Category: Non/Fiction

I was very very emotional yesterday at Hrishikesh. I touched Ganga for the first time. I drank it by taking a few drops in my hand, and while in the boat, I poured it on my head with both hands.

We are steeped in the symbolism. Lord Ganesh’ broken tusk, General Motor’s corporate logo, “Hail to the victor’s” song of the University of Michigan, national anthem while waving national flag that I experienced just yesterday after Ganga aarti at the banks of Ganga and so on. There is no end to symbolism since ancient civilizations. I suspect that in most cases, we need symbols for non physical entities that we created or imagined, such as religions, corporations, nations, thoughts, principles, spirituality, values and many more (1).

So why was I emotional when I touched Ganga? Because Indian civilization thrived on the banks of Ganga, and hence, Ganga is a symbol of me, my family, parents, ancestors, all books that I have read, all the good and bad thoughts I have had, all the value systems I have been taught, my culture and upbringing, all the food I have tasted, all of my likings and dislikes, all my internal weaknesses and strengths, I can just go on and on. Essentially Ganga is my symbol, your symbol, and if Ganga represents rivers and their civilizations all over the world, then it is a symbol of everybody in the world.

What can I say? Finally, I met mother Ganga. She hugged me and she was happy to receive a couple of tears from her son.

(1) “Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind”, Yuval Noah Harari (2015)

Nitin Dadhi Anturkar (October 2023)

There was a discussion on the National Education Policy (2020) in India on our college (The Indian Institute of Technology, Bombay, called IIT in this article) batchmates’ WhatsApp group. As per this policy, local Indian language as the medium of instruction is mandatory until 5th grade, while English language as a subject can be continued in the schools. The medium of instruction can only be shifted to English at that point, if desired. (That is how we all understood this policy). Debate continued among my college mates about the merits and demerits of such a policy. However, I am writing it here because one of the friends wrote his personal story, and I responded with my story. They are described below (with my friend’s permission, of course). 

If you are not from India, you may need to know the following two things before reading below: (1) There are multitude of Indian language, not dialects, with their own scripts, grammar and words, and (2) similar to many countries, there is multi-layered privileges in the Indian education system. One such privilege, at least in India, is the medium of instruction in which you are taught various subjects.

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Friend 1: 

As a Gujju (a colloquial slang word for a Gujarati person) born in Hyderabad, the first language I was taught is Hindi (Hyderabadi flavor). That’s because back then, our interaction was mainly with ayahs, maids, neighbor kids and nursery classmates. And we continued this tradition with our kids and grandkids too. The only Gujju I spoke was with my grand mom.

But I was sent to the elite HPS (Hyderabad Public School) where even the dining hall bearers and school bus drivers spoke in English. My days at school convinced me that in order to excel in physics, chemistry and other science subjects, and get admission into engineering college, English was the only language that could do it for me.

When I came to IIT, I experienced some kind of a cultural shock…. So many guys from the vernacular medium…(students whose medium of instruction was the local Indian language). How did they write the formula for Copper Sulphate in Marathi? How did they know about differentiation and integration? About sp3 hybridization and bond orbital formation?

To my pleasant surprise, I found these guys from the vernacular medium to be some of the most brilliant minds that I’ve ever met and the net result was that I would often seek their help in clearing my doubts. (on the few occasions that I tried to study seriously)

And sometime during our second year, I read one article by Mahatma Gandhi published in Young India where he denounces the English language (and ironically, the denouncement was in English) and mentions the example of Japs succeeding in technology and electronics without the use of English. And that led me to think that yes… Come to think of it… The Japs, the Russians, the Germans, the Chinese… All have done well in managing economies, spacecraft, science and technology without needing the English language.

And finally, I came to the conclusion (and still believe) that the primacy of English language in India is a curse which has created an inequitable elite and now, we’re too deeply trapped in it to be able to overcome its necessity.

BTW, these cross-cultural linguistic influences have led me to know English, Hindi (Dakhani), Hindi (normal… Textbook type), Gujarati and Telugu… In this order. But sadly, I cannot claim proficiency in any of these languages. 😞

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Nitin (Dadhi): 

OK, my story is exactly opposite of yours. 

At the end of 10th grade, for the first time ever, my teacher showed up at my home. Suddenly, my home turned into a high-stress chamber. She told my parents that “Nitin is good in science and math, but he can not survive with a score of 46/100 in English in his life. His future is in trouble.” My parents had never gone to college and were barely conversant with the English language. But they had started one of the successful schools in Dombivali, my hometown (call it a paradox, irony or whatever English word you want to use!) and had great contacts all over our town. I was promptly connected to the Professor of English, Professor Gadgil, from the SIES college. On a side note, the Head of the Department of the English language at that time in the SIES college was the most influential Marathi poet, Vinda Karandikar, who won the prestigious Dnyanapith award, not in English, but in Marathi. Professor Gadgil offered to review my two essays per week, and asked me to start reading English books, such as Enid Blyton. Believe it or not, even in the 11th grade, I could not figure out the head or tail of such elementary story books. Over time, I developed an all-crucial skill of survival by securing passing grades with 37/100 in First Year and 39/100 in Second Year English at the SIES college before heading to the engineering college. It may appear to be a “proud” story of struggle and survival. But trust me, this was and still is a pretty embarrassing story of my struggle of learning English (and missing out on some incredible novels and poetry in this language). 

Back in Dombivali, we were told that rich students with a fancy English accent are typically ignorant students (maybe to mitigate the inferiority complex of vernacular students). When I entered IIT, it was a shock! Here, I could not believe all these brilliant students, deep diving into Asimov’s Sci-Fi literature, narrating stories from R K Narayan’s books and fluently quoting Khushwant Singh, then editor of the “Illustrated Weekly” magazine. Obviously, it did not help me to overcome my inferiority complex! It was a long long climb out of the ditch! And then finally being able to introduce my father proudly to the friends as a “daily wage earning kamgar (blue-collar worker)”. 

Here are the two associated anecdotal stories!

After the first semester, I realized that I got an “A” grade in MA101 (the subject in which the class did not do well). I came back to the Hostel 5 dining hall and screamed in the usual IITian lingo, “बना दे! (super work!)”. The friend sitting next to me said, “Nitin, I did not expect it, man!”. Even in my overwhelming emotions of jubilation, I still noticed this comment. I asked “ahh, why?” He said, “Nitin, your English is not that good!” Yes, there are many apparent contradictions in his comment. But the real story is that I ACCEPTED his statement as a matter of fact at that time without noticing the contradictions !!

Next story happened in the USA. Mike and Betsy and their children are our family from another continent. When my mom was visiting them here in the USA, she was embarrassed that she did not know English to converse with them. When she mentioned it to Mike in her broken English, he said in his usual humble manner, “Your English is better than my Marathi.” I neither had this perspective of my Marathi vs English, nor was it drilled in my head by anybody during my formative years.

One clarification! When I read my story again, one thing does not come out explicitly. So let me write it down. My inferiority complex was self-inflicted. If at all, my fellow friends pulled me out of it in IIT. I cannot thank them enough!

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Friend: 

Opposite story… True. But the end result is the same I think. Both of us learnt that there is merit in vernacular and that English creates an unnecessary class divide

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Friend 2:

A few months back I watched the movie ‘Hindi Medium’ that playfully highlights the challenges of securing admissions in prestigious schools in India and the extent to which parents will go to give their kids a good start in life. The words ‘Hindi Medium’ strike a chord in my heart. My earliest memories are of a small village in the faraway district of Palamu in Bihar (Jharkhand today). The village had only one school operated by the Company for all children in the colony & the adjoining villages. Naturally Hindi was the medium of teaching. So off I went learning in Hindi. In my third grade my father was transferred to the city of Porbandar at the other end of the country and the choices of learning were between English and Gujarati. Strange as it may sound today, until then I did not know a word of English! For the two weeks we took getting there including a stopover to see my grandparents, my mother taught me English using a pen and paper. I had never read the language in print. When the school Head Master asked me to try reading a few words, I stumbled at the first – dog! The ‘d’ and ‘o’ I understood but I hadn’t the foggiest idea what a letter with two circles connected by a line was! My test had ended on the first word with a big failure! The Head Master was Oxford educated and made a gentle but futile attempt to persuade my father to start me off from grade 1 all over. My father was having none of the arguments about the psychological damage that pushing me to learn in a totally strange language could do. I must have done pretty well in the first set of tests a month or so later. I recall it moved the Head Master to come bounding into our class and congratulate me while berating the rest about how a student had come in from so far behind to score better than them!

Although I completed the rest of my education in English, I never could say my multiplication tables in the language. Much to the consternation of my teachers I would generally do well in Math but flunk the orals when asked to recite ‘Two Threes Are’.  It was always ‘Doe Tiya Chhe’ in my mind!

Midway through the year, we found ourselves deep in the heartland of Tamil Nadu (Madras state as it was called then). Even though I went to an English medium school, my struggle had not ended as the teachers wrote in cursive script and I would sit in class with a blank look on my face. Once again it fell to my mother to bring me up to speed in the new script.

Fast forward thirty odd years – when our son was born my wife and I decided we would start him off in Marathi. We knew eventually he would speak English and worried if he did not know Marathi during his early years he would never eventually learn his mother tongue. We were living in the upscale Mumbai neighborhood of Pali Hill then. When it was time to get admission to school, the teacher was dismayed and asked me how my son could join the school since he did not know a word of English. Gently I asked her, ‘Madam, if I teach him English are you going to teach him Marathi?’. That is where it ended. By Grade Eight my son’s English Teacher was reading his essays out to the graduating high schoolers.

In our family my wife is another example. Today she converses pretty decently in English. Her friends and many acquaintances have been surprised to learn that she has done all her education in Marathi and started to speak English only after we were married and moved to Gujarat, later Mumbai and thereafter outside India where she was compelled to speak in English.

My take away from these experiences is that the human brain has a humongous capacity to learn new things especially languages. Never underestimate your capabilities and especially those of children. I am somewhat dismayed when I see parents avoiding teaching their children their mother tongues for fear of ‘confusing’ or ‘overburdening’ the child. I feel like narrating my experience and that of our family. If we could do it so can you!

English language fluency is a strength that India definitely has. It is important to know the language well for people aspiring to make a mark in the world. However, knowing your mother tongue gives you the appreciation of your culture. Those roots are critical foundation to sculpt a strong edifice of one’s life.

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Nitin (Dadhi) Anturkar (December 2023)

I took a leap of faith and went through the Landmark Forum course (previously known as EST) approximately five weeks ago. It is neither a training nor a “how to” class. It is not about improving one’s habits. It is not a “cult” or spiritual preaching. It is not a group therapy. It does not deliver knowledge. There were no notes to be taken and nothing was comparable to my previous training of any kind. But still it was 4+12+12+12+4 = 44 hours (over five days) of intense engagement on zoom call for the price of $675 with just one solitary coach. OK, then what the fxxx was this course about?

Before the course began, I was asked “What would I like to improve in myself”? What could be my blind spots? That process of self-evaluation was not simple. I have a tight-knit and robust relationship not only with Anjali and kids, but also with mine and Anjali’s siblings, nephews and nieces. In general, I am a happy person who likes to keep a child in me alive. Yes, I feel the pain, get depressed and engulf myself in sorrow. But I am usually aware of my emotions and maybe therefore, I somehow overcome them.

Eventually I figured out my main deficiency. I am an undisciplined fellow and do not stick to routine. There are two undesirable outcomes of such indiscipline. First, I do not complete every one of my projects or assignments. Second, I eat more than I desire, expect, plan or decide. If this course would provide me with “discoveries” or “aha” moments to plug such holes, that would be a fantastic improvement in my life.

The course started building through a series of 2–3-hour sessions. Topic is introduced briefly by the coach with very few examples. She would then challenge the attendees to go through a real personal exercise. For example, we had a session on facts, impressions of facts and fiction. Our mind continuously mixes them up. One attendee lady neither had the courage to divorce nor could she live happily in the marriage. She was encouraged to have a dialogue with her husband during the break. When she reported back to the whole group, she continued to intermix her plain dialogue from her various emotional impressions of the dialogue. She had a tough, iterative, long discussion with the coach to separate emotions from facts in front of all of us.

There were many other sessions, such as forgetting one’s past, living in the present, taking actions NOW even if they are uncomfortable, staying away from biases, becoming honest and authentic in one’s interactions with family members and colleagues. The culminating session was about how life is empty and meaningless (and how one can give it a meaning that one DESIRES .. because it is meaningless to start with). 

In contrast to the other attendees, I was already exposed to these concepts. I had briefly read material on Hindu philosophy, such as Vedas, Upanishads and Bhagavad Gita. But that was just a theory. Practicing such concepts is a whole different matter. For example, I cannot live in present even for two seconds. My thoughts constantly jump from some useless mundane stuff to solving world hunger. Surprisingly, the group sharing in this course of such complex concepts was something totally different.

It was an absolute honor to have so many attendees share their deep personal experiences live with us during the course. The narration of experiences involved tortuous crying, emotional outbursts, exposure of deep wounds and laying bare stories of one’s entire life to 70 strangers. Yes, for any outsider, it looked like a cult gathering, psychological group therapy and a strange meeting with some evangelical priest. But for me, it was Hindu philosophical concepts in practice. The practitioners were not those long-bearded sadhus dressed in Saffron clothes. They were ordinary and vulnerable whites, Hispanics and blacks who had never ever heard about Hindu philosophy.

But wait. Did I plug my holes? Did I discover myself to become a disciplined individual? No, I did not. That self-discovery or “aha” moment never occurred for me. Apparently, I will continue to eat merrily to my heart’s (and stomach’s) content. Weight reduction will continue to be not (a sugar-laden) cup of tea for me. I will continue to move from one assignment to another like a butterfly. Oh well, life will go on. Meanwhile, awareness of empty and meaningless life in the group setting did remind me again that I should pause before succumbing myself to any emotions. I rediscovered that it is fun to see my own emotions as a third person. That “journey” of self-awareness continues! For this one reason, it was worth going through the course for me.

Should you do this course? I do not know. It depends on your affordability for time and money, the stage at which you are in your life, and your acceptance to delve into such esoteric concepts. Otherwise, of course, you can look in the mirror (literally and figuratively), look around to see your own blind spots and move on with your life! And that works too!

Nitin Anturkar (August 2022)

(This is a translation of my Marathi poem)

Recently, I sent my poem “One tear” from 2015 with a new title called “Journey of my Sorrow”. Few friends asked me, “Hey, what happened?” Some others wanted to know what “journey of sorrow” means. A poem belongs to the reader, not to the poet. Reader owns the subtle, delicate waves created in his/her mind by reading such poems. Even then, let me try to answer the above questions in the briefest possible way.

Sorrow is one constant even in today’s high-speed new brave world flooded with social media. Such sorrow suddenly catches me unaware and unarmed, and freezes me in my groove. I had presented four shades of such sorrow in 2015. Sometimes such moments of sorrow are drenched, and I want to throw them away in a flowing river of life like a wasted flower after pooja. Sometimes that moment of sorrow is a weird stranger, sometimes lonely, and sometimes, it is like a detached fakir.

Today in 2022, the same random shades described in the poem in the past, appears to be my journey of sorrow. Am I becoming detached from my sorrow like a fakir, like Yogeshwar Lord Krishna playing on the banks of river Yamuna?

Journey of My Sorrow

One still moment
One stagnant tear
Drenched
Like a discarded dried flower in rain

One still moment
One stagnant tear
the stranger
Like a dark blue cloud on the horizon

One still moment
One stagnant tear
alone
Like infinite presence of north star in a dark night

One still moment
One stagnant tear
the Fakir
Like a floating Krishna in a flowing river

Unfathomable sorrow
And one companion tear!

Nitin Anturkar (June 20, 2015)

I wrote Marathi article few years ago on my mostly non-professional experiences. However, some of my non-Marathi family members and friends requested this article to be translated in English. So, here you go!

As we get old, we all tend to dive into our fading brain cells and pull out some old memories. Then we ruminate on those memorable experiences in boring meetings, on the toilet bowl, when we go to bed or when we are pretending to listen to our spouses. In my case, I even wrote some nostalgic articles in Marathi on some of these unique memories, such as my excursions as a foodie. But what I have never done is to take a comprehensive stock of all my experiences. Now, my schoolmates have requested me to write this entire autobiographical journey. For some of you, it could be an interesting read, and for others, it could be just a diatribe.

To ensure that you are not bored with long articles in this fast-paced world, I will write the experiences in non-chronological bullets and then, I will let you imagine interesting stories behind these bullets. For example, when I write that “In my 9^th grade, five of us walked from Dombivali (my hometown in India) to Raigad (Fort capital of the founder of the Maratha Empire, Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj)”, I will let you envision the stories yourselves behind such an 8-day-walk. These stories could include burning pain of bulging blisters all over our feet, anxious palpitation of young hearts knocking on random strangers’ doors in the dark for overnight shelter, and taste of terribly cooked scorched rice next to the fast-paced thoroughfare under the hot sun.

Oh yes, we did not share our (Anjali’s and mine) personal anguishes in this write up. Let them remain tucked away in our hearts.

OK, shall we start?

I used to spend evenings in fifth and sixth grades catching fish in the sewer nullah flowing next to our home. Yes, that is really, really true! My hometown fruit market used to be occasionally flooded in monsoon rain and rotten oranges used to flow in the rapids of this nullah. I would lie flat on the stomach on the sewer bridge in the soaking rain and would try to catch these swaying oranges rushing through the overflowing rapids of the nullah. Believe me, it was the ultimate, adrenaline rushing fun game ever existed in the whole world. Once my teacher had pulled me out of the sewer and reprimanded me in front of the girls from my school. Very very embarrassing moment indeed! (Of course, not so much because teacher caught me but because girls were laughing at me.)

As I mentioned earlier, we went on an 8-day walking trip to Raigad from Dombivali. The team of fabulous five included “matured(?)” adults with ages ranging from 10 to 14. We had no idea of where we would stay overnight and what we would eat. Parents said “yes” and there we went! Totally crazy endeavour! In the evening, we would literally knock on any random home in tiny villages and request them to accommodate us for the night! What a hospitality that we received from all these impoverished families! With such experiences, it was so easy to develop unwavering faith in humanity! Just unbelievable experiences!

I loved to swear in Marathi in my school. Later in college (IIT, Bombay), I added fancy English “vocabulary” to improve my “sophistication” of swearing. In my literary exuberance of cursings, if some gentleman gets red-faced and unsettled, I used to refer him to one of the popular Marathi theater drama “Tee Phulraani” (based on George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion) by the most respected Marathi author Pu. La. Deshpande. The Professor in this play also used to swear and say that “Such beautiful filthy words are adorned jewellery of any self-respecting language.” I even earned second place in the dorm competition in cursing! But, of course, I have never sweared in front of younger children and elderly people.

In my final year in high scool, some of my friends incited me to take math AP class. Our principal was reluctant to conduct AP classes. But somehow, the motivated leaders of our pack persuaded the principal. Further, my close friend Arun Joshi, provoked me to take Arithmetics AP class at the same time. Unfortunately, we had to learn it ourselves, as our principal did not want to offer such a class only to three crazy students. Here in USA, students may not understand all the fuss of taking AP classes. But this entire self-learning episode during the most crucial academic year was on the borderline of irrational stupidity.

I had a fantastic relationship with my in-laws. I could carry long conversations with Anjali’s mom. (How many people do you know, who have such long conversations with their mothers-in-law?) Both in-laws have now passed away. But we had a nostalgic quiet revival of those memories in Anjali’s nephew’s pre-pandemic wedding. That was a great detour to the past!

Until now, I have travelled to 52 countries, sometimes for work and sometimes for pleasure. Now-a-days, our family has unusual modus operandi for such trips. Eat unique local food, sit around watching people go by on the street and observe their daily life, visit local markets and roam around in nature. We do not chase those conventional sight-seeing places anymore that would be promptly forgotten in no time! Some of the journeys are etched in our brain. Galapagos, Amazon Jungle and Tanzania were simply mind-blowing places. And how can I forget our visit to my brother in New Zealand followed by a family trip with my parents? That was the last trip with my ever-enthusiastic mom!

I have done trekking for more than 300 days in the Himalayas. On the Kalabaland expedition in 1982, at the northwest tip of the China, Nepal and India border, we had to stay above the snow line for 40-45 days, where snow never melts throughout the year. The only way to get water above the snow line was to melt the snow. We were short of money, short of sufficient porters and short of fuel. Obviously, water was rationed only for drinking and cooking purposes. What does that mean? It means brushing and taking showers were completely skipped for the entire 45 days! Woohoo, perfect siuation for a lazy bum like me! Never mind that based on my current appearance, many friends think that I do not take showers even today. Hahaha!

When I was working in the Tata AutoComp Systems (TACO) in Pune, I led the negotiations for four joint ventures (JVs). Later, I had an opportunity to nurture these JVs as a board member on behalf of the Tata group as well. Considering that the Tata group had 200 companies, very few select strategic companies were led by Mr Ratan Tata. We were one of those lucky companies. We used to meet him once every three months in the board meeting of TACO. I even had an opportunity to have two-on-one lunch with him along with my boss. I learnt a lot from this unbelievable Guru and could run the business unit without any corruption.

When Aarti and Tejas were 4 and 6-year-old tiny children, we literally sent them alone to Sydney to my brother’s home (Yup, this mega stupidity is true!). Kids even changed the flight in Singapore with the help from the flight attendant.  Later, our bravado melted away. Shit-scared with the prospects of these kids coming back alone, I promptly went to Sydney to bring them back myself. Kids developed such a strong bond with my brother and sister-in-law that while returning, except me, the entire Anturkar family was crying. That bond is still very very strong. My niece’s wedding was a similar amazing bonding experience in our lives.

I met an elected government official in 1998 near Pune for getting approval of one industrial set up. He requested 60 million Rupees as a bribe (approx. 1 million USD), 30 million Rupees for himself and 30 million for one political party in power. Unfortunately for him, I was brought up by my strong-valued parents and led by Mr Tata. I told him to go to hell. We set up the facility in Hinjewadi, a small village near Pune at that time, where the Tata group had already set up the industrial infrastructure. Government did eventually establish today’s well-known software park here and credited the Tata group for all the initial work. Yahh, you can show a finger to the corruption and still built great industrial businesses in India.

I really really love to explore all kinds of food. I have enjoyed some crazy exotic dishes, such as grasshopper powder (Chapulines), horse and crocodile meat, yucky home-made beer in Kerala, Yak butter tea in Ladakh and eggs of the large ants (Escamoles). After all that exotic food, my number one favourite dish is still home-made traditional Marathi desert called Basundi (based on thickened milk).

This next experience is a little difficult for you to imagine! In the Kalabaland expedition, at one point, my team member Nitin Dhond and myself were the only two members present in one of the camps. Suddenly, snowfall started with a blinding whiteout. Intermittently, one of us had to go out to remove snow from this tiny tent to avoid its collapse. However, the most important challenge was that we had no idea how long this snowstorm would last. Rationing food and fuel (for water) in that cold weather was one of the most stressful and anxious moment in my life!

Incidentally, in that expedition, our team scaled seven peaks, including three peaks that were previously never ascended. Did you know that the International Mountaineering Federation let the climbers designate the names for such virgin peaks that are recognized in all official maps? Our team did name the peaks using the local tradition, language and norms. This was a very proud moment.

At the age of sixty, I had an intense, sudden heart attack with 100% blockage of the main artery (Left Anterior Descending artery called LAD) going to the heart. Apparently, such heart attack with 100% blockage of LAD is called a “widowmaker” heart attack due to patient’s extremely low survival rate. Lord Yama (the Indian God of death) was knocking on the door. But the door never opened. With blessings from my parents, I was neither in pain nor had any worries. I exercise a lot. Why me? I have no blockage due to the plaque build-up. Why me? I do not smoke or drink. Why me? Why me? Surprisingly, none of such “why”s popped up in my mind. I had a blast with nurses and doctors for five days in the ICU. Oh well, who says that we should only have experiences of our choice? Lol.

I was in the Gymnastics team in college. Our coach, Mr Khatri, was from the army and did not hesitate to smack 20-year-old adult students with his shoes. “Learn to enjoy the pain” was his ruthless mantra.

Before I entered the crucial final year in the high school, I scored a pathetic 46/100 in the English language exam. When teacher visits you at home, you know that you are in deep, deep trouble. Our teacher, Ms Chemburkar, came home and told my parents that “your child is in trouble!” In India, knowing English language was (and is) the gateway to higher education and rosy pastures throughout the life.  After the visit from my teacher, my uneducated parents told me something that I will never forget. “You are a responsible student, kiddo! NOBODY else can help you in shaping your future, nobody can!”, the unforgettable ultimate lesson called empowerment! They did introduce me to one Professor named Mr Gadgil, who used to teach English in the SIES college. He started reviewing one essay every day from me for the next 300 days and told me to start “thinking” in English. Even then, after so many years, I feel that my English is sketchy! Oh well!

Emergency declared in India by Ms Indira Gandhi in 1975 was a scary time in my hometown. Many political opponents were jailed. Many families lost their daily income and were devastated. For whatever reason, Ms Gandhi lifted the emergency and declared the elections in 1977. Many intellectuals and writers started campaigning against her autocracy. Some of my friends and I started raising donations in various political gatherings in this oppressive environment without worrying about potential repurcussions. I was later appointed as a polling agent in Mumbra (a small town near my hometown). I was not even an adult and had never seen the election center from inside. This town was perceived to be pro-Gandhi. I was scared. I had no idea what to expect. Voters would come in, stare at me and would quietly proceed to vote. In the afternoon, one old lady showed up. I was scared when she started walking towards me. Can you believe that she handed over to me a small wildflower? What a sigh of relief! With that kind of compassion from the ordinary people, seemingly invincible Ms Gandhi was thrown out of power. I eventually campaigned only once more in 2020 in the USA. I hope that I never have to campaign in my life again!

My father had a weird ailment that he acquired while swimming in some lake in his twenties. Raw, painless flesh would grow on his upper lip, in his throat and in the nasal cavity. As this unsightly red flesh grew, it used to block his breathing tract. My father required a surgery every six months in the government hospital to physically remove this heidious outgrowth. After surgery, until he recuperated, the blood needed to be sucked out of his throat using a vacuum every ten minutes while he was still under the influence of anesthesia. As a small child, I have spent many nights removing the blood. It is a very long story, but one fine morning, some doctor at the Haffkine Institute developed a vaccine for his specific problem, and boom, the problem vanished after unbelievable turmoil of 25 surgeries. Can you believe that even in crowded local trains in Mumbai suburbs, nobody, I mean nobody, would even try to come closer to my dad due to his terrible look?

My father was a blue-collar worker and mother was a primary school teacher. None of them went to college and barely finished school. Income was limited. And then there used to be frequent labor strikes in my father’s manufacturing unit. How would my parents then provide two meals on the table every day? Well, he used to buy in bulk and sell in retail the vegetable oil and tea powder in the neighborhood (probably because these commodities had higher profit margins?). Sometimes, I used to help him out. In my academic life, I did learn some fancy math tools, such as Laplace Transform, Eigenvalues and blah and blah. But survival skills that I learnt from selling basic commodities door to door are simply incomparable to the utility of academic sophistication.

My “less-than-ordinary” parents did some extraordinary work. They established a school in Dombivali (my hometown) that exemplified academic excellence. From my seventh grade until I went to college, the only two rooms in our home used to be chock-a-block filled with zillion students from 8am to 7 pm. The only available space for three kids of these dedicated parents and the grandma was in the 70 sq ft kitchen in this “spacious” 535 sq ft. palace. Naturally, most of my student life was spent on the rooftop of our apartment building. That is where I memorized some amazing patriotic poems, read some “juvenile(!)” books, taught math to my brothers and studied really really hard for my high school final exam. Did I tell you that despite a struggle to provide for us, my parents never took one dime of rent from this school that he and my mom established. That is what “walk-the-talk” role models look like!

I did a beautiful and risky Chaddar trek in the Himalayan Ladakh about 8 years ago, involving walking on the frozen Zanskar river for 10-12 days. It was an absolutely mind-blowing experience with some very tricky challenges. On one occasion, we had to walk through waist-deep torrential Himalayan River for 8-9 minutes. To add to the fun, there was ice at the bottom of the river and a lurking danger of frostbite! We walked sideways holding each other’s hands and screaming “ठंडे ठंडे पानी में” (A well-known Hindi song on cold water showers) while simultaneously praying in desperation in our mind! I was also stuck once in the ice boulders. I could see and hear intimidating rapids deep down in the riverbed. Finally, three people somehow pulled me out while lying flat on the ice to prevent triggering cracks with their body weight. After the trek, it took one entire month to bring back any sensation in my legs. I also had to use a donut shaped medical tire for one whole year to fix my tailbone.

With limited means in my upringing, I could never travel away from home. Finally, me and my friend, Arun cajoled our parents to give us some money to travel to North India for 90 days. Most of the time, we found refuge literally on the railway platforms among other homeless people. Eventually we made friends with some of them, who taught us how to take showers under leaking water pipes between two rail lines. We walked and walked across the cities and ate delicious and cheap street food. We did langar (a service) at the spectacular Sikh Golden Temple in Amritsar and offered chaddar (a traditional muslim practice in India) at the well-known mosque at Ajmer.

Two most memorable days in our lives were when Tejas got admission to the University of Chicago and Aarti was admitted to MIT. It was their hard work, their disciplined efforts and their excellence. But we showed off among our friends as if we ourselves went to these great universities. These kids have blown away our minds in their “out-of-the-box” thinking.

I was a culturally starved moron until I finished college. I never saw a play, never went for a concert, never attended a musical opera and never heard any great orators. It is true that my family did not have any disposable income. But I did not even attend free programs. I personally was involved in organizing Bharatratna Pandit Bhimsen Joshi concert (The finest exponent of North Indian classical music) in my college. But I skipped this program completely. Now, I listen to Sanjiv Abhaynkar and Kaushiki Chakraborty, I watch great Marathi plays and visit art museums with my daughter. That is when I realize how stupid (and moron) I was!

I met some stupefying teachers, gurus and friends in my life. Some pursued their life-long passion for mountaineering, some played professional bridge, brilliant ex-defence minister Parrikar exemplified Mr Clean image in Indian politics, Vasant Limaye became a prolific writer and Raju Bhat became a naturalist farmer. Some are at the forefront of research in Math, some wrote books that created the entire new subjects, and many are celebrity business leaders across the world. I recently found out that one of my teachers was the first disciple of Kishoritai Amonkar (the classical musician, referred to as the Goddess Saraswati herself across India). All these down-to-earth, stunning people are working hard to change the world and have made my life colorful. I sincerely can not thank them enough.

There is absolutely nothing common between me and Anjali. In fact, we are at the diametrically opposite end of virtually every aspect of our likings. I love dense curry; she loves watery curry. She wants cilantro in various recipes, I do not. She eats less and I eat more. She loves to spend money and I do not. I can probably list 500-700 such items. But when it comes to our values and our unflinching commitment to build lasting friendships, we have exactly identical thoughts and actions. No wonder, my parents gave her the power of attorney of whatever meagre assets they had. What can I say? I would love to have her as my wife for the next zillion reincarnations.

Bruhan Maharashtra Mandal is the umbrella organization of all Marathi people in the USA. Few years ago, their biennial convention was organized in Michigan under Anjali’s leadership. I participated in the convention, volunteering for “anything and everything”. For those who are not involved in organizing such community conventions, it is really very very difficult to understand the complexities of organizing myriads of concerts, performing multiple theater shows, offering amazing food and arranging accommodation for 4,000 participants in all age groups within the span of four days. I can probably narrate 500 heart-warming stories from this convention. Getting to spend two whole days with my friend and ex-defence minister of India, Shri Parrikar, was one such totally unforgettable experience!

The zing of starting my own company intoxicated me, just like for any other aspiring entrepreneur. I completely failed in this aspiration. I thought that I was bringing unique skills and tools to the plastics components industry to the newly emerging modern auto designs in India. Well, the mighty Tata group and few other well-established western companies were also bringing superior technologies backed by strong finances. I just could not compete. Eventually, the Tata group approached me and asked, “Why do you want to get involved in this messy business of entrepreneurship? Why don’t you join us?” My intoxication had subsided. I readily joined the Tata group. I think nobody teaches how to deal with failures. It was a tough, humbling and still incredible learning experience for me.

Another of my complete failures was to train myself for the Ironman, the competition involving 4-km swimming in open water, 180-km cycling and 42-km marathon, all to be finished in 17 hours. I lost cartilage in my right knee at the beginning of the training itself. Entire knee was then replaced with the metal knee in one of the most abusive and painful surgeries and rehabilitation.

Another of my crazy aspirations that Anjali tolerated was to return to India after spending 10 years in the USA. We felt that we owe it to my motherland that provided us with top-notch, world-class and ridiculously cheap education ($12 per year tuition fees). But it was Anjali who worked hard for my esoteric passion, settling in India for 11 years and then returning to the USA. Do you know that Anjali travelled and worked in Detroit for every 15 days a month for long five years to provide means for the family? (I suspect that she can write more exciting stories of her life than me!) I become teary eyed just thinking about her efforts at that time!

On behalf of Dandekar Economics Institute, I was appointed at my tender age of 15 to overview the government’s Employment Assurance Scheme in a very very remote, undeveloped region in Wada (in Thane district). Imagine the visual of a mother feeding tree leaves to her small baby to quell baby’s hunger? Imagine its impact on my formative age? No philosophy, no preaching, no creative mindsets, no religious comfort of faith, nothing, nothing at all can replace the desperation called hunger! I am speechless even right now, just remembering that scarred visual.

I worked at General Motors in purchasing for 15 years. Almost always, the suppliers wanted higher profits and we wanted cheaper, high-quality components. I initiated two awesome three-year projects for GM. These complex projects involved zillion teams, required delicate communications and were very risky. I could write 800-page books on each of the projects, probably in my next reincarnation after the expiration of all confidentiality clauses with GM.

A stationary bike falls down instantaneously and a rolling bike travels hundreds of miles. Many natural phenomena, such as black holes, ocean waves and thunderstorms can be explained by the identical mathematical principles. Using the same concepts, I developed a model that could predict multilayer plastic flow and increase quality and production of some plastics products. I got my PhD primarily because of some brilliant work by people in last 100 years. Isn’t it easy to stand tall on others’ shoulders and then I get to “show-off” my PhD?

For all my five years in college, I neither shaved nor trimmed my beard. Most of my friends still call me “Dadhi” (which means beard in most north Indian languages)

We organized a high-altitude trek called Himankan for 200 students. A long beard, crew-cut hair, khaki woolen gown and a pair of flip-flops of two different colors was my attire throughout this program. My daily responsibility was to buy groceries from local shops in a nearby town called Manali. Once, a fellow trekker got down from the bus while I was walking on the main street. He looked at my attire and said, “Dadhi, are you wearing anything inside your gown at all?” I said “no.” He could not believe it and challenged me to prove it. I did prove to him then and there that I do not lie. This trekker was so shocked, that he did traditional Indian salutation of respect where he laid flat on his tummy on my feet right in the middle of this busy road.

I have completed 62 years of my life and my bucket list keeps growing. First thing first! I need to complete the stupendous 2,200-mile long Appalachian Trail spanning 14 states and involving one million feet climbing up and down. I need to learn Spanish and Sanskrit, want to visit north and south poles, do cycling on salt lakes in Bolivia and India, explore scuba diving in Galapagos after learning swimming, complete pilgrimage to the Vitthal temple in Maharashtra, learn history of paintings, see world field hockey championship and so on. Then there are dolomites, great walks of New Zealand and many many treks in the Himalayas. The ride has just begun!!!!!

I recently attended a webinar series in English on Mahabharat by the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute (BORI), Pune, India. Each of its 15 lectures was presented by the PhD scholar in either Sanskrit language, ancient art and literature, archeology or history. BORI lectures focused on the text and the story of Mahabharat, and stayed away from the topics, such as historical evidence and timeline. The whole series was not just a fascinating summary of the Mahabharat story, but also gave me some idea of why this epic captures my imagination.

What the heck is Mahabharat? Mahabharat is an encyclopedic epic poem (with metered pattern called prosody in English) of 80,000+ verses written in India probably 4,000 years ago. This epic is humungous, really, really humongous. Its English literal translation (without any commentary) has 2.25 million words (Shakespeare’s Hamlet has 30,000 words) and is five times longer than Iliad and Odyssey combined. In 1916, BORI started the monumental project to study more than 1,000+ manuscript versions of Mahabharat in multiple scripts from Kashmir to Kerala, and from Iran to Indonesia. When the project was completed in 1972, it had documented variations in all these texts and arrived at the “critical” edition of Mahabharat using various criteria, including the highest common factors.

Well, the story is a straightforward one liner. “Good people killed evil people”. That’s it. Period. It is the same theme that one hears from Bollywood to Hollywood, and from China to Europe to Australia to Bolivia all the time. So, why has this epic captured the imagination of billions of people from the Indian subcontinent? Why did the behemoth network of the entire Indian railway system (1.4 million employees and 23 million passengers every day) come to a standstill to watch this epic in 100,000 railway stations during the telecast of “Mahabharat” TV serial² in 1988? Why is the real and official name of India in its zillion languages is “Bharat”, based on King Bharat from Mahabharat?

In fact, this story is not directly relatable to our lives at all. It has too many curses and boons and too many poetic liberties. There is no humor and no romance. But the story has Potter-like magic, aura, expanse, broad canvas and Shakespearean tragedy. The story is fantastic and fantastical at the same time, with hundreds of sub-stories. They all are intertwined, appear in flashbacks, box within box within box, and get connected only over the entire epic. Dr Deshpande (one of the BORI lecturers) has called the story “jigsaw homogeneity”. It is very very engaging story. Even today after 50-55 years, I still remember listening to these stories from my grandma with a totally zapped brain.

While the story is not relatable, the characters are! They are exactly the way we all are, complex, vulnerable, unpredictable, with flexible and contextual righteousness, and steeped in anger, greed, empathy, compassion, love and friendships all at the same time. In Mahabharat, the evil brothers go to heaven after death and good winners start their journey in hell. One single queen is married to five brothers simultaneously, the father king of 100 evil brothers is blind, there is a character of a transgender king, everybody keeps breaking the rules of the war, and the reincarnation of the God, Lord Krishna himself, takes the human form with all its virtues and vices.

And then there are so many messages and incidents in these characters’ lives. Every day, I find some mundane incident in my life that connects me to Mahabharat. I still remember this following conversation from 2 months ago.

Few close families meet at Mike and Betsy’s home for Thanksgiving Day celebration. It is at least a 30-year-old tradition. All of us look forward to this day for three simple ingredients of our lives – families, food and fun. We chat and chat and chat about extended families, this crazy world, our careers, books, movies, the University of Michigan (UofM) and the impending 125-year-old annual rivalry football game with the Ohio State University (OSU). (For readers from India, the intensity of this game is similar to the intensity of the India-Pakistan cricket match.) This time, Mike gave me some advice. “Nitin, I still scream a lot during the football game. But as I aged, I have learnt not to get upset over a loss (of UofM) to OSU.” Hahaha, Mike does not know but he is following one of the tools described in Gita (a key philosophical dialogue in Mahabharat) to reduce misery. It says “कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन।“ (One has authority, responsibility and duty to do his/her work diligently, but one should not expect any fruits of the work.³) I will not go in details of our “hard” work of screaming, singing, waving pom poms in front of the TV, and not even going to the toilet to upset the outcome of the game. Phew, UofM won the slugfest this year. But we had prepared not to get disappointed. Mike had reminded us of a lesson from the Gita.

I can just go on and on and on with such day-to-day incidents that connect me to Mahabharat.

In fact, both Mahabharat and my life (for that matter, every human life) are nothing but the multivariable nonlinear algebraic systems that keep changing with time. (Sorry for this nerdy math enunciation!) How does one figure out one’s behavior in such a complex system? Variables in my life include families, friends, communities, countries, the universe and surrounding materials. But the most challenging variable is me. Dr Apte in his BORI lecture says, “When knower himself is the object to be known, solving such life problems is an impossible task.” In such situations, how can I define my “Dharma”? (Unfortunately, the English translation of Dharma is religion. But in reality, Dharma has far broader implications and include ways and processes of life, law and order, righteousness, morality, economics, psychology, rules of the society among other things.) Besides, to make this task worse, the human mind loves simple dichotomous systems. We tend to quickly grasp good and evil, zero and one, up and down. Real life “gray” situations quickly become black and white in our biased minds. Consciously and subconsciously, Mahabharat trains you to deal with such a complex life through its stories.

Mahabharat is visionary and transcends time and space. Let me give you one example. One of the most famous statements in Mahabharat is “अहिंसा परमो धर्मः।“ (Non-violence is the ultimate Dharma.⁴) From Mahatma Gandhi to Mandela to Dr Martin Luther King, Jr., all of them have used the concept of non-violence in recent times against most vicious tyrannies. Two entire religions, Buddhism and Jainism, have originated from this principle. Sage Bhishma explains to King Yudhishthir that, “Not even service to God and guests, steadfastness of dharma, study of scriptures, performing rituals, charity, self-control, austerity, service to teachers, holy pilgrimages and all other good deeds can even come close to the virtues of non-violence.” But I never knew WHY non-violence is so important. Sage Bhishma further explains, “Do not do something that you do not want others to do to yourself (self-interest). Besides, human beings’ innate ability to understand others’ pains (Sym-pathy) is its ultimate strength. Finally, all humans desire to be free, especially free from fear.”  Did you know that sitting 4,300 miles away from India in Glasgow and 3,800 years after Mahabharat, Adam Smith (father of modern economics) talks about exactly the same principles – Self-interest, Sympathy and Freedom from Fear as the three pillars of orderly functioning of society? Of course, Adam Smith may have never read Mahabharat or not even heard of virtues of non-violence. Who would have thought that such transcendental possibilities, such profound and visionary concepts in Mahabharat will show up all over the world?

While Dr Apte from BORI was explaining non-violence in his lecture, I remembered my own Zoom call with college mates on my plan to traverse the entire Appalachian Trail in six months. Somebody asked me, “Why do you not carry a gun or a knife or at least a taser with you to protect yourself from bears or snakes?” I told him, “No, I will not carry any such weapons. I do not want to constantly think about bears or snakes, and be scared on the trail.” I had no idea that I was merely repeating what Sage Bhishma had said 4,000 years ago. Did I subconsciously know about this connection of non-violence with freedom from fear? Maybe I vividly remembered the fear-free eyes of freedom fighters in Attenborough’s “Gandhi” in front of brutal British soldiers! Who knows?

Mahabharat discusses many fundamental concepts, such as Truth, Knowledge, Time, Happiness, Oneself and others. It may be funny, but Mahabharat’s transcendental vision even warns us from “merchants of the Dharma who will use it for their livelihood”. With all the partisan havoc being created by these “merchants” of all religions across the world, maybe we all should read Mahabharat one more time.

But the most enduring training that I got from Mahabharat is to ask questions, on everything, in every context all the time. Oh my god, there are so many questions in Mahabharat. And for most questions, there are no answers, no prescriptions, no “moral-of-the-story-is” statement at the end of the story. As soon as one character asks the question, some sage promptly starts a story to answer the question.

There is a reason for such stories after stories with no well-defined answers. Answers are always contextual. Behavior is contextual. Even Dharma is contextual. That is why questions and answers are a never ending saga of our life and of Mahabharat. There is a beautiful 7-min YouTube clip by a celebrated physics teacher and Nobel Laureate Prof Richard Feynman⁵. He explains that his answers to the question, “why?” are always subjective. The answer always depends on the context, the assumptions the student has made, the knowledge the student has. “Why one falls on ice?” Answer to the ordinary person is, “Ice is slippery.” But to an accomplished Physics student, Professor Feynman may answer that, “Water expands as it freezes and makes ice slippery.” Professor may explain further why water expands and other materials shrink when they freeze. Never mind that on the frontier of scientific or any other investigations, there are more questions and more unknowns. Never mind that answers to many whys’ based on physical senses eventually break down (Even this limitation of physical senses is discussed in Mahabharat).

Anyway, let me illustrate the complexities of questions with three stories from Mahabharat.

• River Ganga (English name “Ganges”) takes a female form on earth and marries King Shantanu with the condition that he will never ask her any questions. She drowns seven consecutive babies. Finally, Shantanu stops her when she has the eighth baby, after his advisor challenges him, “Who are you? A king, a lover, a husband or a father? As a king, who gave you authority to not ask questions? Why are you not prosecuting Ganga? Who is Ganga? A killer, a mother, a lover? What is your Dharma? What is Ganga’s Dharma?”

• King Yayati cheated his wife Devayani and had an affair with Sharmishtha. But Devayani’s father, Sage Shukracharya cursed Yayati and Yayati loses his youth. After lots of pleading to Shukracharya, he gets the boon that he can exchange his senility with anybody’s youth. Guess what? Yayati regained his youth by exchanging his senility with his son. His son became the king and Yayati enjoyed his youth. There are so many books on this story in India raising all kinds of questions. One of my favorite books in Marathi on Yayati even received the national award. I think, you can add your own 25 questions here. There are no answers for these questions in Mahabharat. You are on your own!

• I didn’t even know the next story until I heard it in the BORI lecture. An old lady Gautami loses her son to a snake bite. A hunter brings the snake back to Gautami. He says that the snake is guilty and requests Gautami to kill it. But Gautami says, “Will it bring back my son?” Then Mrutyu (death) shows up as a character. Snake says, “Mrutyu is guilty, at least along with me.” Then Kaal (time) appears as a character. Mrutyu says, “It was a time for son’s death. So, Kaal is guilty.” At the end, Kaal says, “The son himself is guilty. He should not have ventured out. It was his fate.” One simple story, a classic case of complexities of jurisprudence, and there is no answer. Who is freaking guilty? I suspect that the answer is “It depends.”

In 2010, we were dropping our son off to the University of Chicago. As parents, we were awed by the legacy of professors from Milton Friedman to Chandrashekhar to Raghuram Rajan to Obama. We were impressed by the long list of Nobel Prize winners, the beautiful campus and the general aura of academic excellence. We all assembled in the Rockefeller Memorial Chapel to hear the wisdom from the faculty, before saying goodbye to our son. Faculty gave us a jolt right at the outset of the lecture. He said, “Parents, I have bad news for you. We do not teach anything in the University of Chicago. Students will only learn to ask questions.”

I am happy that my parents did not have to pay the tuition for this training “to ask questions”. I got that training free of cost from Mahabharat itself.

I sense it every day! Mahabharat is my 4,000-year-old past that has prolonged itself to the present⁶.

Nitin Anturkar

1. Huge credit to BORI lecturers for their in-depth wisdom, amazing analysis and scholarly articulation. Thanks to my friend, Subodh Ghonge, for referring me to BORI webinar series.
2. “Mahabharat” TV serial: screenplay by Dr Rahi Masum Raza, produced by B R Chopra. 135 episodes (71 hours) were telecasted on Doordarshan TV channel in 1988-90. The TV serial is available on YouTube.
3. Gita is a 700-verse core philosophical discussion between Lord Krishna and the great warrior Arjun at the beginning of the great war in Bhishma Parva (Parva means a chapter or a book).
4. Non-violence is discussed in detail in Anushasan Parva after the war.
5. Richard Feynman explains the subjectivity of the question “Why?” in following YouTube clip. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36GT2zI8lVA
6. I borrowed this statement from Dr Sukhtankar, founder of the project of “Critical” edition of Mahabharat in BORI
7. Mahabharat painting here was presented in BORI lecture by Dr Bapat and is displayed in Aundh Museum. Many such paintings were sponsored by Panta Pratinidhi of Aundh Sansthan, who was also the primary initial sponsor of the project of critical edition of Mahabharat in 1916.

(This Eulogy was written by me 14 hours after my father passed away on November 28, 2016. To keep all thoughts as they were felt at that time, I have not modified or added any new content in this write-up from the original post on the Facebook)

Our father passed away yesterday evening at Vivek’s (my brother) place in New Zealand. Me, Anjali, Tejas and Aarti are on route to New Zealand. After the initial outburst of emotions yesterday, now I am settling down in celebrating his life! Many of you know him personally. Please forgive me for informing you on the Facebook, email and WhatsApp, instead of calling you individually.

Those who have met him, have felt his positive energy, zest for life and ability to connect with all generations. Humor was an integral part of his life. He was a great father, father-in-law, grandfather and a human being.

But those who know him from his younger age will recognize that he was a brilliant example of how an ordinary person can do extraordinary things in the most challenging situations. He was in fact, far less than an ordinary human being. He barely finished high school and went to college. He did not know English well, was a blue-collared tool-and-die maker throughout his life and was never a so-called “cultured” personality. But how many of us can start learning a new language (English) at the age of 75? How many of us can embrace new technology (computers) at the age of 80? At Aarti’s graduation, he proclaimed that he will be a professor at MIT one day, obviously in future reincarnations. After today, I really need to start keeping an eye on new professor recruitments at MIT.

At around the age of 25, he developed a “neutral” growth in his nose and on his upper lip. That growth was required to be removed physically every 6-12 months. It was an ordeal that lasted for 15-20 years. Every time such surgery required blood transfusion, every time it took a physical toll on him and every time it was a loss of family income as he was a daily-wage earner. Through that ordeal, he eventually developed Tuberculosis, which required his stay in the hospital for months and months. But more importantly, except for family and friends, he was a social outcast due to the horrifying look of that weird red blob protruding out of his nostril. Imagine that nobody, I mean nobody, would dare to come closer to him even in a crowded local train. We all barely survived those days, except for his humor and my parents’ positive energy. He used to call himself “human with a trunk” (सोंड असलेला माणूस)

“Humor” and “Positive Energy” take whole new meaning when one reads above experiences. Isn’t it?

This was the circumstance in which his extraordinary work began. My parents started a school, called Swami Vivekanand School in Dombivali. Both personally made sure that the school remained “par excellence”. Eventually, the school became so popular that there used to be a loooong que for two days (no kidding!) for admission in this school. Ministers from the Government of Maharashtra cabinet have come to our home requesting admission for their fans/acquaintances/political associates. The desperation to get admission in this school reached to the point where many people had offered all kinds of money and some had even pulled a knife in our living room in front of my grandmother to threaten my father. He never succumbed to such situations, despite our dire financial circumstances.

We are just lucky, really lucky to have him as our father and grandfather.

Nitin Anturkar (28 November 2016)

(all names are fictitious)

This 4^th year first semester Chemical Engineering (ChemE) process lab was a drab. Absolutely boring, useless, and hopeless crap! We were supposed to make nitrobenzene from benzene, purify water, evaluate efficiency of fractional distillation, and do similar useless lab experiments that nobody cared about. Some enterprising folks from our batch tried to convince the department to include in the curriculum an experiment of distillation of ethyl alcohol from water. But when that idea was shot down (despite potential opportunity to learn superior ChemE processes), everybody lost interest in this lab. Besides, this lab was in the afternoon, the time when all hostelers are supposed to catch up with sleep, so that one could play bridge the entire night, or chase girls at Y-point, or simply drink alcohol and submerge oneself into Ghalib’s shayari at midnight. 

But then SM made nitrobenzene one afternoon and turned this hopeless, boring, useless lab into a scary, funny, “holy shit”, “WTF” lab in approximately 0.4 seconds. 

Story began that morning. Professor HS Mani started handing over the second test paper of CHE401 Reaction Engineering course back to students. In the first test, SM had received only 6 marks out of 20, well below average. SM tried to get an additional couple of marks. He complained that his pen slipped and wrote a wrong answer. Yes, SM did use such ridiculous excuses! Such ultra-creative, unbelievable reasoning had worked in the past for him. But Prof Mani did not oblige. Then SM tried some nonsense, emotional blackmail with teary eyes. That did not work either. Now today SM was concerned, anxious and worried about the second test. He had come prepared to negotiate better marks. He even wore his best polyester pants and shirt in the class. When SM approached Prof Mani’s table to collect the exam paper, Mani looked at SM through his thick lenses, and said in his Australian-cum-Tamil-cum-Bombayite accent, “Very good”. SM got 14 marks when the average was only 8.1. SM was confused, surprised and enthralled, all at the same time. He had no idea what to do. His preparations for negotiations were completely wasted. All SM could attempt was a nice flick to his neck and threw his hair back, exactly what Karsan Ghavari would do at the start of his long run-up as a bowler of Indian cricket team. SM came back to his seat, as if he were floating in thin air.

SM was on the sixth cloud when he landed in Hostel 5 for lunch. Hungry and elated, he completely ignored the taste of the freshly cut grass from the famous “Karkare garden” in Dal-Methi. He enjoyed powdery, sandy, overcooked cross-linked polymer, popularly known as “cement roti” in the hostel. He even commented to nearby folks that baking soda really adds great texture to the rice. SM ate and ate and ate to his heart’s content. 

Although SM was a dedicated Chemical Engineer, he knew one or two things about biology. When one eats or “drinks” a lot, one goes to sleep. SM was obligated to follow biological principles. This 160-pound, 5 ft 10-inch, contented homo-sapien entered room number 159 and crashed on the bed in his polyester outfit, as if he had just landed in heaven. Spread on his tummy like Kumbhakarna, he dreamt of himself getting A grade in Mani’s CHE401 course, Ghavari getting 9 wickets in a Cricket test match, Professor Varma greeting him in the department lobby, four girls in tight jean pants dancing with him in Mood Indigo, and SM himself blocking Vora’s smashing hit in the inter-wing volleyball match. 

He suddenly woke up among these amazing dreams! Iyengar was screaming from next door: “अबे SM, दो बज  गया! लॅब को जाने का नहीं क्या?” SM’s blood was still swirling around his stomach trying to digest eleven cement rotis that he had consumed just one hour ago. His blood-starved brain did not register Iyengar’s screaming and he closed his half-opened eyes again. Iyengar now started banging SD’s door. SM woke up again, and realized that unfortunately, he is still part of the planet earth, somehow stuck in this harsh Kalyug, and he needs to rush to the ChemE Process Lab. 

He grabbed his bag, stumbled out of the room, and started his long staggering, dazed walk towards the ChemE Lab. 

SM entered the room with disheveled hair, crumpled but colorful polyester clothing, usual red color chappals and a dazed look. Chhota Raman was explaining the experiment. Chhota Raman was called chhota (small), because he was chhota compared not only to Bada (big) Raman but compared to almost everybody else in the ChemE department. Chhota Raman looked at SM with disgust and informed him that students can not arrive late in the class. Then he continued his instructions: “In the mixture, start adding benzene very slowly, not allowing temperature to rise beyond 60C. Once you finish adding benzene, remove sulfuric acid from the bottom of the flask. Wash resulting nitrobenzene with distilled water to improve the yield. Later, use a distillation column to separate water, and extract pure nitrobenzene. I need to know how you estimated the yield.”

SM whispered in Bewada Rana’s ears. “Bewada, which mixture?” Rana replied, “Sulfuric acid and Nitric acid”. SM was still confused with a few very basic questions. “Why Sulfuric acid?”, “How do I mix it?” But there was not enough time. Everybody was very eager to get out of this stupid lab. SM took 30 ml of nitric acid and added some sulfuric acid in a round bottom flask. He was always taught to stir the mixture to make it homogenous. He found a glass stick on the countertop next to him and started stirring. He heard the cracking sound of the glass from the flask. He peeped inside. The stirrer was broken. And within a second, it daunted upon him that he is staring at the thermometer in his hand, and not a stirrer. All the shiny globules of mercury were also staring back at SM from the bottom of the flask. 

SM immediately looked at Chhota Raman. He was busy helping Alka, telling her, “Keep adding benzene, but do it slowly, Oooook!” SM was still sleepy. He knew that somebody would eventually help him to create some fictitious calculations at the end. So, he shrugged and started adding benzene in the flask. Slowly this yellowish liquid mixture started boiling. He asked Bewada, “इसको थंडा कैसे करने का?” By the time his question was uttered, BOOM! The whole mixture exploded with a big bang. The hot liquid splashed in the lab, Debris flew all over and everybody screamed and ducked. Chhota Raman’s thick eyeglasses fell on the ground, a couple of guys started running to the door, and Bewada saw that the broken flask was somehow sticking to the roof. He shouted,” Hey, watch out!!!” In a weird way, everybody was mesmerized and started looking up. SM also started looking up. 

Flask came crashing down between Bewada and SM. Both made a weird quack-like sound and jumped like a frog. Everybody was now looking at scattered pieces of the glass flask. And this is the first time, the whole lab noticed that SM IS ON FIRE. SM was on fire. SM was on fire. SM was really on fire. Even Chhota Raman without eyeglasses saw it. Commotion ensued and only then it reckoned upon SM that SM IS ON FIRE. SM observed himself as if he is some third, separate person. Few guys started looking for water. Somebody shouted, “Watch out! Do not throw sulfuric acid on SM instead of water!” Meanwhile, SM frantically started removing shirt buttons, somebody ran to the next room to fetch some water from the bathroom sink. 

Did this explosion happen because of formation of secondary and tertiary nitrobenzene at high temperature? Who knows? Even Chhota Raman did not have the answer. 

When eventually SM’s shirt and banyan were removed, SM realized the burning sensation on his left thigh. He looked at his pants. There was a big hole to the pants and probably acid must have penetrated to his skin. SM screamed, “Oh shit!” Bewada came running and helped him to remove his pants. Burning sensation was intense. Somebody screamed, “Bring first aid box! There may be Burnol in the box.” Meanwhile, water was brought in and people started throwing it on SM’s feet. 

Imagine this historic visual! In the best engineering institute of India, established by the Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru himself in 1960, in the middle of the most prominent Chemical Engineering Department, SM aka Karasan Ghavari is sitting on a stool just on the underwear. For the first time in the history of Indian Academics, student’s pants are willingly removed in full display of the public.  Some colleagues are sprinkling water on this student, as if Lord Shiva’s Maha-Abhishek is being conducted. Lord Shiva himself looks totally dazed, not knowing if there is any additional Ganga going to come crashing down from the roof on his head. 

As commotion settled down, Chhota Raman suddenly remembered that SD would need clothes. He asked, “Is there anybody who stays in SM’s hostel? Can you get his clothes quickly?” Nanya volunteered. He took SM’s room keys and ran out to fetch some vehicle to go quickly to Hostel 5. He found one freshie going back to the hostel on one-sitter scooty. Nanya gave him keys and told him to get SM’s clothes quickly from his room. Freshie said, “Are yaar, why are you troubling me?” Nanya told him, “Hey, this is freaking very serious matter. SM was really on fire. I will tell you the story later.” Puzzled freshie ran away to the hostel. 

Meanwhile, Professor Ram entered the room and asked, “What is going on there?” In reality, there was nothing going on “there”. Topless SM on underwear was happening right “here”, 7 feet from Professor Ram. But Prof Ram was called “Ram There” for a reason. He would use the word “there” in a random manner all the time. For example, he would say, “There are many interesting organic compounds there, such as benzene there, methane there, propylene there and so on there”. Chhota Raman still could not resist and said, “Not “there” sir, right here in front of you, sir.” SM was dazed, embarrassed, scared and was losing patience, especially in front of the only woman student in this lab. He was also getting angry, a totally unfamiliar emotion for SM. He said to Prof Ram, “I was feeling hot. So, I removed all my clothes.” Prof Ram was a gullible but an experienced teacher. In his IIT career, he had seen Gali (cursing) fights in Hostel 5, students copying in exam from Perry’s 1,375-page Chemical Engineering Handbook, and even had eaten cement roti with Dal-Methi in Hostel 5 as a warden. But this sight of SM was something in a different league. He did not know whether to believe SM there or look around for the mess in the lab there, or just ignore and leave the place there.  

Meanwhile, Freshie Kumar just landed in Hostel 5. As he opened SM’s room, Iyengar from next door asked, “SM, तू जल्दी आ गया!” Kumar replied, “This is not SM. I am here to take SM’s clothes”. Iyengar screamed, “WHAT?” Kumar said quietly, “SM was on fire!” Iyengar screamed again “WHAT?”. Kumar repeated, “Nanekar told me that SM was on fire.” In this story, until now, I have requested you to imagine the visual of topless SM on underwear in the most prominent lab in the country and Professor Ram There’s face when SM told him that he removed clothes because he was feeling hot. But I cannot request you to even imagine Iyengar’s face when he heard that SM was on fire. All the best to you and your imagination!

Fast forward by three decades. One day in 2013, SM suddenly saw one vaguely familiar face in his subdivision in Boston while he was walking on the sidewalk. That person exclaimed, “SM!”. SM exclaimed, “Raman!” When they hugged each other, they quivered in memory of the past interactions. Nobody had to utter a word about the benzene explosion. Some things are best left unspoken! 

Nitin Anturkar

(On the occasion of 50^th Inter-IIT Sports Meet in IIT Bombay)

I was extremely anxious. This return journey on Chaddar trek (walking on the frozen Zanskar River in Ladakh) had turned into a huge challenge. At one point on a long icy treacherous patch, despite all precautions, I finally had a spectacular Charlie Chaplin style fall. My legs slipped, for a fraction of a second, I noticed that my entire body was 3-4 ft up in the air, and then I came crashing down. But within five minutes, I was back on my feet limping along in pain, cracking jokes and taking photos. At the camp that evening, one fellow trekker asked me, “How the hell do you manage this pain, man?” I told him, “There is a simple one-word answer: Khatri-sir.” 

Khatri sir…. barely five foot, stocky guy. Baldy, clean-shaven Gurkha face. Classic army person, rough and tough, chain smoker, one who would not tolerate any jokes and would never smile. Almost always, he would wear a brown T-shirt and grey pants, as if these clothes were part of his stocky body itself. Yes, he was our Gymnastics coach. Apparently Gymnastics no longer features in Inter-IIT meets. But in the seventies and early eighties, Gymnastics accounted for seven gold medals and was a crucial event for winning the coveted overall sports trophy. 

I was a freshie when I saw Khatri sir for the first time. I was wandering around the gymkhana, and heard someone screaming, “Thirty more seconds… Thirty.., Twenty nine…” Five pathetic souls were lying flat on their backs and were trying desperately to hold their legs at a 60 degree angle clenching their hands with quivering bodies. Khatri sir was also clenching…. his chappal in his hand, and was ready to hit anybody who failed to hold their position. I wondered, “What the hell is going on? What kind of suckers would want to endure this torture?” When the Gymnastics session ended, I happened to chat with Khatri sir. He told me in his crude Hindi, “One day, you will become a big sahib in your life. You will encounter lots of stress and pain. At that time, you will remember Gymnastics and me. You will learn to enjoy pain” Wow! What a philosophy!

Guess what? The next day, people saw one new guy trying to hold his position clenching his hands and getting hit by Khatri sir’s chappal. A new sucker had joined Khatri’s team. 

His methods of fixing our injuries and health problems were also crude, ruthless and consistent with his philosophy of training students to “Enjoy the life while in pain”. We were preparing for the Inter-IIT meet in Delhi in 1979 (I think!). Sudhir was a sure shot gold medal winner for the horizontal bar with his fancy grand circles. But ten days before the competition in the sports camp, he developed a huge blister on his palm. He was in pain and could not bear to perform grand circles any more. One fine morning, before anybody could realize, Khatri sir ignited some newspaper (with his cigarette lighter, of course) in his bare hands and pressed the burning wad hard into Sudhir’s palm. Holy cow!! Sudhir screamed, we were in shock, we could not believe our eyes. And Khatri sir in his calm voice said, “Everything will be fine.” Yes, the blister did open, Sudhir was rushed to the hospital, they did dress up his wounds with bandages, and in the end, Sudhir actually ended up performing grand circles on a horizontal bar while in freaking pain. 

In another sports camp, many other coaches (Hockey, Football, Basketball etc.) had to go to the city for some conference. Early in the morning at 7 am, they handed over their boys to Khatri sir and said, “Khatri Saab, can you please get the boys to do some warm-up? After that, they will go and practice their own games.” Neither the coaches nor their students were aware of what they were getting into. Khatri sir’s standard warm-up used to be so intense! 800 m sprint, tens of two-hand and one-hand push-ups (yes, one-hand push-ups are possible when Khatri sir is standing next to you with a chappal in his hand), hundred sit-ups, going up and down on MB (main building) staircases… all of these in just 45 min while Khatri sir is screaming at the top of his voice. It was inevitable that after this “Khatri warm-up”, one could barely stand on his own legs. Obviously, instead of “practicing their own games”, all these teams staggered back to their own hostel rooms to rest. 

So, that was Khatri sir… a terrorizing coach, and his blood-curdling, horrific incidents! Over time, however, one could start to understand another, more compassionate side of his character. We all were somewhat awkward, physically little too matured individuals for Gymnastics, who had suddenly discovered our love for this sport, maybe a dozen years too late. Even learning the simplest exercises was a struggle. But even as a 60 year old, Khatri sir provided firm physical and mental support to ensure that we are not injured during training. Imagine leaping backward during a backflip or a back somersault with a real danger of landing on your head or your neck with a potential body-crippling injury. But over time, we developed complete faith in Khatri sir to protect us, sometimes risking himself in the process. Even now in our fifties, when Suhas can still do a backflip, Sanjiv can do a press handstand, I can harden my tummy to withstand hard hitting punches from my teenage kids, or even when we reach our professional meetings on time, we remember Khatri sir!

Despite his tough demeanor, he definitely tolerated pranks by some of us, especially Milind. Occasionally, Milind would disappear in the middle of Gymnastics session. Sometimes, we used to disappear with him as well. Some of our craziest surreal experiences in IIT happened along with Milind during such disappearances. 

For example, how many IITans have experienced catching fish in overturned umbrellas? Or how many of you have actually caught, cooked and eaten multiple animals in one meal? During the first monsoon showers, fish would start moving upstream from Powai lake through the drainage canals near Hostel 8. This canal flowed under the road through a culvert. Fish would have to leap up into the culvert just to continue their upstream journey. Under Milind’s leadership and innovation, many of those ambitious fish landed up in cleverly positioned overturned umbrellas and later on our dinner plates. How can this innovation be any less profound than Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle that we were learning in PH301 during the same summer? Incidentally, during that same summer, we caught, cooked and ate crabs and frogs as well! (But that is another profound and long story!!)

Well, unfortunately gone are those days! And gone is Khatri sir! Couple of years after our graduation, we heard that Khatri sir was sick with rapidly progressing throat cancer. We all went to meet Khatri sir at his home on the IIT campus. His eyes were weak. He had lost his voice, lost his fight. He could barely lift his hand. His forced smile filled us with sadness. His stocky body frame was gone, crude Hindi was gone, this constant fixture of Khatri sir in our lives was fading away. We were not used to seeing Khatri sir in this manner! He was trying to write on the nearby crumpled paper, “Stay well!” And we, a bunch of twenty year old kids, were facing teary emotions that we were not familiar with. 

Sir, after thirty years, we are staying well, enjoying the pains of our lives, occasionally remembering you, remembering those days…! As Milind says, “बंदर बुढ्ढा भी हो गया तो भी गुलाटी मारना नहीं भुलता।” (However old a monkey is, he doesn’t forget his tricks!)

• Written by Nitin Anturkar (ChE’82, H5) (July, 2014)
• Stories by Sudhir Bapat (EE’81, H4), Milind Gokhale (CE’81, H7), Nitin Anturkar (ChE’82, H5), Makarand Karkare (MET’82, H6), Sanjiv Kshirsagar (ME’83, H4) and Ajay Prasad (ME’83, H3)
• Reference: “The day I caught fish in IIT”, Makarand Karkare, Fundamatics, Q1, 2013