CHAPTER 5 Conquer new Frontiers - From the Book A Story of Faith and Miracles

CHAPTER 5 Conquer new Frontiers I had to seize fresh avenues as I entered class 11, with opportunity and hope and the unflinching faith of my parents and a burning desire to fulfil my passions – watch plenty of theatre, write plays, act, and direct dramas, learn music, participate in public speaking and watching avant garde movies. Strangely I was a very shy person, perhaps with more qualities of being an ambivert and was never an extrovert. And as I read Mahatma’s autobiography, I discovered he too was a very diffident individual yet he pioneered India’s freedom struggle through the strategies of non-violence and civil disobedience. Thus, I was inspired by the autobiography in search of my solutions to fight the warring demons and tormentors in my mind. Showtime at Purana Quila Girish Karnad was all of 26 when he wrote Tughlaq. As novelist late U.R. Ananthamurthy wrote in the preface to the OUP publication of the play, perhaps no other play reflects, the political mood of disillusionment which followed the Nehru era of idealism” in India in the 1960s. The Pathaks, their nephew Panduranga Hegde (recently arrived from Dharwad to pursue Masters in Social Work from Delhi University) and our family were stunned to the core at the majestic ramparts of Purana Quila once the curtains were drawn on Girish Karnad’s script, directed by the noted director, Ibrahim Alkazi and performed by National School of Drama Repertory Company. Our families were soaking-in the imaginative performance long after it was over and we were relishing a meal at the acclaimed Kwality restaurant in Connaught Circus. The play fired my imagination and I was keen to dabble in amateur theatre. Over the last couple of years, I did begin to produce plays at our doctor’s quarters complex along with other youngsters much to the chagrin and consternation of Bumboo and some others. Class 11 was a different ball game. But unexpectedly I was performing reasonably well in the Commerce stream, though mathematics and accounts were still bothersome. Like several others, I secretly admired figures but once again like most of them was horrified by numbers. Two sections E and D separated me and Bumboo in Class 11. I was in section E, while he was in section D. Bumboo could not follow the footsteps of his father and older sister to pursue sciences and emerge as a doctor. Securing mere 62% in the board examinations in class 10 examination did not fetch him a seat in the Science stream. He thus had to settle with the lesser mortals and the hoi polloi like us to be in the Commerce stream. While this did not mean a thing to the rest of us, the Chandana’s felt it was quite a climbdown for them. A petite English teacher was to become a new entrant to the faculty. Apparently, she had relocated from the USA where she had been teaching. This teacher instantly became the heartthrob of most of us and the more vocal among us unabashedly declared our affection and love for her. But things came crashing and we were all put to shame when we were confronted by a strapping youngster who confronted us stating that the woman in question was his mother. Hopes of students crashed, not quite a Summer of ‘42 rather a harsh summer of ‘78. Finally, my mother’s faith seemed to bear fruit with my performance in Class 10 and the midterm performance of Class 11, so much so I topped the class despite a not too brilliant performance in mathematics and accountancy. My father, seeing my performance gathered enough pluck to attend parent-teacher meetings with my improved academic performance. All these years it was my mother who with her faith in the divine had faced the brunt. The English teacher found reasonable spark in my performance and advised my father that I ought to read plays, biographies and autobiographies to improve my vocabulary. I had already read Mahatma Gandhi’s autobiography and she was suitably impressed and asked me to reread it apart from others. My father pulled out books like Discovery of India by Jawahar Lal Nehru, Is Paris Burning, books by Somerset Maugham and my mother was to give me a copy of the Autobiography of a Yogi by Parahamsa Yogananda, apart from Ramayana and Mahabharata by C. Rajagoplachari. The choice of books said it all where the heart lay and what was the deeper meaning of faith, miracles, and logic. Another sagacious advice the English teacher gave was to learn new English words and quotations of eminent people. This gladdened my father’s heart. And so, I began this practice. Very soon I was performing on stage and surprised my classmates and several in school to win the best new face award for my performance in a Hindi play. I was able to overcome stage fright and grab the opportunities which came my way. The biggest break for me materialized when I successfully qualified after an audition for the music-theatre workshop to be conducted by Barry John and Param Vir. Kidstuf, the magnum opus of the school was also co-produced by Max Mueller Bhavan. I was to take part in this production, a matter which confounded Bumboo and other detractors no end. Politics and spirituality are two subjects which have always fascinated my mind. And I always had my tryst with spirituality and politics at a tender age. Machiavelli the author of Prince proposed that immoral behaviour, such as the use of deceit and the murder of innocents, was normal and effective in politics. While spirituality involves the recognition of a feeling or sense or belief that there is something greater than myself, something more to being human than sensory experience, and that the greater whole of which we are part is cosmic or divine in nature. I was indeed surprised and my parents were delighted that their son was first made the class monitor by the affable Economics teacher Father Padyatti and soon elevated as school prefect. This was one step shy of being the Vice-President or President of the school. I was seizing all opportunities that came my way. The biggest of them of all was to top the commerce section. And my mother’s immense faith in the divine which guides our lives was buttressed further. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Inexplicable During all this, there were two inexplicable events which astonished me no end and the faith of my mother in the almighty increased manifold. Upon completion of rehearsals of Kidstuf, I had a rather strange feeling on the bus I was travelling by. Upon reaching our home, I was with my mother and sister and told them that something extraordinary or unexpected was about to occur. I kept repeating this to them and while they looked askance. It was sometime in the evening and we were standing in the balcony of our house. Quite unexpectedly the weather changed, the elements danced like never before, the weather was tempestuous which was followed by a massive dust storm, accompanied by blinding lightning and then a heavy downpour. My mother acknowledged my clairvoyance and brushed my hair. My inner voice had triggered the thought process I was to think to myself. There was a funnel of wind which moved at a frenetic and ferocious pace like a sizzling python from a spot in Roop Nagar (in West Delhi), crossing Delhi University causing massive wreckage enroute, demolishing trees, property, affecting the travelling public. Several theories were floated to explain the phenomenon which ranged from the arrival of a UFO, a Chinese satellite, atmospheric changes to the wrath of the Gods. Nevertheless, this brief spell of stormy weather left a trail of destruction about which I had had a semblance of clue through the inner voice. The next day we were a witness to the debris. And the testimony was a smashed autorickshaw perched on the terrace of Khalsa College in Delhi University. People narrated strange stories as to how they were lifted by the velocity of the winds, all of which added spice to the drama of the previous evening. The event, which was accompanied by a trail of havoc and most importantly that I could predict that something extraordinary was to happen registered on my mother. She could feel that with all the spiritual encounters and her intense faith in the divine, I had developed a strong sense, – a sixth sense. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The jaws of teachers and students alike dropped in disbelief and astonishment as the Principal, Father Kunnankal announced, “Ravi Valluri and Puneet Seth will not appear for the 11th standard final examination as they are performing in Kidstuf, our showcase project.” Both Puneet and I had been desperate to participate in the musical but wondered with the impending 11th standard examination, how we would be able to. “This is again providential, a clear indication of divine intervention and deep faith. I would call it a miracle,” my mother remarked. “An average of their academic performance of the entire year would be taken to determine the marks they secure for the final examination,” added our principal before he turned around and left the room. Incidentally I topped the class with distinction and a proud mother was present at the function in school clutching on to the rosary she always kept and uttered a silent prayer. Without doubt by the grace and blessings of Masters, my ancestors, my parents and Swamiji, I could seize opportunities even when the chips were down.