Advaitha: A Short Summary

I was curious to understand Advaitha philosophy of Sri Shankaracharya  for a while now since it is one of the leading spiritual philosophies widely followed in India. Also I belong to a community who are supposed to be the followers of Shankaracharya's Advaitha philosophy. Hence I read "Life and Teachings of Sri Shankaracharya" by P. George Victor and a translation of "Upanishads" by C. Rajagopalachari. While my study is in no way extensive, it was sufficient to help me grasp the basics of the philosophy. Here is a summary of my reading:

• The first learning was that, the Bhagavadgeetha is a much later text than the Vedas and was composed in its present state during fourth or third century BC.
• There is a dispute over Shankaracharya's time among scholars. While most scholars agree he lived during 788-820AD, Sringeri mutt, one of the main pilgrimage sites established by Shankaracharya, claims he lived around 44 BC!
• Shankara's time was marked by the accent of Buddhism which was perceived as a threat to the Vedic religion. This might have influenced his thought process.
• Upanishads are literally the end segments of the Vedas and hence called Vedantas.
• Shakara's major contributions are his commentaries on Bhagavadgeetha, Bhagavad Sutras and Upanishads called the Prasthanatrayi.

Main principles of Advaitha:

• Self and Brahman(The Supreme Being) are one and the same
• Brahman can be realized from Nishkama Karma (action without the expectation of gain), Jnana Yoga (the path of knowledge) and Bhakti Yoga(the path of devotion). Yoga here means useful deed and meditation.
• While Vedas uphold Karma Marga(the path of action), Upanishads say they need not necessarily lead to the final liberation. However Shankara says Karma Marga is also important.
• Brahman, as the inner self, Aatman, is neither enjoyer nor agent of the actions performed by the body. It is the witness, Sakshi, for the experiences and actions of the body.
• The Self, and thus Brahman is beyond the chain of causality. The chain of cause and effect is infinite as each cause could be the effect of another cause. Hence freeing oneself from the perception of causality leads to Brahman.
• Brahman, in true form, is attribute-less(nirguna), formless(nirakara) etc. The only way to describe the true Brahman is "not this, not this" - "neti, neti"
• Saguna Brahman (Brahman with attributes) exists for practical purposes, Vyavaharika Satya. It has attributes - it is omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient. Saguna Brahma exists for those who pray and expect happiness, but not liberation, Moksha and knowledge. People who pray to Saguna Brahma attain happiness and after death reach heaven, but are not freed from the cycles of birth, death and rebirth.
• Shankara says Jnana Marga is superior to Karma Marga and grades worship like this: the first stage is image worship; the next consists of Japa and prayer; the highest is the form "I am He"
• However lower stages of knowledge is neither to be despised nor regarded as a concession to the ignorant man. As long as a man lives in this world, he uses any tool, which comes to his hand for his own Moksha.

To quote from the book "Life and Teachings of Sri Shankaracharya" by P. George Victor, "according to Advaitha Vedanta, Moksha is not something to be achieved, but it is the very nature of the self. It is not something that follows after death, and it is not to be understood in the sense of endless existence in some distant and unknown world. It is the attainment of highest state of consciousness through identifying the Self (Aatma) as Brahman. It is to be attained here and now while one is still in one's bodily existence. in other words, it is the realization of non-difference of the individual self from the Absolute self. Moksha is called 'experiencing non-duality' (advaitha-anubhava). A man who attains such consciousness is called 'the living-free', jivanmukta. 

While the above summary helps enhance my understanding of the key principles of Advaitha Vedanta, it raises more questions in my mind than answers them. Only time and further study can help them be answered.

 

Dynasty

What is all the fuss about some institutions and organizations being highly dynastic? About some countries, our's counted as one among them, still holding on to its dynastic characteristics, irrespective of supposedly being merit-oriented or socialistic democracies now?

Writer's son becoming a writer, artist's son becoming an artist - is it so immoral?

It's only natural considering that is the exposure they have got all their lives. That's the setting they have grown up in and seen assured success for their parents. Do all of us who don't take up the same profession or hobby as our parents really end up straying that far away from our roots? The changes we make so rebelliously - aren't they some variant of our parents' lives? Giving recognition to the offspring because of the parent's success can be deemed immoral. But when children choose the same path as their parents - can they really be blamed?

A tribute to Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size   

But when I start to tell them,

They think I’m telling lies.

I say,

It’s in the reach of my arms,

The span of my hips,   

The stride of my step,   

The curl of my lips.   

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,   

That’s me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,   

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.   

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honey bees.   

I say,

It’s the fire in my eyes,   

And the flash of my teeth,   

The swing in my waist,   

And the joy in my feet.   

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered   

What they see in me.

They try so much

But they can’t touch

My inner mystery.

When I try to show them,   

They say they still can’t see.   

I say,

It’s in the arch of my back,   

The sun of my smile,

The ride of my breasts,

The grace of my style.

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Now you understand

Just why my head’s not bowed.   

I don’t shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud.   

When you see me passing,

It ought to make you proud.

I say,

It’s in the click of my heels,   

The bend of my hair,   

the palm of my hand,   

The need for my care.   

’Cause I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Maya Angelou, “Phenomenal Woman” from And Still I Rise. Copyright © 1978 by Maya Angelou.

Source: The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou (Random House Inc., 1994)

Some thoughts on "The Namesake"

This article cannot strictly be called a review of Jhumpa Lahiri's "The Namesake". Its more a collection of musings on reading the book. Once in a while you come across a story and a narration which resonates deeply with you and evokes a lot of thoughts. This is one such novel and I attempt to collect such thoughts here.

Ever since I heard that "The Namesake" is about alienation I was putting-off reading it. I finally got to it
quite co-incodentally when I saw a battered copy in my office library, incidentally the only fiction I could lay
my eyes on. When I finally did read it, I realized alienation is only a part of it. The novel is
about identity. It's about carving one's own little space in this big world; about figuring out who you are
among the multiple identities thrown at you. It's about being sensitive to one's past and yet open to a new
future.

The novel tells the story of the Gangulis who start their family life in the United States, back when it was
still a relatively new phenomenon to do so and the younger generation still felt deeply connected to its roots.
They thrive in the new country, have lucrative career opportunities, a nice house, a boy Gogol and a girl Sonia,  although their social circle still mostly comprises of Bengalis like themselves, in an attempt to stay connected to their cultural roots. The children, born and brought up in the US fail to understand their paretns' sentiments and are subtly resentful of it in their growing-up years. However, eventually when the children do grow up and try to have lives of their own, each of them is able to integrate into the American society to a different degree.For them finding a place in the society is never as natural as it is to an American person of American origin. Where Gogol's sister Sonia finds it easier to fit in, Gogol finds himself attracted to and marries Maushami, the daughter of the Bengali friends of the family. What draws them together is the commonalities in their upbringing - their shared nostalgia as well as derision towards it. Eventually the marriage breaks, since the common background is not enough to hold them together and Maushami's urge to free herself of the cultural bondage runs much deeper. The novel ends with Gogol finally understanding his father's urge to include him in his love for their roots and a deeper acceptance of his parentage.

Strangely, the character I could relate with the most is that of Maushami, who, on account of being a girl, is
pressed a lot harder by her parents to adhere to their cultural traditions. She is not allowed to date, not
allowed to be a part of the society she lives in. Eventaully she finds peace in France, a country which has
no claim on her whatsoever, as compared to the two countires which do define her identity. This is the crux of the matter. The life and the culture her parents hold dear and push her towards, is not her life, even though
it may be the only life they know and love. They chose to put her in a differnt society with a differnt set of
cultural values. They constantly expect her to understand and accept their past as compared to the present she knows and the future she is capable of accepting.

All of us routinely fail to understand what we want subconsciously and the life we have built consequentially.
The truth at the heart of the issue is that we all want our past back - the days of innocence and lack of
responsibility. We want our children to fulfill that deepest desire of ours - to embrace our past. But in
 reality that doesnt happen.For one, the children cannot understand where their parents are coming from. They are not the ones who have had those experiences. Even if they do understand, it's not in the children's power to fulfill their parents' desires. If only we can control the urge to project our desires onto our children, so much pain, angst and loneliness can be avoided.

At the end of the novel, the meaninglessness Gogol feels portrays the sum total of his and his parents' alienation.On the one hand, he does not have the protection of tradition to gaurd him from the overwhelming meaninglessness of it all. On the other, the individual freedom he has isn't of any particular use to him at that stage of his life. The novel remains relevant since, its not only the diaspora which goes through such alienation anymore. The current society moving everyday towards an individual oriented model as opposed to a traditional community oriented one, presents similar challenges to the youth today increasingly.

I am going to present a summary review of the book anyway, to end the article with.

Summary Review:
Book: The Namesake
Author: Jhumpa Lahiri
Type: Novel
Rating: 4 (out of 5, 5 being the highest)
I recommend: For its excellent storytelling and relevant theme

Comparison between "The Namesake" and "The Shadow Lines"

I read "The Shadow Lines" by Amitav Ghosh and "The Namesake" by Jhumpa Lahiri in close succession in September 2014, with only the latest part of the "Clifton Chronicles" by Jeffrey archer in between, which failed to leave any kind of impression. Hence the urge to draw comparisons between "The Shadow Lines" and "The Namesake" was inevitable. At the outset, there are a number of similarities, given the fact that both the novels are predominantly about characters from Bengali families.It gave me a sense of deja vu'. However, the main difference between the two novels comes from the fact that they are set in the opposite sides  of the geographical divide between India and the United States. "The Shadow Lines" begins with the characters living in India, while "The Namesake" is always narrated from the perspective of the diaspora.

If I had to pick a favorite among the two, for me it would be "The Namesake", hands-down. I found Lihiri engaging from Page 1 itself, whereas it took some time for me to actually connect to Ghosh's narrative. However that is not to say "The Shadow Lines" was any less engaging on the whole. I also preferred the clean and neatly executed chronology of Lahiri's story, when Ghosh seemed a little haphazard at times. Lahiri's writing could be
tied in a neat little bow, but Ghosh's mangled chronology was unsettling for me. It felt disconnected. Overall,
"The Namesake" is a pleasant story to read, irrespective of the underlying disconnectedness and uprooted feeling.
However "The Shadow Lines" is intentionally unpleasant, designed to make the reader anticipate the deep underlying
sadness that resulted from the central tragedy.

At the end, it was clear that irrespective of the similarities in the cultural and linguistic setting of the stories, they are about two entirely different themes. Ghosh's loopy writing comes together only in the end. "The Namesake" is about alienation, whereas "The Shadow Lines" is about the meaninglessness of partition in a subcontinent in which people are so culturally similar.

Perhaps, Ghosh's cleverness is manifested in tying the narrative together only in the last couple of pages, where the novel and the title truly make sense. However, in comparison I find that "The Namesake" was beautifully and elegantly executed.

Review: If It's MONDAY It Must Be MADURAI

I had waited a long time to start reading Srinath Perur's "If It's MONDAY It Must Be MADURAI". I must admit, I had very high expectations .I had read quite a few appreciative reviews, the title was very catchy
and the concept seemed fresh and different. A funny take on group travel - you don't come across many of those.

As you might have guessed from my tone, I was disappointed to begin with. The very first chapter, "The Grace of God" depicts probably the most common form of group tourism in Southern India - the temple Darshan rounds. It describes a typical Indian middle-class middle-aged group who have come on the tour with the specific purpose of "covering" all the major South Indian temples. In contrast, the author and his photographer companion are on an assignment from a magazine, expecting a very different outcome from the trip.

From Page 1, it turns out that the author is dabbling with every stereotype that is out there. There is generous
reference to middle-age or retiree teachers, bank executives, civil servants and so on making a large part of
the group. While one agrees with him that coming from a different generation, thought process and probably a more liberal background, the company might have seemed exhausting to him, a little more effort on his part to try to understand the group's perspective, instead of prejudging them, a little more empathy to their world view, could have opened up an opportunity to understand a whole different cross section of society. We no longer live in a homogeneous society, value system and thought-process-wise. That is the bone of contention for most of the social struggles today. The younger generation favors a more westernized, individual-oriented world view, whereas their parents' generation sticks more to a community or religion-centered world-view. The whole intention of travel is to open oneself up to the unfamiliar, to expand one's horizon. If the writer blames the tour group that they failed to fulfill that objective, I did not get the feeling that he fared much better by choosing to consider himself intellectually superior to the rest of the group and not truly opening himself up to them. If only he had the notion that, even though his dressing and ponytail might matter to them and they choose to judge him based on that, he will not allow himself to be judged and compartmentalized based on his looks alone, will attempt to ignore their judgement and be truly open with them, the whole exercise could have proved a lot more fruitful.

Throughout the book, while he is perfectly happy to guess his tour-mates' ages, he never reveals
his own, leaving us to guess that he is among the younger lot. Also, in any writing, some things are better
left unsaid. In the Uzbekistan tour, the part where the group comments about the debauchery of the Indian political system, while being on sex tourism themselves was ironic by itself. It would have served the author well to keep the barb about the group itself being adulterous tax-evaders left implied.

However some anecdotal references show a glimpse of the heartfelt and that is where a reader connects with the author. For instance, the bits where he compares the girls in the Uzbek hotel to video game characters or the squalor turning to spectacle in case of dead babies used for begging  come off as very genuine. On the whole, it is as if the author is more forgiving of the sex tourists to Uzbekistan than the temple tourists in South India. Its completely understandable given the fact that one is always more critical and unforgiving towards one's own.

The book gets considerably better after this initial judgmental phase and becomes more observatory from the Uzbekistan tour onward. There are many good bits as in where he questions the urge to catalog each and every animal one sees on a safari rather than observe and be a part of nature in "According to their own genius", about college bands creating their original compositions and the result in "the Same Water Everywhere" or when he talks about the Kabir project. I really liked the line where he interprets " Kabir is a winking, shimmering presence, an idea, a way of thinking that can manifest itself variously." It is evident that in the subsequent tours he is among the kind of people who "get" him. Hence his comfort level increases considerably.

From the number of reviews I saw on Goodreads one can safely conclude that you can either love the book or hate it, but you cannot ignore it. My final qualm is that Rs.500 is a bit pricey for a book from a new author. It warranted many more and much better photographs covering the trips. Probably the author could do a follow-up coffee table book or publish a photo collection as a supplement.

Summary Review:
Book:  If It's MONDAY It Must Be MADURAI
Author: Srinath Perur
Type: Travelogue
Rating: 4 ( out of 5, 5 being the highest)
I Recommend: For an innovative take on group travel

Some comments about "Delirium" !!!!

A week back, I came across Sowmya Aji's post in the Facebook page of our book club "iBrowse", about her new book "Delirium". I wrote to her about it and she was kind enough to send me a chapter. Just got to reading it and here are my thoughts:

My first impression was that its a charming read. We all have come across a situation when its difficult to get into a book - the tone, the pace - even after 50 pages. But I was into Delirium from the Page - 2! All the little details about the scene underway like the auto ride to Oberoi, the description of Lal Bagh, of an Indian woman uncomfortable with sudden physical intimacy , ooze the charm that's characteristic of the narration. Throughout the reading of the chapter, I had a smile on my face :)  It gives a feel that, with a little luck, it could be your own story.

Another aspect I liked best was the authentic use of Kannada. In most Bangalore novels/stories published off-late, the use of the native language is so out of place that you can easily make out the author hasn't made any real effort to understand it. But in Sowmy'a case, its very clear that she truly understands the culture here.

I am posting my favorite 2 pages here. Can't wait to read the whole book :)

The awkwardness crept in as soon as we reached my office gate.

‘Where would you like to go?’ Avinash asked me.

‘Huh? I don’t know. What would you like to eat?’ Avinash didn’t

answer, looking at me speculatively, a smile in his eyes. I didn’t

like it one bit.‘Will you eat north Indian food?’ I asked.

‘Anything will do.’ He reached out to take my limp hand and

smiled into my eyes.

‘Um, we could go to my favourite restaurant. It’s close by.’ Why

was I sounding so breathless?

Avinash raised his eyebrows. ‘Is it a place where I won’t be

recognized?’ he asked wryly, his fingers still holding my hand.

That’s when it struck me. I couldn’t be seen having lunch with

him! I pulled my hand away. I could imagine the waiters in the

restaurant falling over themselves to serve him, giving me knowing

looks… Oh my god!

Why was I going out with this guy? It wasn’t even an official

assignment. In the course of our work we meet all and sundry—film

stars, politicians, cricketers, and god knows who else—for lunch,

dinner or coffee. And it’s usually at some five-star hotel, where they

are used are used to celebrities.

But this was not a work-related meeting. Why was he going out

with me anyway? Was flirting with older, unglamorous women some

new fad with cricketers?

Avinash was watching my face intently. ‘Listen, don’t back out

now. I was just pulling your leg. I’ll take you to the Ashoka, okay?

They are used to cricketers. No one will find it odd.’

‘No, not the Ashoka,’ I said. I knew the Ashoka’s manager very

well. I could picture him rushing to fawn all over Katagi. How the

hell did I get myself into this situation?

‘The Oberoi then? Come on.’ He steered me firmly towards the

main road and looked around. An auto appeared out of thin air, the

driver staring at Katagi. He had that baffled look of recognition I

knew exactly how he felt.

‘You, er, don’t have a vehicle?’ I asked lamely.

‘Servicing,’ he said briskly, and pushed me into the auto.‘Saar!’ The auto driver finally found his voice. ‘Neevu, ah, you

saar, you be…?’

Avinash shook his head. ‘No, illa guru. I am not Avinash Katagi.

I just look like him. I am not even related to him,’ he declared with

a straight face.

I didn’t react. Avinash didn’t say anything either, but he didn’t

look uncomfortable. Who knows, maybe he went out for lunch

with perfect strangers every other day. Well, so did I, but this was

different.

We got out of the auto at the gates of the Oberoi. Avinash gave

the still doubtful auto driver, who kept looking at us in the rearview

mirror, a hundred rupee note and waved away the change. The fare

was onlyaround eighteen rupees. The shocked driver gave him a

salaam and me a conspiratorial smile, and drove away.

That’s when I had a brainwave. ‘Hey, listen,’ I said, going back

to my usual confident self. ‘I have a test for you. If you pass, I will

have lunch with you here. Else I’ll go back to work and you can

carry on wherever.’

Avinash raised his eyebrows. I gave him my version of his cocky

grin and waited, swinging my bag. The idiot bowed again. ‘Madam,

as I said earlier, your wish is my command.’

Really, he could be most irritating, I thought crossly. But I was

confident that my idea would work. ‘Come with me to Lal Bagh. If

you can get away without being mobbed or anyone recognizing you,

I will I will have lunch with you.’

There, I thought smugly. That should stump him. How could he,

the Indian hero, not be recognized at Lal Bagh, the botanical gardens

in the heart of south Bangalore?

Avinash smiled. ‘Is that all you want?’ he said.

I raised my eyebrows.

‘Okay, I agree. But you must not create a scene or draw attention

whatever I do. Ready?’ All cards were stacked in my favour.

‘Okay,’ I said.

Avinash waved his hand again and the same auto driver, who had

not left after all, illegally cut across the yellow line on MG Road to

come to a stop in front of us. I got in and Avinash followed. ‘Lal

Bagh hogi, guru,’ he told him.

I was looking forward to this. No way could Avinash win this

one. I only hoped we wouldn’t have to face a mini riot in Lal Bagh

because of the unexpected arrival of a celebrity. Maybe I should alert

the cops, I thought with a grin.

We reached the huge stone walls of Lal Bagh West Gate. Avinash

got out and reached for his wallet again, but the auto driver declined,

pointing to the hundred rupee note Avinash had given him earlier.

I got out and Avinash waved him away. I didn’t turn to look,

but maybe the driver was still hanging around, like cricket fans do.

Avinash pulled out a sleek Ray-Ban, and put it on. Very dapper, I

must say. He caught my hand and pulled me towards the Lal Bagh

entrance. I pulled away but he shook his head. ‘I can do what I want

and you can’t draw any attention, remember?’ he mumbled.

This guy was turning out to be rather difficult. No, interesting, I

consoled myself, he was interesting, not difficult. We went in through

the small turning gate.

From Delirium - by Sowmya Aji 

(www.flipkart.com/delirium)