Spring in India and Boom Bhang a Bhang!

Traditionally, Holi the festival of colours was a kind of letting down of one’s hair after the harvest was over. When all the toil and work was done, it was time for a bit of levity – and maybe levitation of the spirits. So, along with the riotous splashing of colours on everyone, the mood is also on a high thanks to bhang, without which no respectable Holi celebration especially in North India is complete.

What exactly is ‘bhang’?

It’s a paste that is made by pounding the buds and tender leaves of the female cannabis plant. It is usually pounded with a mortar and a pestle and then mixed into a drink or added to food. During Holi, the most popular way to have bhang is to mix it into milk which has been sweetened and into which spices and almond paste have been added. It is usually drunk cold. At some Holi parties, bhang is also served in snacks like pakoras – or savoury fried dumplings.

Bhang’s been around

It’s very much a part of Indian history and culture. The plant is considered holy and has been associated with Lord Shiva who, it is said, was the one who discovered the transcendental properties of this plant. This is probably why even today on the banks of the Ganges in the holy city of Benaras, you will still see bhang being prepared all round the year. It is after all, Lord Shiva’s holy place.

The benefits of bhang

The practice of making bhang a part of the happy events in one’s life goes back to at least a thousand years. While some believed it was an enjoyment not to be missed, especially during celebrations, others firmly believed it was beneficial to health. Physically, bhang is said to be good for so many ailments from indigestion to fever to dullness. Mentally, it is said to make you very alert. And spiritually, it is supposed to raise you to the plane of ecstasy. According to traditional nutritionists, it is a complete food that corrects any deficiency in the body and strengthens the immune system.

Bhang moments – each to his own

Every bhang experience is different. Some keep laughing and can’t seem to stop. Others just have this warm feeling inside of them. For most, it’s a great sense of freedom that washes over them, helping them forget proprieties and plunge headlong into the fun the festival demands. It’s an enlivening experience that has no equal.

Bhang and music

Besides Holi, bhang is popular at music festivals too. Mixed into flour which has spices added, it is then made into papads or poppadoms which are carried into the venue. With bhang inside you, the sound of music affects all your senses, filling you with joy with each note that is played or sung.

A plant you probably wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know – and it has such power. The potent way it affects the mind, body and soul is something that stays on in the memory long after the last bit of colour of Holi is washed off.

R.I.P in the Rye

You said Goodbye to the world a long time before you actually left it. You never wanted greatness – you had it thrust upon you and you did the only thing you felt you could – you retreated into your own private space. But not before you gave us Holden Caulfield. Rebellious, never-grow-up Holden who became the symbol for teenage turbulence. More importantly, the symbol of the non-phony.

What was it all about, this book that grew bigger than you and became the inspiration for a whole generation? Was it just a journey of self-discovery? Or was it a treatise about integrity, of being true to oneself above all else? And does being true to oneself and shunning phoniness set you apart, put you in the fringes?

Whatever it was, the heart of the book captivated us – maybe because we saw a bit of ourselves in the protagonist? Maybe because those were the idealistic years when being a part of the herd didn’t always matter.

They say you wrote more – a lot more. Will it all come pouring out now that you’re gone? The question is: do we want it to come pouring out? Or would we rather hold onto that one dream you inspired, hidden beneath those memories of the way things were, before the masks were in place? Sometimes, ‘just enough’ is a lot more powerful than ‘too much’.

Gin a body meet a body comin’ thro’ the rye …. there’s no need to cry. Just rest in peace. Did you just say, ‘Sleep tight, ya morons?’

You Can Do It If You Try

A Collective Thumbs Down To Bt Brinjal

Brinjal. Eggplant. Aubergine. By any name, it sure is better without the ‘Bt’ tag, or so people in India decided as they came out loud and strong to stall the introduction of Bt Brinjal in the country. And one guess where the seeds were going to come from? From Mayco-Monsanto, the local supplier of these new generation seeds which were touted as being the saviour of farmers – no more pests, higher yields, better profits….you know, the usual hyperbole. Fortunately, there are some issues where the Indian population comes out in numbers and this is one of them…..now if only there were more such instances!

On the face of it, it all sounds so good, so Utopian almost. A perfect world where crop infestation and diseased grains and now vegetables are a thing of the past. The thing is, when one interferes with Nature, there usually are repercussions. However, what might constitute future problems are swept under the carpet – and why not, when the company that has been in the forefront of this ‘humanitarian’ research stands to gain millions?

Let’s rewind a bit to another GMO seed that was introduced in India – Bt Cotton. In 1995, Monsanto came together with India’s Mayco to import Bt cotton seeds into India to be crossed with local varieties. They were made available in the local market in 2002 ostensibly to end the poor Indian farmer’s woes and blow the winds of prosperity across his holdings with this new pest-resistant strain. Unfortunately, while there was so much research that was going on in the government-funded agencies (where did the funding come from, one wonders?), there was little if no transparency when it came to the findings. In less than a year, the crop failed to meet farmers’ raised expectations and there were many suicides across the land, thanks to failed crops. What happened was the growth of pests – Bt-resistant bollworms in fields. Half the pesticides in the country are used against this one pest – and now, we have a resistant strain growing and spreading. The other factor of course, is the fact that these are ‘terminator’ seeds – you need to buy new seeds every time you want to plant a new crop. Which means that you once they get to you, you are chained to the company for life.

Consider this. There are more than 2000 varieties of brinjal in India and they have been grown in the country for over 4000 years – do we really want to wish them all away and replace them with a few ‘robotic’ strains? The country’s educated said ‘No’ and ‘Enough’. Suddenly, there was a huge outcry, snowballing into the Environment Minister’s office overflowing with emails, faxes, letters to stop this monstrous march to what was being termed a technological revolution. The research that had been released by the company was too sketchy and not objective to warrant its introduction without proper research. Till then, the political leaders, some of the newspapers and media channels and the companies involved were singing its praises. On January 30, the anniversary of  Mahatma Gandhi assassination, 100,000 people across the land went on a fast to protest. Sensing a revolution, the Environment Minister put the introduction on hold. No, the danger isn’t past as yet and we should be vigilant. All they have done is to postpone the introduction – indefinitely.

We need to do what Europe is doing. They’ve banned fabric made of GM cotton and they have always said an emphatic No to all GMO foods. How can we base the safety of the rest of our lives and the lives of future generations on research that has been funded by the company that promotes GM technology? How can we expect it not to be skewed in their favour? Awareness is the only answer and the more of us who stand up and say No when we have to, the better for the world. We can do it if we try. And when we do, we can move the world.

Teaching Your Children Not To Care

They cared and they taught us to care. But part of their parental code was how NOT to care as well. It’s something all of us try and follow because they practice what they preach, they walk the talk. And all the time we were growing up, they tried to instill things in us, never pushed things down our throats. Did we heed their words? Maybe not all of them, then. But those words lived on in us – and came to the fore when it mattered. Words that were taught with wisdom, caring and love. An insurance for the life ahead of us.

Then I looked around at close friends who had great parents as well and I asked them whether they were taught how not to care too – about the things that don’t matter, the things that are ephemeral, the things that are superficial, the things that shouldn’t be important. I’ve tried to make a list of all the ones I can remember. It’s a list that maybe we can try and teach our children. Most kids will think you’re crazy – but they’ll remember it some day when they’re all grown up – and they’ll try to follow. I know we do.

Teach them not to care about what others think – how we feel about ourselves is what is important.

Teach them not to care how friends look, speak, what they wear – it’s how they make us feel that counts.

Teach them not to care about what could be wrong about others’ religious beliefs – it’s what’s right with ours that we need to follow.

Teach them not to care when others judge us – what’s important is that we don’t judge others.

Teach them not to care when others take and don’t pay back – it’s so much more satisfying when we pay it forward.

Teach them not to care what the world expects – setting our own standards high and achieving them should be our challenge.

Teach them not to care if someone is better then them in studies, sports, music, whatever – now that’s hard to follow but gets easier if a special talent is nurtured and made to bloom.

Teach them not to care if people ridicule them about the way they look – the more we show we are affected, the more will they tease us.

Teach them not to care if people taunt them – ignoring someone is a better way to retaliate than losing your temper.

Teach them not to care about the toxic takers – things work so much better in a giving, sharing environment.

Teach them not to care about the ones who don’t listen – but let’s lend someone our ears when needed.

Teach them not to care – about so many silly, inconsequential, unimportant things – a lot of what is important to us when we are young will seem so silly as we grow up.

Teach them not to care about the ones who don’t care – life’s so short, let’s spend it with the ones who do care.

A River’s Rage

July 26, 2005. Tuesday morning saw the commercial capital of India wake up and go to work, never mind that there had been 24 hours of heavy rain. And the rains came down and continued coming down. The waters started rising. And Mumbai took it in its stride. A resilient city with a survivor instinct. People laughed, joked, jostled each other and couldn’t care less. Drank a few extra cups of steaming hot tea at work perhaps, and hoped the city’s overcrowded, bursting-at-the-seams trains wouldn’t run too late (late is expected!)

Under the city, it was a different story. This time, said the river that people had forgotten about, this time I’m going to come up like the Loch Ness monster and give them a bit of a fright. Forget me, will they?

Not many people in Mumbai know about the Mithi River. Not even people like me who lived there for 20 years! It originates at Vihar and flows meandering past Powai Lake, one of the freshwater lakes supplying the city’s drinking water, down to Mahim Creek 16 kilometres away, where it empties itself into the sea. ‘A river?’ ask most people incredulously. ‘We thought it was a drain!’

That’s what the river is treated like today. Discharge of raw sewage, industrial waste and garbage choke its course.

What right had they to change my course, wondered the once free flowing, peaceful river? I was the city’s artery. The Thames and the Seine are fussed over by their city fathers. What happened to me? I want justice!

Can large cities take matters into their own hands and change the course of Nature? Can they build two airports – one domestic and one international - that cut off the flow of the river? Even recently, the airport has been reclaiming bits and pieces of land near the river, in one case filling in a 50-metre wide stream running into the river. And when the taxiway was extended, airport officials had the unmitigated gall to say it was not blocking the river, but being built on a bridge to allow water to flow below it! (Turned it invisible, did they?)

Can the greed and neglect of materialistic city fathers alter every curve of the river? And the area where it enters the Mahim Creek is supposed to be a protected bird sanctuary. Did anyone know? More important, did anyone care? What birds, when it has been reduced to a stinking gutter? And the city where dreams were only of pots of gold at the end of long train rides, long working hours and long lists of to-dos never looked up from their blinkered rat-race existence to protest. Where was the time?

The mouth of the river that was 1200 metres wide has now been reduced to a drain-like size of 300. And even that part is being coveted by developers who would like to build a spanking new sea-link from one point of the city to another.

How do you get rid of a river? Simple. So simple. You fill it up and concretize it, providing tiny drains for the water to flow. And when the area gets flooded during the drains, out come the pumps to pump out the water.

They’ve tied me up, locked me in, ravaged me, abused me. And now they drain the very lifeblood out of me. Now I need an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

13 years ago, the road to Vihar was blocked for ‘security reasons’. Tonnes of earth have been dumped and lo and behold, it seems a road is being built – a road that passes two seven-star hotels. A river that was the city’s means of draining out the water during the rains into the sea, a river that was the city’s insulation against flooding, a river that was Nature’s gift…. pillaged, plundered, heartlessly raped.

But Nature, especially Water is a potent, powerful force that like a serpent bides it time and strikes true and hard. The 26^th December tsunami was a testimony to that. This river, too, waited for its day of reckoning and struck back. For 4 days, the city of Mumbai came to a standstill. Knee-deep to neck-deep water everywhere. No electricity, no water, no transport, no phones. All flights grounded. Cars abandoned on every road, floating in water. So many innocent lives lost, human and animal, so much damage, so much waste. And the sad part? We were responsible.

Sometimes, said the river, the mills of God grind slowly. Justice is served. A very, very wet justice! And if there’s no reparation, wait till the next rains come around!