There is this bright orange halogen street lamp at my gate which lights up a piece of round spot outside the gate after dusk. And at that twilight moment, from my first floor patio where I sit with my mug of coffee, I get a view of that warm, glowing spot. I love to watch and reflect as life passes by under there…
The other day a rickshaw puller stopped under the glow of the lamp and stretched out his tired limbs without getting off the seat. Then he felt under the gamusa tied round his waist, brought out a small cloth bag with draw strings and from within the bag he brought out his day’s earnings and started counting them. He did it there because there was light here that shone upon him. Light that made him stop and look into some incentive other than the morbid pedalling of his rickshaw in the race of life.
On another evening, a car with the headlights switched off drove up slowly and with caution till it eventually stopped under my halogen lamp. I watched as the person behind the wheels got out, opened the bonnet and in the light of the orange glow, fiddled under the bonnet for a while. Then he got into his car and in a moment, the headlights came to life. Only then did I realize that something was wrong with his car’s wiring. And he probably was looking for a place with some light but which would not create traffic hassles with a car parked to repair. With the headlights now on, the car happily zoomed away. But for that little tunnel of light, he would have had to drive on for a longer while in discomfort and danger.
On yet another evening, two men walked up to my circle of light, stopped, looked up at the light and then one of them brought out a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket. Both men alternately traced their index fingers along certain lines on the paper, pointed towards the west of the road and then towards the south and finally seemed to agree to take the ‘Sanjogi’ bylane. I followed them with my eyes as they walked away into the bylane and entered a gate. They had found out the address they were looking for. Just as a little ray of light in life tells us which path to take.
Then of course there are many who arrive at my spot of light pushing their bicycles and walking alongside when they should have actually been riding them. They would then stop, fix the chain that had fallen out of its grooves and then ride astride the cycle and pedal away, often whistling.
Yesterday, two little boys stood at the centre of my circle of light, picked through the chana mix on a piece of old newspaper and threw out the bits of chilly. They probably made the chana too hot for their tender tongues. Just a ray of light. How it makes life so much more palatable!
So life, you see, does have its dark alleys, fallen chains and faulty wirings. But as we pass by, there are at phases spots of light too. And when you come across one, don’t ignore it. Stop and make an effort to set the wrong right. And life will be so much better…

Shyam...
Srutimala Duara

The three men stood at the porch with folded hands as our Tata Sumo zoomed towards the open gate where two more men stood erect saluting. I had not wanted it to be labelled as an official tour. I did not quite enjoy the way these people send cars full of people along with security guards. When I am on holiday I like to come uninformed. But my PS always informed the people of whichever State I proposed to visit. He also made it a point to make it official. “Why should you spend your own money, sir? The government has enough money to spend for high officials like you, sir.” So here I am in Vrindaban. On holiday, but making it official. My wife enjoyed the honours that went with my post as I visited places.
I had expressed my wish to visit Gokul, the village of Lord Krishna. It was actually my wife’s wish to visit Gokul. The officers of the Institute had arranged the vehicle for us and had also provided a guide.
Our tour to Gokul began –– Gokul, the land of Shyam, the blue god. Ma had often lamented that she always wanted to visit Gokul, but her wish remained unfulfilled. She had been to Kedarnath and Badrinath but she could not get the chance to come to Gokul, the place of her favourite Lord. Only if she were alive today! I could have brought her here. She would have been so happy to see what her son had achieved today and the honour that she would have received as the mother of such a high official. The position that Rebati was enjoying as my wife. I was the blue boy of my mother. She had called me Shyam after her favourite god. “He is my Krishna. My Shyam, my Kanha.” She would often say. She told me stories about the blue god. When I showed my talent with the flute she would hug me and say, “You are truly Shyam, my Kanha, my Gopal.” Ma would make my favourite fish curry and that chicken curry with lots of pepper –– the way I liked it. When I came home from the dusty fields playing football with my friends of the neighbourhood, she would make lemon sherbat for me. It was she who had taught me to sing the hymns praising Krishna.
The patches of green slowly became dry lands on either side of the road. Here and there the earth was like the wrinkled skin of an old woman. Our Sumo suddenly bumped as it met an uneven road. Work was in progress on one side and the road looked like a cracked stretch. Our vehicle halted on a half constructed bridge.
- “Sir, the bridge is not yet fully constructed,” informed the driver.
- “So what do we do? Shall we have to go back?” I asked.
- “Not really, sir, there’s another way. In fact it is a short cut that goes right over the fields,” The guide informed us.
- “Then why didn’t you take that road?” I asked in some irritation.
The Sumo reversed its direction and zoomed along the road we had come. Then it took a turn down a dusty meadow. Miles and miles of dust with long green grasses here and there lay to our right, on our left was the stretch of cracked path and the half broken bridge and then again the continuation of the splintered path. Gradually our vehicle got into the middle of the dusty pasture and then on either side was just dust, creased field and patches of grasses. As I stared at the landscape suddenly I caught a glimpse of him. A blue boy. He was in the middle of the dusty field. Around him were cattle. Dozens and dozens of cows. I peered at him. He was wearing a yellow dhoti and on his head was a peacock feather. With a smile he put a flute to his lips. But I couldn’t hear the music. I opened the glass so that the music could reach me.
- “Sir, dust will get inside the car. You will be uncomfortable, sir.” I heard the driver say. I ignored him as I stared at the boy who seemed to be now here, now there, everywhere. The smile on his lips mesmerized me. I couldn't take my eyes off him.
- “Why don’t you wind up the glass? All the dust is getting inside.” My wife’s voice reached me as if from a distance.
- “Sir, this field is very dusty.” The guide said somewhat apologetically.
- Our vehicle swayed its way on the bumpy road. Actually there was no road. Earlier vehicles had made marks on the field that appeared like a pathway.
- “See,” my wife said, “The grasses look just like the ones in Kaziranga. Such tall grasses.”
Kaziranga! As if this could look like Kaziranga, Asom’s famous game sanctuary. Here was just one row of grasses in one place and then further away another while in Kaziranga there were rows after rows of tall grasses and one could easily get lost in them. Elephants couldn’t be seen. Here I could even see the little boy through the grasses. There were glimpses of the dusty field and there he was standing with his flute. I turned to look at the blue figure half hidden by the grasses. But he wasn’t there.
The vehicle entered a lane and then another lane. Such narrow lanes. A little boy ran right across the vehicle. The driver cursed. I looked to my right as the boy hid somewhere behind a mud-caked hut. A blue figure peeped from behind a half wall. He smiled and waved at me with a flute in his hand. I waved back. “Don’t act like a minister,” my wife said in a low voice. “There’s no one out there.” For a second or so I turned to look at her. My questioning eyes met her glare. When I turned to look at the blue boy, the vehicle took a turn to another lane. Then it stopped suddenly.
I looked around me. In front of us was a lane, just a narrow lane. Hadn't the place developed since Kanha had left for Vaikunthadham? Did time stand still? I walked along the maze of lanes till we reached a temple. It was a small temple. Pujaris hurried to make me feel privileged. I sat down on my knees. They ached. I shifted half a dozen times while the pujari chanted some mantra, or was it a blessing? Who needed his blessings? I had come to the land of Krishna and all I wanted was to see him. But the pujari was bent on extracting money from me. “It’s for Krishna,” he said. But my Shyam wanted no money. “Shyam dear, don’t go after money,” I could still hear my mother’s words. “Money is just the dirt of hand. It’ll get washed off. Seek the path of truth and you will always be happy.” I gave a few notes to the pujari. He said something about performing a special puja. A special puja? For what? I had seen my Shyam, my Lord. What do I need more? I came out in a hurry, not befitting my status. As I passed by an old house I came across a pujari who was waiting outside, for the word seemed to have passed that a high official was on a visit and the languid place suddenly sprang to life. Here was an opportunity for some good earning. He called me in. “There’s Shyam’s mitti. The lump he ate as an infant.” I did not believe him, of course. Nevertheless, I went in. He gave me a lump. I saw a few more lumps in one corner. “This is the lump that Krishna bhagawan had eaten.” He expected me to be thrilled for getting the half eaten lump and asked for money. I cursed the pujari under my breath and gave him a note. He wasn’t satisfied. The lump of mud cost more. But I hurried out. I had no desire to see Kanha in those rooms, amongst those greedy pujaris. My Shyam was out somewhere playing the flute, among the grazing cattle.
The vehicle bumped back once again along the dusty roads or no-roads. I stared hard through the closed glass all the way to the main road. But the little boy with the flute did not appear. Did he stay back in one of those narrow lanes or did some pujari seize him and imprison him in some narrow room of mud for money?

.Mind over Matter
Gariasi Dutta answers all your queries on mind, matter and life.

Q. Dear madam, I am 25 years old and pursuing my MBA in a university in Silchar. I have been staying in a rented house for the last four-five years. There is a girl who stays next to my house. She is around 22 years and is doing her MA in History from another college. The only daughter of her parents, I know her well and fell in love with her a long time back. She also knows my feelings for her. But I have not been able to tell her my feelings as we have talked only twice –– one over face and another time during the semester examinations. The problem has now been compounded further as I have had to shift my house andnowadays, I don’t get to meet her like earlier i.e. around two or three times a week. How can I make her mine? Please suggest a way.
MB Singha,
Silchar
Gariasi Dutta replies: You have spoken to the girl just twice and you are in love with her. You meet her thrice/twice a week but have not spoken or expressed your feelings. And you say you want her in your life. Are you sure? Everything you say is contradictory. It is a bit difficult to know a person just by looking at her. For one to really know a person we need to interact and spend time together. None of which you have done. Please sort out these issues first before taking any decision. These are the basics of every successful relationship. All the best!
Q. I am a 20-year old college-going boy. I have been known from my school days as a bright student and a free and frank boy. Because of my frankness, I have no hesitation in talking with members of the opposite sex. My problem is that some of my friends have started naming me as playboy because I talk a lot with girls. This has led to degradation of my reputation. I am now confused as to whether I should listen to my friends or not. Should I stop talking to girls to regain my name or is it appropriate to fight back with the rumour spreaders? Please suggest.
Name withheld,
Via sms
Gariasi Dutta replies: Well, I have gone through your query. There is not much of a problem talking to the opposite sex as such. Most boys your age find it a bit difficult to approach the opposite sex, so maybe your friends are just jealous. However in today’s day and time it is not very advisable to just step ahead and approach any unknown person; be it from your own sex or the opposite sex. You never know who is roaming about in disguise. Simply talking is still all right, but getting into any kind of sexual relations with an unknown person is a strict no. I hope you understand. I am not saying that you should stop talking to members of the opposite sex but talking with strangers is not the most sensible thing to do. Just keep that in mind. Take care, have fun!

Gariasi Dutta is a psychiatric social worker in Down Town Hospitals. Readers may send their concerns to d_gariasi@rediffmail.com or mélange.sentinel@rediffmail.com or call her at 9864055560

Distance lends enchantment
Pradyut Kakoty

In July 2007, I had left my home to be in New Delhi for around three weeks. On returning back, I found my wife preparing my favourite dishes for me with extra love and care, which reminded me of the age-old adage –– ‘Absence makes the heart grow founder’. My absence of twenty-odd days, in fact, helped add a zing to our relationship. I regard those twenty days as the source of the new-found love. For me, love blooms in long distance relationships. It gets you closer to your beloved. Distance in relationships can be a major source for love enchantment.
In today’s fast-paced world when both husband and wife are equally qualified and hold important positions, it is not uncommon for one to hear about or actually find himself or herself in this new form of committed relationship –– the long distance relationship (LDR) in short. In this scenario, both partners live in different places, primarily due to the wish to take advantage of equally advantageous job opportunities in two different places.
But all is not rosy as even such couples have to face a lot of obstacles. One has the added expense of maintaining two households and extra travelling every week or month just to spend time with each other. Even reconnecting between couples take time and both partners may do so at different speeds. While one might just like to catch up on events in the past week, the other might be ready for relieving the pent up passions immediately.
And for those who like to go by science, there is interesting news for all those couples who feel that their individual jobs might affect their chances of a perfect marriage. Research conducted in the University of Wisconsin shows that intimacy is not adversely affected just because both partners have their own individual jobs. This finding runs contrary to what many family counsellors have been believing till now. When two people are crazy about each other, they can feel close, no matter what distance is between them. At the same time, the pain of missing each other is also a ‘torture’ and one needs quite a bit of endurance to deal with it too! As long as two people believe and work towards a future together, any LDR can succeed. Love and faith can move mountains. After all, as the saying goes –– ‘Distance leads to enchantment’!


‘Carnatic music is finding young listeners’
Madhusree Chatterjee

Carnatic classical music, which was losing out to contemporary music in the southern States, is making a comeback, with a spurt in the number of young listeners over the last few years, says leading Carnatic vocalist Aruna Sairam.
“Things have changed. Now, even two-year-olds listen to Carnatic music recitals with rapt attention, along with five-year and 18-year-olds, who earlier found the genre heavy-duty,” the vocalist told IANS in the capital.
Chennai-based Sairam — who was awarded the Padma Shri this year — was in the capital to perform at the Vishnu Digambar Jayanti Sangeet Samaroh 2009 at the Kamani auditorium Sunday.
The vocalist is known for introducing “Abhangs” — short Marathi devotional songs — in classical Carnatic recitals and setting rare Tamil literary texts to music.
Sairam attributes the revival of the popularity of Carnatic music among the youth to two factors — “the open air classical concerts in cities like Bangalore and Chennai and the change in repertoire by eminent vocalists to make the music more contemporary and relevant.
“Bangalore has the Habba, an open air park festival of music and arts. This year it was held in February. In Chennai, Kanimozhi, daughter of (Tamil Nadu Chief Minister) M. Karunanidhi, organizes the Chennai Sangamam, a festival of classical music and performing arts. I performed live in a park this year,” she said.
Sairam improvises on her repertoire to reach out to the youth. “Usually, I lace my selection with a bit of variety and lighter ragas. For instance, at the end of my recital, I sing a small (very brief) but a delightful Tamil folk song — a conversation between mother Yashoda and baby Krishna. It is sung as a dialogue and people sit through the two-hour concert just to listen to the number, ‘Maad Meikum Kanne’, which has become a kind of anthem at my concerts. The audience flocks to the stage to sing along with me,” she said. “In the meantime, I manage to inject them with serious ragas like Amritavarshini and Abhogi that they otherwise wouldn’t have sat through,” Sairam said with a laugh.
Born and raised in Mumbai, Sairam initially trained under her mother, Carnatic vocalist Rajalakshmi Sethuraman; and then guru T. Brinda for 14 years from the age of 10 to 24.
She performed on stage for the first time as a 12-year-old and went abroad at 30 to Germany for three months “to teach in a university and perform”.
“I realised in Germany that Europeans had no idea about the existence of Carnatic vocal music. I was stunned and resolved to change things. I confronted the director and asked him why westerners did not know anything about Carnatic music, when we knew their music,” she said. Since then, there has been no looking back for Sairam. “I have been all over Europe and the US,” she said.
Sairam can sing in many Indian languages. “In the coming Delhi International Arts Festival in October, I plan to sing devotional songs in every major Indian language — southern languages, Oriya, Gujarati, Marathi, Braj bhasa and Bengali — to take listeners on a sacred musical journey through the country,” she said.
At her performance on Sunday, Sairam impressed the audience with a selection of raga Abhogi, an ancient composition; Amritavarshini, which is known to bring rain to parched lands and a ragam tanam pallavi (a complex exploration of melody) in raga Shanmukhapriya.