate Dossier, ET, July 01, 2011
Every morning, women in many parts of India draw patterns at the
entrance of their homes using rice flour. First a grid of dots is set
on the ground, and then lines join the dots, or go around them as
curves to create what is known as Alpana in the East, Muggu or Kolam
in the South and Rangoli in the West.
The joining of dots is different on different days: elaborate on
festivals and simple otherwise. As one pays attention to the patterns
in front of houses that line a village street, it becomes obvious
different women see the same set of dots very differently. No pattern
is perfect or permanent; every day they have to be washed away to make
room for the next design. All patterns are artificial, and each one an
expression of the artist’s mental state.
Rangoli is a metaphor to understand the capability and capacity of
people in an organization. Capability refers to how the dots are
joined – how complex are the patterns. Capacity refers to the number
of dots that can be handled, the number of data points that can be
processed. The more capable artist is able to create more complex
patterns with the same number of dots as compared to the less capable
artist. The artist with more capacity is able to create patterns with
more dots than the one with less capacity.
When Rajiv joined the consultancy firm, his boss Mr. Mirchandani
admired the ease with which Rajiv could look at data points and create
a pattern of thoughts that was unlike others. While everyone saw the
same facts, his interpretations were the most interesting – finer,
sharper leading to better decisions and better implementation
strategies. Mr. Mirchandani marked Rajiv as a talent and decided to
mentor him.
As they spent time, Rajiv started resenting Mr. Mirchandani. This is because Mr.Mirchandani always
challenged his analysis and offered different points of view. “My
rangoli is different from your rangoli. Allow it.” Rajiv allowed
reluctantly. But he got exasperated when Mr. Mirchandani dismissed his
conclusions. He wondered why. “You have not considered the market, the
changing political scenario, the impact of related industries, the
shifts in the money market. Your data points are too narrow and too
historical limited to a single domain. You are not able to expand your
gaze, see five years ahead, see its global implications. You need to
add more dots to your Rangoli. You are good at joining dots but you
are assuming you have all the data points. That is dangerous. Someone
with more data points will create patterns that will be far superior
to yours.”
Rajiv realized that it was not just a question of capability (joining
the dots to create symmetrical patterns) but also capacity (number of
dots considered). To rise up the ladder, he had to be good both
qualitatively and quantitatively. He had to draw a better rangoli.
More Dots to join
Published in Corporate Dossier, ET, July 01, 2011
Every morning, women in many parts of India draw patterns at the
entrance of their homes using rice flour. First a grid of dots is set
on the ground, and then lines join the dots, or go around them as
curves to create what is known as Alpana in the East, Muggu or Kolam
in the South and Rangoli in the West.
The joining of dots is different on different days: elaborate on
festivals and simple otherwise. As one pays attention to the patterns
in front of houses that line a village street, it becomes obvious
different women see the same set of dots very differently. No pattern
is perfect or permanent; every day they have to be washed away to make
room for the next design. All patterns are artificial, and each one an
expression of the artist’s mental state.
Rangoli is a metaphor to understand the capability and capacity of
people in an organization. Capability refers to how the dots are
joined – how complex are the patterns. Capacity refers to the number
of dots that can be handled, the number of data points that can be
processed. The more capable artist is able to create more complex
patterns with the same number of dots as compared to the less capable
artist. The artist with more capacity is able to create patterns with
more dots than the one with less capacity.
When Rajiv joined the consultancy firm, his boss Mr. Mirchandani
admired the ease with which Rajiv could look at data points and create
a pattern of thoughts that was unlike others. While everyone saw the
same facts, his interpretations were the most interesting – finer,
sharper leading to better decisions and better implementation
strategies. Mr. Mirchandani marked Rajiv as a talent and decided to
mentor him.
As they spent time, Rajiv started resenting Mr. Mirchandani. This is because Mr.Mirchandani always
challenged his analysis and offered different points of view. “My
rangoli is different from your rangoli. Allow it.” Rajiv allowed
reluctantly. But he got exasperated when Mr. Mirchandani dismissed his
conclusions. He wondered why. “You have not considered the market, the
changing political scenario, the impact of related industries, the
shifts in the money market. Your data points are too narrow and too
historical limited to a single domain. You are not able to expand your
gaze, see five years ahead, see its global implications. You need to
add more dots to your Rangoli. You are good at joining dots but you
are assuming you have all the data points. That is dangerous. Someone
with more data points will create patterns that will be far superior
to yours.”
Rajiv realized that it was not just a question of capability (joining
the dots to create symmetrical patterns) but also capacity (number of
dots considered). To rise up the ladder, he had to be good both
qualitatively and quantitatively. He had to draw a better rangoli.
Ride to Heaven : Devdutt Pattanaik***********
Ride to Heaven : Devdutt Pattanaik
Printed in Speaking Tree supplement, Times of India, 21 March 2010
Imagine a man who earns less than Rs. 100/- a day and supporting a family of four, watching his starving children and his unhappy wife day in and day out. Imagine him being given money and a purpose, one that will help him vent his rage against society and guarantee him a place in heaven. All he has to do is allow himself to killed. It is not suicide, he is told. Suicide is vile. It is a sacrifice, an offering of faith. This is your candidate for suicide bombing. By surrendering to the narrative presented before him, he suddenly becomes a significant member of society, respected by his peers and feared by his enemies. With this one decision, he suddenly matters. He is not one of the countless hungry faces in the fringes of society who have been forgotten.
What is interesting to note is the apparent faith of the suicide bomber in heaven, the place where he will go after death. One hears of terrorist bombers believing in a paradise where they will be welcomed and given seventy-two virgins to marry. Is that true? For the person who believes it, it is true. For the person who propogates it, it is true. For the rest, it is imagination. Heaven is not an objective reality. But is a subjective reality. And every culture has used the idea of heaven to influence the behavior of people in society.
In the 19th century, an idea was proposed, that during the crusades a band of murderers were given hashish, a drug that induced hallucinations. This gave them visions of paradise and gave them the strength to kill their feared enemies. Since hashish played a key role in turning them into lethal killers, they became known as assassins. Modern scholars feel this is orientalist nonsense. There was no such band of hashish-using assassins. But the idea of being seduced by a drug and a vision and a story rings true.
The ferocious Viking warriors of Europe believed that if they fought fiercely and died on the battlefield, beautiful women known as Valkyrie would carry them up to Valhalla, the hall of the gods, where they would be welcomed as heroes and allowed to drink and dine with the gods and fight beside them in their great celestial battles. It is this tale that made them ferocious warriors.
The idea of heaven motivates people across the world. The Chinese believed in Tian, heaven which had a Jade Emperor with his very own bureaucracy. They modeled their entire civilization to replicate the perfection of this world they imagined. Ancient Egyptians believed in the heaven of Osiris into which one gained access after death if one managed to perform the right rituals and preserve the body. This vision of heaven motivated them to build their tombs and their magnificent pyramids.
One can dismiss the idea of heaven as superstition and myth. This stems from the assumption that those who do not believe in heaven are rational, scientific and therefore superior. Look around you – there are millions of people who believe that if they earn the next million, they will be happy; if they lose the next inch around their waist, they will be happy; if they get the next distinction, they will be happy. Are these true? Or are these imaginary constructs? Different forms of heaven? How different is it from the heaven with the virgin wives? Let us ask ourselves: what is the heaven we sell to the soldier who stands cold and starving in the glaciers protecting our country while we sit at home reading our newspapers.
Ride to Heaven
Printed in Speaking Tree supplement, Times of India, 21 March 2010
Imagine a man who earns less than Rs. 100/- a day and supporting a family of four, watching his starving children and his unhappy wife day in and day out. Imagine him being given money and a purpose, one that will help him vent his rage against society and guarantee him a place in heaven. All he has to do is allow himself to killed. It is not suicide, he is told. Suicide is vile. It is a sacrifice, an offering of faith. This is your candidate for suicide bombing. By surrendering to the narrative presented before him, he suddenly becomes a significant member of society, respected by his peers and feared by his enemies. With this one decision, he suddenly matters. He is not one of the countless hungry faces in the fringes of society who have been forgotten.
What is interesting to note is the apparent faith of the suicide bomber in heaven, the place where he will go after death. One hears of terrorist bombers believing in a paradise where they will be welcomed and given seventy-two virgins to marry. Is that true? For the person who believes it, it is true. For the person who propogates it, it is true. For the rest, it is imagination. Heaven is not an objective reality. But is a subjective reality. And every culture has used the idea of heaven to influence the behavior of people in society.
In the 19th century, an idea was proposed, that during the crusades a band of murderers were given hashish, a drug that induced hallucinations. This gave them visions of paradise and gave them the strength to kill their feared enemies. Since hashish played a key role in turning them into lethal killers, they became known as assassins. Modern scholars feel this is orientalist nonsense. There was no such band of hashish-using assassins. But the idea of being seduced by a drug and a vision and a story rings true.
The ferocious Viking warriors of Europe believed that if they fought fiercely and died on the battlefield, beautiful women known as Valkyrie would carry them up to Valhalla, the hall of the gods, where they would be welcomed as heroes and allowed to drink and dine with the gods and fight beside them in their great celestial battles. It is this tale that made them ferocious warriors.
The idea of heaven motivates people across the world. The Chinese believed in Tian, heaven which had a Jade Emperor with his very own bureaucracy. They modeled their entire civilization to replicate the perfection of this world they imagined. Ancient Egyptians believed in the heaven of Osiris into which one gained access after death if one managed to perform the right rituals and preserve the body. This vision of heaven motivated them to build their tombs and their magnificent pyramids.
One can dismiss the idea of heaven as superstition and myth. This stems from the assumption that those who do not believe in heaven are rational, scientific and therefore superior. Look around you – there are millions of people who believe that if they earn the next million, they will be happy; if they lose the next inch around their waist, they will be happy; if they get the next distinction, they will be happy. Are these true? Or are these imaginary constructs? Different forms of heaven? How different is it from the heaven with the virgin wives? Let us ask ourselves: what is the heaven we sell to the soldier who stands cold and starving in the glaciers protecting our country while we sit at home reading our newspapers.
The Promised Land : Devdutt Pattanaik ******************
The Promised Land : Devdutt Pattanaik
Published in Devlok, Sunday Midday, August 29, 2010
Ancient Egyptian civilization flourished for over three thousand years, gradually collapsing less than two thousand years ago. What is peculiar about this civilization is that in its long history, its art remained relatively static and unchanged! It was always two-dimensional, expressionless, rigid and flat. This indicates a civilization where the art was determined by the state, and not a product of individual inspiration. No individual innovation was allowed; everything was determined by the nameless faceless system. People’s lives were governed by this system. They devoted their time to farming and when the harvest was done, they were enlisted to build the king’s pyramid. Thus everyone was well-fed, busy, with no time to challenge the system.
Clearly, this was the slavery that is described in the Bible. A break was needed from familiar slavery to unfamiliar freedom. This was offered by one Moses. He presented the people with a value proposition, described as the ‘Promised Land’. This was the land of milk and honey. There was no map to the Promised Land, there was no brochure either or satellite images. Just faith. People were willing to risk everything to follow Moses across the sea and the wilderness to that dream of a better life.
A Vision Statement, genuinely constructed by a leader, is the Promised Land. Unfortunately, today it has become a meaningless business ritual. We have two choices: either hire expensive consultants if one is obligated by the parent organization and is governed by audited processes, or go to Dilbert.com, if one is more cynical. But ultimately every venture offers a Promised Land, and most leaders fail to recognize this.
Vishal buys old properties all over the world. He then renovates it and sells it for a higher price. “I don’t need a Vision Statement,” he told his uncle, “I am a small business.” His uncle did not comment but he knew that without articulating it, Vishal had a Promised Land in his mind. He transformed ugly soulless buildings into joyful settlements. This idea he shared with his engineers and architects. It provided everyone with the satisfaction of doing something meaningful. It also brought in good profits. Every person who worked for Vishal believed in his vision. They walked the extra mile through the wilderness with him. The results were spectacular and for all to see.
The point of a Vision Statement is not to carve it on a wall in the reception of the office; it is to inspire people. Vishal has nothing on paper; but his vision drives every aspect of his business. It is not propaganda. It is genuine belief.
When Vishal started his business, he needed investment. So, guided by his uncle, he spoke to several venture capitalists and angel investors. He told them his plan. He did not realize that he was doing the role of Moses. The Promised Land that he presented to the hard-nosed bankers was all an imagination. But he had faith in it and conviction that it could be done. He had studied the known – the competition, the opportunities, the threats, his own strengths, his weaknesses, what were the gaps he needed to fill. He was also clear about the unknown – he told the bankers that he was uncertain about realty prices and how the market would move. As he spoke, the bankers, were smitten by his passion and enthusiasm; they sponsored Vishal’s journey to the Promised Land. Ultimately, all new businesses are a step into the unknown. And no one has the map to the unknown.
Vishal has taken things further. He does not have just one Promised Land, or rather he looks at the Promised Land from all perspectives not just from an overall business perspective (as most Vision Statements, unfortunately, do). He presents to his customers, their view of the Promised Land. He also slices and dices his vision to make it relevant to every member of his team. He tells them how growth of the business, will bring growth to the junior-most engineer: even if it is something as rudimentary as a better bonus. Because of this attention to every person’s Promised Land, Vishal is able to fire the imagination of his entire organization. He transforms into a leader who provides liberation from the daily meaningless corporate drudgery that is best equated with slavery in Egypt.
The Promised Land
Published in Devlok, Sunday Midday, August 29, 2010
Ancient Egyptian civilization flourished for over three thousand years, gradually collapsing less than two thousand years ago. What is peculiar about this civilization is that in its long history, its art remained relatively static and unchanged! It was always two-dimensional, expressionless, rigid and flat. This indicates a civilization where the art was determined by the state, and not a product of individual inspiration. No individual innovation was allowed; everything was determined by the nameless faceless system. People’s lives were governed by this system. They devoted their time to farming and when the harvest was done, they were enlisted to build the king’s pyramid. Thus everyone was well-fed, busy, with no time to challenge the system.
Clearly, this was the slavery that is described in the Bible. A break was needed from familiar slavery to unfamiliar freedom. This was offered by one Moses. He presented the people with a value proposition, described as the ‘Promised Land’. This was the land of milk and honey. There was no map to the Promised Land, there was no brochure either or satellite images. Just faith. People were willing to risk everything to follow Moses across the sea and the wilderness to that dream of a better life.
A Vision Statement, genuinely constructed by a leader, is the Promised Land. Unfortunately, today it has become a meaningless business ritual. We have two choices: either hire expensive consultants if one is obligated by the parent organization and is governed by audited processes, or go to Dilbert.com, if one is more cynical. But ultimately every venture offers a Promised Land, and most leaders fail to recognize this.
Vishal buys old properties all over the world. He then renovates it and sells it for a higher price. “I don’t need a Vision Statement,” he told his uncle, “I am a small business.” His uncle did not comment but he knew that without articulating it, Vishal had a Promised Land in his mind. He transformed ugly soulless buildings into joyful settlements. This idea he shared with his engineers and architects. It provided everyone with the satisfaction of doing something meaningful. It also brought in good profits. Every person who worked for Vishal believed in his vision. They walked the extra mile through the wilderness with him. The results were spectacular and for all to see.
The point of a Vision Statement is not to carve it on a wall in the reception of the office; it is to inspire people. Vishal has nothing on paper; but his vision drives every aspect of his business. It is not propaganda. It is genuine belief.
When Vishal started his business, he needed investment. So, guided by his uncle, he spoke to several venture capitalists and angel investors. He told them his plan. He did not realize that he was doing the role of Moses. The Promised Land that he presented to the hard-nosed bankers was all an imagination. But he had faith in it and conviction that it could be done. He had studied the known – the competition, the opportunities, the threats, his own strengths, his weaknesses, what were the gaps he needed to fill. He was also clear about the unknown – he told the bankers that he was uncertain about realty prices and how the market would move. As he spoke, the bankers, were smitten by his passion and enthusiasm; they sponsored Vishal’s journey to the Promised Land. Ultimately, all new businesses are a step into the unknown. And no one has the map to the unknown.
Vishal has taken things further. He does not have just one Promised Land, or rather he looks at the Promised Land from all perspectives not just from an overall business perspective (as most Vision Statements, unfortunately, do). He presents to his customers, their view of the Promised Land. He also slices and dices his vision to make it relevant to every member of his team. He tells them how growth of the business, will bring growth to the junior-most engineer: even if it is something as rudimentary as a better bonus. Because of this attention to every person’s Promised Land, Vishal is able to fire the imagination of his entire organization. He transforms into a leader who provides liberation from the daily meaningless corporate drudgery that is best equated with slavery in Egypt.
From chaos to order : Devdutt Pattanaik
From chaos to order : Devdutt Pattanaik
Published in Corporate Dossier ET, July 30, 2010
Around 1500 BCE (Before Common Era, formerly known as BC or Before Christ), about the time the Rig Veda was reaching its final form in India, a tale was being told in Mesopotamia, the fertile plains watered by the Tigris and Euphrates, now modern Iraq. It was the tale known as Enuma Elis, or the Creation Myth of Babylon. It is believed that this story had a powerful impact on Greek myths as well as the Jewish Bible or Tanakh, eventually influencing what is now commonly known as Western thought.
The story speaks of how the world, as we know it, came into being. It involved a great war in which Marduk led the ‘new gods’ to defeat the ‘old gods’ who were led by Tiamat. Tiamat is described as a monster. She was also the great mother of all gods; in her body resided all her children.
All was well until the children made so much noise that the old gods demanded the destruction of the new gods. The first time this happened, Tiamat warned her children. The second time this happened, Tiamat, ordered her consort to destroy the new gods. The new gods rallied around Marduk who, after a furious fight, defeated Tiamat and her consort and all the old gods who sided with them.
From the body of Tiamat, Marduk created the earth below and the sky above. Tiamat’s tears became the rivers Tigris and Euphrates. The blood of her consort was mixed with the red earth and from this was created humankind. As the spawn of the old gods, humanity was forced to serve the new gods forever. Failure to serve the new gods led to floods and storms.
In this narrative, the old gods are associated with complacency and chaos. The new gods are associated with action and order. This story informs human behaviour when a new management takes over from the old management, usually after a violent struggle, either a boardroom brawl or a takeover. Either it can be the new generation taking over from the old generation, or it can be a new management brought in by the new majority shareholders. Though the stated objective is to maintain harmony and respect the old ways, the reality is a ruthless change, with the new guard holding the old guard in disdain. Marduk comes with his resplendent army, Tiamat’s old body provides shelter to the new world order, and the children born of her consort’s blood are forced to submit.
All this is objectively explained using excel sheets and power point presentations. A new vision is drawn up, and a new organization structure is galvanized to achieve the new objectives and goals. And since the old ways did not deliver, the old reporting structures, old processes and old measurements are discarded in favour of new ones. However, rational these actions may be, they fuel fear and insecurity. Egos are hurt. People leave the organization and those who stay behind mourn the passing of the golden age. The new gods mock the old ways, reminding all of the terrible state of affairs, the pathetic growth rate and the lacklustre balance sheets. Those who start working with the old gods are branded as traitors. And the new gods face many dilemmas – do they reward loyalty or talent, place talented members of the old management over the not-so-talented members of their team?
Dileep is part of a consulting firm. He has overseen many mergers and acquisitions. Post an M&A, he always feels that he has entered a war zone. There are the conquerors and the conquered. There is arrogance on one side and fear on the other. What is most bewildering is how these emotions are ignored.
Dileep remembers this post-merger workshop he was asked to conduct to identify a suitable sales reporting system for the new entity. The workshop was conducted using all tools of modern management – forms had to be filled, SWOT analysis had to be done, scores had to be given, so that the final outcome would be objective, stripped of bias, hence acceptable to all. But the workshop was anything but objective. Yes, members of both organizations were forced to sit together but during coffee breaks the two tribes stayed away from each other. Dileep overheard people saying, “Be smart. Just celebrate the reporting system that the new CEO likes. And you know which one that is.” Beneath the veneer of objectivity, emotions were determining the choice of the sales reporting system. Marduk’s system won. Tiamat’s system was broken down.
From chaos to order
Published in Corporate Dossier ET, July 30, 2010
Around 1500 BCE (Before Common Era, formerly known as BC or Before Christ), about the time the Rig Veda was reaching its final form in India, a tale was being told in Mesopotamia, the fertile plains watered by the Tigris and Euphrates, now modern Iraq. It was the tale known as Enuma Elis, or the Creation Myth of Babylon. It is believed that this story had a powerful impact on Greek myths as well as the Jewish Bible or Tanakh, eventually influencing what is now commonly known as Western thought.
The story speaks of how the world, as we know it, came into being. It involved a great war in which Marduk led the ‘new gods’ to defeat the ‘old gods’ who were led by Tiamat. Tiamat is described as a monster. She was also the great mother of all gods; in her body resided all her children.
All was well until the children made so much noise that the old gods demanded the destruction of the new gods. The first time this happened, Tiamat warned her children. The second time this happened, Tiamat, ordered her consort to destroy the new gods. The new gods rallied around Marduk who, after a furious fight, defeated Tiamat and her consort and all the old gods who sided with them.
From the body of Tiamat, Marduk created the earth below and the sky above. Tiamat’s tears became the rivers Tigris and Euphrates. The blood of her consort was mixed with the red earth and from this was created humankind. As the spawn of the old gods, humanity was forced to serve the new gods forever. Failure to serve the new gods led to floods and storms.
In this narrative, the old gods are associated with complacency and chaos. The new gods are associated with action and order. This story informs human behaviour when a new management takes over from the old management, usually after a violent struggle, either a boardroom brawl or a takeover. Either it can be the new generation taking over from the old generation, or it can be a new management brought in by the new majority shareholders. Though the stated objective is to maintain harmony and respect the old ways, the reality is a ruthless change, with the new guard holding the old guard in disdain. Marduk comes with his resplendent army, Tiamat’s old body provides shelter to the new world order, and the children born of her consort’s blood are forced to submit.
All this is objectively explained using excel sheets and power point presentations. A new vision is drawn up, and a new organization structure is galvanized to achieve the new objectives and goals. And since the old ways did not deliver, the old reporting structures, old processes and old measurements are discarded in favour of new ones. However, rational these actions may be, they fuel fear and insecurity. Egos are hurt. People leave the organization and those who stay behind mourn the passing of the golden age. The new gods mock the old ways, reminding all of the terrible state of affairs, the pathetic growth rate and the lacklustre balance sheets. Those who start working with the old gods are branded as traitors. And the new gods face many dilemmas – do they reward loyalty or talent, place talented members of the old management over the not-so-talented members of their team?
Dileep is part of a consulting firm. He has overseen many mergers and acquisitions. Post an M&A, he always feels that he has entered a war zone. There are the conquerors and the conquered. There is arrogance on one side and fear on the other. What is most bewildering is how these emotions are ignored.
Dileep remembers this post-merger workshop he was asked to conduct to identify a suitable sales reporting system for the new entity. The workshop was conducted using all tools of modern management – forms had to be filled, SWOT analysis had to be done, scores had to be given, so that the final outcome would be objective, stripped of bias, hence acceptable to all. But the workshop was anything but objective. Yes, members of both organizations were forced to sit together but during coffee breaks the two tribes stayed away from each other. Dileep overheard people saying, “Be smart. Just celebrate the reporting system that the new CEO likes. And you know which one that is.” Beneath the veneer of objectivity, emotions were determining the choice of the sales reporting system. Marduk’s system won. Tiamat’s system was broken down.
The Rejection of Contenment : Devdutt Pattanaik
The Rejection of Contenment : Devdutt Pattanaik
Published in Speaking Tree, Sunday, August 21, 2011
Both Ganesha and Kubera are pot-bellied deities with short arms and legs. Both are Yaksha-murtis, and bring in prosperity. Kubera is the treasurer of the gods and a devotee of Shiva, the hermit-god while Ganesha is the son of Shiva. Despite many similarities, there is a fundamental difference between the two, which is why Kubera is a Gana while Ganesha is lord of Ganas.
Once, Kubera felt sorry for Shiva’s son, Ganesha who loved to eat. “Let me feed you,” said Kubera, “as clearly your father cannot afford to do so.” Ganesha accepted Kubera’s invitation, went to his house, and ate all that was offered. “I am still hungry,” said the elephant-headed god. Kubera had to procure more food using the money in his treasury. Ganesha ate all that was served and kept asking for more. Finally Kubera fell at his feet and begged him to stop eating. “You are draining me dry,” he cried. Ganesha then said with a smile, “Any attempt to satisfy hunger with food will never be successful. If anything, food will amplify hunger. My father, Shiva, therefore seeks to outgrow the need for food.”
This is the discourse of contentment, rejected by the modern secular world we live in.
The modern secular world today is dominated by two ideologies, both based on wealth and economics, broadly classified as Capitalism and Communism (or the latter’s more acceptable avatar, Socialism). Both seek to create a happy world, and both believe that happiness is a function of wealth.
Capitalism believes that generation of more wealth will create happiness; Communism believes that better distribution of wealth will create happiness. Capitalism celebrates individual entrepreneuship while Communism seeks governmental interventions.India has flirted with both – Communism for the first few decades after independence and now Capitalism. Neither has brought happiness toIndia. And neither seems to offer solutions to the near future. Both these theories are suspicious of the ‘discourse of contentment’.
Capitalists fear that this will destroy the market and prevent the creation of new customers. They float advertisements where people are mocked for being satisfied with their lot in life, and where mothers are advised to tackle scarcity not by celebrating sharing but by wishing for more wealth.
Communists view the ‘discourse of contentment’ with suspicion. They are convinced it is propoganda of the rich to ensure the poor stay poor and do not ask for their rights. Without discontentment, there will be no revolution.
Modern management is obessed with ‘growth’. But everyone refers to material growth alone.
Traditional thought also celebrates growth. That is why symbols of growth like mountains of food, cone shaped sweets, overflowing pots of milk are cosnidered auspicous symbols. But growth in the religious and spiritual framework is not material alone. It is also intellectual and emotional growth. When a man evolves intellectually and grows emotionally, he becomes content with his wealth, and starts to share his wealth. He includes others in his prosperity. Growth then is not at the cost of others; it is for the benefit of all. When this happens, there is no need for socialist revolutions or corporate social responsibility. Wealth flows through the pyramid of society rather spontaneously.
Intellectual and emotional growth are the two arms of spirituality. Unfortunately the latter word, spirituality, is deemed dangerous, impractical or theoretical by both Capitalists and Communists. In rejecting spirituality, these material discourses have willy nilly ignored intellectual and emotional growth. That is why 80% of the world’s wealth today serves only 20% of the world’s population. And this proportion is not going change in a hurry, new regulations, policies and laws nothwitshtanding. For currently there is intellectual or emotional stagnation both at the top and the bottom of the Capitalist and Communist pyramid.
The Rejection of Contenment
Published in Speaking Tree, Sunday, August 21, 2011
Both Ganesha and Kubera are pot-bellied deities with short arms and legs. Both are Yaksha-murtis, and bring in prosperity. Kubera is the treasurer of the gods and a devotee of Shiva, the hermit-god while Ganesha is the son of Shiva. Despite many similarities, there is a fundamental difference between the two, which is why Kubera is a Gana while Ganesha is lord of Ganas.
Once, Kubera felt sorry for Shiva’s son, Ganesha who loved to eat. “Let me feed you,” said Kubera, “as clearly your father cannot afford to do so.” Ganesha accepted Kubera’s invitation, went to his house, and ate all that was offered. “I am still hungry,” said the elephant-headed god. Kubera had to procure more food using the money in his treasury. Ganesha ate all that was served and kept asking for more. Finally Kubera fell at his feet and begged him to stop eating. “You are draining me dry,” he cried. Ganesha then said with a smile, “Any attempt to satisfy hunger with food will never be successful. If anything, food will amplify hunger. My father, Shiva, therefore seeks to outgrow the need for food.”
This is the discourse of contentment, rejected by the modern secular world we live in.
The modern secular world today is dominated by two ideologies, both based on wealth and economics, broadly classified as Capitalism and Communism (or the latter’s more acceptable avatar, Socialism). Both seek to create a happy world, and both believe that happiness is a function of wealth.
Capitalism believes that generation of more wealth will create happiness; Communism believes that better distribution of wealth will create happiness. Capitalism celebrates individual entrepreneuship while Communism seeks governmental interventions.India has flirted with both – Communism for the first few decades after independence and now Capitalism. Neither has brought happiness toIndia. And neither seems to offer solutions to the near future. Both these theories are suspicious of the ‘discourse of contentment’.
Capitalists fear that this will destroy the market and prevent the creation of new customers. They float advertisements where people are mocked for being satisfied with their lot in life, and where mothers are advised to tackle scarcity not by celebrating sharing but by wishing for more wealth.
Communists view the ‘discourse of contentment’ with suspicion. They are convinced it is propoganda of the rich to ensure the poor stay poor and do not ask for their rights. Without discontentment, there will be no revolution.
Modern management is obessed with ‘growth’. But everyone refers to material growth alone.
Traditional thought also celebrates growth. That is why symbols of growth like mountains of food, cone shaped sweets, overflowing pots of milk are cosnidered auspicous symbols. But growth in the religious and spiritual framework is not material alone. It is also intellectual and emotional growth. When a man evolves intellectually and grows emotionally, he becomes content with his wealth, and starts to share his wealth. He includes others in his prosperity. Growth then is not at the cost of others; it is for the benefit of all. When this happens, there is no need for socialist revolutions or corporate social responsibility. Wealth flows through the pyramid of society rather spontaneously.
Intellectual and emotional growth are the two arms of spirituality. Unfortunately the latter word, spirituality, is deemed dangerous, impractical or theoretical by both Capitalists and Communists. In rejecting spirituality, these material discourses have willy nilly ignored intellectual and emotional growth. That is why 80% of the world’s wealth today serves only 20% of the world’s population. And this proportion is not going change in a hurry, new regulations, policies and laws nothwitshtanding. For currently there is intellectual or emotional stagnation both at the top and the bottom of the Capitalist and Communist pyramid.
The fever gods : Devdutt Pattanaik
The fever gods : Devdutt Pattanaik
Published in Speaking Tree, March 04, 2012
In Bengal, when people fell ill, women of the family prayed to the twins, Jvara-Jvari, a brother and sister who caused fevers. Not much is known about these fever-causing deities or the ritual.
But according to one story in the Puranas, when Daksha conducted a yagna, he invited all the gods except Shiva. This angered many sages who complained to Shiva. But Shiva was indifferent to Daksha’s ritual and so did not attach any significance to being kept out. When the sages insisted, a drop of sweat fell from his forehead. From this sweat was born Jvara (maybe along with Jvari, but that is not stated). Jvara went to the sacrificial hall and spread disease. Bodies became warm, muscles ached, skin started to itch, rashes appeared in unmentionable spots, pockmarks popped up – all in people who sat around the sacred fire. The priests had to stop chanting as they began coughing and sneezing incessantly. Voices turned hoarse, unsuitable for the hymns. “This is the price you pay for keeping Shiva out,” said the sages. So Daksha prayed to Shiva, begged for forgiveness, and Shiva, who is easy to annoy and easy to please, cured all with his grace becoming known as Vaidyanath, the lord of healers.
Across India, there are shrines associated with seven mothers or seven virgins, known as Sapta-matrika, usually simply seven vermilion smeared rocks next to ponds and river banks, near tamarind and neem trees. In Maharashtra they are known as Sati Asara, which is perhaps a corruption of “Sapta Apsara”. They are said to cause pregnant women to miscarry and young babies to develop rash. No one is sure who these goddesses are. Their origin is shrouded in mystery yet they are found in villages across the Indian subcontinent. Some stories link them to the wives of the Seven Sages who make up the Great Bear constellations. One day, they went before the sacred fire, or took a dip in a pond, without wearing any symbols indicating they were married. As a result the heat of the fire, or the wetness of the water, made them pregnant. They were accused of infidelity and thrown out of the house and now they wander the earth, angry and determined to destroy the lives of women who do not acknowledge them as chaste goddesses. They tried to kill Skanda, son of Shiva, but he addressed them as mothers, even suckled on their breasts, and gave them the right to bring the curse of fever upon anyone who did not acknowledge them. They have also been identified with the Krittika or Pleiades constellation.
More popularly, the seven mothers who cause fever are worshipped as one goddess, known variously as Jari-Mari Mata, Jari meaning Jvari or fever, and Mari referring to Maru or dry barren desert heat. Very particularly when she causes pox, she is called Sitala, the cool one, cooled by curds and gifts of bridal attire and cooling ingredients such as neem, chillies, tamarind and lemon. In Sitala Mahatmya, she is described as riding a donkey and carrying a broom and a winnow basket containing pulses (which look like pox pustules) and a pot of healing water. Her companions are Jvara as well as Ghentukarna, who bring itches and skin diseases, and Raktavati who causes blood oozing fevers. In the south, the role of the goddess who brings fever if ignored and takes away fever when acknowledged is taken up by the much feared and revered Mariamman. These temples are popular even today across India.
Not many people today see disease as the wrath of a god or goddess, who demands appeasement, or as the work of a demon who has to be destroyed. But still these stories persist. It reveals our faith in how disease has traditionally been seen: not the presence of something unnatural, but as the imbalance of nature’s forces. In every story mentioned in this article, disease has its roots in pain and suffering: Daksha’s rejection of Shiva, sages doubting and rejecting their wives, women ill-treated for being unmarried or barren. Disease of the flesh was then seen as an outcome of social disease, our inability to be kinder, more welcoming and more compassionate of the world around us. These deities frightened us because we refused to acknowledge some fundamental truths about life and living.
The fever gods
Published in Speaking Tree, March 04, 2012
In Bengal, when people fell ill, women of the family prayed to the twins, Jvara-Jvari, a brother and sister who caused fevers. Not much is known about these fever-causing deities or the ritual.
But according to one story in the Puranas, when Daksha conducted a yagna, he invited all the gods except Shiva. This angered many sages who complained to Shiva. But Shiva was indifferent to Daksha’s ritual and so did not attach any significance to being kept out. When the sages insisted, a drop of sweat fell from his forehead. From this sweat was born Jvara (maybe along with Jvari, but that is not stated). Jvara went to the sacrificial hall and spread disease. Bodies became warm, muscles ached, skin started to itch, rashes appeared in unmentionable spots, pockmarks popped up – all in people who sat around the sacred fire. The priests had to stop chanting as they began coughing and sneezing incessantly. Voices turned hoarse, unsuitable for the hymns. “This is the price you pay for keeping Shiva out,” said the sages. So Daksha prayed to Shiva, begged for forgiveness, and Shiva, who is easy to annoy and easy to please, cured all with his grace becoming known as Vaidyanath, the lord of healers.
Across India, there are shrines associated with seven mothers or seven virgins, known as Sapta-matrika, usually simply seven vermilion smeared rocks next to ponds and river banks, near tamarind and neem trees. In Maharashtra they are known as Sati Asara, which is perhaps a corruption of “Sapta Apsara”. They are said to cause pregnant women to miscarry and young babies to develop rash. No one is sure who these goddesses are. Their origin is shrouded in mystery yet they are found in villages across the Indian subcontinent. Some stories link them to the wives of the Seven Sages who make up the Great Bear constellations. One day, they went before the sacred fire, or took a dip in a pond, without wearing any symbols indicating they were married. As a result the heat of the fire, or the wetness of the water, made them pregnant. They were accused of infidelity and thrown out of the house and now they wander the earth, angry and determined to destroy the lives of women who do not acknowledge them as chaste goddesses. They tried to kill Skanda, son of Shiva, but he addressed them as mothers, even suckled on their breasts, and gave them the right to bring the curse of fever upon anyone who did not acknowledge them. They have also been identified with the Krittika or Pleiades constellation.
More popularly, the seven mothers who cause fever are worshipped as one goddess, known variously as Jari-Mari Mata, Jari meaning Jvari or fever, and Mari referring to Maru or dry barren desert heat. Very particularly when she causes pox, she is called Sitala, the cool one, cooled by curds and gifts of bridal attire and cooling ingredients such as neem, chillies, tamarind and lemon. In Sitala Mahatmya, she is described as riding a donkey and carrying a broom and a winnow basket containing pulses (which look like pox pustules) and a pot of healing water. Her companions are Jvara as well as Ghentukarna, who bring itches and skin diseases, and Raktavati who causes blood oozing fevers. In the south, the role of the goddess who brings fever if ignored and takes away fever when acknowledged is taken up by the much feared and revered Mariamman. These temples are popular even today across India.
Not many people today see disease as the wrath of a god or goddess, who demands appeasement, or as the work of a demon who has to be destroyed. But still these stories persist. It reveals our faith in how disease has traditionally been seen: not the presence of something unnatural, but as the imbalance of nature’s forces. In every story mentioned in this article, disease has its roots in pain and suffering: Daksha’s rejection of Shiva, sages doubting and rejecting their wives, women ill-treated for being unmarried or barren. Disease of the flesh was then seen as an outcome of social disease, our inability to be kinder, more welcoming and more compassionate of the world around us. These deities frightened us because we refused to acknowledge some fundamental truths about life and living.
The Great Forest Exile : Devdutt Pattanaik
The Great Forest Exile : Devdutt Pattanaik
Published in Devlok, Sunday Midday, July 15, 2012
In the Ramayan, Ram is asked to string a bow – a feat that will win him the hand of Sita in marriage. Ram, however, bends the bow with such force that it breaks. Since no one until then had even been able to pick up this bow, Sita’s father is so impressed with Ram that he is more than happy to accept him as his son-in-law.
One cannot help but wonder: Why did Ram, known for his obedience, break a bow that was supposed to be strung? The bow is an ancient symbol of kingship. It represents poise and balance, useful only if the string is neither too loose or too tight. That Ram, the ideal king, breaking a bow in his youth is surely an act of some significance. No ordinary bow this: but the bow of Shiva, the great ascetic.
With a wife by his side, Ram’s father feels he is now old enough to be king and so declares his decision to retire. Unfortunately the planned coronation does not take place. Palace intrigues force Ram to go into forest exile instead. Is there a correlation between the breaking of the bow and the denial of his kingship? The epic does not say so explicitly. Nor has any scholar commented on it. But the question is an interesting one. After all everything in Hindu narratives is symbolic and there is surely here a meaning that is waiting to be decoded.
Ram’s breaking of Shiva’s bow probably suggests an act of passion and attachment, for Shiva is the god of renunciation and detachment. Is that why he is considered unfit to be king? Is that why he must go into the forest for 14 years, and return only when he has cultivated adequate detachment? Observe the almost inhuman lack of passion displayed by Ram, fourteen years later, when he finally kills Ravan and rescue his wife Sita. He tells her that he killed Ravan not to rescue her but to uphold dharma and clear his family’s honor. It is almost as if showing feelings for one’s spouse is unacceptable for one who seeks to be king. He had shown his passion once, when he broke the bow. He shall not do so again.
The ancient seers demanded such detachment from kings. Kingship had to be more important than family. That is why Ram is put on the highest pedestal. One may not quite agree with this philosophy today, but it is clear that the epic considers the years in the wilderness not as a tragedy but as a period to mature until one is ready to truly wear the crown.
This theme of ‘growing up’ in the wilderness is repeated in the Mahabharata. Krishna helps the Pandavas establish the kingdom of Indraprastha. But the five brothers foolishly gamble away their kingdom in Krishna’s absence, a crime for which they have to suffer thirteen years of exile. When Yudhishtira moans his fate, the sages tell him the story of Ram who suffered fourteen years of exile, one year more than them, and that too for no fault of his. They tell the Pandavas to stop whining and use the period in the forest to learn. And they learn: Arjuna learns humility when he is defeated by a common hunter (Shiva in disguise) in battle, Bhima learns humility when he is unable to lift the tail of an old monkey (Hanuman in disguise) and all the brothers learn humility when they are forced to live as servants in the final year of exile. Only then does Krishna lead them to a triumphant battle against their enemies.
The Great Forest Exile
Published in Devlok, Sunday Midday, July 15, 2012
In the Ramayan, Ram is asked to string a bow – a feat that will win him the hand of Sita in marriage. Ram, however, bends the bow with such force that it breaks. Since no one until then had even been able to pick up this bow, Sita’s father is so impressed with Ram that he is more than happy to accept him as his son-in-law.
One cannot help but wonder: Why did Ram, known for his obedience, break a bow that was supposed to be strung? The bow is an ancient symbol of kingship. It represents poise and balance, useful only if the string is neither too loose or too tight. That Ram, the ideal king, breaking a bow in his youth is surely an act of some significance. No ordinary bow this: but the bow of Shiva, the great ascetic.
With a wife by his side, Ram’s father feels he is now old enough to be king and so declares his decision to retire. Unfortunately the planned coronation does not take place. Palace intrigues force Ram to go into forest exile instead. Is there a correlation between the breaking of the bow and the denial of his kingship? The epic does not say so explicitly. Nor has any scholar commented on it. But the question is an interesting one. After all everything in Hindu narratives is symbolic and there is surely here a meaning that is waiting to be decoded.
Ram’s breaking of Shiva’s bow probably suggests an act of passion and attachment, for Shiva is the god of renunciation and detachment. Is that why he is considered unfit to be king? Is that why he must go into the forest for 14 years, and return only when he has cultivated adequate detachment? Observe the almost inhuman lack of passion displayed by Ram, fourteen years later, when he finally kills Ravan and rescue his wife Sita. He tells her that he killed Ravan not to rescue her but to uphold dharma and clear his family’s honor. It is almost as if showing feelings for one’s spouse is unacceptable for one who seeks to be king. He had shown his passion once, when he broke the bow. He shall not do so again.
The ancient seers demanded such detachment from kings. Kingship had to be more important than family. That is why Ram is put on the highest pedestal. One may not quite agree with this philosophy today, but it is clear that the epic considers the years in the wilderness not as a tragedy but as a period to mature until one is ready to truly wear the crown.
This theme of ‘growing up’ in the wilderness is repeated in the Mahabharata. Krishna helps the Pandavas establish the kingdom of Indraprastha. But the five brothers foolishly gamble away their kingdom in Krishna’s absence, a crime for which they have to suffer thirteen years of exile. When Yudhishtira moans his fate, the sages tell him the story of Ram who suffered fourteen years of exile, one year more than them, and that too for no fault of his. They tell the Pandavas to stop whining and use the period in the forest to learn. And they learn: Arjuna learns humility when he is defeated by a common hunter (Shiva in disguise) in battle, Bhima learns humility when he is unable to lift the tail of an old monkey (Hanuman in disguise) and all the brothers learn humility when they are forced to live as servants in the final year of exile. Only then does Krishna lead them to a triumphant battle against their enemies.
River of rebirth : Devdutt Pattanaik
River of rebirth : Devdutt Pattanaik
Published in Devlok, Sunday Midday, April 15, 2012
A king called Sagar was once performing a yagna. If the ritual was a success, he would become Indra, king of paradise, and have access to all the pleasures of the world, including immortality. But there was already an Indra in the sky, and he could not bear the idea of being replaced. That Indra stole Sagar’s horse and hid it in the hermitage of a sage called Kapil. The sons of Sagar looked everywhere for the horse. They dug so deep that they created a crater that eventually became the receptacle of the sea. Finally they found the horse in Kapil’s hermitage and they accused Kapil of theft. Kapil’s eyes were shut at this time, as he was lost in deep contemplation. He had no idea of Indra’s mischief. Irritated by the disturbance, he opened his eyes. So fiery was his first glance that the sons of Sagar who stood before him shouting accusations burst into flames and were reduced to a heap of ash. Indra smiled and Kapil shut his eyes once again.
A heartbroken Sagar wondered, “My sons have been killed in their youth. I will die of old age. None of us will be Indra. The yagna had been abandoned midway. None of us will sip Amrita, the nectar of immortality. None of us will experience unending joy. Is every living creature doomed to die having lived such incomplete lives?” Sagar searched for an answer. So did his son Anshuman, and Anshuman’s son Dilip and finally Dilip’s son Bhagirath. Bhagirath met Garuda, the eagle, the only creature who had defeated Indra in battle. He said, “If the ashes of your ancestors are washed by the Ganga they will be reborn and have a second chance of life.”
Unfortunately, Ganga flowed in the sky. Bhagirath prayed to Brahma, father of all living creatures, and he promised to persuade Ganga to descend on earth. Today, she flows on earth. She is visualized as a goddess riding a river-dolphin. Everyone bathes in the Ganga hoping to wipe their karmic slate clean. Into the Ganga are thrown the ashes of the dead.
The idea of rebirth and the Ganga cannot be separated. The river comes from the land of Indra, who has access to Amrita, the nectar of immortality. Indra, the hero of Vedic hymns, lives the life everyone on earth wants to live. He is strong and powerful and attractive and invincible. All day he spends enjoying the good things in life. He does not fear aging or death. Kings of the earth, such as Sagar, envy him. They all want to live Indra’s perfect life. They spend their lifetimes working towards it. Eventually everyone fails – those who die young like Sagar’s sons and even those who die old like Sagar himself. And everyone wonders, if there will ever be another chance to become Indra.
River of rebirth
Published in Devlok, Sunday Midday, April 15, 2012
A king called Sagar was once performing a yagna. If the ritual was a success, he would become Indra, king of paradise, and have access to all the pleasures of the world, including immortality. But there was already an Indra in the sky, and he could not bear the idea of being replaced. That Indra stole Sagar’s horse and hid it in the hermitage of a sage called Kapil. The sons of Sagar looked everywhere for the horse. They dug so deep that they created a crater that eventually became the receptacle of the sea. Finally they found the horse in Kapil’s hermitage and they accused Kapil of theft. Kapil’s eyes were shut at this time, as he was lost in deep contemplation. He had no idea of Indra’s mischief. Irritated by the disturbance, he opened his eyes. So fiery was his first glance that the sons of Sagar who stood before him shouting accusations burst into flames and were reduced to a heap of ash. Indra smiled and Kapil shut his eyes once again.
A heartbroken Sagar wondered, “My sons have been killed in their youth. I will die of old age. None of us will be Indra. The yagna had been abandoned midway. None of us will sip Amrita, the nectar of immortality. None of us will experience unending joy. Is every living creature doomed to die having lived such incomplete lives?” Sagar searched for an answer. So did his son Anshuman, and Anshuman’s son Dilip and finally Dilip’s son Bhagirath. Bhagirath met Garuda, the eagle, the only creature who had defeated Indra in battle. He said, “If the ashes of your ancestors are washed by the Ganga they will be reborn and have a second chance of life.”
Unfortunately, Ganga flowed in the sky. Bhagirath prayed to Brahma, father of all living creatures, and he promised to persuade Ganga to descend on earth. Today, she flows on earth. She is visualized as a goddess riding a river-dolphin. Everyone bathes in the Ganga hoping to wipe their karmic slate clean. Into the Ganga are thrown the ashes of the dead.
The idea of rebirth and the Ganga cannot be separated. The river comes from the land of Indra, who has access to Amrita, the nectar of immortality. Indra, the hero of Vedic hymns, lives the life everyone on earth wants to live. He is strong and powerful and attractive and invincible. All day he spends enjoying the good things in life. He does not fear aging or death. Kings of the earth, such as Sagar, envy him. They all want to live Indra’s perfect life. They spend their lifetimes working towards it. Eventually everyone fails – those who die young like Sagar’s sons and even those who die old like Sagar himself. And everyone wonders, if there will ever be another chance to become Indra.
Tuesday, 4 September 2012
Sunday, 2 September 2012
Best Exposure Nikon D3100
Exposure Basics: Correctly Expose Your Photographs
by Bryan F Peterson, August 2008 (updated September 2008)Every picture taking opportunity allows you to record no less than six correct exposures!
Perhaps you have already figured it out after reading the above, but if not, you will soon know that most picture taking situations have at least six possible combinations of f/stops and shutters speeds that will all result in a correct exposure; not a creatively correct exposure but a correct exposure. But only one, sometimes two, of these combinations of f/stops and shutter speeds is the creatively correct motion-filled exposure.
Again, let’s review, that every ‘correct’ exposure is nothing more then the quantitative value of an aperture and shutter speed working together within the ‘confines’ of a predetermined ‘ISO’. For the sake of argument we are both out photographing a city skyline at dusk, using a film speed of 100 ISO and an aperture opening of f/5.6 and whether we are shooting in manual mode or aperture priority mode the light meter indicates a correct exposure at 1 second. What other combinations of aperture openings (f/stops) and shutter speeds can we use and still record a ‘correct’ exposure? If I suggest we use an aperture of f/8 what would the shutter speed now be? Since we have cut the lens opening in half (f/5.6 to f/8) I will now need to double my shutter speed time to two seconds to record a correct exposure, (1 sec + 1 sec= 2 seconds.) On the other hand, If I suggested that we use an aperture of f/4 what would the shutter speed now be? Since we have just doubled the size of the lens opening (f/5.6 to f/4) I will now need to cut my shutter speed in half (1/2 second) to record the same ‘quantitative value exposure’.
Easy yet hard, right?
For a refresher on these terms, take a look at Bryan’s intro article on Basic Photo Tips: Aperture, Shutter Speed, and ISO.
The Equations
The following are equivalent:- f/4 at 1/2 second
- f/5.6 at 1 second
- f/8 at 2 seconds
- f/11 at 4 seconds
- f/16 at 8 seconds
- f/22 at 16 seconds
Likewise, if we find ourselves taking an outdoor portrait at the park with our telephoto zoom, we find that with our aperture set to f/16 and with an ISO of 100, a correct exposure is indicated at a shutter speed of a 1/125 second (s). If I suggest we use an aperture of f/8, what would the shutter speed now indicate as a correct exposure? If you said 1/500s, you are correct, which also means that you know at f/22 the correct exposure would be a 1/60s and at f/11 1/250s and at f/5.6 your shutter speed would now be 1/1000s. Again, why all the ‘fuss’; what difference does it really make which combinations of apertures and shutter speeds we use as long as the meter indicates a correct exposure?
Knowing that every picture taking opportunity offers you no less than six possible aperture/shutter speed combinations in and of itself may seem immaterial, but when you consider the impact of the creative possibilities influenced by the shutter speed (freezing actions, implying motion or panning) and aperture (a great depth of field, or a background of muted tones and/or out of focus foregrounds) you will have a much greater appreciation for why you are choosing that particular shutter speed and aperture combination. The reason will not be simply because you want to record a correct exposure, but rather because you want each and every time to record the CREATIVELY CORRECT EXPOSURE! The difference between a “correct exposure” and a “creatively correct exposure” is often huge! Let’s take a look!
Let’s pretend we’ve invited ten other photographers to join us in capturing this scene and we break into three groups:
- One third of the group shot this scene at f/11 for four seconds
- Another third shot the scene at a f/8 for a two seconds
- The remaining third shot the scene at f/5.6 for 1 second.
Now let’s imagine that we all awoke the following morning, once again splitting into three groups and we all head into a flower garden. All of us are armed with our telephoto zooms and we are going to record correct exposures of a single flower bloom.
- One third of the group shoots that lone flower at a correct exposure of f/4 at 1/1000s.
- Another third of the group at f/8 at 1/250s.
- The last third of the group shot that same flower at f/16 at 1/60s.
 Image 1 |  Image 2 |
Let’s take a real world look at just how different a correct exposure is versus that of a “creatively” correct exposure.
Exercise 1: Flower Composition
Head outside with your camera set to 200 ISO and a telephoto lens, say a 200mm, and frame up a flower. Once you focus on the flower, shoot six correct exposures, each one using a different aperture and shutter speed. For example, with the aperture set to f/4, you get a correct exposure indication at 1/1000s. Shoot this one exposure and than move on to f/5.6 and then shoot another at 1/500s, f/8 at 1/250s and another at f/11 at 1/125 second, f/16 at 1/60s and finally another at f/22 at 1/30s. You will soon see that all six exposures are correct in their quantitative value, but radically different in their “visual weight”. Note in just these two examples where the first image was shot at f/5.6 at 1/500 second and the second image shot at f/22 at 1/30s. They are the “same” exposure in their quantitative value, but oh my, look at how much busier the background is in the correct exposure taken at f/22 versus the much cleaner and more isolated flower composition of the correct exposure taken at f/5.6 at 1/500s.  Image 3 |  Image 4 |  Image 5 |
Image 3 was taken at f/5.6 at a 1/500 second, Image 4 was taken at f/11 at 1/125s and Image 5 was taken at f/22 at 1/30s. Again, their quantitative values are identical, which is to say that the volume of light that passed through the lens and the amount of time that light was allowed to render an image on the CCD or film was the same. When I composed all three of these images, they looked exactly the same inside my cameras viewfinder. Yet when I reviewed these same three exposures on the camera’s digital monitor, they were clearly different and that difference in this case was with their backgrounds.
In Image 3, the background is limited to subtle out-of-focus tones, color and very few shapes. In Image 4, the background begins to offer up a bit more information in both shapes and sharper tones and by Image 5, it’s ‘clear’ that the background, consists of other nearby flowers due to the much greater defined shapes and tones that are presented. All three are the same exposure, but as is often the case, only one, and sometimes two, are the “creatively” correct exposure.
Use of Motion
When capturing this simple composition of an S-curve on Interstate 5 approaching downtown Seattle, I was presented with six possible options of recording a correct exposure, three of which you see here (Images 6, 7, and 8). In terms of their ‘quantitative value’, all three of these images are exactly the same exposure, BUT one can clearly see that they are vastly different in their creative exposure, with the creative emphasis on the use of motion. It has and will always be my goal to present motion-filled opportunities in the most motion-filled way and more often than not when there is a motion filled scene, the longer the exposure time, the greater the motion is conveyed. In our first example, Image 6 was captured at f/4 for 1/2s, Image 7 was shot at f/8 for 2s and Image 8 was shot at f/16 for 8s. All three of these exposures were made with my Nikon D2X and Nikkor 200-400mm zoom at the focal length of 400mm, mounted on tripod with my ISO set to 100 and my WB set to Cloudy.  Image 6 |  Image 7 |  Image 8 |
Going to Extremes with Shutter Speed
As you begin to digest more and more this simple rule of exposure, it will soon become clear that the need to pay attention to what aperture choice or shutter speed choice will in fact lead you to conclude that there is but one truly creatively correct exposure most of the time and this is particularly true as you begin to notice that the world offers up an unlimited supply of motion-filled opportunities. When capturing these motion filled opportunities you will find yourself, more often than not, on either end of the shutter speed spectrum; using fast shutter speeds to freeze the action in crisp sharp detail or using slow shutter speeds and the resulting blur to suggest or imply the motion present. There is rarely a ‘middle ground’ when it comes to the motion-filled world and with that in mind, it won’t be long before you discover that most of your time is being spent on action-filled scenes between 1/500s and 1/1000s OR between 1/4s to 8s.  Image 9 |  Image 10 |
Recording a correct exposure will always be your responsibility, so why not make it a point to make the most deliberately and visually compelling ‘creative’ exposure possible!?
Exercise 2: Motion-Filled Exposures
One of the best lessons I know of is one that I have offered up to countless students over the years in my on-location workshops and at my on-line photography school www.ppsop.net. It is a very revealing lesson and not surprisingly will lead you further into the world of creatively correct motion-filled exposures. Choose a moving subject, such as a waterfall or a child on a swing or shoot something as simple as someone pounding a nail into a piece of wood.With your camera set to Aperture Priority Mode, your ISO set to 100, (or 200 ISO if that is the lowest your camera offers) and your aperture set to wide open, (f/2.8, f/3.5 or f/4) take an image of the action before you. You have just recorded an exposure at the fastest possible shutter speed based on the ISO in use, the light that is falling on your subject and of course your use of the largest lens opening. Now stop the lens down one full stop, (if you started at an aperture of f/2.8 then go to f/4 and if your lens starts with f/4 then go to f/5.6) and once again take another exposure of the action filled subject. Repeat this each time with the aperture set next to f/8, then f/11, then f/16 and finally f/22. Each time you change the aperture by what is called a ‘full stop’, your camera does a quick recalculation and offers up the ‘new’ shutter speed to maintain a correct exposure and since you are stopping the lens down with each full stop change in aperture, (making the hole in the lens half as big as it was before) your shutter speed has now doubled in time to compensate, or in other words, your shutter speed is becoming progressively slower. The slower your shutter speed the more likely it is that your action filled subject before you is showing signs of ‘blurring’, since the shutter speed is too slow to ‘freeze it’.
Conclusion
To re-cap, the fastest possible shutter speed with any given ISO will always be found when you use the largest lens opening and the slowest possible shutter speed (barring the use of any filters) will always be found when you use the smallest lens opening.There is one thing I hope you will never forget after reading this article: correct exposures can be found just about anywhere, but why settle for just a correct exposure when you can in fact record a truly creatively correct exposure each and every time? You really can take charge of your own creative vision when it comes to exposure!
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P Mode In Nikon d3100
This chapter is from the book
P: Program Mode
There is a reason that Program mode is only one click away from the automatic modes: with respect to apertures and shutter speeds, the camera is doing most of the thinking for you. So, if that is the case, why even bother with Program mode? First, let me say that it is very rare that I will use Program mode because it just doesn't give as much control over the image-making process as the other professional modes. There are occasions, however, when it comes in handy, like when I am shooting in widely changing lighting conditions and I don't have the time to think through all of my options, or I'm not very concerned with having ultimate control of the scene. Think of a picnic outdoors in a partial shade/sun environment. I want great-looking pictures, but I'm not looking for anything to hang in a museum. If that's the scenario, why choose Program over one of the scene modes? Because it gives me choices and control that none of the scene modes can deliver.
When to Use Program (P) Mode Instead of the Automatic Scene Modes
- When shooting in a casual environment where quick adjustments are needed
- When you want more control over the ISO
- If you want to make corrections to the white balance
- When you want to change shutter speeds or the aperture to achieve a specific result
Let's go back to our picnic scenario. As I said, the light is moving from deep shadow to bright sunlight, which means that the camera is trying to balance our three photo factors (ISO, aperture, and shutter speed) to make a good exposure. From Chapter 1, we know that Auto ISO is just not a consideration, so we have already turned that feature off (you did turn it off, didn't you?). Well, in Program mode, you can choose which ISO you would like the camera to base its exposure on. The lower the ISO number, the better the quality of our photographs, but the less light sensitive the camera becomes. It's a balancing act with the main goal always being to keep the ISO as low as possible—too low an ISO, and we will get camera shake in our images from a long shutter speed; and too high an ISO means we will have an unacceptable amount of digital noise. For our purposes, let's go ahead and select ISO 400 so that we provide enough sensitivity for those shadows while allowing the camera to use shutter speeds that are fast enough to stop motion.
With the ISO selected, we can now make use of the other controls built into Program mode. By rotating the Command dial, we now have the ability to shift the program settings. Remember, your camera is using the internal meter to pick what it believes are suitable exposure values, but sometimes it doesn't know what it's looking at and how you want those values applied (Figures 4.1and 4.2).
Figure 4.1 (left) This is my first shot using Program mode. The camera settings are affected by the large amount of blue sky.
Figure 4.2 (right) By zooming in, there was less sky and more tower to influence the light meter, resulting in a change of exposure.
With the program shift, you can influence what the shot will look like. Do you need faster shutter speeds in order to stop the action? Just turn the Command dial to the right. Do you want a smaller aperture so that you get a narrow depth of field? Then turn the dial to the left until you get the desired aperture. The camera shifts the shutter speed and aperture accordingly in order to get a proper exposure, and you will get the benefit of your choice as a result.
You will also notice that a small star will appear above the letter P in the viewfinder and the rear display if you rotate the Command dial. This star is an indication that you modified the exposure from the one the camera chose. To go back to the default Program exposure, simply turn the dial until the star goes away or switch to a different mode and then back to Program mode again.
Let's set up the camera for Program mode and see how we can make all of this come together.
Setting Up and Shooting in Program Mode
- Turn your camera on and then turn the Mode dial to align the P with the indicator line.
- Select your ISO by pressing the i button on the lower-left portion of the back of the camera (if the camera's info screen is not visible, press the info or i button).
- Press up or down on the Multi-selector to highlight the ISO option, then select OK.
- Press down on the Multi-selector to select a higher ISO setting and then press OK to lock in the change.
- Point the camera at your subject and then activate the camera meter by depressing the shutter button halfway.
- View the exposure information in the bottom of the viewfinder or by looking at the display panel on the back of the camera.
- While the meter is activated, use your thumb to roll the Command dial left and right to see the changed exposure values.
- Select the exposure that is right for you and start clicking. (Don't worry if you aren't sure what the right exposure is. We will start working on making the right choices for those great shots beginning with the next chapter.)
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