Tuesday, July 3, 2007

Thursday 21 June 2007

Today has been one of the most memorable days of my life. A day memorable for the various diverse, fine and prosperous shower of rich emotions that I faced today, a day memorable because of the heavy dose of beauty and romance that I came across, a day memorable because of the knighthood we experienced while riding through the tempests of the monsoon-fed Sahyadris, a day memorable because of the heavy smells of paddy fields, a day memorable for the lush green drizzled by the humid cloud, and a day memorable because of the ever wet footwear through the swampy foothills and undergrowth all over the place. A place memorable enough because of the oozing emotions of a vulnerable poet, and a day memorable because of the silent sorrows of our upcoming graduation and departing, a day memorable because of the warmth of our transitional youth, a day significant of our last few of the crazy wild days, a day simply dosed with the heart of a child and the heroism of a knight, a day memorable because of its close association with my dearest Belgaum, a day memorably spent with my dearest friends who have decorated the festival of my youth, a day simply memorable, memorable a thousand fold, .............. Memorable, memorable!!

We all silently stood there, before my friend's house planning our decisions, which oscillated continuously between Amboli and Sural.

Since I had been to Amboli several times, I was forced to agree with Sural and there we all left for Sural. We filled enough petrol for our travel and also seeked for lord Ganesha's blessings before we finally left for Sural.

Our vehicles humming one before the other slowly began the majestic journey towards the place. Every time we missed each other, we used to wait for a while till the vehicles all came together again, and while we stopped on the way, we could feel the heavy haunt of silence in the midst of the jungle. Jungles, jungles, they were simply thick ones, thick enough. Trees and all vegetation simply appeared invading into the narrow pavements through which we made our way into the forest. The land beneath the trees was fully swampy and covered by a thick layer of shed leaves and other droppings. The forests seemed thick and dark and all the while, it rained mildly, the dark logs of wood all seemed chocolate wet, covered by a fluorescent green of ferns and mosses, with all the stems chained with climbers. Prop roots hung long at every little distance, decorating the place more. This beauty of the forest was crowned by the shrill and deep chirpings of birds and the Mowgli swings of the red langoors. I had never even for a moment ever pondered that just a couple of hour's ride from my backyard I had such a fair jungle to divulge into. I can always say that I have felt the real jungle. For a moment I was even thinking of the life of the people who lived there at that place, the life so close to nature, into the cradle of wilderness and the embrace of purity. No pollution, no industry, no vehicles, no corruption. I still cherish the enthusiasm of those innocent warriors. Hats-off!

For a keen observer there are immense factors that define things still clearly. The lifestyle of people is so very interesting. The way they have evolved a lifestyle so close to the wild is really a cherish able fact on the face of this earth. The villages actually may be referred to as hamlets, showing themselves afresh, deep within the jungles green. The villages at a distance are surrounded by fields, mostly paddy fields, planted in small plots, in nexus with the terrace form of agriculture. People here totally, rely upon such agriculture for their sustenance and it is all the grace of the rain Gods that all this beauty stands firm. People seem real workaholics, with even the ploughing being done manually at several sites on our way. They really work to reap the fruits, and a still special thing is the simplicity in the language and appearance. We, who had worn only rain jackets, were forced to become skeptic about our travel etiquette after looking at their simplicity and down to earth statement. These places being lined on the Goa-Karnataka border, in the Khanapur district close to Goa, in the outskirts of the province, we see that the chief language is Konkani, although, they still play it fairly with some good Marathi and broken Kannada. Konkani the name itself being derived from the Konkan belt of Sahyadris near the west coast of the Indian Deccan plateau peninsula is a largely spoken dialect resembling phonetically as well as linguistically to the language of Marathi. We knew all the three languages well, and so, could manage easily with all the people, at all the places during those sweet encounters. O! I wish I were born among them, in that wild, so that I would solve Physics problems on projectile motion by shooting stones into the trees around my house. But alas, we are all prisoners of the city, shame upon us. Still it’s complete to say that the religious air at every hamlet enkindled within us a light of spirituality, with every God or Goddess standing tall on every other beautiful hill, standing lofty besides these romantic settlements. This is the beauty of my India; there is the worship alive in even the remotest of the places of this deciduous ecosystem. The structure and presence of these temples in those dark dungeoneous forests marked the analogy between the exploring of the jungles, and the spiritual journey of man from the shining material wonders of the world to the unperturbed peaceful soul, that rules the inside of everything. For a spiritual person, there isn't any better stimulation than this in a nearer ride. Simply loved the travel. To feel the completeness of such a beautiful life is such a satisfaction! Thank God once again for the day! Thank you!

The feel of the non-stop showers and drizzles, made the journey still mesmerizing. We rode through the forests for a good length of time, when finally my friend came to know that we had missed the road somewhere. Actually we had gone past the village of Sural almost for 6-7 km, and so it was now time to go back for our search of this village of Sural. We rode back and came to a spot where the road split into two. But thanks for the mistakes; we found some really wild scenes, of which I’ll always remember a bridge where on one side the hills ascended for hundreds of feet, while on the other side they descended horribly abruptly in the deep and dark valley. That was the spot where we got the best photos of our travel. I'll always cherish our stay at that spot, it was simply fabulous.

Soon after we found our way through the split roads, we found a fast river flowing downstream, past which, after a ride for a couple of kilometers, we found a small village. It was Sural.

It was about 2:45 pm when we began our ride past Sural, constantly uphill, and during our ascent, we never even had the faintest idea that we had climbed to such a height. “Where’re we heading? Where?” was my repeated question to which my friend replied………. “Just keep going till the dead end of this road.” I was really afraid of the word “dead”-end and I proceeded slowly. Finally, we parked our bikes at a spot which seemed to be the top of a hill. I wondered with suspicion as to what was the place all about, and slowly followed my friends. When the place actually arrived, all I could see was something that was deep and seemed nothing. It was all clouds from top to bottom. I held my camera down, and really tagged that spot as boring. “Where have we come? It’s a spot worth no expectations”. I said to my friend “this is in no comparison with the heaven called Amboli”, and he gave me a teasing smile……..

Suddenly one of my friends exclaimed… “Lo! I can spot a waterfall there!” and I just turned to give a glance... Wonder! I was shocked. The milky clouds slowly swept apart and I was gifted with a panoramic view of a deep, jet green sweeping valley. What seemed to be a bush of clouds now was, in moments transformed to a deep valley, thousands of meters deep, and stretching several kilometers across. The clouds still swept away, and at the sight of a beautiful waterfall, all that I could do was go on screaming, to resonate with the roar of the waterfall that produced a vibration in the air all over. The vastness of the deep valley was too much for a tiny human. Two eyes seemed so incapable of capturing this vastness that God had bestowed upon his creations. “Mother Nature, there isn’t anything like you!”

I was now happy for our ride through all the tall hills had finally rewarded us so majestically. But it was now 3:15 pm, and we’re all hungry. So we shared some Tiffin with friends and quickly went downhill and reached the main road, where we found a small hotel in the village, on the roadside, the view of that hotel being extremely dramatic. A hotel, a road, a huge paddy plantation, a small cottage, with a red-wood fencing backed by a lofty green mountain standing tall and proud. It wouldn’t be fair on my part if I refrain from saying telling the fact that smooth clouds brushed through our feet , so lowly, slowly….. We were tempted so much that we took so many snaps there.

The rain, the tea, the wooden seating arrangement, the cottage-like hotel, the roof red tiled, the tasty food, the hen and her chicken playing under our dining table, the sweet smell of the king jackfruits and the heap of pinkish ripe pineapples all made a mark on my mind. They redefined my idea of beauty. The villagers, as ever, presented themselves with more courtesy than we the travelers. A couple of snaps more in the hotel and the cottage, and we bought the pineapples to carry home. Will I ever forget that lovely evening……?……. No chance! We really felt so bad as we bid adieu to that beautiful basket of Mother Nature that our speed of riding had abruptly dropped down. In our ride back home, we stepped down at a place called “Kankumbi”, where exist the birth-springs of the two rivers of “Malaprabha” and “Mahadayi”.

We parked our bikes beside the syndicate bank there, and to our surprise we found our friend’s father as the manager there. He gave us a warm welcome and a tasty treat, which was really so kind of him. He guided us all to the Mahuli Devi temple followed by the “Ugama-sthana” of the two rivers. We went to the temple and parked our bikes, and then, we met a villager. He accompanied us with all the history and importance of the place and also shed his grief on the dam being built in his village, which would pose a threat to this bio-diversity hot-spot. We then walked through the paddy fields over a distance to reach the birth springs of the rivers. We were advised to carry tobacco and soda lime with us, because it was a place that housed a number of blood-sucking leeches, and so we’re warned against walking barefoot or in swamps. The thriller of the blood-sucking leeches added to our adventure. The heavy dose of beauty compelled one of my friends to speak harshly against the information age and the growing IT culture. He tends to become too much swadeshi at times. Me too became a bit emotional in that atmosphere and felt the fragrance of my motherland flow through those lush green paddy fields of the vales.

A few more photos and the gala-day celebrations slowly came to adieu. We could revise the lessons that we had read while we made our way through that wild, and meanwhile, my friends had a tyre puncture, which made us all experience some more adventure, on the selfsame day, all the while, as the evening dark slowly marched over the diminishing day. It was his scooter, that had a good stephanie, as the preparation against a rainy day, and so we kept the smiles on our faces. The showers intensified as we approached our town, and after a small ride again, we were back to pavilion.

We then planned for a small repast at the nearest hotel, and so we all, still dressed up as travelers, entered the nearest Popeye’s edifice, and savored some Manchurian and rice. As we were parting for home, a friend said, “Look at that, a leech!”, and we all suddenly frightened with shock, looked down at our pants, and examining our shoes we stared with a narrow eye. Then we again looked at each other with a question mark in our eyes, and silently we stood there …….. And suddenly burst into a laughter!!!

It was the day, O I loved it!

Sushant Kulkarni

Definitions of Culture

" . . . the sum total of the knowledge, attitudes, and habitual behavior patterns shared and transmitted by members of a society."

" . . . the learned patterns of thought and behavior characteristic of a population or society."

" . . . The attitudes, objectives, and technical skills of a society."

"Culture" does NOT mean "high culture" or a "cultured person". It is not just the arts, but "culture" includes all learned behavior.

Culture can be divided into the following components:

Material Culture
Social Institutions
Attitudes Toward the Unknown
the Arts
Language

Components of Culture
Material culture includes:

homes
tools
transportation
clothes
cities
furniture
etc.

Components of Culture
Social institutions include:

government
the economy
education
family
religion
tribe, clan
etc.

Components of Culture
Attitudes toward the unknown:

superstitions
religion
science

Components of Culture
the Arts include:

music
dance
theater
literature
architecture
painting
sculpture
etc.

Components of Culture
Language:

language is a very important component of culture
culture is LEARNED behavior
culture is transmitted through language

Cultural Landscape
DEFINITION:

the forms placed on the physical landscape by human activities
how people arrange the physical space around them
INCLUDES:

buildings, roads, fields, cities, etc.
any change to the physical landscape

Sequent Occupance
DEFINITION

the notion that successive societies leave their cultural imprints on a place, each contributing to the cumulative cultural landscape
EXAMPLES:

Bolivia: The present cultural landscape of Bolivia includes parts from the early Incan Indians, and from the Spanish colonists who conquered them, and finally from the period after independence. Parts of all these successive cultures make up the cultural landscape of Bolivia today.

Acculturation
DEFINITION

cultural modifications resulting from intercultural borrowing
usually this implies changes in an indigenous culture caused by the imposition of a technologically more advanced culture (e.g. colonists)
a one-way transfer of cultural traits
EXAMPLES

The Amerindians of North America (US and Canada) were acculturated into western, European, society. The culture of the colonists replaced that of the Native Americans living here before their arrival.

Transculturation
DEFINITION

the two-way exchange of cultural traits between societies in close contact
EXAMPLE

Mexico: The current cultural landscape of Mexico is the result of a mixing of the earlier Amerindian cultures and the Spanish culture of the European colonists. The result is an entirely new culture.

Culture vs. Ethnicity
they are not the same
culture is learned
ethnicity is biological
the same ethnic group can be divided biologically
In Rwanda: Hutus and Tutsis are of the same ethnic group but they are different cultural groups
In Bosnia, the Serbs, Croats, and Muslims are all from the same Slavic ethnic group, but they are different cultural groups. For example, they speak different languages and practice different religions.
"Ethnic conflicts" are usually "cultural conflicts". Often they are not between different races, but rather between different cultural groups.

..... thanks for reading thi post. i hope you could get a bird's overview of what huge legacy of time this small word called "culture", tags behind it......... :-)

Monday, July 2, 2007

VILVAMANGALA

This is a story from one of the books of India, called "Lives of Saints". There was a young man, a Brahmin by birth, in a certain village. The man fell in love with a bad woman in another village. There was a big river between the two villages, and this man, every day, used to go to that girl, crossing this river in a ferry boat. Now, one day he had to perform the obsequies of his father, and so, although he was longing, almost dying to go to the girl, he could not. The ceremonies had to be performed, and all those things had to be undergone; it is absolutely necessary in Hindu society. He was fretting and fuming and all that, but could not help it. At last the ceremony ended, and night came, and with the night, a tremendous howling storm arose. The rain was pouring down, and the river was lashed into gigantic waves. It was very dangerous to cross. Yet he went to the bank of the river. There was no ferry boat. The ferrymen were afraid to cross, but he would go; his heart was becoming mad with love for the girl, so he would go. There was a log floating down, and he got that, and with the help of it, crossed the river, and getting to the other side dragged the log up, threw it on the bank, and went to the house. The doors were closed. He knocked at the door, but the wind was howling, and nobody heard him. So he went round the walls and at last found what he thought to be a rope, hanging from the wall. He clutched at it, saying to himself, "Oh, my love has left a rope for me to climb." By the help of that rope he climbed over the wall, got to the other side, missed his footing, and fell, and noise aroused the inmates of the house, and the came out and found the man there in a faint. She revived him, and noticing that he was smelling very unpleasantly, she said, "What is the matter with you? Why this stench on your body? How did you come into the house?" He said, "Why, did not my love put that rope there?" She smiled, and said, "What love? We are for money, and do you think that I let down a rope for you, fool that you are? How did you cross the river?" "Why, I got hold of a log of wood." "Let us go and see," said the girl. The rope was a cobra, a tremendously poisonous serpent, whose least touch is death. It had its head in a hole, and was getting in when the man caught hold of its tail, and he thought it was a rope. The madness of love made him do it. When the serpent has its head in its hole, and its body out, and you catch hold of it, it will not let its head come out; so the man climbed up by it, but the force of the pull killed the serpent. "Where did you get the log?" "It was floating down the river." It was a festering dead body; the stream had washed it down and that he took for a log, which explained why he had such an unpleasant odour. The woman looked at him and said, "I never believed in love; we never do; but, if this is not love, the Lord have mercy on me. We do not know what love is. But, my friend, why do you give that heart to a woman like me? Why do you not give it to God? You will be perfect." It was a thunderbolt to the man's brain. He got a glimpse of the beyond for a moment. "Is there a God?" "Yes, yes, my friend, there is," said the woman. And the man walked on, went into a forest, began to weep and pray. "I want Thee, Oh Lord! This tide of my love cannot find a receptacle in little human beings. I want to love where this mighty river of my love can go, the ocean of love; this rushing tremendous river of my love cannot enter into little pools, it wants the infinite ocean. Thou art there; come Thou to me." So he remained there for years. After years he thought he had succeeded, he became a Sannyasin and he came into the cities. One day he was sitting on the bank of a river, at one of the bathing places, and a beautiful young girl, the wife of a merchant of the city, with her servant, came and passed the place. The old man was again up in him, the beautiful face again attracted him. The Yogi looked and looked, stood up and followed the girl to her home. Presently the husband came by, and seeing the Sannyasin in the yellow garb he said to him, "Come in, sir, what can I do for you?" The Yogi said, "I will ask you a terrible thing." "Ask anything, sir, I am a Grihastha (householder), and anything that one asks I am ready to give." "I want to see your wife." The man said, "Lord, what is this! Well, I am pure, and my wife is pure, and the Lord is a protection to all. Welcome; come in sir." He came in, and the husband introduced him to his wife. "What can I do for you?" asked the lady. He looked and looked, and then said, "Mother, will you give me two pins from your hair?" "Here they are." He thrust them into his two eyes saying "Get away, you rascals! Henceforth no fleshy things for you. If you are to see, see the Shepherd of the groves of Vrindaban with the eyes of the soul. Those are all the eyes you have." So he went back into the forest. There again he wept and wept and wept. It was all that great flow of love in the man that was struggling to get at the truth, and at last he succeeded; he gave his soul, the river of his love, the right direction, and it came to the Shepherd. The story goes that he saw God in the form of Krishna. Then, for once, he was sorry that he had lost his eyes, and that he could only have the internal vision. He wrote some beautiful poems of love. In all Sanskrit books, the writers first of all salute their Gurus. So he saluted that girl as his first Guru.