Brahma tells a story

After hearing Chitragupta’s word-by-word account, on his one-to-one meeting with Yama, Brahma sensed an opportunity, after many eons. He decided to seize it and lay on the table, the missing pieces of the heavenly puzzle concerning Yama. Brahma decided to have his own one-to-one with Yamadharmaraj. He had a long story to tell, about Yama and his family tree. Though Chitragupta had not revealed the role he had played, Brahma wanted to balance the accounts – how Yama dimension-hopped and portal crashed to land in his current abode. How his exemplary dedication to service in righteousness qualified him for quasi-naturalisation and leadership in Yam Lok.

Yamadharmaraj was shocked and surprised, to receive a call for an audience. He hurriedly assembled a universal dossier, to fall back upon, in case Bramha asks some unexpected question. Chitragupta's words echoed in his ears– “information clears doubts and questions get information”, though he did not understand the paradox, “when doubts get cleared with information, then why ask questions?” 

His intelligence sources assured him that Brahma appeared in good spirits and Chitragupta had left a long time ago. “Might be one of my lucky days”, Yama chuckled to himself. As soon as he entered the abode, he was guided to the meeting chamber. Brahma looked at Yama with a radiant, bright, permeating smile, flooding him with a sense of oneness with the Cosmos. Yam stood speechless, fighting hard the urge to float away, not out of fear but in ecstasy!

“Yama, before I start, let me lay a proper foundation. It would, then be easy to comprehend the perspectives. For the Creator, the infinite Cosmos is a safety vault. It housed a population of super immortals, immortals and semi-immortals, as a functional hierarchy, in the heavens. Likewise, the vault sheltered a population of super mortals, mortals and semi-mortals. Though wide open, the vault is protected by barriers of complicated dimensions, portals and wormholes, restricting free access. Under certain special circumstances, highly developed mortals, were allowed a rare access for a brief stay in the higher dimensions. Designated portals and wormholes were the entry and exit points.  After gaining advanced knowledge and wisdom, these chosen ones, propagated it, among the other earthlings.

From here on, my “hear and forget' rule comes into play. You know, Chitragupta likes to play pranks, now and then, but harmless in intent. Though, I had difficulty in understanding the ‘why’ part of his actions, at those times. 

Would it surprise you to know that it was due one such prank, many interesting developments were set in motion! At that time, the level of intelligence of most of the primitive earthlings, was not, very much different from that of animals. They badly needed an upgrade, to survive. Using this as a pretext, he cleverly chose the time to play the prank - he let in a few gifted with above average intelligence and imaginative beings through the wormholes, he was guarding.

After committing the prank, he convinced each one of us to believe- as that one Divine entity, invested in the upgrading and bonding with earthlings! He explained, individually to each of us, that by this 'sleight of opening the gate’, he had delivered the perfect glue, to bind mortals with the Divine. It took me long eons, to understand the ‘why’, I mentioned earlier. But by that time, the developments have already been underway. The Cosmos  had no choice but to smile and exonerate Chitragupta! He escaped by the skin of his prank.

Back to earth from the higher dimensions, the enlightened ones authored colourful stories, to test the extent to which they could stretch their imagination. Not sparing anyone in the Cosmos – the Creator, gods and demi-gods, as avatars in human forms and the celestial objects assigned to do astrological tasks. To immortalise themselves and their narratives, characters born on earth, out of boons granted to mortals, walked into the scripts of epics, Vedas and puranas. As times rolled by, different versions emerged and all were skillfully woven back into the scriptures, as meta-physical explorations.  In effect, we all had a colourful presence in the scriptures.

Are you wondering, what is this background information about?  As I said earlier, this would help to you understand the story of your family tree. Don’t feel bad, they have a similar story for me too!

The Sun, their local star, kept the life forms alive on earth. To keep this process ticking, he had to discharge hot and harmful, but essential particles, in the form of intense and potent flares. His periodic venting did not escape the attention of the gifted narrators. Without carefully weighing the good and not so good aspects, they saddled him with a chariot-load of negativities and painted him as a malevolent. Later on, a hoard of individuals, who became astrologers, began exploiting this characterisation.

Now, back to your family tree. The Sun had his hands full with lighting up earth to breathe life into everything and shepherding planets and other objects and warding off intruders, from his domain. Focusing his full attention on these responsibilities, he devoted less time to family matters. It is not due to complacency or ego. He had no other go but to abide by the Divine will and Cosmic laws. But the imaginative narrators had other ideas!  They sowed seeds of discord, to spin a few stories.

You became the first progeny of Sun. Not forgetting to give credit where it is due, they vested in you the characteristics of righteousness and benevolence of your father. As a reward, the story tellers created a chance for you to escape from earth. Here, they conveniently remembered the prank played by Chitragupta and used that breach and the portal hopping technique, to teleport you to Yam Lok, but not before adding a logical twist. Here is how, they did it.

Unable to bear the intense heat and insufficient attention, your mother went incommunicado, leaving a shadow of herself at home. As time rolled on, you began to feel neglected, after the arrival of your half-brother, who got all the motherly attention.  Sensing the under current running in the family. you brought your father into the picture, who was unaware of these developments. A domestic fight ensued, and the shadow woman spilled the secret of deceit, behind the disappearance of your biological mother. Even in this agitated state of mind, your innate righteousness took charge, washing away the guilt of your actions over the dark secret. At this opportune moment, the inspired story tellers engineered your escape from earth by teleportation.

They placed Saturn, your half-brother, under the same roof, for a radically different motive. The same undercurrent flowing in the family, affected him differently. Besides the stigma of illegitimacy being born to a mother who existed as a shadow, he resented the ill-treatment he and his mother suffered, at the hands of his father. He fought and left home to become cold and distant. To further embellish the story, the narrators depicted Saturn as a rebel and an arch enemy of his father. Angry, yet righteous.  Thy turned him into a stern task master, with a ‘suffer, struggle and get rewarded’ attitude. A crime and punishment entity or the astrologers to exploit

There is some more to come. After placing you and Saturn in an exalted position, the earthlings wanted a hero for themselves. To venerate and admire. They devised a clever strategy - made your father to grant a boon to an innocent mortal, on earth. She fell into the trap, invoking the boon with childish ignorance or innocence.  The invocation brought a child came into existence. That child is your unseen and earthly half-brother, named Karna.

They reserved the best, for this boon-born-baby. Karna was loyal to a fault. Laid down his life in gratitude, for a friend who brought him honour and recognition, as a person and warrior. Integrity and unrestrained generosity were second to his nature. He suffered with the stigma of illegitimacy but was not vindicative and forgave his parents for deserting him as an orphan. He honoured and fulfilled his mother’s wish, unmindful of its cost on his life. He gifted away everything, even his life protections, without questioning about the guise, guile and ulterior motives employed by that person. Even on the battlefield, he did not waver. Willingly donated all of his accumulated virtues, knowing fully well that this act would certainly bring him death.

He was a haunted soul, weighed down with complex emotional and moral dilemmas. Is he not truly a tragic hero, a martyr, par excellence, to attain immortality and the exalted status of a karma yogi?  The story tellers excelled themselves by literally writing Karna’s greatness, literally, in his own blood! Would anything less do for their own hero!

Yama, did you not get the honour to assign Karna, a worthy place in heaven? Be proud of your sense of duty and his greatness. Cheer up! Your family tree is respected and envied by all, in the Cosmos.

The narrators started to feel guilty for portraying the Sun, in poor light. Realising that their very existence depended on his munificence, they wanted to make amends. And how they did it? All of you were made to suffer neglect, in varying degrees. Unable to tolerate, your biological mother chose to abandon. You, citing step-motherly treatment left home, in indignation. Aghast and in defiance, at the ill-treatment of him and his mother your half-brother walked out. Whereas, your earthly-half-brother, walked into glory with acts of magnanimity and liberal generosity. Thus, all of you ended up mirroring Sun’s multifaceted personality. Cleverly done, is it not!

These earthlings knew how to spin yarns, from woven cloth. A hoard of astrologers found a way to use these fascinating stories about the Sun and Saturn. To leverage the advantage, they roped in the other planets and the moon to assist. To further complicate the process of prediction, they created imaginary plots and houses in the sky, delineating rulership, friendly and enemy territories. Tightening further control, they devised exalted and debilitated status, using the planetary positions or transits. A predetermined cyclic order allowed each celestial body a fixed tenure of influence. Unaware of these gravity-traps and tempted by the lure, the celestial bodies fell in line and took stance of a friend or enemy to act as benefic or malefic - to each other and the subject of interest to the astrologer.

With complex calculations and doomsday predictions, the astrologers took a strangle hold to wage a proxy war, on the life of humans and nations. They did not forget to leave an escape door for themselves. The golden key? Blame their failed predictions on divine will or fate or whatever excuse that could be marketed!

Burdened with Cosmic duties and the knowledge that he was one insignificant star among the countless, your father did not want to spend energy to fight with these narrators. He might have even thought, if these fictious narratives bring some benefits to humanity, why not sit back and enjoy it!

I see the rays of confusion spreading rapidly across your face. Have you ever wondered, how I gather information from all over the Cosmos? Would you be surprised to know that Chitragupta and Narad are my offsprings and care to know where from all these relationships are coming? Thanks to those story tellers, my family tree also has a colourful story! Why am I telling you this now? Thinking wisely, Chitragupta left this task to me, as it is not merely your story or my story - but something much more and beyond that.

Don’t you think that we would have had a dull existence, without these fine narratives? Do you now grudge these enlightened human beings for their inspired narrations?"

During the entire narration, Yama’s face reflected conflicting emotions of hate, regret, kinship, respect, awe and wonder. In the end, the same powerful euphoria experienced at the start of the meeting, engulfed over, leaving him speechless.

Surgical strikes of a different kind

You are already conjuring up images of events, across the border, with exploding armaments and collapsing fortifications. Before you stray too far into the mine-field, let me urgently apply the emergency brakes, to arrest your over speeding imagination. This narrative is a family affair and the incursions involve no air strikes with bombing runs or missiles attacks. Instead, innocuous and handy objects fly with deadly accuracy, to create a scare and occasional lacerations. So, the word ‘surgical’ precedes the strike in the title. The only similarity exists, in figuratively crossing over the L A C or L O C.  As you reach the end of the narrative, you might want to speed up the halted imagination, to recount your own experience with similar ‘surgical strikes’.

Keeping one’s own counsel, preferably in a deep freezer, would have been prudent. Alas! Oftentimes, this prudent realisation strikes later than sooner and always after the event. Like the proverbial croaking of frogs, I had once proudly declared, " If boiling a glass of hot water is culinary art, then, I am a Michelin rated chef; I could even conjure up a cup of black coffee!" What happened next was pretty much predictable; the croaking frog became a snake's meal!

Words boiled in anger flew thick and fast. I challenged the homemaker that I could showcase my talent, whatever be the menu. Having crossed the LOC or LAC, I   found myself in a mixer cum grinder. The veteran, who had handled many such threats in the kitchen, smiled wistfully and handed me a tray populated with the items needed for cooking. The meaning of that wistful smile hit me like a hammer blow. The tray did not come with a menu card or an instruction manual detailing whether the operation involved are chopping, slicing crushing or breaking. Flipping up the collar and rolling up the non-existent sleeves of my half-slacks, I approached the tasks at hand, awaiting on the tray.

The Onion strikes:

 As I hefted the first grenade like onion, a shrill voice commanded me to wash, dry and peel the first layer before cutting. I quickly replied a ‘on the job’ and hurried to complete the steps. But for that promoting, I would have ignorantly skipped them and landed in hot water along with the unwashed onions. The onions happily had a bath, a vigorous towelling and sat expectantly on the cutting board, which I fortunately remembered. As the ‘operation onion’ got underway, supported by the lachrymal glands, the shrill voice assailed my eardrums with “Did you wash and dry the board before use? It reminded me of the ‘shake the bottle before use’ instruction and you guessed it - I had overlooked the wise saying, both for the bottle and the cutting board.

Flustered and scrambling for an evasive reply, I ran the knife and managed a surgical strike on my left-hand index finger. At this point, I had no other option but to wash the cutting board and the onion, which had turned red with my blood. Somehow, the onions have been processed without additional finger-injuries. After dispatching the onion rings, chops and, dicings along with the tears I had shed, I hurried in search of a wash-proof band-aid. You know what? The empire struck back – I need only diced onions.  As a Michelin rated chef, can I cry foul, now? Me, the onion rings and chops, just sat in silence.

The coconut strikes:

Remembering it in time, I bathed the coconut and the lump of stone and towelled them dry. Before I could enjoy the satisfaction of methodically completing the preparatory works, the voice from somewhere in the house, took to the air – “Are you using the same cutting board? The diced coconut would be reeking with the smell of onion.”  I had this doubt - when both ingredients go into the same preparation, why this ruckus? To keep the flag of peace flying, I hurriedly washed the cutting board of 'operation onion fame' and called out, “I am aware of it.” Though the band-aid in time did not save from further injury!

When ready to use things are available, why buy a whole coconut and then go about breaking it, with this stone-on-coconut-smashing routine? Please keep your answers reserved or better in a sealed cover, and remember bitter pills are better swallowed fast, without hesitation! 

The coconut, the size of an apple sat in the palm of my left-hand and a ready to strike, dark coloured block of rock took position in my right-hand palm. Surveying for a vulnerable spot on the shell, I gave the coconut a 360 ° panoramic view of me and the kitchen walls. Drawing a deep breath, I struck the stone on the coconut shell, like a crashing meteor. When the stone landed on the shell, I jumped up in severe pain.  I had misjudged the size of the nut and the girth of the stone. I had scored a direct hit on the shell as well as my fingers. I came out of the first coconut strike, with minor laceration, gashes and not before donating blood for the cutting board, once more. Unable to find some cotton swabs and a roll of gauze, I ended up with grabbing a pair of gloves (shh...actually, meant for use in dishwashing). With renewed and painful effort, through my injured left-hand palm was ready to desert from further strikes, the shell broke, approximately into a 1/4^th and 3/4^th spheres.

“You broke the coconut into unequal parts or what? Can you at least manage to cut the gel into small pieces?”  I don't know whether I imagined this comment or really heard it! Done cannot be undone and a bell that has rung cannot be unrung.  With the injured left-hand, lifting its hand in non-cooperation, I coaxed and forced the right-hand, to complete the remaining operations.

The screwdriver strikes:

The thick gel (meat or copra or matured flesh) looked pristine and white. The omniscient voice spat out, “cut them into small cubes.” Forced to wear the mantle of a sculptor, to carve out small pieces, I looked for a knife (blunt, of course) or a screwdriver, whichever was in easy reach. The screwdriver besides the cooker beckoned me invitingly, saving a combing operation for a blunt knife.

 I decided to dice, after releasing the whole gel from the shell.  Mentally calculating the angle of attack and force to lever the gel out, I placed the 1/4th portion on the cutting board, I pushed the business end of the screwdriver, all along the line of actual contact, between the shell and the gel. This frontal attack failed, leaving a thick, brown scar along the line of contact. It was pure bad luck that I did not do a pre-inspection. The business end of the screwdriver had a coat of rust. Inadvertently, I had opened up another, unguarded front, ripe for another surgical strike.

The cover up needed an urgent options and a a blunt knife. Sweat was breaking out by the time I could collect a handful of coconut slices/slivers/misshapen cuboids with a brownish vein. Short of washing them with detergent, I did everything possible to remove the stain, which only resulted in spreading the battle scar wide and far. 

Who said that a blunt knife is harmless? The renewed vigour with which I poked the 3/4th portion, must have angered the knife, as it simply broke through the shell and dug into my already injured left-hand palm. I am not that stupid to count three strikes, on the same target, as a coincidence. Injury or not, the battle has to end. Somehow, I managed enough of sparkling white cuboids and rhomboids of coconut gel, artfully displayed on the cutting board. Are you wondering about the red oxide coloured coconut gel? They are interred safely for the earthworms to feed on!

The cooker strikes:

I realised rather late, when Edison’s bulb failed to glow, that the rusty screwdriver had something to do with the cooker and not with the coconut. The cooker handles on (vessel and the lid) have had serious disagreement. Unable to bear it anymore, the holding screws were threatening to come out and be done with it.  I felt happy that at least this work could be finished without an instruction manual, which anyways would not have detailed contingency plans.

An unwanted prompt rose in my head – don’t they use dissimilar metal screws to tighten parts like the lid/cooker? Something to do with differential expansions! Though having failed by the experiments many times, I never failed to do an experiment - foraged into my junk box and came up with suitable screws. Cajoling them to cooperate, I assembled the handles to the lid and the cooker vessel. The proof of the pudding moment came when I lifted the cooker. To my consternation, the insulator handles de-docked from the hardware. The sheared and untethered screwheads availing gravity assist, quietly fell on my feet. The hastily conducted failure analysis, which insulted the injury, propelled me, to a proper repair shop.

The icicles strike:

Not satisfied with all these bloodletting activities, the devil took the wheels only to ditched me once again. Was it blood thirsty for another surgical strike? What made me to open the fridge now? You better ask the all-knowing devil, racing on all wheel drive!  A look at the freezer compartment, instantly transported me to the North Pole. This, fridge-grown Arctic Circle, brought memories of the hanging garden of Babylon. Instead of vegetation, this garden was populated with icicles! Though it was a tantalising sight, I pitied those things that get stored there without protective gear. Having seen the glacier across the width and breadth of the freezer, the devil that drove me there asked, how can you leave it like that? 

I drove the sturdy spoon, on the ice drift, like it was a lawnmower. The cold fingers of worry gripped and kept on reminding me, about the awaiting potential damage to the freezer box. Reluctantly, a layer of ice-drift parted, exposing the hardened criminal lying in wait, underneath. The strength of the spoon and the force delivered were no match to the determination of the clinging icicles and the frozen over glacier.

Discarding the spoon and my caution to the frigid wind, I brought in a hefty screwdriver into play. Taking turns, I forcefully fist-tapped it, into the root of the hanging icicles and hardened skating rink. Different types of crackling sounds emanated and scared the day light out of me. Did I, inadvertently apply too much force? Fearing the worst, a sense of foreboding parachuted on me from somewhere. Not to miss out on the fun, my heart started to hammer at the ribcage. Giving me no time to rue, the front door opened and closed with a thud.

Trying to temporarily hide my misadventure, I quickly but gently closed the fridge. With two bags of vegetables, the homemaker entered the kitchen. The first thing she noticed was the forgotten-to-discard gloves on my hand. Why are you wearing the gloves? What these band-aid wrappers are doing on the floor? Are you trying to teach me geometry with these cuboids and rhomboids shaped coconut gel? Why the quantity is so less? What made you to dissect the onions into rings, dicings, choppings, slivers and wedges when I told you to dice them? Why don’t you say something, has the cat caught your tongue?

I almost fainted, hearing these intuitive, rapid-fire accusations. How would I admit to my misadventures in the kitchen? Had I responded, you would have found me in the middle of another self-inflicted surgical strike! Exasperated, she dumped the bags on the floor and walked away with her voice over. This deafening silence sounded scarier than the screaming of bunker busters.

I plead guilty to the charge of unauthorised border crossing. You have been watching me all along, would any one of you come in and aid my evacuation from the war zone? I have learnt my lesson – to stick to making black coffee and keeping quiet about my expertise and not bragging about Michelin star ratings! Like the rolling credit, at the end of a movie, slivers, slices, wedges, chopping, dicings, gratings and rings flashed past, in my mind’s eye.

 Any story has hidden moral. This too has its share:

Bluster is not a substitute for expertise.

Statements, made in jest, might land you in the kitchen.

A sheep has no business to be among wolves.

Frogs should learn to practice their music in vacuum.

The Olympians:

 Even a new mirror is bound to show only the old face!

From “Images”

When an individual or a team wins a medal, not an issue whether it is a gold, silver or bronze variety, the Nation, State, City, Town, Street and the households erupt in joy. Everyone feels, as though it is a personal achievement. If lucky, this happens once in four years. The four yearlong, strenuous preparation of the individual or team, that preceded the event, is known only to the involved households. Media blitz and governmental support gets talked about in public places, till such time, another event appears on the horizon, to replace the hurrah of the bygone Olympics.

But, like the exception to the rule, there is a type of Olympians, who wish to earn a medal every day. This sport is not being on the list of approved games, does not deter them. Since these ‘sports persons’ lack the where withal, never succeeded in lobbying with the National or International Olympic Committees, for a chance. As in sports, they believe in playing it, for their own enjoyment and if endorsed would whole heartedly accept it! Since acceptance had not come their way, this type of ‘Olympians’ have devised ingenious ways. Close-knit siblings, likeminded or forced-to- side with relatives and friends, under the threat of ‘with me or with not ‘, are roped in as sponsors and active participates.

Except for the Arctic and Antarctic regions, the siblings and their close relatives and friends live outside the Motherland. Be it education leading to employment or only employment, the foreign currency signs could be seen hanging behind them, like a halo. Instead of enlightenment, here the halo signifies enrichment. One or two of the brood did not join the flight, staying fixed in the native. With Google, X (formerly Twitter), Facebook, LinkedIn, WhatsApp, Talk-to-me and a host of electronic highways keep them close and at a call away. After all, for the closeness of heart, distance is just a matter of perspective.

Here comes the kicker- the separation distance is bridged by travelling through the memory lanes, unmindful of bystanders and other traffic, overlooking signals. The sad part of the story is, they do not want to upgrade their often-travelled memory lanes. They do not even want the bystanders to change and don't let go off the jumping-the-signal habit. Here, a little explanation, on the signal jumping habit, would be of help - these Olympians don’t think twice to hop from one conversation to another, even if it happens to be a scholarly discussion. Emotional drought and affinity to mundane things!

Thinking and talking, within the box, is the Olympic game that is played, when siblings or relatives comes home for a brief roost. As soon as they land, a hectic schedule for temple runs, holy dip in not so holy waters, medical runs and family functions is drawn. The resident sibling is affectionately drawn into this whirlwind tour. Feeling suffocated and irritated by the chatter of memory lane anecdotes, the man or woman at the wheel of the vehicle reacts in frustration; honks the horn or burns rubber without reason and unsuccessfully tries to stop the deluge. For a larger audience, these Olympians prefer family functions, as an ideal stage to conduct their symposia.

For ordinary, resident mortals like us, falling hair, receding hairline and going bald is a universal phenomenon. But for this effervescent group of siblings, the phenomenon and the underlying root causes are unique. To support their assertion, notwithstanding your disinterest, they will explain with the help of their 300 years old genetic tree. Still on this ‘hairy’ subject, the Olympians shake the genetic tree to quote examples, with detailed timelines, for greying and falling of hairs, receding hairline and up to becoming a bald head. The passion with which they describe how the baton has been passed on, leaves the listener scrambling to understand how this natural occurrence is unique for that particular genetic tree! 

The age-old signatures of hanging bags under the eyes or crow feet guarding the eyes or wrinkles on the skin is another fertile topic, because now the ‘hen and chicks’ game can include many players - parental generations, generations of relatives who have had or are having any of this 'hall mark'. Once again, the family tree is placed before anyone who dares to doubt.

Clinging to the past and giving a re-run of the same audio clip with on stage performance, will surely transport the unsuspecting, to a movie theatre. The mere mention of 'mirror' is enough to start the ‘mirror in the attic’ game- details about a Belgium mirror the great great grandfather bought and how after migration it has found a place in the attic, among cobwebs. The build-up makes one to doubt whether the factory closed down immediately, after producing this one and only family heirloom! Since it did not aid the flow of the nostalgic narrative, the vanishing coating at the back of the Belgian mirror, became the feed to selective amnesia.

The episodes do not end here.  The Olympians happily open the listeners' eyes, before or after an eye checkup, to the world of glass for spectacles. Like a freight train with failed brakes, they move on crushing the grade of glasses you bought, just now. The durability of their great grandmother's pair of spectacles will be used to hammer the nail. By these sweeping comments, they manage to convey another uniqueness- that the family tree speaks, pokes its nose to happily trample over others’ feelings.  A glass is a fragile thing that needs careful handling, even more so, when the Olympians are around. This is all about the ‘eyes, glasses and tears’.

As the Olympians move as a pack, the narratives come out with different voice overs, one trying to outdo the other vocally. Generally speaking, it is tiresome to keep the audio going on for ever. But the clan tirelessly claims and credits it to their unique gene-pool and urges you to count it as a boon and not a bane.

Now, over to the game of ‘scare the health out of you’. If you happen to have a band-aid on your hurt little finger, any member of the clan will seize the ball and take the game away from you. The Olympians will commence the game by asking, 'wash-proof or ordinary' and take the narrative right into an operation theatre and ICU. Just you name any injury, or illness, they will recite an encyclopaedia of diseases, suffered by a member of the clan! Maybe, the 300-year-old family tree, has much more pages devoted, in the encyclopaedia!

The unwary, not getting the clue, persisting to describe how his/her pinky finger got injured, must be ready to hide from the Brahmastra - 'my distant relative underwent a surgery for removal of an aneurysm, which incidentally my great grandmother also had, not one but two!' No doubt, the listener gets to walk away out of ICU alive and kicking his/herself. Of course, after looking at the family tree, now the wisened listener, maintains a tactical silence, fearing a lecture on A-Z diseases. If the Olympians do not touch upon certain diseases, it is not definitely out of disrespect to side line those diseases. It only means that the family tree did not bear those fruits!

The Olympians are experts in the field of psychology, paranormal and building of highways to spiritual kingdom, for a blessed after life. The experience, though a little far-fetched, will be like what you get with ‘a buy one and take the shop free offer’! Getting a whiff of someone struggling with present difficulties, bush-telegraph alerts the entire clan and each one hurls a suggestion, in person or through their never silent social media chatter, projecting a holistic view of the family tree in the background!

The Olympians game will not be complete without playing the ‘emotional monopoly chorous’ among the siblings. The simple verse is to heap praise on each other overlooking faults. if possible, all should collectively shine the favourable light on their children irrespective of shortcomings.  When do they keep the wise counsels to themselves? The Olympians become Ostriches and bury their heads in the sands of Sahara, when it involves a member of the clan.

Are you wondering why Sahara and not any other place? By this time, you should have guessed the answer - simply because one from the family tree might have done it! Once, an ostrich from the clan buried its head in the river sand, which with poetic license has become The Sahara Desert! Wondering why this narrative and what is the connection with the narrator?

Imaginch sat helplessly unable to decide on an option, from among ‘to be sad' or 'to pity' or 'to walk away from it all'. The narrator being his friend, he decided to mentally tick the box - "none of the above." He chose the safest approach – to become an Olympian’s Ostrich!

Suo Motu – Case of euthanasia and mortal dilemma:

Eight calls in ten minutes. The judge must have hit the roof by this time.  I know the ‘gnash’ verbale that will flow with the ninth call. I beat him by returning the call, maybe by milliseconds.

The judge started banging the gavel, literally, accusing me of disrespect to the judiciary and insulting ‘his honour’. I patiently waited out the torrent and then calmly asked, " By which code, while taking a bath and letting the incoming calls going unanswered, would he like to charge me?" The learned judge did not respond.

 Cooling down, he said in a conciliatory tone, " I am feeling doubly refreshed and raring to go. I wanted to know, how refreshed my one and only ace pro bono advocate is, after the vacation?"

I cursed myself for not switching over to another service provider. Frustrated, I reminded him, that both of us had decided to end our suo motu parleys. It is my experience, when it comes to resolutions, the learned judge always forgets. Bowing to judicial deference, I kept my anger under a tight lid.

 All the while, the judge was busy doodling complicated loops, on a legal pad, wasting paper and ink, in equal measures. If the judge wanted to feel, his transformation from whittling away wood to doodling on paper as a sign "of doubly refreshed", then for comparison, I wanted to tell him that I had just arrived from a lunar mission!

 Finishing his art work, the judge looked at me, with a twinkle in his eyes, and said, " You know, the best two things that came to my mind are this PLI, fit for a suo motu and pro bono handling." 

 I got confused how a PLI filed by another individual could be treated as a suo motu case. My mind immediately clarified it - the judge himself has filed the PLI and laying the foundation to make it a suo motu case and then rope me in to do a pro bono! All of a sudden, I felt the bone-drilling-cold of the Arctic, dressed in casual wear.

 Me, shivering in frozen land, did not deter him from starting another doodle.  Completing a complicated and confusing loop, he slid an oversized case file, with few papers trying to occupy, as much space as possible. The judge growled on, " Sharp at 10 AM, the proceedings will start."

Protest is a lost cause anyways. I trudged home and started going through the assembled papers. What the judge did not reveal and what I had guessed about the identity of the PLI litigant, his handwriting confirmed it. To further confuse the issue, he had clubbed two dissimilar matters, without answering the why so!  The connection between euthanasia and Relativity, really stumped me on two counts. How it affected the judge and in turn why it landed on my head. Not to one to burn midnight LEDs, I announced   a goodnight to the file and promptly went to bed, at my usual time. Not even the trigger happy, suo motu judge could disrupt that schedule.

The case title "Euthanasia and mortal dilemma.”, fit for a thesis paper, looked out of place in a legal docket. The other title, "Relativity - a hit and some misses, through the frames of relative reasoning." was even more impressive but a bit ‘out-spaceish’. Though, I quickly brushed up my general knowledge, I could neither grapple with the mortal dilemma or grasp Einstein's thinking or the import of this, on to this so called PLI cum suo motu cum pro bono case!

The judge, on his honourable bench, wore a dark look, rivalling the colour of his ill-fitting robe. He must have been continuing to doodle on the legal pad, from where he had left it yesterday. The wall clock, missing the second hand, patiently kept the time ticking over, on its dusty face, to show the time as 10 A M.

Having waited a few beats, I noisily cleared my throat, to announce my presence. The judge, coming back from doodle land, mistook that sound as a pre-trial motion and shouted, “motion denied." With or without banging the gavel, it was enough of a racket, to startle me.

Realising his mistake, he spoke,” Are you filing any pre-trial motions?”

I very much wanted to remind him of his earlier ruling - say whatever you have to, right here and now. I also wanted to point out, ‘instead of engaging in whittling of the wood, try written down your rulings’. But I chose to stare at him.

 Judge, I have a doubt, what is your beef?

Counsellor, you know, I am a pure vegetarian and don’t even allow a busy hen to lay eggs in my garden. Did you mean to ask what is my brief?

I half-nodded and half-shook my head, hoping his busy doodling activity will give it a pause. Judge, I understand your concern on Euthanasia and mortal dilemma. May I ask why this PLI, on Relativity - a hit and some misses, through the frames of relative reasoning, which would not be interesting, even to Mr Einstein? 

Counsellor, I am interested. To my knowledge, only his brain has been extensively studied, a lot more seriously than his research papers? On second thoughts, I am converting it as a separate suo motu case, to do justice to those efforts!

Justice for whom? For Einstein or the neurologists and pathologists! Why has he chosen to compound issues!  I wanted to ask, if he is upgrading the Euthanasia and mortal dilemma, too. But I kept quiet, knowing a PLI or a suo motu case, his judgement will neither browbeat nor have a binding on any one.

Finally, gathering his robes around, the judge growled, "If ready, now proceed."

Certain that the judge would not put up with any more wise cracks, I started to argue the case titled:

Euthanasia and mortal dilemma.

“Your Honour, the dictionary meaning apart, this case involves life or abdication of life and moral compass inside human consciousness. The word ‘mortal’ has been cleverly used to indicate the dilemma of the living as moral and that of the euthanasia-seeker as mortal.”

The utter bewilderment, on the judge’s face telegraphed me, that he had just seen a ghost walking all over his legal pad. Having known his weak assimilating prowess, I should have avoided the mentions of dictionary, clever wording, moral or mortal dilemmas, and stuck to one fact per sentence.

To mask his befuddlement, the judge said, “My simple questions are – Why? When? Who? and any other relevant factors in support thereof. Don’t go all over the universe. I don’t like unnecessary travel!”

Judge, “In a nutshell, this requires an amendment to the constitution, a change in mindset and rules for Human Rights Commission and code of medical conduct.”

Flustered, the judge growled, “Is the constitution a musical instrument to tune as you please? Why drag the Human Rights Commission in this matter? Believe me, you have gone completely overboard to tinker with the code of medical conduct and thereby the sacred Hippocrates oath? I have half a mind to debar you.”

Absolutely he had no recollection of his own, previous outbursts, he spat at me. He had accepted of having a tenuous or no legal standing, even in this court or the bar. Instead of reminding him of his stated weak legal standing, I referred to the ‘whys’ in his simple questions.

“The section, in the constitution, that guarantees individual freedom should be amended, to include the right to euthanasia, by self or by family, under diseases causing extreme distress, and bringing active and passive Euthanasia, on par.

Human Rights Commission should become proactive and change the parameters. What else would be the hardest human suffering and a tragedy? Will it not be denial of human rights, if needed relief to persons pleading for Euthanasia?”

The judge interrupted and questioned, “Why you want to tinker with the code of medical conduct? Will it not upset the spirit of Hippocrates?”

Judge, I am coming there, in a second. “The medical profession, having attempted and raised the collective hands, failing to give relief or cure, should it be placed in a position to decide on the applicability of euthanasia? This will change, if the code is changed. Even the spirit of Hippocrates would not oppose but approve this spirited defense of euthanasia!”

Having received a heavy verbal dosage, the judged banged the gavel and announced recess till next day. Not giving a chance for him to change his ruling and throw the gavel at me, I did a Usain Bolt and ran out of the premises.

 Next day, sharp, at 10 A M, the judge himself called out the court to session. A lilt, which is normally noticed in walking, came along with his words. He appeared unusually calm, collected and raring to go. As the judge had not yet nodded at me, I kept on shuffling things on my table and staring at him, without appearing to do so.

Counsellor, “I read your entire brief, in toto. I researched the rules of the Rights Commission.  Points under denial of services and or discrimination may deserve a closer look, though in my opinion it would be too much of a stretch, to string it along.

On the Code of Conduct, the medical profession is impelled to serve with nonmaleficence and respect patient’s autonomy. Here again, you want to extrapolate it, to cover the terminally ill, without breakthrough in curatives, and those without life support who would cease to exist, and tag it with financial and care-giving burdens. To top it all, you want to give the final say to the seeker of euthanasia. Though it sounds like an ex parte judgement, this point has merit. The paradox is, the issues are inter-twined and shrouded in dilemma of both moral and mortal variety.

I have reached the following conclusion. This court cannot seek for an amendment, in the constitution. The best I can do is, to pass on the proceedings, to The Highest Court and The Law Ministry of the Nation. Surely, I will buttress the suggestions, based on your brief. Whatever the Parliament decides, the Honourable Courts will implement.”

Counsellor, this is off the record. “What devil has taken over your sanity? You accuse inaction, unsympathetic and inhuman attitude on all the venerable institutions. Adding aviation fuel to volcanic inferno, you go across borders, shaking fists and demanding N G O’s, and revered UN bodies be sanctioned, if they do not form a queue and address this euthanasia crisis. I give you a lot of latitude but are you trying to overrun on the longitudes too. Officially, I would reprimand you with a jail term but personally, I will leave it to you.”

I started to wonder why the honourable judge is giving a lecture on geographical features and what is its relevance, even in an off the record observation?  

The judge, eyes narrowing with indecision, thought whether to admonish me or announce a recess at this stage, where he is becoming uncomfortable or to continue. I was all eager to know, if the decision taken is to continue, which it would be – Einstein’s case or his doodling?

Finally, he said, “In view of the urgency to draft the final judgement, on Euthanasia and mortal dilemma, I adjourn the proceedings in the matter of Relativity - a hit and some misses, through the frames of relative reasoning to a future date. Counsel is directed to argue the case then, whenever it is. The court is adjourned”

The judge left without banging the gavel. I followed suit, awaiting another series of cell phone summons, silently pleading that it should not be when I am bathing.

Suo Motu: The cyber-torture

My daydream had a few seconds’ run. The spoiler came in the form of a cell phone call. Meet me in the chambers, pronto. Within a few minutes a messenger rang the doorbell and delete vered s handwritten note (more like scratches on paper) a hardcopy of the same cell phone conversation. I cursed silently, why this suo motu judge does not leave issues and me in peace. Why is he being still allowed to preside in a courtroom? Maybe one day I would work up courage and file a suo motu case by myself in his court? Who knows, the judge might gladly preside over it, without losing sleep!

To avoid his lordship's personal appearance at my door, I hurried to meet with the judge. A part of my mind did not stop to guess whether today is the day of whittling or doodling. Another stray thought peeped out to wonder why he did not become a woodcutter or an artist, saving me from his suo motu brainstorms!

I respectfully knocked on the door and waited for his raspy voice to utter, “enter". The long delay, which was unusual, perturbed me. To ease my anxiety, the judge crowed a come in. I found the judge staring at three cell phones, faceup on the table. Whittling pocketknife and the doodling legal pad mysteriously absent from the table. The intensity with which the judge was staring at the cell phones frightened me that the displays might vaporise any time soon! For all my worries, I did not know why and what for the judge called me.

Judge: "Do you know how frustrating this is?" 

I did not reply with the same here too retort. 

Judge: "Do you know how this thing affects normal life?"

I remained silent, without pointing out that he should look within himself and recognise how disruptive his tactics are on my day today life.

There was no sign of the usual object on his table- pocketknife and doodling pad. Abruptly, the judge pulled out a file titled " Cyber...." and pushed it towards me. Before I could open it, he said," Read and argue the case tomorrow at 10:00 AM. As usual it is a pro bono, suo motu case.  The suo motu part I have taken care, and you do the pro bono work”.

He shouted "adjourned” and banged the table.  As an afterthought, he was kind enough to give me a clue- it takes roughly 20 to 25 seconds and repeats every day at least once and as a fringe benefit, it raises your blood pressure. Like a horse bolting out of the stable, I dashed out, not before hitting my toes on the door frame, while thinking whatever the judge said was a clue or a puzzle!  

At home, I opened the file and was surprised as well as confused. The judge, not yet out of the trees (a papyrus man) was taking a quantum leap. The man scared to look at a spreadsheet is now trying to spread his wings to soar into cyberspace, why? Why has he titled the case' "Cyber torture”. The clock started racing towards the deadline- to appear and argue.  I decided to do the background and legal research to prepare myself. I knew pretty well that the judge never left the courtroom and brooks no delay in starting his scheduled hearing. If I am late, he would surely find another pro bone case for me. This impelled me to enter the court 15 minutes in advance.

Judge: Counsellor, are there any pretrial motions?

Me: (Anyhow, he is not going to read it, why to waste my time and paper!).  Yes, your honour. Permission for oral submission

Judge: Counsellor don't make it a habit. For now, permission is granted.

Me: Your honour, I don't know why you are tilting at the windmill? Pray, dismiss the case as this court doesn't have jurisdiction as well as expertise to deal with this issue.

Judge: Counsellor, check that your tongue is held in your cheek. Such cheeky response will land you in legal trouble.

Me: (Fearing some more pro bono coming my way) Sorry, Your honour.

Judge: Then proceed ...

Me: Your honour, a sidebar, if you please. 

Judge:(waving his hand) Come over.

Me: When the issue involved is a product of active participation of all of us, how is it legal or logical to be a plaintiff, defendant, jury and a judge at the same time? 

Judge:(anticipating where this was going) Counsellor, you are jumping the gun ... lay a proper foundation.  

Me: Sorry your honour, I will do it in my opening remarks.

Judge: Make sure you don't lay it thick; I mean the foundation part!

Me: In 20 seconds, light travels nearly 60 lakh kilometres. The moon goes around earth, a shade over two times. A snail travels about 0.26 meters. And ...

Judge: Counsel, where are going at this snail’s speed? Hurry it up.

Me: judge, I am almost there...

Me: Judge, the snail is frustrated because it is unable to match the speed of moon or the ray of light. The moon is frustrated because neither it can slow down nor speed up! The ray of light is frustrated to be in such an environment.

Judge: Counsellor, you are skating on thin ice ...dangerous territory... don't make me frustrated with you.

Me: Sorry your honour. I am only trying to support the element of 'frustration' expressed by the bench.

Judge: Counsellor, come to the point.

Me: Your honour, things occupy space. Likewise, computers, intra and internets and   electronic highways also exist there as cyber space. Like on highways, in this electronic highways crimes are carried out using computers and networks particularly the internet. Cyber criminals hack and highjack data, commit financial fraud, and other malicious acts. To put it in a nutshell, a type of highway robbery using "0" and "1" to fashion a malware - a ghost who clears everything.

Judge: counsellor, you have stocked up enough hot air to float a balloon. Do you have any evidence to support your imputation that all of us are part of it. And particularly on the statement involving plaintiff, defendant, jury and judge. Why drag me in your quagmire?

Me: Your honour, I meant no imputation. We invented computers, networks and thereby created cyberspace. These things do not have the ability or free will to occupy cyberspace. Then who put them there? Then, creative minds, of the devious kind, from among us took over the cyberspace - lock, stock and barrel. Now, we are making us to run for our money. Whom will you blame - the complainants, the defendants, the juries or the judges? I rest my arguments.

At the end, the judge stood stock still, maintain silence. Maybe, for more than a minute. All of a sudden, a thunderous applause shattered the silence in the courtroom.  He might have noticed the perplexed look on my face.

Judge: "Counsellor, are you wondering why I stood in silence and then clapped?   You buried my case and I stood in silence.  Now I need not worry about drafting a lengthy recommendation as my judgement. Most importantly, the clapping was ...."

He must have enjoyed seeing the expectations darting across my face and said, " for my self-confidence and trust in allowing you, to argue the case."

Judge: (beckoning me) Counsellor, side bar. Did you not wonder, after seeing three cell phones on the table, when you entered my chambers? Could you not connect your observation with the case file I pushed towards you?  When was the last time you got frustrated, while calling someone from your cell phone? Did I not mention about 20 to 25 seconds, repeating every day and with fringe benefit?

It took me more than a minute to piece together all this, and like a lightning striking a cell tower, everything fell into place. The judge was mentioning about warnings about the cyber criminals and cyber-attacks, dutifully brought to every subscriber, by concerned authorities and service providers. Feeling sheepish that I had argued a case, on the fly without digging out the ‘catch’.

It was my turn to stand stock still, with a sullen face. Sensing the opportune moment, the judge - my torturer, hurried into his chamber.