Ring out the old, Ring in the new. Really?

It was New Year’s eve, and the engineer was chewing the cud. Mentally, that is. His better half was peacefully watching television in the living room, and he was sitting with a book, staring into emtpy space. He’d gotten a new job, and had to shift base shortly.

The telephone rang, and the TV muted itself out, thanks to a thoughtful thumb jabbing at the remote. Squeezing his eyes shut and making a moue to convey his unspoken gratitude, the engineer picked up the phone.

Hello
Hello, Son
Hi Dad, it’s good to hear your voice
(Dad says nothing, smiles at the other end.)
So, son, when do you have to join up at work?
On the 12th, Dad
But that’s a bad day – it’s the eighth day after the new moon, and you know you aren’t supposed to start anything on either the eighth or ninth days.
I’m Sorry, Dad – you know I don’t believe in these things
(A hurt silence at the other end)
It’s all right son, perhaps you’ll realize certain things as you grow up
I’m old enough, Dad
(After an uncomfortable pause, the conversation moves over to more pleasant topics, and ends.)

The engineer is a little piqued, a little saddened, and a little confused.

Is it a crime to live your life, learn from your experiences, and then add to your understanding of the world around you, rather than to blindly believe in what your ancestors believed in? Is it right to hurt someone by holding on to your beliefs which are different from theirs? Is it right to be hurt because someone you care for might have beliefs different from yours? is it a crime to question accepted beliefs?

There are no easy answers to these questions. One might be tempted to say, hey look, it’s just a harmless matter of dates, so moving the date aside to please your parent is OK. Maybe. What should one do when the discussion involves the caste system, and you’re both on opposite sides of the fence? What if you’re in love with someone who doesn’t belong to your caste, and your parents don’t want you to marry this person – only because he or she belongs to a different caste? For that matter, how does one react when Baba Ramdev claims that his flavour of yoga can cure Multiple Sclerosis, AIDS and Cancer? Or when a loved one claims belief in a particular swami’s powers when you believe that the godman is a fake?

In the end, it seems to come down to a question of blind belief at one end versus unbridled skepticism at the other. Should there be a distinction between accepted belief and proven fact? Why go one way and not the other? We shall save the visit to Richard Dawkins land for another day.

The Wanderer Moves – again.

I’m moving back to my second home. Bangalore. Or Bengal-uru, city of bongs, as it is now called.

When I came to Pune, just about two years ago, I was certain that my tryst with the truth here would be the last I’d ever need. Like the best laid plans of mice and my kind, this one too went awry. Much as the truth switched names, I have to switch jobs. Oh well, perhaps it’s for the best. I really can’t complain too much, because the new place I’m going to seems to be equally good. Besides, the pay’s better by half.

That apart, I’ll get to lurk around the hallways of the Alliance and the Max Mueller, in search of good jazz, classical music, baroque and otherwise. There’s no shortage of Carnatic and Hindustani concerts in Bengal-Uru, either. There’s also the Coffee at the Janatha hotel in Malleshwaram, the secondhand books at Select and Blossoms and everywhere else. Not to mention the tree lined avenues in the Institute with the Tree Lined Avenues. Oh, and throw in mile-long traffic pileups and hour-long waits on the roads. But what the heck, I’ll take the (relatively) disciplined Bengal-Uru traffic to the anarchy and chaos on Pune’s roads any day. Bengal-Uru has roads.

Yes indeed, the grass does look emerald green on the other side of the Vindhyas. Or does it? I’m leaving the best workplace I’ve seen, ever. The best people one could have for colleagues, and the best Boss I could have ever asked for. No hackneyed cliche, this – I mean every word of it. The best Thai food I’ve tasted, the best Shrewsbury biscuits in this country, and acres and acres of berry farms, lush vineyards and long stretches of unspoilt coastline boasting of some of the best seafood just a stone’s throw away. For all its faults, (eight-hour power cuts during the summer not the least of them), this four-letter city of the Peths was where I set my mind free and found my liberation – from religion, from bad work, and from myself. Pretty much the same goes for my better half. We found ourselves all over again, and we found much more than ourselves here. It is a blessing to be away from family, and yet it is a curse; which is perhaps the biggest reason that she and I have to pack our bags.

Such is life. Gadh ala, pan Sinh gela, to quote this city’s favourite personality. The quote isn’t very apt, but I couldn’t think of a better one.

We’ve started saying our goodbyes to the few people we know here. Even though we have three weeks to go, it feels like there isn’t much time left. Thank You, every one of you – we enjoyed your company. We’ll miss you. As much as the no-frills airline companies will miss us.