Kusum Choppra

What is the meaning behind Hindu last rites?   Mental rifling and Google Baba on death show     our ancient Vedas have lyrical hymns to Man’s relationship with Nature, plus ways and means of dealing with it,   that were unfortunately overpowered   by   Brahminical platitudes and money-making practices, but the essence has   survived. The soul/Atman is immortal. It is released at the Antyeshti rituals that return the body to the five elements, air, water, fire, earth and space…denoted in the Rigveda, section 10.16: “Burn him not up, nor quite consume him, Agni: let not his body or his skin be scattered, O all possessing Fire, when thou hast matured him, then send him on his way unto the Fathers.When thou hast made him ready, all possessing Fire, then do thou give him over to the Fathers,   When he attains unto the life that waits him, he shall become subject to the will of gods. The Sun receive thine eye, the Wind thy Prana (life-principle); go, as thy merit is, to earth or heaven

 That fascinating Great Indian Rope trick of yore has become the Great Indian son trick...  with innumerable two or more sons families.  When did medical practitioners master the art of thus catering to our current Indian craze for sons?  By effectively ensuring that no daughters are born?   Accident? Or that great unspoken shame, Foeticide practised but never acknowledged?  Earlier, daughters’ names were not entered into family records, except under exceptional circumstances.  Yet, our hoary literary marvels do revolve around women, aka daughters. This thought arose during the recent updating of my family tree that threw up an interesting observation:  before the advent of the two son family, for a long period, there were huge families with or without betis’ names on record.   It was held that more kids were on account of high mortality, poor health, and obviously multiple marriages. Does this health-mortality argument not stand at odds with Our Glorious pre-British past? That era pos

The Ramayan boasts of two strong men: Ram and Raavan. The former worshipped in North India, while Raavan is a legendary hero of modern Lanka's modern economy. Given the Ram frenzy building up,  Raavan's lead role in Sri Lanka tourism,  and its legendary ‘Pearl in the Ocean’ status, now needs reinforcing beyond the existing references and beliefs showcased by Lankan tourist industry. Ayodhya too needs archaeological evidence to bolster the "belief" of being the real birthplace of Lord Ram, which is not mentioned in any early text.  The city boasts of numerous temples, where birthplace tag is quietly contested by some temples' attendants. Sri Lanka, a small blessed island did not take long after Independence to ring in a positive edge to its economy.  But it paid a heavy price for rapid action when Buddhist vs Tamil politics mingled with international economic jousting to ring in decades of Civil Wars. Tourism flared with the famed Ramayana Trails to help r

Small and medium industry decimated Then the bottom fell out of farming Finally, Big Industry is keeling. When Biscuit ji cracked The response: How can glucose survive When India is sugar-free? Bitter tidings in the Land of Rasas.

Oftentimes waking up is accompanied by a sickening realization: That some sleep time was devoted to a new painless suicide method.  This morning the window net went up to peer down,  checking for a clear fall down so many floors to die? Ghastly answer: NO.  Pairs of window shades at every level created enough brakes to ensure numerous broken bones,  but death was doubtful.   One more fail-safe method gone Phoos. Ducking in,  an intriguing sight caught my eye. Two scantily clad tall trees stand out in the dense copse below the window, bearing scattered yellow blooms. Close to top of a tall tree sat a baby monkey, surrounded by a gaggle of pigeons determinedly making its life miserable.   Perhaps having been chased from feeding grounds by Baby's seniors, methinks. For good ten-odd minutes, the pigeons taunted it,  pecking at his back,  tweaking the long hanging tail. Baby swatted with all his energy. At some stage wisdom,  or perhaps mama's inaudible call reminded him th

Through my bedroom window, I look down on a giant bedroom. It sleeps 23 odd scattered around, singles, doubles, triples and quartets. Dark nights offer no glimpse that I rush to catch at daylight. My eyes first seek out the horizon, shuttered by rising skyscrapers Monster steel and glass development symbols that slurp resources To spew out fake humans with fake emotions that change with every audience, Ultra right / left, ultra-modern / old fashioned, liberal / conservative, 50 / 50 Fulsome praise to your face, vicious criticisms behind your back. Ahead of the skyscrapers are swathes of variegated greens, the trees swaying majestically in the early morning breeze. Easy to pick out those with a new coat, in fresh new shades of glistening green standing out from the mature shades around. Then the eyes reach closer home, the terrace immediately below my eerie. There, just below my window, is an old thick-set man on his solitary string bed with two pillows. Occasionally