Going places?

Rameshbabu Praggnanandhaa

To see Praggnanandhaa, an 18-year-old chess whiz from Tamil Nadu, proudly posing in front of the international press with a big white ash stripe spread across his forehead as a symbol of his faith for a photo shoot reminded me of the numerous times I felt ashamed of wearing vibuthi in public during my childhood. 

Coming from a country where my ancestors were bought in as bonded labourers, I did not have many role models to follow, I was ashamed to be an Indian. The fact that many fellow Indians in my neighbourhood were loud and boisterous and had many rows with the laws did not help my perception of the race of my parents. The sing-song undulating tone of my mother tongue was a point of mocking and sneering by many. The behaviour of the few who make it a point to be noticed with their loud colour, unmistakable scents, and high-decibel speeches in buses made me want to disappear. 

Mother's eyes say it all!

The elaborate display of my religiosity was also a sore point. The near histrionic display of faith via visual and auditory exaggerations did not augur well with my mother's intention to inculcate dharmic values in me. She was fearful that all the Western education that was sweeping the world would make me a brown-assed white man who frowned at anything Indian. I knew I was. 

The opening of inner realisation, the opening of the mythical third eye, happened in my late teenage years and the years after that. One by one, I was exposed to more and more people who looked like me and spoke like me. Hey, my people were doing ok, I thought. Still, there was demarcation between outwardly displaying Indianness and accepting all as one, that we are the same. 

The world changed. Identity politics became the norm. My country, where I had grown up, had slowly become fundamentalistic in mindset. People had no qualms saying they, us, we and our people. People were one-tracked into dividing and subdividing amongst themselves. At about that time, being a Hindu became hip. Slowly people tried to publicise the hidden pearls of wisdom behind Hindu acts and rituals. 

An artist's conception of the Chandrayaan 3 lander
and rover on the Moon. ISRO

If the 1990s and the early 2000s, people of Chinese descent in my country were flying high with the phenomenal achievements of their ancestral country, China, from the yolk of hopelessness during the Great Famine and Cultural Revolution to becoming the factory capital of the world. Similarly, the second decade of the 21st century is a time for India to shine. Standing at the cusp of a successful landing of an AI-guided unmanned lunar mission and the precipice of a possible international chess champion, most Indians wear their identity on their sleeves. Nobody is ashamed to spread his vibuthi, sandanam or kumkum liberally on his forehead anymore. 

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No Brain, No Pain.

There was a time when I developed a compulsion of wanting to know everything about Bhagavadgita. I was told that the holy book had all the recipe for a meaningful life. And I heard about a volunteer at a local temple who was conducting a series of lectures on that subject. My acquaintances were all praises about the speaker and the contents of his classes.  

I was drawn in. I decided to give it a try. In the first lecture, all that I heard was that I was nothing. I was smaller than the smallest of the speck in the Universe. I did not matter to the greater scheme of things. Hence, the last thing I needed was my ego. I had to crack my hardshell called ego, following which enlightenment would flow in like an eternal fountain of knowledge. Like how Arjuna had to clear his head of all his doubts to receive the unlimited erudition from the Lord himself.

I thought to myself, "I do not need these people to tell me that I am nothing; my wife tells me all the time that my ego is bigger than my head! These people are asking me to be a zombie - to operate like a non-functional lump of protoplasm working in a reflex arc at the spinal level. I did not like to be another statistic along the line of a cult member of the Branch Davidian who perished in the Waco massacre smiling in anticipation of the bliss of entropy.

The little bit of sense that prevailed within me told me that these just will not do. Echoes of my mother's childhood stories of Socrates in his death bed murmured somewhere in the nook of my mind. Even though she barely scraped through primary schooling at a time when discrimination against girls was rife, she managed to sponge whatever she could from radio dramas, movies, storybooks and periodicals. Her words reverberated, "don't listen just because this fellow or that fellow said so; enquire and investigate and be enlightened!" or something to that effect.

Hence, I recoiled to the company of me, myself and I to indulge in a little soul searching and introspection. 

Ego, a sense of self-importance and self-esteem, cannot be all so bad. It is the trait to make one so embarrassed to hold out his hand for alms as his pride tells him that he can fend for himself in this big wide world. It prods that if a lame or a blind can survive, why can't he? 

It is the thing that pushes him to be better than his neighbour. It is that satisfying, gloated feeling that propels him to go beyond boundaries that no man has ever been before. Many individuals are addicted to immersion in the sea of endorphins as they become successful in their outlandish endeavours. Some fail, but that also inspires them to try harder to succeed. Well, that is how the human race progresses. It is the hard work of mad minds of the insane with a never say die attitude, not the complacent bumpkin who thinks very lowly of himself and no self-pride but just follows the herd. Beware, the shepherd, despite all the seemingly cordial and charming smiles, has only one thing on his mind - to fatten the flock and to prepare for the slaughter! He has a vested interest. For vegetarians, there is the proverbial cash cow to milk. 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.