gadgets and the girl...

A SONG DEDICATED TO THE GREAT GADGET GOD

Smrithi Rumdali Rai

***

“Whoever said that women have no penchant for machines,
never had any female relatives.”

Here is a song for the GREAT GADGET GOD(DESS)… Wherever HE or SHE may be! The song is to be set to the tune of any of your favourite punchy number sung in B Flat Minor to the accompaniment of a Hoover, a blender and your baby’s wails… Or your dog’s sharp barks if you don’t have a baby. If you have neither, just borrow your teenage brother’s “Coolest Song of the Century”.

Now that you are prepared… what’s that slightly throbbing pain at the side of your left temple you say… Well, it’s the first sign of greater things to come. Here goes…

***

The toast is burning, smoke billows black
The fire alarm screams in fury
In vain, Oh dear… Alack!
Nothing heard over the storm of cleaning
By the formidable Bai and her trusty,
The 80 horse power of Eureka Forbes pack.

Chorus:
Gadgets Gadgets Gadgets, hello!
Wherever you are chaos is bound to follow!

Mommy is in the bathroom drying her locks
Her faithful hair dryer of ten years roaring the ditty
You’ll look gorgeous today, gonna make you pretty.
Camouflaged by the roar, Nephew seizes his chance
And barks out orders for GI Joe’s defiant stance
“Down with America! Viva la France!”
Put him in the blender and watch Joe dance.

Chorus:
Gadgets Gadgets Gadgets, away!
You will always ruin the best part of my day!

A scream and the smell of burning hair
Straightening irons fly out of my teenage niece’s lair
A frizzy-haired lass who longs for a straight tress
Assisted by my little sis with rollers who claims
“My poker straight would never go with that dress!”

Chorus:
Gadgets Gadgets Gadgets, you demand!
Too late you realize it’s them in command!

Fat aunty Kat Jacob waddles up out of breath
Her eyelids turned out by an instrument
Of Chinese torture… Guaranteed to curl
Her lashes and make her look like a girl.

“Kitty,” she calls out in anxious mother love
“Have you burnt your curls again?”
Hands stretched in supplication to the Mighty above
“Why? O My Lord, why,” she cries
“Did she have to inherit her hair from Mr. Jacob?”

Who at this moment is swearing at the washing-machine
The spin-drier’s caught a sock and will not yield
“Finders Keepers” it seems to smugly say
And laughs at him tearing out his woolly hair
Uncle Jacob utterly defeated and having lost his cool
Slouches away and starts looking for his tools.

Chorus:
Gadgets Gadgets Gadgets, galore!
You’ve knocked me flat out, I’m on the floor!

I steal softly into my Grandma’s room…
There she’s waving her brush in the air
“Come in,” she says brightly, all too soon
“I’ve been waiting to show this to you,
My latest hair-brush-cum-knee-massager…”
I give up…

Peace comes after war as they say
Night steps in and the party’s underway.

Have scrubbed and scoured myself pink
Drowned myself in the Tommy Girl stink
Sister and niece have put a bounce in my hair
With one of those gadgety things sold over the sir
Even allowed them to pull out imaginary hair from my legs
With a hand held weapon they call the Elliptor.

Chorus:
Gadgets Gadgets Gadgets, owner’s pride!
Oh where can I run? Where can I hide?

Fat Aunt Kat happily unloading the dishwasher
Her eyelashes turned to the perfect curl
She swishes the table cloth with a faultless furl
Chattering incessantly like a mynah
To set the table with twice-washed china.
Coffee in the percolator, cake in the oven
The roast in the microwave looks like heaven
A car roars up and out she jumps
With flowers and wine and a winning smile
My heart stops beating for quite a while.

The night proceeds to a ring and champagne –
Both sparkle…
Almost as brightly as my mother’s eyes.

A happy end to the three-year “GET HIM” campaign
He came, he saw, and the gadgets conquered.

An engagement and a wedding
And lots of presents…
You guesses it… Right!

Chorus:
Gadgets Gadgets Gadgets, galore!
A woman’s best friend forevermore…

***

© January 2008

trees and the man...

THE GIVER OF LIFE

(A Play)

Smrithi Rumdali Rai

***

CAST

Voice of the Supreme Being
Tree
Man 1
Man 2
Man 3
Famine
Want
Death
Greed
Smog
Acid Rain
Ultra-Violet Rays

***

(Scene opens to a stage with three men – standing left, right and centre.
Glow of light at the back-centre.)

Man 1: (Mimes ploughing, hunting and searching for food.)

Man 2: (Shivers and freezes alternately.)

Man 3: (Mimes a wound that hurts and is sickening gradually, tossing in fever.)

Man 1: Weary am I, how hard I toil
Tired am I of the plough and bow
The hard and barren soil
Wish I could rest and work no more
Ah! Food, food!
How hard I work lest I starve
Some food from nature I wish I had
Some rest and food I wish I had.

Man 2: O blazing sun! Torch nit my soul
Freezing winter snows have left it sore
O rain, ah hail, o gusty gale!
Away, away
Torture me no more.

Man 3: Claws of the beast have torn my flesh
My blood rages in torrents of liquid fire
O soothing wind! Blow, lull me to sleep
Let not pain engulf me in her mire
And carry me to my pyre.

(All turn to the centre and lift their hands.)

All: Thou giver of life, look down and see
Trouble and pain that follow
Abandon me not in this hour
Help me, it is in thy power
Hasten, I pray!

Man 1: For I starve.

Man 2: I freeze.

Man 3: I die.

(All sink to the ground slowly, centre-stage. Light glows bright.)

Voice of the Supreme Being:

Pity to see creation’s best
Fail to pass a simple test.

Yet, my children turn to me
From their trials I set them free
An answer to their prayers I give
To make their lives easier to live
A gift to man I make
Toil thy back no more shalt break
In the sun thou shalt no more bake
Poison thy life no more shalt take.

A Tree I give to thee.

(Stage goes dark. Centre brightens up slowly to reveal kneeling Tree.)

Voice of the Supreme Being:

Arise, go forth, I command
Fulfill my children’s demand

(Tree stands up and goes forward to centre-stage.)

Voice of the Supreme Being:

Just a thought I can’t help think
My children are still naïve
I hope they understand my gift.

(Light fades.)

Tree: Some flowers to brighten the day (Scatters flowers).
Scent of blossoms if I may (Sprays perfume).

For the hungry, fruits abound (Gives Man 1 fruit and grain).

From the weather, walls shall surround
(Covers Man 2 with shelter)
And protect you well
From the miseries of hell.

Thy wounds these leaves shall soothe
(Gives Man 3 some leaves and herbs)
From now fear neither claw nor tooth
In sickness thou shalt no more lie
Live, my friend, thou shalt not die.

(Man 1, Man 2 and Man 3 arise.)

Man 1: Fruits that need no toil or sweat
O happy day the hour I met
A giver of life like thee.

Man 2: Freedom from the blazing sun’s hold
Warm and safe in winter’s cold
Come hail, frost and icy sleet
Happily now we shall meet.

Man 3: Fever and pain have taken wing
I feel my blood run and sing
I live, I live, I live.

(All three men move to the right of the Tree
and sit in postures of indolence and plenty.)

Tree: (Smiling)
In comfort thus, spend thy days
Forget the time of painful cares
Music – food for the soul they say
A lute, a pipe, a drum, a reed
Turn to me for all your needs.

(Strains of soft music. The three men lay about in Paradise.)
(Enter Famine, Want and Death.)

Famine: Here I see no hunger or need.

Want: Where is my sister Human Greed?

Death: My friends Fear and Pain have retreated
Am I thus to be defeated?

Famine, Want and Death, turning to the Tree:

It is you who has cost
All our domains to be lost
Away, leave us, our lands to regain
Long in the shadows we have lain.

Tree: The prize thou seekest thou have lost
Away, away, evil ones
Haunt the other end of the Universe.

Famine, Want and Death:

(Calling out in different directions)
O brothers! We call upon thee
Help us destroy this enemy
Smog, Ultra-Violet rays, Acid Rain
Let not our existence wane.

Smog, UV Rays and Acid Rain: (As they enter)

Here we are, your call we hear
You shall rule earth again
Never fear
But first witness with glee
The fall of your enemy.

(All the evil ones rush towards the Tree, but with no effect. They fall back.)

(Music).

(All the evil ones confer, and then raise an attack towards the Men. Tree fends off the attack.
Smog assaults but is thrown back by waving branches.
Acid Rain rushes but dies in the onslaught.
UV Rays shines a beam on the men but Tree throws her veil to cover the Men.
The men don’t even realize the attack.
All the evil ones retreat.)

Death: I will not be cheated of my dues.

Want: Nor I.

Famine: So what do we do?

Want: O sister Greed! Where art thou?
Come, pray help us now.

Greed: (As she enters)
Step softly, step light
Shoulder to shoulder we’ll stand and fight
No Smog, Acid Rain, nor UV Rays
Honeyed words will pave our way
Promise them wealth, development and power
And see who prevails in the final hour
When the wine of illusion they shall quaff
We, my friends, shall have the last laugh.

(All the evil ones crowd, huddle and put heads and hands together.
Whispering.
Then all approach the three Men.)

Want: Builders are we and
I can see there’s so much here that can be.

Greed: Roads and bridges, dams and towers
Everything is now within your powers.

Famine: In luxury shall your days be spent
Wondering where troubles went
When rewarded richly for the help you lent.

Death: The Tree must go, for it stands
Against the soaring wings of our plans
This gold its bounties will compensate (Throws gold coins at the Men)
Hurry, God knows, fortune never did wait.

(The three Men take the gold and run towards the Tree to axe it.
As they strike it together, the Tree sinks slowly to the ground.)

Tree: Ah! Bleeding drops, weep not for me
I fall, I die, to sleep for eternity
What now, O Man, without a tree?

Famine: Victory is ours.
Once more shall we walk abroad
Unfettered and free
Cry havoc
Earth is ours.

(Music.)

(Famine, Want and Death run in different directions, striking down the men.
Smog, UV Rays and Acid Rain rise and stand left, right and centre, miming.)

Man 1: Heaven, I starve, I die of hunger and pain.

Man 2: I have lost all, even the shelter under which I had lain.

Man 3: No leaves there are for my fever to slake
The promise of a better life was a fake.

Man 1: I starve.

Man 2: I freeze.

Man 3: I die.

All the three Men:

Driven by unparalleled greed
By us were the hounds of hell freed
Death, Famine and Want walk for all to see
While man dies for want of a Tree.

(All the three Men fall down and die.)

***

© 2003

a historic low...

300

poornachandra

“300”. This is not about the valiant king Leonidas and his brave band of 300 Spartans who spearheaded the legendary Greek stand against the Persian Army of Xerxes at Thermopylae, in 480 BC. This is also not about the brave French Captain Teullier and his 300 gallant Chasseurs Laotiens (Laotian Light Infantry) who bravely held the garrison of Muong-Khoua for thirty-six days against heavy assaults of the Viet-Minh in May 1953. This is more recent landmark on the timeline, dating back to 2002. This is about another band of brave men in Maroon, and their act of courage which has its own historical significance in the annals of India’s Airborne, the common thread with the earlier historical incidents being the number 300.

It was the summer of 2002, during OPERATION PARAKRAM, when the Indian Army mobilized and the subcontinent was on the verge of another war. The fanfare which heralded the friendship with our American counterparts and the joint Indo-US Army Exercise BALANCE IROQUOIS had just begun to fade away. Quite a few of us proudly wore the US Airborne Wings on our uniforms and recounted the experience of training with the famed Green Berets and jumping from the MC-130 “Combat Talon” aircraft. In the midst of training for a war looming on the horizon, I came to know that trials were to be conducted with the GQ Low Level Parachute (LLP) in order to study the feasibility of carrying out operational jumps from a low altitude. It was to be really low at 300 feet above ground level (AGL). The good news for me was that they needed a field officer (meaning atleast a Major) to be the trial team leader and that no one was chosen yet. As a static line jumper or a “Wind Dummy” as our American friends called one, I was slowly logging jumps to reach the figure of fifty and was looking forward to wearing the small yellow wings on my uniform. The trial was the chance to do something special and also reach my goal. So I literally and figuratively jumped at the opportunity and got myself nominated by volunteering. Soon I met and acquainted myself with my team, twelve paratroopers from 6 PARA. I called them my Daring Dozen.

In due course of time, I was summoned to the Headquarters of the Parachute Brigade to meet all the big and important people who briefed me several times about how important my task was. I was to use the best of my judgment and be ultra-careful towards ensuring the safe conduct of the trials. I nodded obediently and hoped to the heavens that these people should eventually let me jump from the designated low level, and not call off the whole thing citing high risk. I met more people, this time Air Force personnel from the Paratroopers’ Training School (PTS), to work out the modalities. Seven Parachute Jump Instructors (PJIs) including the Chief Instructor (CI) were to participate with us in the trials.

We started on the mats at the PTS training hangar, with what was called the Intensive Ground Training Phase. There was physical training and practice of regular drills, with special emphasis on a good exit and correct landing drills in keeping with the requirements of low level jumps. It was rigorous activity, but fortunately lasted only two days on 04 and 05 July 2002. We were acquainted with the parachute and the packing was demonstrated to instill confidence and infuse faith that the combination of cloth and strings would bring us down safely to the ground.

Someone told our team that “GQ” meant “Good Quality”. It sounded unconvincing and prompted me to do some research on the parachute. It came from a company called Irwin-GQ. In 1919, Leslie Irvin made the world's first free-fall parachute descent in the USA and established a European factory for the mass production of parachutes in England in 1926. At about the same time, James Gregory and Sir Raymond Quilter, the “G” and “Q” in the name, foresaw the need for widely available and dependable parachute systems for aircrew and formed GQ Parachutes in 1932. Irvin-GQ was formed in June 2001 from the merger of Irvin Aerospace Limited and GQ Parachutes Limited. For over 75 years, these two companies have been world leaders in the supply of parachutes and safety and survival equipment to the international military and aerospace markets. The LLP was designed to allow fully equipped airborne troops to carry out massed parachute tactical assaults from jump heights as low as 76 meters / 250 feet. With a maximum all-up weight (AUW) of 160 kilograms, it has a rate descent of 5.9 meters per second / 19.5 feet per second. The reserve parachute was cleared for the same height, but with a faster descent rate of 6.9 meters per second / 22.6 feet per second. These statistics and the fact that the parachute was in service with several armies in the world, made everything look safe and sound. After all, we were to jump from 50 feet higher than the ceiling, and had about 15 seconds to land.

But did anyone else do it before? Jumps from 600 feet AGL were successfully done during a joint exercise by our army in Seychelles. The PJIs told us that they had done 500 feet AGL. It was said that the manufacturer’s test jumper successfully demonstrated the capabilities of the parachute from 300 feet AGL. But then, someone added, he landed in water, and was insured for an obscene amount of some thousands of British Pounds! All this talk prompted me to find out more.

Studies indicate there are two ways to evade enemy air defenses: drop really low (below 250-500 feet) to evade radar detection or very high to evade enemy small arms and missiles if it is no longer possible to surprise the enemy. This includes every item of airborne force equipment and not just paratroopers. Most of the lines-opening-first T-10 model parachutes are not reliable under 500 feet. During WWII, American paratroopers were able to jump at extremely low altitudes due to the T-4/T-7's canopy-and-lines-at-the-same-time opening sequence. Despite a severe opening shock, the paratroopers of the 1950s and 60s were able to jump as low as 143 feet in training, and 250 feet in actual combat. This reduced the time under canopy and the wind blowing paratroopers far apart from each other. Smaller dispersion area of the paratroopers on the drop zone is a vital merit of a low level drop. A more recent low-level combat jump using military parachutes was from around 130 meters, when US paratroops invaded the Caribbean island of Granada in 1983.

The GQ LLP parachutes are made from the same heavy-duty nylon as conventional military parachutes. But instead of the usual dome shape, they look more like jellyfish, with tucked-in rims, and they capture air more effectively. The British introduced the GQ LLP in order to come down to a training height of 650 feet and an operational height of 250 feet. In September 1994, eight jumpers from the parachute test team at Britain's Defence Evaluation Research Agency (DERA) in Boscombe Down, Wiltshire attempted a unique, low-altitude descent. They jumped from an altitude of just 75 meters - lower than Big Ben but higher than Nelson's Column. The jump was the acid test for the then newly introduced GQ LLP, and capped a decade of work trying to create a parachute that allows paratroopers to descend safely from aircraft flying below the gaze of enemy radar. From exit to full inflation, it took around 4 seconds, leaving around 30 meters of descent with a full canopy in the 75-metre drop. The entire descent took 10 seconds. To avoid the possibility of serious injury, the test jumpers made the drop over a lake in the south of France.

Armed with all that knowledge, I led the Daring Dozen into the jump phase of our trial. During this phase, we carried out live and dummy drops in a graduated manner beginning from 06 July 2002. Initially, the jumps were done from 950 feet and 800 feet AGL to perfect the drills and build up confidence. These jumps were done with equipment and both by day and night. When the drop height was lowered one more step to 700 feet, we shed our equipment but jumped even by night. Then it was 600 feet. Jumps from 500 feet and lower were preceded by dummy drops. We made sure the dummy was as heavier than our biggest team-member, just to see how fast he came down!

Eventually, we reached the target height of 300 feet. Now, we were seeing trees rush past under the plane and people looking almost their actual size when we stood at action stations. A more serious matter for concern was the pendulous swing imparted to the jumper after deployment of the canopy. At heights below 400 feet, sometimes the swing does not subside fully, within the available time under the canopy. There was a risk of injury in the event of an improper landing during the swing. Winds increased the risk. Still, we were upbeat and ready to go. But the flyers had to be sure of their part, with all the aircraft system constraints and restrictions on low level flying with respect to the AN-32. Several sorties were flown, with the Commanding Officer of the squadron himself at the reins, and we were all set to go after the Air Headquarters cleared the low level flight.

On 24 July 2002, the dummy dropped on our behalf from 300 feet in an 8 knot wind, and reached the drop zone in 11 seconds. It was then the turn of flesh and blood paratroopers. We waited for good weather conditions, and the winds slowed down to 6 knots on 29 July 2002. Just to be sure, and also to be the first, two of our instructors from PTS jumped, and it was a safe descent. There was no hesitation of our part, but we had to watch from the ground for once. Finally, on 30 July 2002, eleven of us and four PJIs stood at the ramp and looked at the familiar but magnified surroundings of Malpura whizzing past below us. A loud “Chatri Mata Ki Jai” preceded the “Yellow On”. On Green, we jumped from 300 feet AGL into a 5 knot wind. There was just enough time to do the customary 1000-2000-3000-4000 count, look up to feel reassured at the sight of a beautiful open canopy, and look down in the “Sakht Para Position”. Then it was touchdown and roll. The heavier ones made ground in 13 or 14 seconds, while I got an additional second, being a light-weight. Safe and elated, we congratulated each other at the landmark achievement. We had created history! The significance of the moment combined with the adrenalin rush, took me to a new high. Or should I call it a new low! To add to my joy, I crossed a personal milestone of fifty jumps enroute to this major landmark. The Daring Dozen had done it with the trademark enthusiasm of the Paras and no back up of big money insurance. They are the first and till date the only ones in India to have done the low altitude jump.

Throughout the trials we never had any high-twist situation or any emergency requiring the operation of the reserve parachute. The instances when jumpers encountered a few twists, remedial action was taken without significant loss of time or height. Thanks to the training imparted by our dependable PJIs, all was well because it ended well. “300” was a success story with 192 happy landings made in about three weeks’ time. This noteworthy story is not known to many even in our Airborne fraternity. It was a task to be accomplished and the same was successfully done, only to be forgotten amongst many greater endeavours in history. Hopefully this retelling of this small but significant tale will help.

2007

about crazy wisdom..

THE DIVINE MADMAN

poornachandra

It was my first visit to Thimphu, a couple of months into my tenure with IMTRAT, the Indian Military Training Team. Being an inhabitant of the Haa valley, I had not been to the capital of Bhutan thus far. I decided to head for the BBS tower at the edge of the town, the best vantage point to get a bird’s eye view of Thimphu. On my way I came across a nature preserve which was supposed to be the home for a few captive Takins, which had wandered into towns in search of food, made a nuisance of themselves and become too accustomed to humans for their own good. I walked along the perimeter fence of the enclosure, hoping to sight of a Bhutan Takin, christened Budorcas taxicolor whitei by zoologists. It took some patience and perseverance to spot the first one amidst the vegetation, but the sight was worth it. It was startling to look at one of the world’s least known mammals. The Takin is a hairy, hoofed herbivore with hunched shoulders, a short, thick neck and a large, broad face with small ears, a bulging nose and rearward-curving horns. Extremely elusive, it dwells in the dense forests of Bhutan’s wilderness where, despite its size and bulk, it can run up steep slopes with the agility and grace of an antelope.

As I delved into more details, I found that the story of the Takin is as astounding as its looks. The Takin was chosen Bhutan’s national animal based on its uniqueness and its strong association with the country's religious history and mythology. According to legend, when Tibet’s great folk hero and saint Lama Drukpa Kunley visited Bhutan, a large flock of devotees gathered to witness his magical powers. The people urged the lama to perform a miracle. However, the saint, in his usual unorthodox and outrageous way, demanded that he first be served a whole cow and a goat for lunch. He devoured these with relish and left only bones. After letting out a large and satisfied burp, he took the goat's head and stuck it onto the bones of the cow. And then with a snap of his fingers, he commanded the strange beast to rise up and graze on the mountainside. To the astonishment of the people the animal arose and ran up to the meadows to graze. This animal came to be known as the Dong Gyem Tsey and to this day, this rather clumsy animal is revered along with its creator, Drukpa Kunley.

Lama Drukpa Kunley, the patron saint of Bhutan, belonged to the Drukpa school of Tibetan Buddhism established by Tilopa, Naropa, Marpa and Milarepa. Like Milarepa, Drukpa Kunley was a Maha Siddha. But unlike Milarepa who was a celibate teaching by means of music and poetry, Drukpa Kunley adopted the tradition of “Crazy Wisdom”, and is celebrated as an enlightened eccentric. In addition to poetry and song, he used dance, humour, drink and to great effect sexual union, to teach his generation the lessons of spiritual life in the unique Tantric way. Often he taught in exchange for Chang (liquor). Well known to the common people of Himalayas through the oral tradition of legends and songs, as well as to scholars and mystics worldwide through his biographies, he is greatly loved by all the people of Tibet and Bhutan as the “Divine Madman”.

Drukpa Kunley was born in Tibet in the year of the Wood-Pig in the eighth cycle, corresponding to 1455 AD, into the branch of the noble Gya clan of Ralung. The saint’s full name is Kunga Legpa’i Zangpo, which is shortened to Kunga Legpa, or simply Kunleg or Kunley. His title “Drukpa” indicates that he belongs to the Drukpa Kagyu spiritual lineage, and that he is associated with the Land of the Dragon, Bhutan. As one who has attained Buddhahood and been a Guru to innumerable contemporaries and disciples in succeeding generations, he is called “Lama”. He is referred to by various epithets that highlight his revered spiritual qualities and describe his great character –

* “Chos-rje” or “Master of Truth” for his mastery of Buddha’s Dharma and its practice,
* “Gro-ba’i Mgon-po” or “Lord of Beings”, a sobriquet of the liberating Buddha of Compassion,
* “Naljorpa” or “Yogi” being a wandering saint proficient in meditation and paranormal manipulation of the physical elements,
* “Drubtob” or “Siddha” meaning an “Adept” who has gained ultimate realization of reality and relative magical powers, and
* “Jadral”, loosely translated as “Duty-Free” and interpreted as “Spontaneous and Uninhibited”.

As a child Drukpa Kunley was extremely precocious and had full memory of his previous incarnations. After his father was killed in a family feud, he became disillusioned with the world and dedicated himself to a religious life, eventually becoming a monk. In his early twenties, he gave up his robes and became a wandering mendicant, travelling across the country and gaining mastery of the spiritual arts. He attained Buddhahood as a consequence of gruelling practice of contemplation and meditation. This difficult training was obtained in the austere environs of monastic school, after instruction and initiation by learned Lamas. This learning took place at the Drukpa Kagyu school (The Red Hat tradition) at Ralung in Southern Tibet, which was established by Palden Drukpa Rimpoche, Kunley’s ancestor. Once he had attained his goal, at a remarkably young age, he transcended the precincts demarcating the various schools, and became the universal mystic without traditional boundaries. As he travelled through Tibet and into Bhutan, Kunley purposely spurned accepted ways of behavior as a method of calling attention to the hypocrisy, selfishness and greed of the world and thus lead people to adopt honest and spiritual lives.

Much like the “Pagla Babas” or “Mad Saints” popular in Indian folklore, Drukpa Kunley taught through outrageous behavior and coarse humour in order to awaken the people he met to a higher awareness free from conventional morality and self-obsession. In particular, he took his female friends and disciples along the path of sexual desire and relationship to free them from attachment to the illusory world and to awaken their dormant spirituality. This ribald attitude towards females of all ages earned him the title “The Saint of 5000 Women”. Scholars compare him with a contemporary French Renaissance monk and writer Francois Rabelais who mixed in his books elements from different narrative forms - chronicle, farce, dialogue, commentary etc. and peppered them with broad popular humor. With his flood of outrageous ideas and anecdotes Rabelais emphasized the physical joys of life - food, drink, sex, and bodily functions connected to them - and mocked asceticism and oppressive religious and political forces. Likewise, Drukpa Kunley ridiculed monasteries and constantly taunted monks with jest and insult to dissolve their hypocrisy and hidden faults. Lack of inhibition, care-free renunciation, compassion, tears and laughter combined with a skilful use of the excess as shock-therapy characterized his “madness” which was an external manifestation of “spiritual joy”.

Reading the legends of Lama Drukpa Kunley gives an insight into the idea of divine excess. He was totally irreverent and ridiculed the establishment, especially corrupt and self-seeking monks. He performed magical feats and miracles like the creation of the Takin. There are several instances when he slaughtered animals for their meat and then, from their bones, restored them to life and sent them on their way. The Lama blessed or cursed families, based on their moral treatment of others. He turned tiny quantities of tea into copious amounts sufficient to quench the thirst of thousands. During his travels, he often transported himself instantaneously to far off locations, using his super-natural abilities.

The Divine Madman used his mystical talents and his penis or “Thunderbolt of Wisdom”, to exorcise evil spirits and subdue demons that tormented the people, before turning them into protective deities. This activity was a matter of duty and pleasure for Drukpa Kunley because he wished to liberate the people of Bhutan from animistic superstition and instinctive, fearful response towards natural and elemental forces represented in legend as “demons”. In one such fable, the Lama subjugated the demoness of Dochula pass by hitting her over the head with his “Vajra” or “Dorje”. The legend of Drukpa Kunley’s magical Thunderbolt of Wisdom is celebrated at the Chimi Lhakhang constructed in 1499. This temple is situated on a hillock near Yowakha village in the Punakha valley, and is famous as the temple of fertility due to the numerous wooden phalluses kept in the monastery. The longest, a brown wooden one with a silver handle, is believed to have been brought there by Drukpa Kunley himself, and so is the most important. It is considered a religious relic and is used for blessing the devout. The pious people who come to pray at the lhakhang are blessed on the head with it by the presiding Lama. It is strongly believed by the devotees that praying at the monastery can bless a childless couple with children. Another place of worship bearing the footprint of the Lama is the Tango monastery at the Northern end of the Thimphu valley. Lama Gyalwa Lhanampa founded this monastic school in the 12th century, and the present building was built Lama Drukpa Kunley.

The great master Drukpa Kunley spent his years wandering across Tibet and Bhutan, selflessly utilizing his spiritual powers to teach and transform, subjugating spirits of the land, bringing water to parched earth, blessing the childless with sons, giving wealth to the poor and knowledge to the ignorant, and guiding the aimless towards the path. Like the Buddha, the Divine Madman was affected by illness after he decided that his work of enlightenment was done. At the age of one hundred and fifteen years, in the year of the Iron-Horse corresponding to 1570 AD, the Crazy Adept attained Nirvana. To provide a significant omen to perpetuate his message to mankind, he did not dissolve his body completely, but left his bones behind in the form of various Buddha images.

It would be apt to conclude this narrative of Drukpa Kunley’s legend in the revered Lama’s own words –

“If you think I have revealed any secrets, I apologize;
If you think this a medley of nonsense, enjoy it!”

“OM MANI PEME HUNG”

2007

about a bridge and the builder...

THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES

poornachandra

It would be an irrefutable statement to say that you have seen a bridge, and it is almost as likely that you' have moved over one. Maybe you have even built one! If you have ever laid a log or a plank down across a stream to prevent getting wet, you have actually constructed a bridge. Bridges are truly universal - a natural part of the world we live in. A bridge provides passage over some sort of obstacle, be it a road, a railway line or a river. A bridge connects. This is about a matchless bridge and a remarkable man who built it.

It was on my first drive from Yongphula to Trashi Yangtse (or Chortenkora as it is referred to) in Eastern Bhutan, that I passed through the small roadside village of Duksum. It is located on the Drangme Chhu and its tributary, a few kilometers past the famous Gomkora Lhakhang. Duksum was typical of a Bhutanese habitation in the remote East, a small weaver's town where you can find a few weavers producing some nice work. But a short halt and some inquisitiveness revealed a unique landmark in this sleepy town: an original iron chain suspension bridge dating back to the 17th century. This bridge stands testimony to the brilliance of a great man – a Mahasiddha who attained greatness as the “Builder of Bridges.” This great saint was Thangthong Gyalpo, also referred to as “Lama Chazampa”, the Iron Bridge Lama.

There are two kinds of people in this world, those that build bridges and those that do not. The bridges may be physical in manifestation or figurative. Bridge builders are visionaries who share their experience and build bridges. The bridges are symbols of encouragement and hope for others to cross. The builders are people of tremendous character and strength and do their best to who know the importance of taking time to help others. They do not build for recognition or tribute; they build because it is their nature to build bridges and do their best to support others. An anonymous tribute in verse to “The Bridge Builder” says it all.

An old man going a lone highway,

came at the evening cold and grey,

to a chasm vast and deep and wide.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim,

the sullen stream had no fear for him;

but he turned when safe on the other side

and built a bridge to span the tide.

“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,

“You are wasting your strength with

building here; your journey will end

with the ending day. You never again

will pass this way. You’ve crossed the

chasm, deep and wide, why build a bridge at evening tide?”

The builder lifted his old grey head;

“Good friend in the path I have come,”

he said, “there followed after me today

a youth whose feet must pass this way.

This chasm that has been as naught to me,

to that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.

He, too, must cross in the twilight dim.

Good friend I am building this bridge for him!”

Thangthong Gyalpo (1385-1464) was one such builder of bridges, a wonder-working Tibetan saint who is believed to have originated the use of heavy iron chains in the construction of suspension bridges and who built 108 bridges throughout Tibet and Bhutan. He is also known as Lama Chazampa (the Iron Bridge Lama). In 1433 he came to Bhutan in search of iron ore and built eight bridges in places as far removed as Paro and Trashigang. The last of his bridges that survived was the one at Duksum, and his most famous one crossed the Yarlung Tsangpo at Chaksam, 50 kilometers south-west of Lhasa in Tibet.

A Mahasiddha (“Great Adept”) is an accomplished Alchemist. The two most famous Buddhist alchemists of ancient India were the Mahasiddhas Nagarjuna and his student, Kharnaripa, who is also known as Aryadeva. From India, the Mahasiddha tradition continued into Tibet, communicated through the rich lives of many saints. The famous Buddhist alchemists known in Tibet were the great master Guru Padmasambhava and his lineage of saints called the Tertons, or "Treasure Revealers." Thangthong Gyalpo deserves special mention for his life and work, as he was an important terton of the Nyingma lineage who attained the title “Drubthob” (“Great Magician”).

Thangthong Gyalpo was a true Tibetan “Renaissance Man." He was an accomplished artist, intrepid explorer and statesman, an engineer, doctor, mystic, miracle worker and even a blacksmith. Above and beyond these diverse proclivities, as a composer and playwright he is celebrated as the founder of the Tibetan Opera tradition “Lhamo”.

He formed Tibet’s first operatic troupe – starring seven beautiful sisters – with which he toured the country raising money to fund his building projects. What started as a simple bridge building project over the Kyichu River near Lhasa by the 14th century scholar Thangthong Gyalpo is proving to be a source of sustenance for exiled Tibetans even today. Legend has it that Gyalpo, hard pressed as he was for money to build thebridge, turned to seven sisters in his work force who excelled at dancing and singing. Thangthong Gyalpo perceived the power of the performance medium as a way of telling moral tales, based on Buddhist philosophy, in the words of the common people. The scholar created an operatic tradition around the seven sisters' talent and travelled in Tibet with their performance to raise money for the bridge. Their high-pitched and somewhat martial voice and vigorous dancing earned them the sobriquet "The Heavenly Dancing Goddesses" or Lhamo. The bridge was built and so was the Tibetan opera. As the artists, dressed up in masks and costumes with a preponderance of black and red colours, unleashed their energetic dancing and singing, the troupe performed at various venues in Tibet and raised the necessary funds to complete the project of constructing a reputed hundred and eight iron chain bridges and ferry-crossing stations.

Gyalpo’s miraculous activities as an alchemist were a result of his accomplishment on the visionary path of the Terma tradition: he had the ability to work ably with whatever circumstances presented themselves to him. After being poisoned by a jealous lama, he remained in meditation for a week and discovered the cure through the process of revelation. The formula he discovered is called "Drubthob Rika" in Tibetan, the "White Yogi Pill," and is still used successfully to counteract poison.

He had a vision of local elemental spirits who gave him a gift of blueprints for suspension bridges that had never been seen before in Tibet at that point in the Thirteenth Century. Thangthong Gyalpo inadvertently began his career in engineering when he was refused a ferry passage on the grounds of his eccentric appearance, and consequently embarked on a campaign to build bridges and ferry crossings. He was famed for his iron chain-link bridges, and is said to have forged iron “the thickness of an eight-year-old boy's arm” into chain links. As he began to construct the chain links for these massive bridges, his alchemical wisdom was put to practice, resulting in an iron alloy that has not rusted to this day. His smelting methods still remain a mystery.

As a visionary alchemist, he tangibly manifested the wisdom of the "Elixir of Immortality" by living to the ripe old age of 125. He was famous for his accomplishment and transmission of the long-life ceremony, which is displayed in the iconography of statues and paintings showing him. Statues of Thangthong Gyalpo depict him as a stocky figure in bare torso, with a beard, curly hair and a topknot. The eccentric appearance that led to the inception of Thangthong Gyalpo's engineering career is evident in his images: hair disarranged in a thick pile on top of his head, a wide flat nose, a goatee and a full walrus moustache. There is a famous statue which shows him holding a vase full of the Elixir of Immortality and a Pill of Longevity in his other hand. His body is said to have been of a dark brown colour, described in some sources as having the hue of “wet liver”, which may have influenced the choice of metal used to make this statue. An inscription along the back of the lotus base states that Thangthong Gyalpo himself was involved in the image’s making, perhaps evidenced by the most unusual and successful manner in which the sturdy base plate is secured: it is bolted to the base with four substantial rivets. His exotic robe suggests a sumptuous Chinese embroidered fabric or cut velvet, and consists of lobed cartouches of rabbits and phoenix against a flower-filled ground. Some images show him holding a chain link in his right hand.

Thangthong Gyalpo also cast images of Buddhist saints and built the chorten-shaped Dumtse Lhakhang in Paro. It is a small temple maintained by a single caretaker monk since being built in 1433. Along the road to Thimphu, at the eastern end of the Paro valley, lies the Tamchhog Goemba Lhakhang, which is still owned and maintained by the descendents of the Iron Bridge Builder. He also built the Riwoche Stupa, which is located in a breathtaking setting on the banks of the Tsangpo River, about 400 kilometers west of Lhasa towards the Nepalese border. Among his other achievements was the composition of many occupational songs, still sung today by people as they thresh wheat or pound the mud for house construction. Lhamo, the traditional opera of Tibet, immortalised Thangthong Gyalpo. The great Mahasiddha is still venerated on the Lhamo stage, which is bare except for a statue of him as the patron saint of the opera. The numerous iron bridges, however, could not survive the vicissitudes of time and history.

None of Lama Chazampa’s famed iron bridges exists on ground now. The Duksum Bridge was removed from its site in 2005, for preservation and restoration. The chain links are kept at the Trashi Yangtse Dzong in Eastern Bhutan. The Royal Government of Bhutan has plans to reconstruct and resurrect the bridge to its original historic glory.

"We are told never to cross a bridge until we come to it, but this world is owned by men who have “crossed bridges” in their imagination far ahead of the crowd."

2006

size does matter...

THE BIG BOOK
poornachandra

A very special cargo entered the Himalayan kingdom of Bhutan in the summer of 2004. Druk Air, the national carrier, transported this precious cargo with some difficulty because it wouldn’t fit easily into the tiny cabin of their aircraft. But it was a challenge well accomplished. This special shipment travelled far over land and ocean, beginning its journey in Massachusetts, USA. The eventful journey ended in the Land of the Thunder Dragon in the month of May, amid fanfare and celebration. The unique consignment consisted of two copies of the world’s largest published book, titled “Bhutan: A Visual Odyssey Across the Last Himalayan Kingdom.” A “big” book weighing 60.32 kilograms. One copy each was donated to the National Library in the capital Thimphu and Sherubtse College in Kanglung, Eastern Bhutan.

Opening a book is like opening a window to another world. True to these words, the Big Book opens to a size of 5 X 7 feet, nearly as big as a ping-pong table, offering us a kaleidoscopic view of brilliant colours. And what a view! Over a hundred pages, 112 to be exact, amounting to 2000 square feet of five-foot high images, illustrate the pristine beauty and glory of Bhutan and its people. According to common wisdom, one picture is worth a thousand words. In that context, what is on offer in this book is probably worth volumes of reading. The vivid portraits and breathtaking panoramas making up this visual odyssey were selected from an archive of 40000 images, a mix of film and digital photographs.

The making of the Big Book was an inspiring voyage, a labour of love for the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) scientist Michael Hawley, who conceived and designed the book, and his team of photographers. Bhutan, often referred to as the “Last Shangri La”, is one of the world’s smallest and most extraordinary countries, nestled in the great Himalayas between India, Nepal and Tibet. Home to one of Earth’s best-preserved ecologies and cultures, this kingdom in the clouds is the fascinating subject for a unique publication, the largest published book acknowledged by Guinness World Records. Contrast this with the smallest known reproduction of the Bible, also made by MIT scientists, in 2001. Using microlithography, a process similar to that used in the manufacture of computer microchips, they reprinted the full New Testament text of the King James version of the Bible in 24 carat gold on a crystalline silicon tablet measuring just 5 x 5 mm (0.196 in x 0.196 in). Between the big and small of things, size does matter! It is definitely not a book to curl up with at bedtime - unless you plan to sleep on it. The Big Book displays Bhutan at its best – the grandeur of its gorgeous scenery, the wonderfully warm-hearted people there, and the serenity and specialness that make this kingdom exceptional.

Under an expeditionary program at MIT, teams from the acclaimed academic institution and Friendly Planet, a Cambridge-based non-profit charity devoted to education in developing regions, took four expeditions over four years across Bhutan collecting some 40000 photographs. These expeditions were intended, in part, to help push the technical frontiers of photography, as well as break new ground in sharing pictures. The idea for the book grew out of a desire to use scientific field expeditions to drive better photography. In Hawley’s words, “Every field team, from MIT geologists to the local Boy Scout troop, feels an obligation to collect and share the best possible record of their work, but photography can be a real annoyance on expeditions." Although digital photography has advanced tremendously in recent years, systems are still disorganized and most field teams can't accomplish a very complete visual documentation. Most of the records collected from a field expedition languish on an obscure shelf, gathering dust. Young students and staff members from MIT and the University of Washington, Bhutanese photographers and guides did the photography. The team flew by helicopter, rode mountain ponies, trekked with packhorses and yaks, and journeyed by caravan on far-flung roads and foot trails across the Bhutanese Himalayas. They were equipped with state-of-the-art photography equipment, both digital and film, to capture a collective portrait of this remote paradise. Imagery shot by the ensemble of photographers was GPS coded, captioned and stored on portable storage media on the spot.

Back in MIT, as the team explored their immense archive of images, Hawley hit upon the idea of showcasing the work in a giant book, letting readers experience the magic of the country firsthand. He thought they could allow readers to literally 'step into' this beautiful corner of the world - one that only a few fortunate people will be blessed to visit. All the photographs are being donated to Bhutan to form a national image treasury for the country. In addition to the photographs, the Big Book includes a hand drawn atlas of the kingdom of Bhutan and some of its landmarks by renowned artist and author David Macaulay. Detailed sketches surround the enormous map, as if torn from a master illustrator’s travel sketchbook. It is the opening-end page of the book, and sets the stage for the picturesque journey that follows.

Realising the idea of the Big Book was challenging for a number of reasons. It required designing a whole new production process and a giant bookshelf. Each page image is nearly two gigabytes in size, stretching the limits of what computers and printers can normally handle. Each copy of the book uses a roll of paper considerably longer than a football field and requires more than a gallon of ink and 24 hours printing time, all accomplished with the magic of modern technology. The result is a visual and technological magnum opus. The spectacular imagery loosely follows the progress of the expeditions across Bhutan, conveying the stunning sweep of the kingdom’s mountainous landscape and its ancient architecture. Photos of awesomely colourful dance festivals and exciting treks into the high mountains are interspersed with scenes of Bhutanese daily life. Going through the book is a visceral experience, comparable to viewing David Brashears’ IMAX movie on the ascent of Everest.

“Bhutan”, the Big Book, is an extremely limited edition publication, the MIT deciding to print about 500 copies. Each volume with an innovative fan-fold archival binding will be produced on demand and made available to patrons who make a $10000 gift. For lesser donations, there are fine art prints and a smaller but no less beautiful book. So far the MIT has been able to sell about 75 copies. The proceeds of the sale of the book’s copies will be used to fund educational programs in Bhutan. For schools, libraries, museums, private collectors, and lovers of great books, this may be the ultimate inspiration. For the team behind the book, the aim is to enable young people to share a beautiful corner of their world with others. They see it as a small beginning towards a big objective, bringing together a Friendly Planet. Technology was pushed hard for a higher purpose, and the images give a taste of an inspiring way of life in a truly special part of the world.

A book is the paper memory of mankind, goes an old saying. Viewing the Big Book is an overwhelming visual experience that is sure to translate into a long-lasting memory. It is beauty of truly massive proportions. And as Francis Bacon said, “There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in proportion.”

2005

gurkhas... my people

***

FROM A GURKHA TO A FALLEN SOLDIER

Smrithi Rumdali Rai

You lie in the cold soft snow
Your blood spilt for jihad.

My turn will come soon enough
Though nameless I’ll not lie.

The bugle will blow one last note
For the grinning Johnny Gurkha.

My brothers fall in foreign lands
Wants of home and hearth fulfilled.

Soldiers we are - We kill
If the pay is right.
Brother, to exist we fight.

Homeland we left far behind
To fight and protect foreign lands
From nameless faces foreign hands.

Was it not the same for you?

Your fight to protect the Protector
Is your fight to hold
Hunger at bay.

Was it not want that drove you here,
And not a promise to paradise?

Rest in peace O fallen foe,
You are a Gurkha too.

***

FADING OUT

Pranaya Gurung

The darkness fades
Sun that is coming out.

Who recalls the lamp
That has burnt the night out?

So it is with the Gurkhas
A fading out race are we.

Who shall recall brave deeds?
Neither friends nor their country!

Wars today are fought with corporate needs
Victory gained by squeezing enemy needs.

Bounties, not medals, are found abound
The cycle for the Gurkhas has surely come around.

In victory were we defeated
By the peace that we created.

Where to now, my Gurkhas,
Now that the tide has turned?

The darkness has passed, the sun is about
We the Gurkhas, are slowly fading out.

a turnaround...

SEA SHELLS

Smrithi Rumdali Rai

The early morning sun shone stridently on the white sands of the Bay of Bengal. The sea was a brilliant blue. Icy cold waters from the Himalayas rushed laughing and tumbling as the mighty Brahamaputra and the Ganga to join the salty deep towards the North. Rain swollen and pregnant with silt, the Godavari and Cauvery joined the sea in the South. The sea lay calmly in the morning, having spent her fury in the night.

The rivers murmured, sang, roared and whispered stories to the sea. Stories from the various lands they passed through, from the haughty mountains, green hills, deep gorges and fertile plains. The sea was secretive and kept it all in her depths. Perhaps, if one listened closely, you could hear the stories the sea had to tell.

Along her beach the local fisher folk walked every morning, looking for the treasures the sea washed up…… shells.

Shells to make necklaces, bracelets and decorative mirrors that brought in a few extra rupees. They would be up with the sun, combing the white sands, collecting as many shells as they could, before they turned to their daily chores. They sang and whistled and the children screamed in delight whenever they found a particularly interesting shell.

A little away, from the cluster of the fishing huts stood a big house. It wasn’t all that big, but the local fishermen thought it rather big compared to their two roomed huts. A neatly painted board by the gate read: Ananda Coomar, MSc.

Ananda Coomar collected shells too. What he did for a living, the fisher folk did not know. They did not know if he was married or if he had children, but they did know that every morning he rose with the sun and walked along the beach looking for shells.

Unlike the rest however, he picked up only a few. The truth was that Ananda Coomar just collected any shell that looked a little different from the ordinary, according to his fancy. His home was filling up with shells of all kinds - big shells, small shells, spiral shells, cowry shells, top shells and shells of various names, shapes and colours.

Many a dull afternoon had passed by pleasantly with him looking at these shells. He found great joy in picking them up lovingly, holding them, admiring them, discarding some he did not want, and putting the rest back carefully.

Yes indeed, they were Ananda Coomar’s pride and joy. One day, he hoped everyday, one day he would find the Perfect Shell. What would it be like? He did not know but knew he would know it when he found it. Years had passed, he had collected and rejected scores of shells and his collection had grown, but he was still waiting to find his Perfect Shell. He was confident he would find it.

It was a perfectly ordinary morning like all other mornings. Ananda Coomar was on the beach with his ‘shell pole’, as he called the thin metal rod he used to turn over or prod interesting specimens.The sky was a dull red and the clouds seemed sullen. Ananda Coomar was a little impatient today.

What was that by the water’s edge? He hurried forward eagerly and then sighed in impatience as the waves dragged away whatever it had been, and he was left staring at a swirl of salty foam. He turned away, perhaps he should go to the Big Rock…he stopped. He could hear the sea laughing.

He turned and looked all around. Maybe it was the fisher folk. No, it was the sea and it was laughing.

Maybe he was tired, he thought. Maybe he ought to go home and rest a while. He turned and started to walk away. “Ananda Coomar,” the sea spoke softly. Unable to help himself he turned and faced the sea. The breeze ruffled his hair and this time he was sure it was the sea speaking. But it was not a voice from the outside. Rather it was a soft music from within that beat its wings against his face.

“Ah Ananda Coomar, each day I see you here collecting my treasures. Haven’t you had enough?”

Enough! What did the sea mean? There were still so many shells to be collected, so many to be lovingly cleaned and placed alongside the others… And what about the Perfect Shell? It was yet to be found. If not today, maybe tomorrow… After all he had been looking all these years, hadn’t he?

The sea continued, “How many will you take away? Each day I bring out new treasures. Each day brings a rare find. How many will you take?” “How many?” the breeze seemed to echo.

Ananda Coomar stood silently for a very long time… and the sea spoke to his heart. It whispered to him the song of the rivers, the music of the waves. It told him of joy and of sorrow, of life and of death, and he listened. And every once in a while the sea asked, “How many will you take away?”

The sun had moved higher and the little round boats bobbed gently on the surface of the sea. The fishermen were already at work. Ananda Coomar walked quietly along the beach. The sea was silent as if waiting for him to speak.

The sun shone brightly, the white sand glittered, the wavelets gently lapped the shore, and Ananda stopped and stared at the sand. There it lay… the Perfect Shell… soft and pearly with the most beautiful shades of iridescent green and white. Shaped almost like a man’s open palm.

He drew his breath in sharply and stooped to pick it up. The sea murmured softly, “How many will you take away?”

That morning, for the first time in many years, Ananda Coomar came home without a single shell.

© 2006