All in the name

What’s there in the name?

As per the traditions, some typical jobs, works, posts, and such would end up as the surnames along the generations. It’s a ubiquitously prevalent practice all over time and space. Now I have been mesmerized by two names, rather what has happened around them.

Kempu means red color in kannada. When used in names, to ease its contiguous pronunciation and conjunction with other parts, it would turn to kempe or kempa as in kempa-amma or kempe-rAya etc.

wruddi means development.

wrudda means developed or one with attainments and accomplishments.

grAma wrudda means some one who is well developed (rich) and prominent in the whole village.

During its etymological metamorphosis it turned out to be gAvuda and now gowda.

The most prominent with that name in the recent history, is Shree Kempe Gowda maharaja, the leader who is credited to have built the town, which eventually developed into today’s
Bangalore.

70kms away, the name that was making rounds during those days in my school and our dinner-conversations was that of an exclusive shop, full of toys and dresses for kids. It never made any sense to me who spent quarter century waiting for those parcels of old discarded cloths from the affluent
Mysore relatives. But it’s name was interesting. It was named Kids Kemp.

Located in the road named after the king, the second part is derived from his name. It was a Kid’s shop on KempeGowda road, hence Kids Kemp.

More than a decade later, that shop opened a bigger branch on Airport road. But the name was Big kids Kemp. This was a very important step in proliferating the word Kemp out of Kempe Gowda road. It had started to signify, more of less, a niche shop. It had assumed a meaning of its own.

Recently I saw a make shift saari shop named Sri Lakshmi Saari Kemp, and another make shift niche shop selling 15 types of Dosas named Ganesh Dosa Kemp. The evolution was complete. Only entry into Webster’s is pending now!

All this happened in front of my own eyes, in a matter of two decades. Is this called Globalization?

The second case is more involved.

It is a tradition that has some living and many not so, examples.

In the earlier days, I mean before three thousand years or so, it was of great importance to maintain the fire, for its many utilities in the house. So, each day the men of the house, would take care of keeping a fire burning at some designated place non-stop. This ritual was called agni kArya, and those who did it religiously were called agnihOthri. This has even come down to present times in some families I know.

[Many of those families talk only in Sanskrit in their homes, making it difficult to discern the nuances of our reception. One day, when I visited one such family, their 3 year old kid was incessantly plucking my pen from my pocket, to play with it. I was in a fix; could not even reprimand the kid nor allow it to play with my pen, which could get damaged in its hands. Then intervening,  its mother shouted “nA Karomi vatsA” , interestingly that naughty kid understood and went off, to play with his own toys.This brought to my mind a story by Gorur. In that story, during a ShrAddA in a similar Sanskrit speaking family, a kid was playing with a ball, which went into the ritual area. The head of the family became angry and wanted to shout in kannada MumDe ganDa , but had he uttered any non Sanskrit word his vow would be broken and he had to take bath and do other purifying rituals to cleanse him back from the loss of vAkShuddi. Then he shouts vidhavA pathi!!]

But that is fine if the name indicates their acts. Else too, if they take a liking to those acts once done by their fore fathers, ok, “to each his own.”

Don’t raise eyebrows about Rathi Agnihothri’s Cabarets!!

But there was a YagnyA, performed during Vedic times, and the most recent record of it I heard of, was in late 1800s. In that a very healthy, fully adult cow would be sacrificed. Since those rituals are very rare, for any one who accomplished them, following all their intricately specified rules and regulations, usually a title would be given to him bearing the name of that YagnyA. Since such accomplishments are rare it is a norm to carry such a title for generations too. Now there is a great cry to stop the cow slaughter by many people and there are congregations and movements in that accord. Even a political party with that as one of its manifesto came to power at the centre and established their leader as the prime minister of
India.

The name of that YagnyA is VAjapEyA and one who does it is given the title VAjapEyi.

!!!

shAnthi shAnthi shAnthi-hi!!!

We Wake

The midsummer night's dreams are becoming 

too indulging that they  stretch in time

 all day.The reality seems one of the 

options for mind, where  as to not to loose 

myself from its option I need to bootstrap our

  status quite cohesively albeit with some morbid 

disentanglement from the  long acquainted way

 ward traits. The whole thing culminates in the day's

  cliffs and troughs , getting assimilated by 

evening of the evening into  the dark night which 

leaves me to me, to gaze at the past rage,enrage

  and the garbage since dawn.The whining pathos some 

times pull me to the  edges of the known world into

 uninhabited spaces.On one such occasion  I bought 

a weekly which sells at the shop, only 3 copies a week 

 compared to the popular one which does 25. While

 going through that diverged  progeny of its parent

 weekly, I saw a book being serialized in it.It is  

a scathing take on the first epic of our civilization.

 The fact that I  would have undone all the 

civility by that time of the day, does not  

make it an anomaly to look being its reader.

Though it does not interest me  much,I 

flick to the next page. But I cant bury my 

reminiscences  unvoiced, of that book ,  

he had got me to read two decades ago.

The voices of  the past haunt , with its

 image mollifying my fragile serenity. 

The  weekly is Lankesh by Gauri Lankesh and

 the book is Seethayana by  Dr.Polanki Rama Murthy.

   In the dark chambers of the night, as the 

world seems going apart, I  clutch to that 

singularity called hope. The integrity that 

I impart to  it, draining my vitality transcends

 my relevance beyond now.Along with  time.Only

 to discover many new "now"s. Which just toss

 me to the next.The  monotony of this truely 

has reached the nadir now.  The only escape 

from this now is the now of a different kind.

 A fully  actual one, with all virtues and 

the real one. A self contained cocoon  which

 spawns all my restlessness around it like 

the thread which webs  insulating me from 

the chaos in and  around.  During the 

transitive aberrations like these , an 

"interpreter of  maladies" due to the 

"inheritance of loss" it makes.

Then my vanishing  persona wakes.

 yes true.

We wake. 

It happens

Some days ago there was a series of 

non-events that got to the extreme to  

leave me frustrated.I was going through 

the reactionary work of D.R .Nagaraj,

 Allama Prabhu Matthu Shaiva prathibe,

 which had such a tone of 

criticism of the prevalent nationalised 

view of  Indian Philosophy, 

of Das Guptha,that 

 it really popped up many  interesting 

points regarding the issues

 of translation and the vernacular's

 socio-anthropological so 

called singularities. In a very deep 

sense I  was really going through a

 very piece of reactionary literary 

 scholastic work..As the going got tough,

 as my correspondence works met 

a dead end during week-end, I decided 

to go to the canteen and sip 

tea with "colorful" 

view around and finish  this book,

 which I had prioritised to be

 before I go ahead with my mail

 works.Then as usual there were many 

attractive girls, some with boys

  many without!, being themselves, 

chatting and in abandon. I wonder 

are these girls more beautiful

 then those of the previous  generation

 or that these get them selves

 suitable haircuts and dress to 

 maximise the impact, rather than the 

monotonously dressed and monotonously 

 done hair of the previous generation? 

after all how can I say! The  impact

 being a serious function of the 

readiness of my self to get impacted ,

 makes an objective assessment impossible.

 So, any way I just bask in  the 

thrill of the moment that my circumstances allow me to.

 And there was this group of 5 girls

 sitting around diagonally facing me,

 two tables away, making  huge noice.

I was thinking how destituted 

the rigour of my work  

is making me, by placing a demand on my 

time so tight, that I am surely 

 without any concession, to be devouted to

 this lone cause while life  with 

so much of "these" around me, 

gets un touched and unfelt. In a 

vague flight of delussion I was 

thinking how would it be if I  would 

go and and talk to them, and 

have some fun? Allas there was no 

reason for me to relate to them or identify

 with them which made this fantasy  an

 impossibly abberated reality.

Hence I turned the page to delve into 

 the objection Nagaraj finds in the

 ideological ways of Allama with the 

 anthropological diversions of the 

Veerashaiva Movement and how he  

compromises his epistemological stands. 

Then I survived that hard core analysis

 and entered the section where he 

addresses the objection of Allama about

 the Tatvamasi  of  Adishandkaracharya. 

Then I suddenly heard Hello, 

I look up and the girl from that

 group whose morphology had achieved

 the maximum share of my attention 

span is infront of me! I said yes!

 but with an annoyed 

face as if to make it clear that 

I was  being disturbed from my study.

She asked "Do I know you?" I Dont 

know, pat came the reply. Then she said

 "I mean I thought I had seen 

you some where." I said "may be!" 

Well, at this level, since I did not

have any genuine desire or affinity

for an aquaintance this really annoyed.

I looked annoyed too. Then she asked

 where am I from, I told about 

my college and my stint  at the 

company and the Institute. The girl 

appologised and went off.

 I was since at a very interesting 

stage of the book reverted back with

  no momentum loss, from this what

 could have been a sweet diversion.

 I went back and finished the book.

Meanwhile I finished two more cups 

of tea. While that girl again was crossing me,

 I just asked her had she been  to 

Institute for some reason, 

as there is a chance that she

 might have seen  me there? 

She bluntly said ,

"Look We were playing a game called 

'who dares?' ".

 In that we have to do some

 thing daring. I was asked to 

come and ask about your 

details which I did. Apart from that

 it was nothing else. 

"I have never seen you and sorry for 

your inconvenience". 

uff As Always !!! Why me? Well,

 I did not even have the 

next page of the philosophical 

text to revert back. I just 

had to tell myself... 

It happens Dude!! It happens!!!

   Moral of the story:- There is some 

thing about my exterior, atleast,  

which makes girls need "daring" 

to approach me! Its time I correct

 it  completely and become inviting...

 I dont have much time 

... Soon I shall be swept off my feet,

 by my other half...

 I am getting ready  mate!!!