An ode to upma

 Upma is a salty porridge of sorts that has slowly but steadily, grown in popularity all over the nation . 

Made of semolina, broken wheat , vermicelli, bread , etc , it is a heartwarming dish on a cold Monday morning , when life appears forbidding , and the spirits are as down  as dew drop covered grass . It warms hearts , fills bellies and tiffin boxes , and brings good cheer to grumpy people. 

It is easy to make, therefore manifesting promptly on dining table before people can utter " no breakfast".

Some , arguing against, would say it is a humble, peasant dish , with nothing great about it .

It has been however, seen , like a chameleon, to take on the hues of its surroundings. One may find it , ghee - slick , studded with dry fruits glistening with loaded calories at a wedding feast ( for instance) . Or , in the Spartan company of rustic vegetables . 

What one craves on a rainy cold evening , however ,is the plainest , almost grey ( echoing the sky outside) version with minimal accompaniments , but with warmth ample enough to keep the sun glowing in your heart. 

ChatGPT

 "Artificial Intelligence will have a more profound effect on humanity , than fire , electricity or internet . " - Sundar Pichai .

The single most , relatively quiet , revolutionary moment in the field of robotics , in 2023 , was the launch of Chat GPT . Launched on 14th March by Open AI , a robotics research institute in the US , GPT4 ( Generational Pre trained Transformer 4 ) is a multi modal large language model made available to the internet users , via a the chatbot called Chat GPT . 

It has taken the world of computers , internet users , students , all , by storm . It can process 25, 000 words , and can respond to images . 

It has revolutionised home work , classrooms , presentations , and our literary  expressive abilities . 

Though the users have fallen for it , hook , line and sinker , for you can write your essays , speeches , presentations , and articles , in the blink of an eye , there is a word of caution , for the over enthusiasts . Slowly , and certainly , we seemed to have entered a dangerous realm where we have given our ability to think , to a machine . We will be spoon fed words and phrases , and somewhere on the way , our creativity will take a beating . Our minds may yet emerge winners , but it is a shaky possibility . 

Like a wise man once said 

"By far , the greatest  danger of Artificial Intelligence is that people conclude , far too early , that they understand it . " - Eliezer Yudkowsky 

Good Morning" friends"

 On every Android phone , except that of my nonagenarian parents , is an app called WhatsApp . 

It allows you to send and receive messages , to and fro, from " friends " , families and acquaintances . 

There are roughly 15 of these so called " contacts " , in my list. I wish them every morning , and  , am wished back , in return . That is how this works . 

This early morning exchange of digital greetings has led to very interesting observations . 

There is a friend , who , in return to my innocuous ( or so I think) , roses and posies , sends me a short homily . On how I should conduct myself  , the ways of the world , and such like , similar philosophies . The gems read " " You are punished if you have common sense . For then, you have to tolerate all those people who don't have it. " 

" All the wealth in the world cannot buy you sight , if you choose to shut your eyes. " 

Another class ,( there are a few of them) do not reply regularly . After few days, when your overtures go unanswered , you clam up . That is when they reply .  A game of digital hide and seek. Like a drop of monsoon , in a desert . Tad too late , and frankly dangerous . They are known to scrape off top soil . But I can't say that to them . 

So I answer . And the cycle repeats itself . 

Another class , over indulgent , want to share every waking moment of their lives with you . From the photo of the early morning tea , to the paintings made by their normally tantrum filled daughter , to the food cooked that day , places visited , family get togethers , birthday cakes , wall decorations , new pots and pans , everything is posted . 

Another group is the religiously - replying class . Either through words or from pictures borrowed from other inboxes , they will never fail you. 

A last group posts religious good mornings . Either Lord Krishna , Rama or Shiva grace your screen in the morning. There is no option but to fold your hands in reverence . 

Some others are fond of Gulzar , the poet . A bit too much . In fact , most non rhyming  words and ugly poems are attributed to Gulzaar. That is  leaning on the sacrilegeous , if you ask me . 

However , the conclusion is , I am the perpetrator of all these misadventures put together , hence I too am not above board . 

Hence I am my own good morning ' friend '. 

On writing a story

 Some days back , I began writing a story. 

A few characters born and christened 

Grew out of thin air , on vanity fattened 

Run amok amongst the pages 

looking for their place in the ages 

Hunting down their own history .

She , he and they , puffs of smoke , all 

God , did they make me hurry 

Behind their backsides blurry 

trailing the thread of narrative 

muddying the perspective 

sloshing through the swamp , spinning the ball 

I finally collected my own yarn 

lassoed all the  parties aberrant

bringing them to the forefront 

Tying all the loose ends 

frayed ones I did mend 

So much hard work , darn 

Weaving a tale , 

fat as a whale 

was a lesson for me 

henceforth , just tiny 

stories .teeny weeny 

Cricket Mania

 So , last month The World Cup matches were held . All in India . In a cricket mad world . Where strangers on trains will eulogise on batting techniques , run scores and fielding . Where you can make instant friends , in banks , at roadside shops , at petrol pumps , just by mentioning the score of the days’ game . The usual greeting on “match days “ is “Score kitna hai ?” (What is the score ?)

That is followed by a detailed theory on the batting techniques of Kohli versus Maxwell , or Rohit Sharma’s captaincy versus Gavaskar . The older generation will sigh and lapse into “Ahh ! Those days !”

My neighbour upstairs has a three year old daughter . During the match days , their music , karaoke ,and raucous laughter is replaced with pin drop silence . In fact , there is silence all over the jungle too . Most matches finish in the hushed darkness of early evenings . The birds too , sit quietly on the tall tree branches , cock their heads and listen to the commentary , and the noise of the crowd in the background .

The jackals don’t howl , and parents forget to take their impatient kids to the park . All sit with hands cupping the faces , meals getting cold on the laps , mesmerised with the glowing screens. Till , a wicket falls , or a six or four is hit .

Then the world erupts into joyous Stone age-ish whoops . My upstairs neighbour runs across the length of the flat , screaming his lungs . Following his heavy tread , come a pitter patter of tiny feet following the parent , mildly alarmed , and a tiny voice pipes up “ Itna chillate kyun ho Papa ?” ( Why are you screaming thus Papa ) . Someone bursts crackers leftover from Diwali , someone else blows the conch shell , and someone rushes to the puja room to prostrate in front of silent deities .  The birds fly off , and the dogs bark , the pack joins in . A fall of a wicket halfway across the nation , transforms into and  a celebration across the jungle .

We are passionate about cricket . World Cup just made us go complete nuts .

Punah Musko Bhava

("Turn into a mouse again . " -Sanskrit . ) ( This tale of timeless wisdom , is culled from the Scriptures , and is my own retelling . It may have inconsistencies when compared to the Original tale ) 

Once upon a time , in a dense forest lived a sage . He had a small hut , away from most of the civilisation , for his yogic practices , penance and prayers . He had a small , bubbly mountain stream that went past his abode .

Often , he would be found half submerged in these freezing mountain waters , clad in nothing but a tiny loincloth , muttering prayers , facing the sun .

Once , while the sage was thus engaged , a bird of prey flew across the skies , overhead and dropped something into the Sage’s cupped palms , facing heavenward , in supplication .

The “thing “ squirmed , was bruised from being held in the talons of the eagle , and sneezed from cold . The sage , being a kind hearted individual , took the mouse indoors , and tended to its wounds . By the by , he became intensely attached to the rodent . Craving human company , as we all do , the sage , with his magical tantric and yogic powers , transformed the mouse into a lovely baby girl . He looked after her , like his own daughter , and taught her all the wisdom he had learnt from the universe . She grew up into a beautiful maiden with all the wisdom and manners of a Princess .

When she “came of age “ , she was asked by her doting father , the sage , as to who she would like to marry ? After giving it much studied thought , the young woman replied , “Father i would like to marry the one , who is most powerful of all .”

The sage , now a father , set out to fulfil his dear daughter’s desire .

He went to the Sun , the one who shines upon the entire earth , nourishing its soil , the harbinger of life and joy , the begin and the end of the day .

“O Sun !” the sage asked with folded hands , “You are the most powerful of all , please accept my daughter’s hand in matrimony .”

The Sun frowned ,”Who told you I am the most powerful in the land ? “
”Why , of course , you are . You are the reason for all life on earth . “

“No , I am not . Just look at this . “ At that very moment , a large black cloud moved across , infront of the sun , and blotted all sunshine from the earth . The world went silent in anticipation of a rain or storm , in the absence of the sun . Stillness and darkness and wintry cold , quickly descended on the sunless earth .

“I get what you said .” Shouted the sage , at the sun , who murmured a muffled acknowledgement behind the bank of cloud .

Then , he ran behind the racing cloud .

“Oh Cloud ! I can see how almighty you are ! You bring rain , hope and crops to feed the millions . You are the sower of seeds , nourisher of grains , can you please accept my daughter’s hand in marriage ? “

The cloud stood still for a moment , and turned its dark visage to the Sage .

“You are mistaken , O Sage , I am not the all powerful . You think I am running across the skies , of my own accord , no I am not ! The wind buffets me , here and there , everywhere . I am just following the diktats of his whim . I am nothing but just a puff of smoke . “

The Sage went chasing the wind , and found him chasing the clouds of sand in the desert .

“Oh wind ! I have heard you are the most powerful of all . You move the enormous clouds , making him weep and rain , in places you deem fit . “

“Who told you that ? The clouds ?”

The wind whistled a horrid chuckle , and sped to the northernmost corner of the enormous desert .

The Sage , having mastered the magic of Teleportation , caught up with the wind in no time .

“Sire , I have come to believe , you are the prime mover on this planet . You make things happen . You are the strongest of them all . Please accept my daughter’s hand in marriage . “

The wind stopped in its tracks , and looked back at the Sage .” I agree , Oh Brahmin ! your daughter is the comeliest maiden I have ever laid eyes on . But there is one who is mightier and loftier than me . He stops me in my tracks and is completely unmoved by me .”

“Who is he , Oh wind ? The sage cried .

“He lives right next to your hut O Sage . It is the Giriraj , the mountain .”

“Oh I see !” Exclaimed the sage as he sped back to his hut on the mountain side .

“ Oh Seer of all the worlds ! Great preserver of the Snow world , the shadow of the Universe . Please accept my daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“No, You don’t see , do you ? “

“See what my Lord ?”

“See , right now , on my right flank , away from the eyes of the populace , hidden in a corner , beneath a bush someone is consistently burrowing a hole into my side. I can feel the pain , but I can’t do anything about it . “

“Who is that Sire ? Please tell me ! I will burn him to ashes with my tantric powers . “ The Sage shouted , enraged .

The Mountain laughed . “ You are not getting my point. “

The Rishi stood perplexed .

“This is one entity more powerful than me . And the rightful claimant to your daughter’s hand . “

With a whoosh of air , The sage transported himself to the point the mountain indicated .

To his utter surprise , it was a tiny mouse , diligently , burrowing into the side of the mighty monarch the Mountain , in an innocuous clatter of pebbles , absorbed , single mindedly , in his task .

“Holy Seer , it is a mere mouse !” Exclaimed the sage .

“Indeed , it is . This tiny creature has the power and right by nature to burrow into my body , and I can’t do anything about it Hence , he is stronger than me . “

The Sage closed his eyes and muttering mantras , summoned his daughter next to him , and told her his entire adventure . Beginning from the sun , and ending in the mouse .

The daughter , contrary to the Sage’s belief , clapped her hands in joy, and shrieked “Father , I want to marry this mouse . Please turn me into a mouse . Please ,father , please . “

With a relieved and a heavy heart , at the same time , the Sage said “Punah Musko Bhava “ ( May you turn into a mouse again ) 

Kakima

( Kakima is the name given to the younger uncle's wife . Or the wife of the younger brother of one's father . Subsequently , over the years , it is a generic term meant for elderly neighbours  and relatives too far removed to defy any nomenclature ) 

 " She is a recluse . How much trouble can she be ?" 

That is what we were told . Like all fake reassurances before an ensuing storm , this too proved as much of a falsification , as it could . 

Kakima apparated  one fine afternoon , when the kids returned from the school . 

The astha channel had usurped the TV and the study room was occupied . The kids had to study on their beds or on the dining table . It was a no brainer . Geometrical instruments do not work on the 'electromagnetic magical 'surface of the kids beds , which is cushy enough to send most conscientious kids into the realm of sleep , in the midst of toughest trignometric sums . Horrors ! Un homeworked kids march like little criminals into the penitentiary of the school . 

Never happened before .

Lot of things never happened before . 

Fish curry was banished to a small shy side table , where the flesh eaters had to depart to season their mounds of rice , while Kakima ate sparingly on the table , a hanky on her nose , of vegetarian food , certainly "contaminated " in the kitchen by fishy utensils . 

Next day , a small bucket with terracotta mounds was bought , from a forgotten bazaar . A tidy heap of twigs was burnt for Kakima to brew her "satvic "(Pure ) Khichdi on  "pure "terracotta utensils . 

Maa rolled her eyes more frequently , and Baba took semi permanent residence in his office . 

As gullible youngsters salivated at  the delicious aroma of the ghee laced khichdi ( elder sister said, with dramatically dilated pupils for good effect ) in rhymes " A witches brew , to entice you ."

A parallel kitchen grew outside the wire mesh door of our kitchen , and the outside wall blackened with the rising soot . Baba sighed , and departed to the "Office " quickly . 

No one can say for sure , how we were related to her . Except that , like monsoon , Kakima arrived with unfailing regularity , once in a year , unannounced , to turn our household , topsy turvy. 

More fruits , than necessary , were bought , and  eaten . Apples and bananas wormed their way into our tiffin boxes as Maa would be busy participating  the elaborate puja rituals that came along with kakima . The smoky fragrance of incense emanated along with tinkle of bells and muttered mantras . Kids tip toed their way past the erstwhile study rooms , in their school socks , carrying their uniform shoes ("contaminated " ) in their hands . 

Baba was called to school office as complaints against aberrant children piled up in "unfinished homework " category . Baba sighed and reassured the teachers that , "It was just a matter of one more week " . 

Sometimes kakima would perceive the disaster brought upon by her arrival and pack up her bags early . 

Everyone would heave a sigh of relief and the study room would be repopulated by Godless kids , tramping about in shoes on holy surface . 

Chairs , tables would be dragged back in , backyard walls would be whitewashed and the tiny fish curry table would disappear . Terracotta pots , pans , along with twigs and the bucket stove would disappear into the shed , and remain there for a year . 

Amazingly , the fragrance of incense sticks would linger on in the passageway , for a long time , and astha channel would unerringly pop up , while looking for AXN .