The Boy Who Was Late to Walk, But Early to the Gita

They say life is a race. I lost it at the starting line itself.

My heels were thin as a child, so walking was an adventure sport for me. While other toddlers were running around at 1, I made my grand debut at 3 — with full assistance, shivering legs, and zero confidence. The doctor checked me thoroughly and gave the most philosophical diagnosis of my life: "There's no physical issue. It's just fear."

But....

Thank God for Lal Chand Uncle, the carpenter and my father's friend. While others got toys, I got a custom-made vehicle. Elon Musk builds Teslas; Lal Chand Uncle built my first mobility scooter made of wood. Necessity may be the mother of invention, but in my case, the carpenter was the father.

School? I joined late too. Nursery at 5 or 6 didn't remember exactly. But here’s the twist — I was that annoying kid who was too good at letters. After Nursery, the teachers looked at me, looked at KG, and said, "Skip it." I jumped straight to 1st. I couldn't walk on time, but I could fast-forward classes.

Cycling came in Class 9. Scooter at 26. My friends learned balance on two wheels; I was still negotiating how to balance? How can they ride it? Why don't they fall? People get license at 18, I got courage at 26. Better late than never, right?

But while my legs were hesitant, my mind was sprinting.

In 2nd class, while others were suffering to complete their syllabus, I was reading the Gita. Did I understand it? Not completely. It was like watching Avengers' movie at age 7 — you enjoy the music and action, story comes later. By Class 9, around 13-14, it finally clicked.

At 9, my favorite evening pastime wasn't cartoons because we have only Doordarshan. So I like watching Shree Krishna, Mahabharata and Chandrakanta. I did debate about Mahabharata characters with my father. "Was Karna right or wrong?" "Was Arjuna stronger than Karana?" "What is the Self about which Shree Krishna is talking about?" "Who is a true Yogi?" "What is his state?" "How does he look?" "If Soul and Brahm (God) are same then why don't I have Super powers like that of Lord Krishna?" My father must have wondered...

Fear delayed my steps, but it could never stop my questions.

And maybe that's the real lesson — some learn to walk first, some learn to wonder first. I just did things in my own order.

Late walker. Early reader. Lifelong learner.

Let Sanatan Choose

Durga Puja in Bengal has never been only about rituals. It is about devotion and rituals. They do what they are being taught in their doctrines and beliefs. So let's just respect their path and belief. Let them continue their journey. Who are we to tell them that this is right and this is wrong? 

The recent appeal by the VHP (Vishwa Hindu Parishad) and preacher Dhirendra Shastri to keep non-vegetarian food away from pandals has sparked a storm. The VHP later clarified it issued no fatwa and only sought cleanliness and traditional sanctity. Now such statements again spark communal violence. He is indirectly mocking a specific religion. 

But the debate remains: who decides what to do and what not to do?

In Sanatan, we have always had two paths: Vaam Marg and Dakshin Marg. Vaam Margis perform rituals with offerings and sacrifices. Dakshin Margis follow strict vegetarianism. Both are accepted in our scriptures, as per one’s nature and sadhana.

I am vegetarian myself, but I do not criticise non-vegetarian traditions during Puja. For me, it is an individual choice. Our scriptures clearly allow us to choose, yet they also remind us of the law of karma — we must pay back for whatever we do.

Let sanctity be maintained, but let choice remain too.

Reference:

1. The Hindu: Call to keep Durga Pujas in West Bengal vegetarian kicks up a storm

My Brain is Not a Godown II -- Preferring Psychology Than Numbers

Should a teacher become a walking attendance register? I mean, I know all of their names so they feel connected, but should I need to memorize their Roll Nos. too?

I doubt it.

I have a simple policy: if a piece of data is already sleeping peacefully in a file, I will not invite it to stay rent-free in my head. Why crowd my thinking space when the register is sitting on my desk, fully employed and waiting to be opened?

We should know a teacher's priority.

What should a teacher actually remember?

Not the headcount. The heart-count.

I underline the Heart-Count.

I would rather use my memory to notice who is fighting a battle at home, who has gone quiet after being cheerful, which one dreads speaking in public, who is sitting idle, who is inattentive in my class, etc. etc. But what should I do thereafter?

Should I announce their names, flexing that I am a strict and alert teacher?

Will it reform them? No, I beg to differ.

Rather, if we do so, they will become stubborn.

Then, should I talk about him or her in the staffroom, or should I point them out in class?

No, a big no!

Rather, I will do the opposite. I will ignore it as if I didn't see. And then, I will talk to him in person during recess or before the morning assembly.

And bullies? I have seen their art closely. They are great psychologists in reverse. They wait, they watch, they pick the exact second when no adult is looking, and then they enjoy that cheap, cruel thrill. That hollowness inside them loves company in misery. No percentage or total will ever reveal that drama. Only observant eyes will.

So let papers handle the numbers. That is their duty; let them feel useful.

I want my mind free for the real syllabus — the one not printed in books: a child’s mood, his struggles, his home story.

Yes, I know what I am doing isn't that visible, and that's why I am a teacher with a difference. My teaching does not solely depend upon syllabus and facts; it's more about life lessons, values, and self-enquiry.

Male Talk: Full of Humour

Male talk is full of humour and nonsense. Yes, it is. At least for someone who listens to us for the first time.

We really bother — or burden — our minds too much. Sometimes we become so serious that you would think the UN has called a special session on our tea stall. We start talking about nations, politics, economy, isms — Theist, Atheist and Agnostic — philosophies and different writers. Ten minutes of pure rationality. You would think, “Wow, these guys should be on a news channel.”

And then, in the next ten minutes, the same intellectuals start discussing cars.

Gurkha, Maruti Suzuki Jimny, Thar, Bolero, Tiago, Tigor, Rubicon and many more expensive and adventurous cars. Full comparison. Which has better ground clearance, which looks more macho, which can climb a mountain.

But none of us can afford any of them. 

We talk which hardly has any sense. Complete paradox. And you can't imagine that he is the same person who was talking so rationally ten minutes before about Karl Marx and the economy.

It's just like a game. And then we enjoy even struggle.

We look at each other and say — “How’s your face looking? What happened to you, why are you looking like Babbu Maan today?”

No context. No reason. Just pure fun.

Sometimes, there are context too. Satwinder Sir knows it better. 

Perhaps we are built in a different way. We laugh even in pain because we were all told not to show our weak side, no matter how much desperate we are from inside.

“Be a man. Don’t cry. Handle it.”

And I think this stereotype no one wants to break, not even us.

So we convert pain into JOKES. Stress into car discussions we CAN'T AFFORD. Philosophy into friendly insults.

It’s nonsense. It’s humour. It’s therapy.

And honestly it works.

My Brain is Not a Godown

Do we need to remember everything? I don't think so.

For me, burdening the mind with unnecessary information which we can easily access through available records is just sheer wastage of time. I mean, why should I fill my RAM when I have a perfectly good hard disk lying on the table called "Register"?

And if anyone is in a hurry to inquire, creating unrest as if the nation will collapse without that information — then they themselves should fill their minds. My mind is on power-saving mode.

During my school days, I was NOT the one who knew everything. That post was permanently reserved for our Class Monitor. His name was Sanjeev.

Sanjeev knew everything. Who is absent, who is present, who bunked, who is secretly eating peanuts in the last bench, whose homework is copied — full CID database in one head.

But our English teacher? He didn't know exactly how many students of Maths and Political Science were in our Arts stream.

So one day someone asked him, "Sir, how many Maths students are there?"

Sir calmly opened his register, checked, and said the number.

Sanjeev looked disappointed. I could read his face: "Sir, this is cheating. Real heroes memorize."

But sir taught all 38 of us in the first lecture. We all sat together. Should he learn the caste, creed, subject combination, blood group, and horoscope of all 38? Why? 

Did it really matter? The register was right there, not on a vacation in Goa. He simply preferred to verify rather than to show off his memory power like Sanjeev 2.0.

To me, there are many more things to explore, study and learn rather than just filling the mind with accessible information. It's there in records. Let the records do their job. Poor things are feeling unemployed otherwise.

My brain is for ideas, not for storing attendance and numbers.

After all, even Google doesn't remember everything — it just knows where to find it. And if Google can be great without memorizing, why can't people like me?

So next time someone asks me a question whose answer is lying in a file, I will smile and say: "Wait, let me check the records."

Sanjeev, if you are reading this — no offense, brother. Don't mind.

The Veil of Mind

I don't think I know much. Yes, it's right. And how can I? My perspective is limited to my own life experience. Until I learn the life experience of all, how can I claim it?

We live a life full of quest. Yet our knowledge based on five senses is quite limited. Yes, it has its own limit. It works as per our own mind -- our own Software. We see only what our mind allows us to see.

Still, I can say all of us have a potential to unlock the hidden door of infinity. It's behind the veil of mind. To explore this treasure, we have to go beyond mind.

But it's tough. Very tough. Rather almost impossible. However, it can't be said that it's impossible. You can. I can. All of us can.

But?

Who really wants to go? 

This is a big question.

Because to go beyond mind means to vanish your identity -- the same identity for which we keep on working endlessly. We build a name, a job, a pride, a story. And then we are asked to drop it.

How?

Not possible?

The question is not who can be free.

The question is, who wants to be free?

Do we want to be free? 

Men Are Simple

Males are simple. No fancy dress, no expensive clothes, no exaggeration for aesthetics. Give them black, white, or some base colours and they are done for the day.

It’s a common male trait. They don’t bother about what people say about their appearance. It hardly affects them. Yes, it hardly affects. Not even 0.5% — until they themselves start thinking about it. But yes, most of us are fitness freak. We wanna look strong, healthy and lean. All of us want to. It's very common.

What else?

All males like cars and bikes. Why? Don’t know.

I remember when I was a kid, I too would lament for toy cars whenever I fell sick. Yes! Now, it hardly matters. I can buy, but I don’t feel it’s necessary. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know the models. Perhaps, I know all of them now. Why? It’s because of my son. Whenever he goes with me for a walk, on the way, he keeps asking, “Papa, which car is this?” And surprisingly, I too have developed interest now.

Impact of company? Maybe. These days I also talk too much with my brother-in-laws who are car lovers. Scorpio, Verna, Thar, Tigor and many more. Fascinating or idiotic? Am I also becoming an idiot?

No, I am not saying them idiots! How can I? I mean it's like walking into the lion's den.

Maybe are not idiot. Maybe just father. Maybe just men who are simple enough to find joy in his son’s small questions, and wise enough to enjoy the ride without needing to own the car.

That’s the thing about men. They don’t need much. A plain shirt, a walk with their kid, and a conversation about cars they’ll probably never buy — and they’re happy.

Simple, isn’t it?