It was perhaps in 1995 that I read The Celestine Prophecy. It brought about a significant shift in my thinking about the world and what happens in it.

All human interactions- all interactions- are energy exchange processes. The entire Universe is a source of endless energy that we can tap into each time we quietly allow some to flow in.

But...

Human beings, especially, do not tap into a source that is all around us and can charge us endlessly. We interact with our peers, youngsters and elders in energy exchange interactions... or more appropriately competitions.

There are various types of personalities defined for the purpose of convenient identification. These may be Intimidators, Interrogators, Aloof, and the Poor Me.

Each of us starts out with a set of childhood experiences which arm us ( or disarm us) for all our future interactions. These are more like Control dramas that are played out to capture energy from the interaction. We try to control the energy and usurp a major share. We, however, do this in very personalised styles.

An INTIMIDATOR, classically, are attention seekers in an aggressive manner. They are loud and have outbursts. All those around them are constantly afraid that they may trigger an outburst of anger or even rage. They invoke feeling of fear and anxiety around themselves. They are least resisted by the POOR ME. This closely matched drama is largely passive, and presents a helpless face. The POOR ME constantly says," Do not hurt me! Look what you are doing to me." Poor me's want to make Intimidators feel guilty and stop the surge of energy outflow, thereby keeping their own.

Next is the INTERROGATOR. An Interrogator questions each little activity and breaks down spirit. These people are hostile, passive aggressive or active aggressive. Always critical of each move, they pick faults, can be perfectionist, self-righteous, skeptical. They may be highly intelligent and appear logical. But their fault picking puts everyone around them on guard. They are matched by ALOOFS, who simply guard themselves against intrusive criticisms of interrogators by closing themselves off.

ALOOFS are often caught up in their own internal world of self doubt. They invite others around them to draw them out by behaving in a closed manner. They are not only loners but very lonely... almost begging to be drawn out of their secret shells. They are the ones who wear their being different on their sleeves and use it as a constant argument to justify everything they do. Their constant refrain is that nobody understands them. Aloofs usually match up with Interrogators who would try to draw them out with questions, but they also tend to invoke Intimidators or even Poor Me's because they can potentially respond to any power play by clamming up.

POOR ME is the victim- perpetual and eternal. This one wants sympathy and may occasionally slip into Aloof when they are giving the silent treatment. They are not really looking for solutions but use the problems only as points of conflict that evoke sympathy. Poor me sustain their victim status by partnering with intimidators

These control dramas usually start when the children are trying to gather their required energy from their parents. Intelligent aware parents would help the child learn to tap into nature, couple it with senstive nurture and use the Universe as the universal source of energy. The problems arise when the parents start competing with their own children because they have not given up their individual control dramas. They, then invoke a complementary control drama in their children.

Parents who have risen above the need to compete for energy, then, teach their children how to tap into the universe and teach them that such a competition is, infact, unnecessary. These parents and these children make for peaceful happy noncompeting homes.

When a girl gets married

I had a patient today- a young girl. She was pretty, and quite jovial. She jokingly remarked that her parents would not mind spending on her treatment as it was just a matter of a few more months.

She was smiling. A naughty gleam. It was refreshing. And yet it took me back a few years. To the time I was a newly wed.

I had been madly in love with my husband. I was a little sentimental- but mostly quite comfortable with the idea of being with my husband. Though I did feel a little that my father would miss me and that I would miss him, too. At the same time, I was sure we would adjust and it was not much of a big deal. Besides, I was in love! That was foremost. That was all that mattered.

I could not fathom how everybody ended up crying with the bride's departure. What was so final about a girl getting married. I knew I would not cry.

By God! I was wrong.

I cried. I cried in the car- the finality of my separation from my parents hit me with the force of a sledge hammer coming down full force on my head. My husband was very supportive and started playing a song that would hold my tears back... And he succeeded.

Little did he realise in his love that he had only postponed the inevitable.

The next day, the entire family got together and opened up all their old memory banks. All the albums of the home were on the table. Everybody sat cross legged and relaxed.

" See? This is Bittoo when he was three" exclaimed my mother-in-law. Then someone screamed with delight at the sight of the man in college. There were many more shots- in school, in college, in a restaurant, in the grounds, with friends, with grandparents, with siblings, with parents...

Oh! where was my family? Why did I have to be here? I found my heart filling up. And my eyes, too. All were busy rejoicing. No one thought about what I was missing. I was missing my umbilical cord. I knew what I needed. I wanted my mother. Now. I wanted my father. Now.

It was nearly eleven in the night. I was inconsolable. I started crying bitterly. Suddenly... it was no longer just fun memories. These people were enjoying exactly what I had been denied! It was a strange sense of loss. I could not accept it! It seems surprising, now. However, then, the only thing I wanted was to be back with my parents. Sanjay took me out for a walk. He tried talking to me, and holding my spirit up and even promised to take me back, the first thing next morning.

I finally cried myself to sleep and woke up with a new found hope of somehow turning the tide on itself. It could be done, I knew.

Somehow, it is only post facto that we mostly realise just how much the relationships in our life really mean to us. I have since grown in my marriage- been able to accept a lot and not been able to adapt to a lot, too. In the process, I have found a new level of maturity and acceptance. And doscovered more depth and love in myself and around me.

I have come to value my parents more since I have become a parent, myself. I have realised that I love both my spouse and my children- and my friends with a depth that cannot be defined. I have come to realise that - ultimately- in life- it is only our relationships that matter and define us.

And that is what I told this chirpy girl today. That she should value her feelings and those of her parents. That she should savour each moment she has. Time will pass. And if you are lucky, you may be granted a chance to say all this to those who matter to you. Say it while you can. To all those who can.

My husband!

I, me, myself, originally uploaded by heartthatbeats.

What would I call him? What can I call him? I ( and he, too!) are not given to endearments of Darling and Honey! That is the refuge of those who may be comfortable making their affections and feelings an object for public consumption. Not him. And definitely not me.

He is foremost an Eye surgeon. I still remember the time he had to have a forearm surgery on his right arm... he was worried sick what could happen if they injured a vital nerve?!

Sometimes I have to drag him out of that role and remind him to be a father and a husband.

He almost defines his existence by his professional role and lives and breathes the dedication and care he lives each day. With a hand that is rock steady and a confidence that is as unshakable he operated on his own mother's eyes, my father's eyes and now, on the eye of my brother's mono eyed mother-in-law. The anesthesiologist standing by for my mother-in-law ( she is prone to cardiac arrhythmias) remarked, " were we able to monitor your husband's pulse, I am sure we would be able to set the watch by it. His hand did not waver even for a micro second during the surgery. And I had to remind myself that this surgeon is operating on his own mother!"

Meet Sanjay Dhawan, the doctor.

He has been a builder, a dedicated worker and a leader who has always led from the front. He has been open to teaching his skills and techniques to all those who may want to learn. He has done donkey's work and carried mule's loads for the departments he has built in the past.

Sanjay Dhawan, the lone pioneer.

Always the people's man... he has lost sleep over the doctor who seems to have a personal or a professional problem; as well as the patient who needs his skill but cannot afford it. He has just picked up a street urchin simply because he saw that the girl was blind, taken her and her father to a state-of-the art facility, examined the child and not only provided medical care but also picked up his own daughter's clothes and given them to a girl who will not be able to see what she is wearing. Because he could not bear the idea of a girl child who is unable to see wear torn clothes that expose her dignity to the harsh eyes of a community that refuses to see.

Meet Sanjay Dhawan, the man.

He has been an admired teacher and a loved tutor by students at all levels. Concepts that flummox seasoned teachers flow very easily from this unassuming and passionate man! There are many who still look for and study from the notes that he once released to make difficult concepts understandable. He still goes out of his way to impart his hard earned skills to those who are willing to learn. Whether it is the revolutionary concept of eye drop, no injection anaesthesia or the minimally invasive techniques of blindness allevaiting surgery, he is willing to let his skill live on long after he is gone.

Meet Sanjay Dhawan, the teacher.

The man who can come home looking as if he needs to rest... eyes nearly closing... and his face lights up at the sight of his daughter- hugging her and joking with her to lighten the load on her tender shoulders. And the son who he holds in a bear hug and revels in... Saniya has started to work out things on her own. She watches keenly. She wants to try hooking the laptop to the Sony Bravia simply because she has seen her Chacha do it. And Sanjay will smile, knowing she can. Moksh asks questions endlessly... and 'eats our heads'. But Sanjay smiles indulgently ( and rather proudly) and says, " I love him to ask! I will serve my head on the platter and invite to be eaten. I love to answer whatever questions he may ask. And explore together if I cannot answer!"

Meet Sanjay Dhawan, the Father.

The man who comes back from the hospital and finds his friends and family waiting for him to light up their evening with a medley of Karaoke singing and soulful music. And he gladly obliges. He will sing on. ( A very recent phenomenon, this! He was one reticent guy! In all of our fifteen years together, I have not been able to make him sing more than twice. But in the last six months, he has broken through that reticence and hesitation)

Meet Sanjay Dhawan, the singer .

And then, at the end of a fruitfully lived day, this man suddenly realises that his laptop is not working optimally or that his CD player is beginning to act up or that the Dish washer is being a little obstinate or that the Refrigerator is being too noisy for his comfort. He will set up any system to his satisfaction and open up the CD player ( Its head needs SHAMPOOING!). Or a little bit of tinkering and " Let us see if it doing OK now?" with the dish washer. And the Refrigerator? Oh! That simply needs to be moved a little here or there. Viola! No more noise. Ah! Do not miss the little wooden piece that dampens the vibrations of our ventilator in the drawing room... You see, this glass used to add a little unwanted noise to his musical experience!

Meet Sanjay Dhawan The fixer! ( My kids... his kids call him that!)

And not to forget the man who carries at least twenty five kilos on his back comprising three to five cameras of various specifications on any vacation! We were held up at the Srinagar airport for over an hour because no one could believe that a single man could use all the equipment in that bag. Each piece was checked and cross checked. We have holiday photographs and family shots that we all love to watch. His photographs have even made it to heritage calenders. Photography is a driving passion with this man. It would be difficult for an onlooker to imagine that the man loaded with the cameras is really an eye surgeon.

Meet Sanjay Dhawan, the photographer

And then there is a rather private part of my heart and life that this man inhabits. He loves me and he irritates me. He cares for me and recklessly tramples over my feelings, too. He is worried sick if I am away without information and yet thinks nothing of doing the disappearing act himself. He smiles and still makes my heart do flip flop and makes my knees go weak. He speaks without having to say a word. And refuses to speak when I really wish he would say something! Sometimes he really obliges and says something," Something!" And he says it with the same naughty smile that took my heart away more than twenty years ago. Thank god for that day he called me back from the gate of the college to rag me!

Meet Sanjay Dhawan, my husband!

Music and brain wave entrainment

I wrote this piece for Helium. The Mozart Effect has been tickling my fancy for some time now. Is it really possible for the children to do better math? Or languages? Or smile better? ...Or....Or...
just by listening to some tracks? And that too in the background? No active listening needed! So put on some music on your home stereo and let the fun begin!

There may be issues here that need a scientific research and that need authentication. But What the heck! It is definitely not causing any harm. It has the potential to do some good! So why not just let the adventure begin?

Music has been known to bring about better mood and fonder emotions in the hearer. It is easy to just listen.

And...

Music is, foremost, a form of energy- the sound energy. Basic primary school Physics taught us beyond doubt that energy can only be transformed from one form to another. It can not be destroyed or even created.

Various sense organs receive the energy from external ( and internal) sources as signals and these are then tranduced, and transmitted to the brain in the form of a nerve impulse. Any information ( signal) received by the human body causes a change in its milieu and is responded to at a basic animal/ emotional level much prior to any cognitive and intellectual awareness of the stimulus or the response. This is the same, irrespective of the stimulus- and includes the response to musical stimuli.

This homeostatic mechanism is necessary for survival. It resists a change... or resonates to the stimulus to blend with the change ( adaptation). In neuro-physiological terms, if a stimulus is applied appropriately enough, it gradually 'resets' the body's internal milieu to a new set point. This is the reason for and the explaination of the concept of neuroplasticity and learning.

When applied continuously, such stimuli require the body to ceaselessly maintain a new homeostatic level. Functionally adaptive responses brought about in this manner, then entrain the nerves and the nervous system much in the same way that lifting weights entrains muscles to gradually become stronger.

Specific types of musical stimulation has been shown to be beneficial in dealing with attention deficit disorders, aches and pains, and even intellectual gains.

There have been a few studies that have proved that Mozart is good for growing children. These studies may have an inherent bias that may tilt the results in favour of the composer. There are a certain type of people who are likely to listen to Mozart and then expose their young children to the same influences. This type is likely to be cultured, quiet ( and exposed to music) and is likely to have children who carry similar genes. Thus, any kind of music could possibly have similar effects but Mozart is more likely to be heard by those who are inherently quieter and intellectually more robust.

All said and done, Mozart, like many of the other composers is likely not to have any ill effects. Thus, exposure to such music can in the long run not cause any harm and may promote some gain.

If music can reduce pain and blood pressure and induce peaceful sleep, it can, potentially also induce psychological and intellectual enhancement. Till proved otherwise, this is a relatively harmless strategy to follow with children ( or adults) and may be studied scientifically before dismissing it as rubbish or plain hype.

For those interested in Music and its effect on humans, interesting reading may be found in the follwing titles:

1. The Music Effect By Daniel J Schneck & Dorita S Berger ( Jessica Kingsley Publishers)

2. Music, The Brain ans Ecstacy By Robert Jourdain

India- my country

This piece was written as a response to a TSI edit on what is ailing my country. See whether you feel the same way.

It is indeed a shame that the slogans and not issues win elections in India. As you have rightly pointed out, the muscle and the money are aplenty and both ripple visibly to tilt the scales. If alcohol and food can make so much difference to slum dwellers, consider the infinitely greater impact that the threat of a broken slum would have on this community. If India's Swiss bank holdings are indeed greater than those of all others put together, why is it that we continue to be a poor country?

Governance is not an easy job. If it is important that a child qualify each grade before (s)he proceeds to the next one, if it is necessary that a doctor not be licensed to cut before he qualifies to be a surgeon, if it important that the armed forces can only be manned by people who complete their IMA / NDA years, if a bridge cannot be designed by someone who is not qualified to do so... why does politics not require some form of mandatory schooling?

It would do India a lot of good to create systems whereby anyone aspiring to a political career can do so only upon completing a College degree of Politics and Governance. There should be a pre-qualification barr- may be a mandatory graduation in any field or a pre-qualifying exam of the kind that separates the deserving from the non-deserving in Premed and JEE entrance tests or something like a CAT.

If a teacher cannot teach beyond the age of 62 ( and when given an extension 64), how is it that the politicians CAN continue to be in politics well into their seventies, eighties and beyond? Why can the truly good ones not take on the role of mentors and train the youth for a political career that can make a difference to the nation rather than their individual selves.

It all starts at the grass-roots. Whether or not keeping the masses uneducated is indeed a ploy of every succeeding government is a debatable issue but the fall out of this lack of education is obvious and plain to see in every field of public life in India.

This not about individual politicians but about a system that is rotting, but it is also about a system or a people that is surviving despite the rot! We are a resilient race that has survived eons of being exploited whether at the hands of our religious leaders in the remote past, or the invading foreigners who found the Golden sparrow so tempting they decided to stay on even after plundering it, or even the traders of the yester-years as recently as 1947... when we finally wrested control of our own destiny. We had larger issues then. We dealt with them. We created an industry, we created the infra-structure of dams and we created even the infra-structure of educationsl institutions. Now, we are at another cross- roads.

WE now need to educate and empower EVERY Indian, to create awareness of issues and to make it possible for each Indian to repulse any attack on our honour. This may mean conscription. It may nean disciplining us as a nation and it certainly means educating the masses.

Your editorial is a wonderful piece that could well be the start of a movement if just a few right thinking people could get together.

As we used to say when we were ourselves teens... KAUN KEHTA HAI AASMAN MEIN SURAKH HO NAHIN SAKTA>>> EK PATHAR TO TABIYAT SE UCCHALO YAARON!

Let us try and penetrate the sky of apathy that surrounds us and break free. Let the sun shine again!

Life happens

We may go about planning How we are going to do what we want to do with the assurance that it simply is the thing to do BECAUSE we thought it! And sometimes... it IS.

Sometimes, however, we have to have the wisdom and the courage to accept that what is happening to us may not be how we plan life but how it is best for us to unfold.

We may set out to reach office ( as many did on that fateful September day) and find that the coffee has run cold or the guy in front of us is not moving fast enough... and fail to reach on time. Only because our purpose on the earth is not yet over. We still have something left to be done. So God, or whoever you thing it is up there, DELAYS you so you can stay on. You thank the Almighty. Truly thank. And get on with the business of living on.

The bizarre incident of the man who survived a blue line hit recently in Delhi is a telling example of Fate taking over in spite of everything...

This man was hit by a bus coming on at a moderate speed. He fell down like a log of wood. Onlookers were aghast. They stopped and for once, in Delhi, did not just look on. They did something. The 'innocent bystanders' were sure they could save him. They picked him up- unconscious and lumpy, and put him into a passing auto ( this quintessentially Indian vehicle defies all definition!)

The jerky ride must have done it! The victim not only got up as if waking from a nap, he also stopped the auto and told the onlookers he was fine and that he would like to go 'home'. The Lord also wanted him 'home', it seems.

He stepped out of the auto...
And...
Bang... Hit ANOTHER TIME!!!!!
By another blueline bus!
Incredible.
This hit- he did not survive.
Was it his destiny calling him? Why did he get off the auto that would have safely taken him to a hospital?

So...
Have faith. When something terrible seems to be happening to you... at least it is happening.
When you survive the terrible happening... you know you have the strength.
You also know it can only get better!

Think. But not too hard.
Laugh. But not too subdued.
Enjoy. Sing. Dance. The fact that you are alive has a meaning. Try to discover that meaning.

And remember. Life is what really happens when we are losing sight of it planning it...

Bibliophile

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/20/world/americas/20burro.html?_r=1

A Lone Reader and teacher sets out every weekend to distribute books to those who cannot afford books of their own or even those who would love to just read and return! And his collection is now 4,800 books strong. These books range from textbooks to novels. The readers range from small school going children to adults. There are those who have even stolen from him but there are whole lot more who have donated books and who have lauded his efforts.

There was once a library service when I was a young child that used to come to our neighbourhood on Wednesdays. The Delhi Public Library- Where did it disappear? I have to wonder... It may not have had the greatest of collections but it was a library anyone could access. And it was exciting just to see the bus roll to a stop next to the post box. The hot Indian summer or the wet Delhi Monsoon, even the cold winters or the autumn resounding with the leaves crackling under our running feet to catch the bus... the bus was always there.

Where did the library go?

Now... fast forward to present... The neighbourhood is no longer the friendly locality where the old grand moms sat outside their doors in the sun and watched little children play 'bat and ball' and kept the ball viciously if it happened to stray anywhere near their hallowed halls! Their hands were always busy- their mouths always yacking... they were never free. Whether it was the sweater they were knitting for a child known to them or for sale, their gossip taps never ran dry. Now, the women are gone, the children were born in the USA, ( their parents having long ago decided that India could not do much for their potential!) and would not be caught in the back alleys of an Indian street playing pitthoo and paalaa. How many of the children today even know of games by these exotic names?

And the books had to be earned. We had to wake up each day DURINg the summer holidays and go for a five km walk with our parents- without dragging our feet... in order to get our reward in the shape of a book. We earned one almost every second day. Our thirst was unquenchable!

Though it is supposed to a special time when the parents read to their children the prized bed time stories- I remember my parents gently starting me off and expecting me to do my own reading. They shared with me their special reading memories and expected me to be able to tell them in no uncertain terms what was it that was holding my attention. This was quite unlike any other parents I have known then or since.

I think.. nay I know, they did a very fine job. If I found myself stumbling, they were always there. They made sure I was provided enough to read on and on... and yet, not quite enough to douse the flames of interest... just holding back to keep me interested.

I have now a library of Fiction, non-fiction and classics, some rare enough to be kept as heirlooms(!) including the original Darwin.

I realised that my love for the printed word was something I had inherited along with another special gift- my love for the language. I felt I would be doing a great disservice not only to my parents but also to my children if I did nothing about this love. So I got my daughter and a few of her friends together and started a reading club. We read stories and we read rebus, we read novels and we read grammar ( yes! we did!!) We had so much fun with words we often lost track of time.

My daughter started enjoying not just collecting books but also reading them. She has built a veritable, enviable library of her own! As has my son who is just five! He is already reading ( or pretending to- which is even more fun).

Gradually these children grew up and grew out of that club... they have mostly, however, carried the love of the books from those humble beginnings. At times we have about ten children joining us on Friday evenings and there are times when we read in a small group of two. It still is fun to read and be read to.

Are there any other clubs like this in Delhi? Can we start a movement? Can we share our books? Can we have readings from our favourite authors or favourite passages?