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It was days since the moon had made an appearance. Then as the rain slowly dried up and clouds cleared, the silver disc slid up from behind the veil of coconut palms.
It was days since the moon had made an appearance. Then as the rain slowly dried up and clouds cleared, the silver disc slid up from behind the veil of coconut palms.
Used to think this was a boring place. Five years away from home and I can clearly see the rose tint of Home Sweet Home.
What is freedom for us?
Except for the general realisation that we are no longer answerable to someone
who didn't have the same skin colour as us or didn't eat the same food,
has August 15, 1947 brought us much?
How many of us can list the real freedoms – other than that of free speech and expression, that too often restricted by the government and other extra constitutional authorities – that we have gained after Independence? Things that we couldn't do then, that we are doing now? Consider this a survey of sorts.
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on !";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
Rudyard Kipling
Nandagopal Rajan
It was around noon when we reached the Lakshmi Narasimha temple in Mangalagiri, a sleepy town famous for its handloom sarees and the twin temples of the Narasimha, an hour's drive from Vijayawada.
Mangalagiri has two temples, one at the foothills dedicated to Lakshmi Narasimha and the other on the Mangalagiri hill dedicated to Pankala Narasimha.
We scampered barefoot on the hot granite towards the temple, empty except for a gaggle of girls playing inside the mandapa. The sanctum sanctorum was quite dark, except for the radiance of the Laxmi-Narasimha deity. It is said only the Laxmi on his lap can neutralise Narasimha.
We were exiting the sanctum sanctorum, our minds set on reaching the hill shrine before the sun became more brutal, when our eyes fell upon a small rusted board in a dark corner besides the main corridor. Maybe it was the Varma in it that caught the attention of us Malayalees. When, on closer inspection, it turned out to be Raja Ravi Varma, we were thrilled.
The thrill, however, turned to despair, as we panned up to see the object that the board was meant to tout. The saffron wall it hung on was in far better shape than this untidily framed masterpiece of the Narasimha tearing into the belly of Hiranyakashipu spiralled out on his thigh.
The picture slanted towards the right. We too bent our necks to see more clearly through the iron bars. The unrelenting heat and over a century of neglect had definitely taken its toll on this forgotten Varma. But there was no doubt about the style. After all, it was these very brush strokes that defined how we Indians visualised our Gods.
The board had more to tell. The now-forgotten painting was 'Painter Prince's' offering to the temple during a visit in the late 1800s. The Raja must have stopped here while hopping princely states completing royal assignments. We were sure the temple touched a chord in him – there is something about the place even now; why else would he put its main deity to canvas with his deft strokes. Or was there more to it? We will never know.
We left the temple thinking more about the discovery we had made than the climb ahead. Did anyone know about this Varma? Shouldn't it be restored and sent to the Shri Chitra Art Gallery, which houses his other works?
But the prince might have differed. Maybe he wanted his humble offering to go unnoticed. You never tell what you offer the Gods.
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