Quite a day

I had quite a hectic day today...

In the morning, Kanak Mani Dixit, editor and publisher of the acclaimed South Asian magazine, Himal, published from Kathmandu, came over for breakfast.



I met Kanak yesterday evening at the valedictory dinner of the Calcutta Research Group's Sixth Winter Course on Forced Migration. He knew my mother, Gomathy Venkateswar, when she was the first Principal of the Malpi International School, in Panauti, Nepal. But I had never met him. At the dinner, overhearing a conversation on Nepal, I figured out that the person must be Kanak and introduced myself. Over breakfast we had a nice conversation on various things; about the situation in Nepal, about Nepal's Maoists, about the CPI(M) in West Bengal, among other things.

At noon, I was in the Raj Bhavan, Calcutta. I had been invited by the Governor of West Bengal, Gopalkrishna Gandhi.



In August 2007, on the occasion of the 60th anniversary of India's independence, I had written a essay titled "In Search of Ramrajya". As the essay alluded to Mahatma Gandhi, the Governor's grandfather, and as it was about my experience of working since 1996 in a Muslim slum in Howrah, in the state of West Bengal, of which the Governor was the constitutional head, I sent him a copy of my essay early this year. He wrote me a letter saying he would like to meet me. And so we met, in May. But Mr Gandhi was somewhat preoccupied and disturbed when we met, perhaps on account of the situation he was in then, being abused and vilified by the ruling party in West Bengal. We spoke for a while and Mr Gandhi said we would meet at a later juncture. Last Friday I got a call from his office, asking me whether I could come on Tuesday. We had a nice conversation, on various matters. He asked me about my children and thus learned that his children had also studied at the Rishi Valley School. He told me how difficult it was for parents to send their young children away from home, something I too knew well. We spoke about Mahatma Gandhi's idea of swaraj. And I suggested that persons in power, those responsibe for decision-making, should make a visit to places like Priya Manna Basti so that they could have an image of this place and the people living there in their mind whenever they took a decision. Like Mahatma Gandhi's talisman.

In the afternoon, I met Mireille Fanon Mendes France, daughter of the celebrated thinker and revolutionary activist Frantz Fanon.



Mireille is an eminent human rights activist in Paris, France, working for the rights of immigrants, of Palestinians under Israeli occupation, and for the abolition of the death penalty. Mireille was in Calcutta to deliver a lecture on "Racism, Immigration & Xenophobia in the World today" and to participate in the seminar on "Reading Frantz Fanon in Calcutta". We went to the community centre of Howrah Pilot Project, in Priya Manna Basti, Howrah, where she met my colleagues, the volunteer teachers of Talimi Haq School and also some of our ex-students. My dear friend and associate, Hasnain Imam, had also came over and on my request tried to explain to Mireille what being Muslim in India / Calcutta meant. We went for a tour of PM Basti and Mireille said the place reminded her a lot of the Palestinian refugee camps. I then took Mireille to a gift shop in Calcutta, where she picked up some beautiful things for her children and friends. We talked and talked, about so many things. It was such a wonderful and moving experience. Late evening, on the way back to her hotel, Mireille asked, "If all the poor people of the world stand up, the world will be turned upside down. Do you think I will see that in my life time?" I replied, "Yes, we WILL see it in our life time, for we are now living in a time of transformations!"

Summer vacation photoblog 1

Grapes of bliss.



Feast for locusts.

School prayer

When I visited the Rishi Valley School last June, I was pleasantly surprised to hear during a morning assembly the prayer in Hindi, Racha Prabhu.

This was the prayer sung virtually every morning when I was a little boy at the Hindi High School in Calcutta, 1963-68. I had learnt it phonetically, and now only the first few words remained in my memory. As it happened, I had been remembering this earliest prayer I’d sung. So I was really delighted to hear it sung at Rishi Valley.

But it was only during my next visit to Rishi Valley, in January, that I got down to copying the lyrics from the school song book. Having googled for the words once – and been unsuccessful - I discovered that there are several people who are keen to get the lyrics. So I am glad to share this here.

Racha prabhu tu ney yah brahmand sara
Prano sey pyara, tu hi sabsey nyara
Tu hi bhai-bandhu, tu hi jagat janani
Sakal jagat mein ek tera pasara

In translation:

Lord, you have created this wide universe
Dearer than life, you alone are the most wonderful
You alone are brother and friend
You alone are mother of the world
All the worlds are only your expanse.

Reunion

My wife and I had gone to visit our sons at the Rishi Valley School, in Madanapalle in south India. My going was not originally planned, so it was a fortuitous turn that took me there. It was also a surprise for the boys - hence a happy reunion indeed.

Being of a self-effacing nature, I habitually view myself as redundant in every sphere. This chance surprise visit to my sons - made me realise that I am important to them. And that is a big responsibility.

My visits to Rishi Valley have been associated with reading great literature. This time I had carried the last 3 volumes of Osamu Tezuka's 8-volume graphic novel Buddha. I finished reading these. My younger son Rishiraj too completed these during our time together.

An old building near the guest house we were staying in was being demolished. So the Buddha's exclamation on his enlightenment was a constant companion:

"... O house builder, now you have been seen. Never again shall you be able to build the house. All your rafters are broken and your ridge pole is shattered. ..."



Parting from my boys to return home - I was filled with sadness, and was morose all of yesterday while in transit in Bangalore. I picked up Orhan Pamuk's Snow at the airport in the evening and immersed myself in reading. That helped to take my mind away and lift the cloud of sadness.

Back to Calcutta, back to all the millions of things to do and worry about here.

A major refurbishment of our office had been underway. I returned to sit in my "new" room. It feels strange and alien.

Rishi Valley School photoblog

A view of the school campus.


A student making a presentation during the morning
assembly.


Singing devotional songs and chants at the
morning assembly.


Visitors' lounge in the senior school block.


A class in progress.


The school library.


Another view of the library.


'Democracy board' in the senior school block.


A time to relax.


Cave Rock Hill and the sports field.


Games time.


"Marker", the tennis coach, the senior-most
staff member.

Sankranti at Rishi Valley School

A special programme was organised at the Rishi Valley School on the morning of 13th January, to observe Sankranti, the harvest festival of south India.

Morning with the boys

I spent today morning with my sons Rituraj & Rishiraj.

But they are far away, in their school in Rishi Valley in south India, while I'm in Calcutta!

For a long time, I'd been deferring the termite elimination at my family house. A few days ago, I saw that there had been a new termite invasion in one of the rooms. So I immediately called the pest control company and gave the go-ahead for the elaborate treatment. The work began today, and so I stayed at home to attend to that.

I had to move all the things in all the rooms, away from the walls. In my sons' bedroom, moving their desk, I came upon their footprints on the wall.

And in my bedroom, behind the large mirror-dressing table unit - hanging from a cross-piece, like a victory flag, was a T-shirt of Rishiraj's. I visualised a no-holds-barred brawl between the boys, with someone having hurled the T-shirt at the other, with decimatory intent. I know the path of a projectile in a vacuum is parabolic. So allowing for the change in parameters, the T-shirt-missile had taken some kind of path and slipped through the crack of space behind the un-moveable mirror unit - and stayed there, who knows for how long.

Also behind the mirror unit - the mystery of the once missing chocolates was partially solved. Strewn there, away from anyone's sight, were the chocolate wrappers, conveniently chucked behind the mirror to ensure certain non-discovery.

"Don't dirty the wall!"

"Stop this fighting this instant!"

"Who's gobbled the chocolates?"

But when I came upon the footprints, and the suspended T-shirt and the hidden chocolate wrappers - my boys kept me company as I plodded on dejectedly with the arduous business of moving things.

Did I miss them!

So I sat down and wrote a letter to Rituraj and Rishiraj - telling them how they had given me company through a morning's hapless work, with the telltale signs of everything they should'nt have done. And that I was glad for that.

Rituraj & Rishiraj

A fortnight ago, I was at the Rishi Valley School, near Madanapalle, in Andhra Pradesh. My wife Rajashi and I had gone to admit our younger son, Rishiraj (11), there. Elder son, Rituraj (15), has been studying there since 2003. He was also returning to school after the summer vacation.

After 15 years, our house is now without children. After Rituraj joined RV, Rajashi and I had become even more emotionally attached to Rishiraj (aka Chotu). We are like ghosts or zombies floating through our lives, shell-shocked, distraught!

Sending one's children away - to live with that one becomes hard-hearted. The moment the thought or remembrance arises, triggered by anything, one kills it, for to let it enter the system and bring on the grief is unendurable. One steels oneself aginst this, and tries instead to think of all the good that this school is doing for the children, what a beautiful place it is.

Rishi Valley School

Rishi Valley School was started in 1931, by the thinker-teacher J Krishnamurti, to give expression to his vision of what education must be, what a school must be like, in order to facilitate the blooming of each child according to his / her true self, free of all kinds of false conditioning.

In 2003, I got from the school office the booklet on the first 40 years of the school, written based on a research-documentation project. On the bus ride back from dropping Rituraj, while Rajashi was deep in silent sadness, I read the account. I was rivetted and spell-bound by the tale of this institution founded on idealism, the struggle to set it up, the challenges and difficulties, the dark days, the swings between extreme freedom and strict discipline, the exceptional individuals and their characteristic genius, and limitations. I could see the whole thing happening in front of me, as if I was witnessing the events and situations.

The story of the quest for true education, is the stuff of an epic. Those familiar with AS Neil's "Summerhill" would know! Later I sent the booklet to my dear friend Col Arun Mamgain, who was then the Commandant of the Rashtriya Indian Military College (RIMC), in Dehradun. He too was gripped and inspired by the account.

The publication is accessible here.