ಇಲಿ ಸತ್ತಾಗ

ಈಗ್ಗೆ ಒಂದು ವಾರದ ಹಿಂದೆ ನಮ್ಮ ಮನೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಅನಾಹೂತ, ಅನಪೇಕ್ಷಿತ ಅತಿಥಿಯ ಆಗಮನವಾಯಿತು. ಈ ಅತಿಥಿ ನಮ್ಮ ಮನೆಯನ್ನು ದರ್ಶಿಸಿದುದು ನಮಗೆ ತಿಳಿದದ್ದು ರಾತ್ರಿ ಮೇಜಿನ ಮೇಲೆ ಇಟ್ಟ ಒಂದು ಬಟ್ಟಲು ನಡುರಾತ್ರಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಕೆಳಗೆ ಬಿದ್ದು ಠಳ್ ಎಂದು ಸದ್ದು ಮಾಡಿದಾಗ; ಮರುದಿನದ ಅಡುಗೆಗಾಗಿ ಅಡುಗೆಮನೆಯ ಕಟ್ಟೆಯ ಮೇಲಿಟ್ಟಿದ್ದ ಟೊಮೇಟೋ ಒಂದರಲ್ಲಿ ಕೈಬೆರಳಷ್ಟು ಅಗಲದ ಡೊಗರು ಬಿದ್ದದ್ದು ಕಂಡಾಗ; ಇಷ್ಟೂ ಆದಮೇಲೆ ಖಾತರಿಯಾದದ್ದು ಮಧ್ಯರಾತ್ರಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಬಾಯಾರಿಕೆಗೆ ನೀರನ್ನು ಬಗ್ಗಿಸಿಕೊಳ್ಳಲು ಅಡುಗೆಮನೆಯ ದೀಪ ಹಾಕಿದಾಗ ಗಾಬರಿಗೊಂಡು ನಮ್ಮನ್ನೇ ನೋಡುತ್ತಿದ್ದ ಚಿಕ್ಕ ಚಿಕ್ಕ ಕಪ್ಪು ಕಣ್ಣುಗಳನ್ನು ನೋಡಿದಾಗ. 

ನಾನು ಚಿಕ್ಕವಳಿದ್ದಾಗ ಇಲಿಯ ಬಾಲವನ್ನು ನನ್ನ ಕೈಯಾರೆ ಹಿಡಿದು ಅದನ್ನು ಹೊರಗೆ ಬಿಸಾಡಿದ್ದು ನೆನಪಿಲ್ಲವಾದರೂ, ಯಾರಾದರೂ "ಏ ನೀನು ಹಾಗೆ ಬಿಸಾಡಿದ್ದನ್ನು ನಾನೇ ನೋಡಿದ್ದೇನೆ" ಎಂದು ಹೇಳಿದರೆ ಒಪ್ಪಿಕೊಳ್ಳಲೇಬೇಕಾದಂತಹ ಬಾಲ್ಯ ನನ್ನದು.  ಹಳೆಯ ಕಾಲದ ಮನೆಯಲ್ಲೇ ಬಾಲ್ಯವನ್ನು ಕಳೆದ ನನಗೆ ಮನೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಇಲಿಯನ್ನು ಕಂಡದ್ದು ಒಂದು ದೊಡ್ಡ ವಿಷಯವಾಗಬಾರದಿತ್ತು. ಆದರೂ, ಜಿರಳೆಗಳೂ ಕಾಣದ ಮನೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಇಷ್ಟು ವರ್ಷಗಳನ್ನು ಕಳೆದ ಸಂಸ್ಕಾರದಿಂದ ನೆನೆದ ಮನಸ್ಸಿಗೆ ಇಲಿಯ ಮೈಯಲ್ಲಿ ಹುಲಿಯ ಅಳವೇ ಕಂಡುಬಿಟ್ಟಿತು. ಪ್ರತಿರಾತ್ರಿ ಅಡುಗೆಮನೆಯ ಕಟ್ಟೆಯ ಮೇಲಿಡುತ್ತಿದ್ದ ಆಹಾರಪದಾರ್ಥಗಳನ್ನು ದೂರದಲ್ಲಿದ್ದ ಮೇಜಿಗೆ ಸ್ಥಳಾಂತರಿಸುವ ಪ್ರಕ್ರಿಯೆ ಪ್ರಾರಂಭವಾಯಿತು. ಬಟ್ಟೆಗಳ ನಡುವೆ ಇಲಿ(ಗಳು) ಹೊಕ್ಕರೆ ಕಷ್ಟವೆಂದು ಕೋಣೆಗಳ ಬಾಗಿಲುಗಳನ್ನು ಭದ್ರವಾಗಿ ಮುಚ್ಚುವ ಪರಿಪಾಟಿಯೂ ಮೊದಲಾಯಿತು. ಮನೆಯ ಕಟ್ಟಡದಲ್ಲಿ ಅದುವರೆಗೂ ಕಾಣದಿದ್ದ ಶೈಥಿಲ್ಯಗಳು ಕಾಣತೊಡಗಿದವು. ಇಲಿ(ಗಳು) ಬರುವ, ಬರಬಹುದಾದ ದ್ವಾರಗಳನ್ನೆಲ್ಲ ಮುಚ್ಚುವುದು ಹೇಗೆಂಬ ವಾಗ್ವಾದವೂ ನಡೆಯಿತು. ಕಡೆಗೆ ನಮ್ಮ ಕೈಯಲ್ಲಿ ಇಲಿಯ ನಿಗ್ರಹ ಸಾಧ್ಯವಿಲ್ಲವೆಂಬ ಹತಾಶಾಭಾವವೂ ಉದಿಸಿಬಿಟ್ಟಿತು. 

ನಮ್ಮ ಮನೆಗೆ ಅಡುಗೆ ಕೆಲಸಕ್ಕೆ ಸಹಾಯಕ್ಕಾಗಿ ಬರುವಾಕೆ ಆಗ ಒಂದು ವಿಶೇಷವಾದ ರಟ್ಟಿನ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಹೇಳಿದರು. ಇಲಿ ಬರುವ ದಾರಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಅದನ್ನು ಇರಿಸಿದರೆ ಆ ರಟ್ಟಿಗೆ ಅದು ಅಂಟಿಕೊಂಡುಬಿಡುತ್ತದೆ; ತದನಂತರ ಅದನ್ನು ಬಿಸಾಡಬಹುದು ಎಂದು ಹೇಳಿದರು. ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ಕಡಿಮೆ ಹಿಂಸಾತ್ಮಕವಾದ ಉಪಾಯ ಎಂದು ಮನಸ್ಸಿಗೇನೋ ಒಪ್ಪಿತು, ಆದರೆ ಕಾರ್ಯರೂಪಕ್ಕೆ ತರಲು ಸುಲಭವಲ್ಲ ಎಂದು ಪ್ರಯತ್ನಿಸಿದಾಗ ತಿಳಿಯಿತು. ಮೊದಲನೆಯ ದಿನ ನಾವು ಅದನ್ನು ಸೆಳೆಯಲು ಇಟ್ಟಿದ್ದ ಟೊಮೇಟೊ ಹಣ್ಣು ತಾಜಾ ಅಲ್ಲವೆಂದು ಅದಕ್ಕೆ ತಿಳಿದುಹೋಯಿತೋ ಏನೋ, ನಾವು ರಟ್ಟನ್ನಿಟ್ಟ ಸ್ಥಳಕ್ಕೆ ಇಲಿ ಬರಲೇ ಇಲ್ಲ. ಮತ್ತೆರಡು ದಿನ ಹೀಗೇ ಆಯಿತು. ಕಡೆಗೆ ಇದು ನಮ್ಮಿಂದ ಆಗುವ ಕೆಲಸವಲ್ಲವೆಂದು ನಮ್ಮ ಮಾವನವರು ಒಣಕೊಬ್ಬರಿಯ ಚೂರನ್ನು ಸುಟ್ಟು, ರಟ್ಟಿನ ಪಕ್ಕದಲ್ಲಿ ಇಟ್ಟರು. ಆ ರಾತ್ರಿ ಇಲಿ ರಟ್ಟಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಸಿಕ್ಕಿಬಿದ್ದಿತು. ನಮ್ಮ ಮಾವನವರು ಮಧ್ಯರಾತ್ರಿಯಲ್ಲೇ ಅದನ್ನು ಎತ್ತಿ ಬಿಸಾಡಿಬಿಟ್ಟರು. ಅಲ್ಲಿಗೆ ಆ ಇಲಿಯ ಕಥೆ ಮುಗಿಯಿತು. 

ಬೆಳಗ್ಗೆ ಎದ್ದ ನಮಗೆ ಇಲಿ ಸಿಕ್ಕಿಬಿದ್ದು ಸತ್ತ ವಿಷಯ ತಿಳಿಯಿತು. ನಿಜವಾಗಿಯೂ ನಮಗೆ ಆಗಬೇಕಾಗಿದ್ದು ಸದ್ಯ ಪೀಡೆ ಕಳೆಯಿತಲ್ಲ ಎಂಬ ನೆಮ್ಮದಿ. ಆದರೆ ನಮಗಾಗಿದ್ದು ಖೇದ. ದಿನವೂ ಮನೆಯ ಮುಂದೆ ಅರಳಿದ ಹೂವುಗಳನ್ನು ಕಳ್ಳತನದಲ್ಲಿ ಬಿಡಿಸಿಕೊಂಡು ಹೋಗುವ ಮುದುಕ ಒಂದಷ್ಟು ದಿನ ಬರದಿದ್ದರೆ “ಅಯ್ಯೋ ಆ ಮುದುಕನನ್ನು ನೋಡಿ ಸುಮಾರು ದಿನವಾಯಿತು; ಕೋವಿಡ್ ಸಮಯ ಬೇರೆ. ಪಾಪ ಆರೋಗ್ಯವಾಗಿದ್ದಾರೋ ಇಲ್ಲವೋ” ಎಂದು ಚಡಪಡಿಸುವ ಮನೆಯವರಂತೆ ನಮ್ಮ ಪರಿಸ್ಥಿತಿಯಾಯಿತು. ದಿಟವೇ, ಇಲಿಯ ಕಾಟದಿಂದ ನಮ್ಮ ರಾತ್ರಿಯ ನಿದ್ರೆಗೆ ಭಂಗ ಬರುತ್ತಿತ್ತು. ಸಣ್ಣ ಶಬ್ದಕ್ಕೂ ಇಲಿ ಎಲ್ಲಿ ನುಗ್ಗಿ ಏನು ರಾದ್ಧಾಂತ ಮಾಡುವುದೋ ಎಂದು ಎದೆ ಡವಡವಗುಟ್ಟುತ್ತಿತ್ತು. ಆದರೂ ಅದು ಸತ್ತ ಮೇಲೆ “ಛೆ, ಅದನ್ನು ಬೋನಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಹಿಡಿದು ಹೊರಗೆ ಬಿಟ್ಟಿದ್ದಿದ್ದರೆ ಬದುಕಿಕೊಳ್ಳುತ್ತಿತ್ತೋ ಏನೋ!” ಎಂದು ಪೇಚಾಡುವಂತೆ ಆಯಿತು. ವಸ್ತುತಃ ಬೀದಿನಾಯಿಗಳಂತೆ ಬೀದಿಬೆಕ್ಕುಗಳೂ ಹೇರಳವಾಗಿರುವ ನಮ್ಮ ಮನೆಯ ಸುತ್ತಮುತ್ತ ಇಲಿಯ ಪಾಲಿಗಿದ್ದ ಯೋಗಕ್ಷೇಮವೂ ಅಷ್ಟಕ್ಕಷ್ಟೇ. ಆದರೆ ಮನುಷ್ಯಸ್ವಭಾವಕ್ಕನಗುಣವಾಗಿ “ಚಿಂತನೇ ಕಾ ದರಿದ್ರತಾ” ಎಂದು ನಮ್ಮ ಆಲೋಚನಾಲಹರಿಗಳೂ ಆಣೆಕಟ್ಟಿಲ್ಲದ ನದಿಯಂತೆ ಹರಿದವು. 

ನಮ್ಮ ಎದುರಿನ ಜೀವಿ ದೊಡ್ಡದಾದಷ್ಟೂ ನಮಗೆ ಅದನ್ನು ಹಿಂಸಿಸಿದಾಗ ಆಗುವ ಕಸಿವಿಸಿ ದೊಡ್ಡದಾಗುತ್ತದೆ. ಸೊಳ್ಳೆಯನ್ನು ಹೊಡೆಯುವಾಗ ಇಲ್ಲದ ಭೂತದಯೆ ಇಲಿಯನ್ನು ಸಾಯಿಸುವಾಗ, ಅಥವಾ ಬೀದಿನಾಯಿಗಳನ್ನು ಮುನಿಸಿಪಾಲಿಟಿ ಹಿಡಿದುಕೊಂಡು ಹೋದಾಗ ಉಕ್ಕಿ ಬಂದುಬಿಡುತ್ತದೆ. ಅಷ್ಟೇಕೆ, ಮಾಸ್ತಿಯವರ ಒಂದು ಸಣ್ಣ ಕಥೆಯೇ ಇದೆಯಲ್ಲ - ಶಿಷ್ಯನೊಬ್ಬನಿಗೆ ಜೀವದ ಮಹತ್ತ್ವವನ್ನು ತಿಳಿಸಲು ಕಾರಿನ ಮುಂದೆ ಹರಿಯುತ್ತಿದ್ದ ಇರುವೆಯನ್ನು ದೊಡ್ಡ ಗಾತ್ರದ್ದನ್ನಾಗಿ ಮಾಡಿ ತೋರಿಸುವ ಗುರುವಿನ ಶಿಕ್ಷಣದ ಅಪೂರ್ವವಾದ ಪರಿಯ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ! ನಮ್ಮನಿಮ್ಮೆಲ್ಲರಿಗೂ ಈ ಕಥೆ ಅನ್ವಯಿಸಬಹುದೇನೋ ! 

ನಮ್ಮ ಇಲಿ ಸತ್ತಾಗ ಯಾವುದಾದರೂ ರೀತಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಅದರಲ್ಲಿ ನಮ್ಮ ಪಾತ್ರವನ್ನು ಸಮರ್ಥಿಸಿಕೊಳ್ಳಲು ಯತ್ನಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆ. ಆಗ ರಾಮಕೃಷ್ಣಪರಮಹಂಸರ ಒಂದು ಕಥೆ ನನಗೆ ನೆನಪಾಯಿತು. ಅವರ ಶಿಷ್ಯರಲ್ಲಿ ಒಬ್ಬರಾದ ಸ್ವಾಮಿ ಪ್ರೇಮಾನಂದರು (ಆಗಿನ್ನೂ ಬಾಬುರಾಮ) ಅತ್ಯಂತ ಭೂತದಯಾಪರರಾಗಿದ್ದರು. ಒಮ್ಮೆ ಆತ ಧ್ಯಾನ ಮಾಡಲುದ್ಯುಕ್ತನಾದಾಗ ಸೊಳ್ಳೆಗಳ ಹಾವಳಿ ಹೆಚ್ಚಾಗಿತ್ತು. ಎಲ್ಲ ಪ್ರಾಣಿಗಳ ಬಗ್ಗೆಯೂ ಅತೀವ ದಯೆಯುಳ್ಳ ಆತನಿಗೆ ಅವುಗಳನ್ನು ಕೊಲ್ಲಲು ಮನಸ್ಸು ಬರಲಿಲ್ಲ. ಧ್ಯಾನವನ್ನು ಮಾಡಲಾಗದೆ, ಸೊಳ್ಳೆಗಳನ್ನೂ ಕೊಲ್ಲಲಾಗದೆ ವ್ಯಗ್ರತೆಯಿಂದಲೇ ಪರಮಹಂಸರ ಬಳಿ ತೆರಳಿದರು. ಅವರು ಆಗ ತಮ್ಮ ಹಾಸಿಗೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಸೇರಿಕೊಂಡಿದ್ದ ತಿಗಣೆಗಳನ್ನು ಹೆಕ್ಕಿ ಹೆಕ್ಕಿ ಕೊಲ್ಲುತ್ತಿದ್ದರು. ತಮ್ಮ ಶಿಷ್ಯ ಕಂಡೊಡನೆಯೇ “ಹಾಳು ತಿಗಣೆಗಳು! ನೆಟ್ಟಗೆ ನಿದ್ದೆ ಮಾಡಲೂ ಧ್ಯಾನ ಮಾಡಲೂ ಬಿಡುವುದಿಲ್ಲ!” ಎಂದು ಹಳಿದರು. ಶಿಷ್ಯನಿಗೆ ಬೇಕಾದ ಪಾಠ ಕಲಿಯಲು ಸಿಕ್ಕಿತು. 

ಅದು ಸರಿ, ಆದರೆ ಪ್ರೇಮಾನಂದರ ಬದಲಿಗೆ ಬೇರೆ ಯಾರಾದರೂ ಇದ್ದಿದ್ದರೆ? ಉದಾಹರಣೆಗೆ ಗಿರೀಶ್ ಚಂದ್ರ ಘೋಷರೋ, ಸ್ವಾಮಿ ವಿವೇಕಾನಂದರೋ ಇದ್ದಿದ್ದರೆ ಪರಮಹಂಸರ ಉಪದೇಶ ಯಾವ ರೀತಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಇರುತ್ತಿತ್ತೋ? ಪ್ರಾಯಶಃ ಅವರು ತಿಗಣೆಗಳಿಂದ ಕಚ್ಚಿಸಿಕೊಂಡು, ಮೂಷಿಕಗಳಿಗೆ ಕೈಯಾರೆ ಹಣ್ಣನ್ನು ತಿನ್ನಿಸುವ ಮೂಲಕ ಈ ಶಿಷ್ಯರಿಗೆ ಮಾರ್ಗದರ್ಶನವನ್ನು ಮಾಡುತ್ತಿದ್ದರೇನೋ ! ಪರಮಹಂಸರೇ ಹೇಳಿದರೆನ್ನಲಾದ ಒಂದು ಕಥೆ ಹೀಗಿದೆ - ಒಮ್ಮೆ ಮಗುವಾದ ಗಣೇಶ ಬಾಲಬುದ್ಧಿಯಿಂದ ಒಂದು ಬೆಕ್ಕನ್ನು ಹಿಂಸಿಸಿದನಂತೆ. ಮರಳಿ ಬಂದಾಗ ತನ್ನ ತಾಯಿಯಾದ ಜಗದಂಬಿಕೆಯ ದೇಹದಲ್ಲಿಯೂ ಬಾಸುಂಡೆಗಳು ಕಂಡವಂತೆ. ಮಗುವಾದ ಗಣೇಶನಿಗೆ ಆಗ ಚರಾಚರವಸ್ತುಗಳೆಲ್ಲದರಲ್ಲೂ ಭಗವತಿಯನ್ನೇ ಕಾಣಬೇಕೆಂದು ಅರಿವಾಯಿತಂತೆ. ಇಂತಹ ಕಥೆಯೊಂದನ್ನು ಬೋಧಿಸುವವರು ತಿಗಣೆಗಳನ್ನು ಹೆಕ್ಕಿ ಹೆಕ್ಕಿ ಸಾಯಿಸುವುದರೆಂದರೇನು? ನಮ್ಮಲ್ಲೂ ಒಂದು ಮಟ್ಟದ ಸ್ವಾರ್ಥ - ನಮ್ಮ ದೇಹಕ್ಕಾಗಲಿ, ಮನಸ್ಸಿಗಾಗಲಿ ಹಿಂಸೆಯಾದರೆ ತಿಳಿದೋ ತಿಳಿಯದೆಯೋ ಹಿಂಸಿಸುತ್ತಿರುವ ಜೀವಿಯಿಂದ ಪಾರಾಗಿ ಸಮಾಧಾನದಿಂದಿರಬೇಕೆಂಬ ಸ್ವಾರ್ಥ - ಇರಬೇಕೆಂದಲ್ಲವೇ? ಅಷ್ಟೂ ಇಲ್ಲದೆ ನಾವು ಸಂಸಾರಿಗಳಾಗಿರಲು ಸಾಧ್ಯವೇ?

ಚಿಕ್ಕಂದಿನಲ್ಲಿ ನನಗೆ ಒಬ್ಬ ಜೈನ ಸ್ನೇಹಿತೆಯಿದ್ದಳು. ಅವಳ ತಲೆಯ ತುಂಬ ಹೇನು. ಹೇನುಗಳನ್ನು ಹೆಕ್ಕಿ ಕೊಲ್ಲುವುದು ಅವರ ಧರ್ಮದಲ್ಲಿ ನಿಷಿದ್ಧವಂತೆ, ಅದರಿಂದ ಹಾಗೆಯೇ ಶಾಲೆಗೆ ಬರುತ್ತಿದ್ದಳು. ಅವಳ ಕೈ ಸದಾ ತಲೆಯಲ್ಲಿಯೇ ಇರುತ್ತಿತ್ತು. ಅವಳನ್ನು ನೆನೆದರೆಯೇ ನನಗೆ ಕೂದಲಿನಲ್ಲಿ ನವೆಯಾಗುತ್ತದೆ. ಆದರೆ ಅವಳ ಮನೆಯವರು ಲೇವಾದೇವಿಗಾರರು. ಹಿಂಸೆ ಇವರ ಮನೆಯಲ್ಲಿ ಕೇವಲ ಸ್ವರೂಪವನ್ನು ಬದಲಾಯಿಸಿಕೊಂಡಿತ್ತೇ ಹೊರತು ಇಲ್ಲವೆಂದು ಹೇಳುವುದಕ್ಕೆ ಸಾಧ್ಯವಿಲ್ಲ ಎಂದು ನಾವೆಲ್ಲ ಆಡಿಕೊಂಡು ನಗುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆವು. ಇಲ್ಲಿ ಹೇಳಹೊರಟಿದ್ದೇನೆಂದರೆ ತೀರ ಸರಳವಾಗಿ ಗೀಟು ಹಾಕಿದ ಹಾಗೆ ಇದು ಹಿಂಸೆ, ಇದು ಹಿಂಸೆಯಲ್ಲ, ಪ್ರಾಣಿಹಿಂಸೆ ಅಧರ್ಮ, ಅದನ್ನು ಮಾಡಲೇಬಾರದು ಎಂದೆಲ್ಲ ವಿಧಿಸಿದರೆ ಅದು ಅಸಾಧ್ಯ, ಅಸಾಧು. 

ಸನಾತನಧರ್ಮದಲ್ಲಿ ಅಹಿಂಸೆಗೆ ಸ್ಥಾನವಿರುವಂತೆ ಹಿಂಸೆಗೂ ಸ್ಥಾನವಿದೆ.  ಮಹಾಭಾರತದ್ದು ಎಂದು ಹೇಳಲಾಗುವ, ಆದರೆ ಭಾಗಶಃ ಮಾತ್ರ ಮಹಾಭಾರತದ್ದಾದ “ಅಹಿಂಸಾ ಪರಮೋ ಧರ್ಮಃ ಧರ್ಮಹಿಂಸಾ ತಥೈವ ಚ” ಎಂಬುದು ನಮಗೆ ಅನುಕರಣೀಯ. ತಮ್ಮ ತಮ್ಮ ಮನೆಗಳನ್ನೂ ರಾಜ್ಯಗಳನ್ನೂ ರಕ್ಷಿಸಿಕೊಳ್ಳಲು ಹಿಂಸೆಯನ್ನು ಆಶ್ರಯಿಸಬೇಕಾದಾಗ ಪ್ರಾಕೃತಕಾರುಣ್ಯದಿಂದ ಕೈಕಟ್ಟಿ ಕಣ್ಣೀರು ಸುರಿಸುತ್ತ ಕುಳಿತ ಯಜಮಾನನನ್ನೂ ದೊರೆಯನ್ನೂ ನಂಬಿದವರೆಲ್ಲರ ವಿನಾಶ ಕಟ್ಟಿಟ್ಟ ಬುತ್ತಿ. 

ಒಟ್ಟಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಗಣೇಶನ ವಾಹನದ ಕಾರಣದಿಂದ ಧರ್ಮಚಿಂತನೆಯ ಅವಕಾಶವೊಂದು ದೊರೆಯಿತು. 

Being Mortal by Atul Gawande

Sri.Nagaraja Shastri was a musician and dramatist, well-known and respected in his youth. Because of intermarriages between cousins, which is quite common in south India, he was uncle to three generations - my husband's grandmother's, my father-in-law’s and ours. When he and our aunt became too old, they moved to our village so they could be cared for by his daughter. While the village did not have top-notch medical facilities, the old couple didn't seem to need them either, as they were still quite independent and healthy in spite of their age.

The first (and only) sign of problem we saw was many months later, when Nagaraja mama felt easily out of breath. He was taken to a doctor in the next village, who said that he couldn't do anything as he had bradycardia, and he had to go to Bangalore if he wanted treatment. Nagaraja Mama was eighty-six years old and had never been admitted in a hospital. After much deliberation, we brought him to Bangalore and admitted him to a hospital to see what the doctors could do.

It was very clear that he was diminishing by the hour. That didn't prevent the ICU doctors and nurses from putting him on intravenous medication right away, for bringing the heart rate up. He was trying to pull the IV needles out, so they bandaged his fingers together so he wouldn't have an opposing thumb to pull the needles with. He was angry and with his slurring and incomprehensible speech he was scolding the nurses for taking away his freedom. After multiple tests the doctors came to the conclusion that the only way to keep him alive would be to put him on a pacemaker.

Our aunt, on consulting about this, was clear that she didn't want her husband to go through any more pain, and wanted to let him be. Without a pacemaker, he died on the hospital bed a day later, with only the ICU nurses around him. A question that was gnawing at my heart for a long time, was whether we made a mistake in not opting for a pacemaker. Secondly and more importantly, I was thinking whether we made a mistake in bringing him to the hospital at all.

We are confronted with choices all the time. We seem to perpetually hit the forks that diverge on yellow woods, and the path we take makes all the difference. In medicine, they are choices that decide life and death, or Scylla and Charybdis. With the modern medical technologies available, life could be Scylla. It is these hard choices that Dr Atul Gawande talks about in his book “Being Mortal”. Through many case studies and personal experiences, he tries to educate patients and their loved ones about the questions they would need to ask and get answers to, before consenting to treatments that can wreak havoc on the quality of their lives.

Reading this book required courage from me. I have been brought up in a culture where death can but be the next step to liberation; however, talking about my own death is inauspicious. To read this book, I had to confront my own probable sickness and eventual mortality. Through the course of the book, I had to ask myself tough questions - what would I do, what would I have to do if I were in the patient's shoes, or God forbid, in the caregivers’ shoes?

I have been a fan of Dr Gawande’s writing for years. Even if it is not a subject I am not frightfully interested in, (Obamacare vs Trumpcare, for instance), his writing is capable of grabbing and sustaining attention. Being Mortal is about medical facilities of today that let terminal patients live out the remainder of their lives in peace without subjecting their bodies to more pain, especially if the pain is not going to bring about any improvement in the quality of their lives later.

Consider another case. My granddad had had a paralytic stroke at a very young age, probably due to an infection. He had regained the use of his arms and legs later and was active for a long time. However, he had a second stroke which was debilitating. He survived that too with treatment. When he had a third stroke a few years later, the doctor gave up. He asked my parents to take care of him as well as they could for the rest of his life. A few months later, my taata passed away in his own house, with his family around him.

Dr. Gawande cites statistical studies to prove that providing hospice care to terminally ill patients significantly improved their quality of life. For instance, hospice patients who stopped chemotherapy treatment lived 25% longer and had far more fulfilling lives than the ones who underwent chemo. He analyses the fact that 25% of insurance spending goes for 5% of people who are already on their deathbed. Why not divert it to hospice care which will probably be more helpful for patients than more needles and scalpels and isolation?

Of course, everything is a challenge, especially in our country.  The first problem is that of greedy hospitals. There have been instances of hospitals performing surgeries on dead bodies to milk insurance money. How do we even get these hospitals on board for something like hospice care?

The second and equally difficult challenge would be to confront the concept of mortality. We have not learnt that, in spite of studying scriptures day in and day out. But if we don't take the first step, who will?
 

Thoughts Before a Medical Examination

I have my origin in the big town of Bellary, now a city. Life used to be simple back then. We went to a nearby school. We used to be vaccinated regularly too. When we were sick, mostly my grandfather used to give medicines and we would be alright. Taata was a medical practitioner and treated people with Homeopathic and Ayurvedic medicines.

I have professed my interest in the Medical field elsewhere on this blog. This interest probably came from seeing my grandfather treating his patients day in and day out. The medicines were usually kept secret from the patients, the reason being that many of the ingredients that went to form the medicines were used almost daily in the kitchen. (I knew them, since I was the privileged helper.) The aura of mystery, and more importantly, total belief in the doctor and the medicines probably helped recovery. From simple diseases like gastritis and menstrual cramps to scorpion bites and jaundice - I have seen him restore the health of many people. And when he was baffled or was unwell himself, he went to another doctor, Ananth, who visited weekly. This was my earliest experience with healthcare - simple, fairly dependable and very affordable. Taata and Dr.Ananth did not prescribe any fees for their services. They accepted whatever the patient gave. My grandmother recounts instances where my taata himself gave some money to the patient, because he/she was so poor. His technique was also simple. He used to feel the pulse of the patient. That information along with the symptoms were, almost always, enough to give him an idea of what ailed the person. Dr.V.S.Ramachandran, in his ‘Phantoms in the Brain’,  recounts of an instance when his professor told him to observe the nails of the patient. A change in the angle between the nail bed and the finger would always mean the onset of malignant lung cancer. This simple, noninvasive diagnosis could be made far before more serious symptoms appeared. Diseases like typhoid and Rubella can, apparently, be diagnosed by their characteristic smells, and Parkinson’s by the gait of the patient.

Things ceased to be this simple in the medical field, long ago. Gone are the days when doctors used to feel the pulse of the patient routinely. A doctor is always seen with a stethoscope, one of the first and most useful medical instruments. What with the heart monitors and EKGs and oxygen monitors and a zillion other instruments available today, reading pulses and diagnosing illnesses by smelling or hearing a person walk, is an art that might well be preserved by doctors stranded in remote  islands.

Heart monitors and oxygen monitors are just the beginning. We now have electronic instruments for measuring almost any bodily function. Good old steam inhalation now has electronic measurement of temperature, and pressure and what not. (A humorous aside - my son then about four years old, a gadget-freak, looked at the nebulizing unit at a hospital and said with a wide smile "Amma, I want to be a doctor who can uset that machine"). We have ventilators and pacemakers that were unheard of in older times. While it is indeed heartening that we have now reined in technology to be on our side in our fight against disease, it is really disturbing that in this fight, we subject our bodies to great torture and never learn to let go.

In the olden days, certain illnesses were just accepted. When my granddad had a stroke, he took some strength-giving medicines but did not get his blood pressure checked or take beta blockers. My grandmother says proudly that she has never undergone any tests - just took an injection (she forgets which) while pregnant with my Father, that's all. Now, at 86, she is fairly healthy and fairly strong for her age.

Things have changed for our generation. We are more aware, healthier but also very scared. I suppose that scare can actually be justified. Take iodine, for example. The deficiency of iodine causes some irreversible problems. When iodine is lacking in a child's / pregnant lady's diet, there are high chances that that child will develop mental retardation. Goitre is a well-known illness, also caused by iodine deficiency. To prevent these diseases, salt companies started adding iodine to salt. This has gone on for a while now, resulting in another side-effect, that of a non-functioning thyroid. Unfortunately, this can also be rather dangerous if undetected, as thyroxin is required for each and every function in the body. An under-working thyroid might be the cause of an enlarged heart or obesity or just any condition we can think of. Now, if the solution is as simple as getting a blood test done and taking thyroxin everyday, why not do it? Why rely on your intuition only, when you have a foolproof, if only more invasive and expensive method to diagnose a problematic thyroid? Removing iodine from salt is definitely not an answer, so the mandatory checking of thyroxin levels is.

That was just one example. Many doctors now recommend taking the HbA1C test, instead of / in addition to the traditional fasting + post-prandial blood sugar test. For people over thirty five, annual treadmill tests are mandatory. Multivitamins and multiminerals are prescribed regularly. After a certain age, Aspirin in your prescription is considered normal. But wait, this is for well-adult check-ups; taking those tests do not demand much of our time and energy, and one should not have any complaints. However, suppose one goes to the hospital with high blood pressure and is unfortunate enough to get admitted (it is a damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don’t-do situation, really), he/she is started immediately on medicines like Atorvastatin and Sorbitrate, even when they are quite unnecessary (and are likely to cause complications).

But the most unwanted involvement of medicine has to be in the childbirth area. Three of my cousins were born at home, two delivered by my grandmother. They are hale and healthy and doing very well. A fourth cousin was delivered (at the insistence of my uncle's family) at a hospital. He is doing fine, too. The point is that being born at home was not bad for my cousins. These days, as soon as one gets pregnant, they start thinking about c-sections and epidurals. (I am ashamed to say that I did, too). Heck, even for 'normal' deliveries, episiotomy is routine here in India. As are oxytocin shots. While these are established as safe, they take away the feeling that birth is a natural process.  

I am certainly not denying the advantages of high-tech medicine. In olden days, giving birth used to be called 'punarjanma' for women. And it has to be accepted that the reason for the high life expectancy that we see now is solely because of the advances in medicine. But my grouse is that these days the tendency is to pop a pill rather than go for daily walks and eat healthy.

Gawande, in one of his articles titled ‘...Insurance Imbroglio...”, talks about a hospital where the nurses regularly went on house-visits to check on the child asthma patients admitted to their hospital, and thus reduced the readmission percentage considerably. This left many of the hospital beds empty and reduced the hospital profits! As Gawande says, it is not easy to work out a mutually beneficial (beneficial to both doctors and patients) solution.

So what is the solution? According to a recent poll, the top issue for Americans is healthcare. What they mean by healthcare is obviously high quality diagnosis and treatment that's also affordable. Unfortunately with medicine becoming another corporate industry, this looks difficult to accomplish.

Demonetization – Not Quite the Demon

People who visit the temple-town of Sringeri, the famous seat of learning situated amidst the lush green hills of the Western Ghats, swear not only by Goddess Nature who has endowed so much to the place but also by a shop located in the vicinity of the temple. 

The shop is run by Sri.Vijayanarasimha along with his wife and son. It deals in the usual rich goodies that Malnad has to offer - various varieties of pickles and chutneys, chips, spices, oils and what not. While other shops can boast of the same quality of goods, what sets this shop apart is the savviness of the father-son duo. They develop an affectionate connection with the customers. I do not know how they do it, but they seem to remember customers and their choices in spite of having a large number of them. When net banking and online fund transfers were still in their infancy, they had a mail order system which enabled people to transfer money to their account online and get stuff delivered to their houses, all from the small town of Sringeri. Actually, make it the other way round. They would deliver stuff to your house, and you could then transfer money to their account. And yes, all from the small town of Sringeri. Their account was one of the first recipients I added for fund transfer from mine. 

As the various news outlets were publicizing and highlighting the difficulties undergone by the "aam aadmi" due to the demonetization of 500 and 1000 - rupee notes, I could not get this small store ( not so small now, bless them; they now have online sales also) out of my mind. Why is demonetization hurting us more than it ought to when transferring money is so easy? All it takes is honesty and trust!

We can't deny that the news channels and the English language newspapers had their own agenda in maligning the initiative of the government and this contributing to the confusion. The queues which were still manageable a day after demonetization grew longer and longer, owing to the panic willfully stoked by the media. False reports of people dying in ATM queues and of children dying because the older currency was not accepted were feverishly circulated by journalists themselves in the social media. One news channel shamelessly asked people to send videos of people suffering in queues. The situation truly started going downhill then.

It is a very Indian - nay, human mentality to stock up on or even hoard things when they promise to become scarce. It is programmed in our genes. And human history has been proving that the hoarders will, in a large number of cases, eventually be better off than the non-hoarders. After a couple of days, thus, our instincts got the better of our good sense and the queues outside banks became longer still.

The black money mafia also did their bit to make the situation more chaotic, by promising commission to people who would deposit money in banks on their behalf. There were many flavors of this scam. Paytm ads notwithstanding, a substantial percentage of the low-income group is gullible and this promise of easy money is too hard to pass by. The result was unprecedented chaos, with people standing multiple times in queues and fights reportedly breaking out in front of the banks, adding to the general disorder.

There were many things that could have been done to reduce inconvenience to the people. Obviously, the initiative has to come from the people first. There were people drawing money from three or four cards when it was their turn at the ATM, adding to the wait time for the others in the queue. Banks could have mandated that only one card could be used at a time. Also, people who could get by with plastic money could have done so for a longer time instead of standing in queues and complaining. Let us face it, waiting is not pleasant for anyone – for us and also the bank employees. The security guard at the HDFC bank near my house was so cheerful and helpful even after dealing with hundreds of people who only had questions and complaints. Yes, that is another thing that would have helped – a smile of acceptance on the faces of the people. Because however much we try to argue against it, we know that this move of demonetization of high-value notes is going to be eventually good for the country.

If shop-owners had accepted cards and cheques it would have made life a lot easier for everyone. The day after demonetization, I was out shopping for some lamps in a respectably-sized shop in the heart of Bangalore. The bill came up to a decent amount of around 400 rupees. I offered to pay by card, but the shop-owner did not accept cards. And no, cheques were not accepted either. I did not have cash on me. After a lot of haggling over the mode of payment, the shop finally accepted the five-hundred-rupee note that I offered. I later learned that the cash transactions are not logged properly, so as to avoid tax.

So that's the root of this evil. With the memory of 97% tax and no development etched in our minds, we cannot bring ourselves to pay even a reasonable 35% amount as tax. And when the government does what it has to do to recover taxes we whine and complain because it is inconvenient. God help us!

In contrast, some people rose to the occasion and started conducting more cashless transactions. I paid my kids’ music class fees via online transfer. By the way, the teacher happens to be a housewife.

Finally, I recall the infamous words of a departed politician, said at a different time in a different context but completely valid now. When a big tree falls, the earth shakes.

ಇಂದೇ ಸುದಿನ...

Years ago, when I was still a young girl participating in dance competitions, my mother had taught us - my sister and me and a few friends - a dance to a song. The song was about gopikas eager to meet Krishna on the banks of the Yamuna. We danced to it, dressed in langa-blouse and a veil on our heads. I think we had some painted pots also, to complete the effect of the gopikas. All I remember from that dance competition is how pretty my sister looked, with kohl in her eyes and a bright light-green duppatta covering her hair.

The song went something like this - "ಇಂದೇ ಸುದಿನ ಬನ್ನಿ ಸಖಿಯರೇ ಹೋಗುವ ಯಮುನಾ ತೀರದೆಡೆಗೆ ". I knew the song was penned by my grandfather. However, the music was distinctly not South-Indian. I was not too curious about it at that time but got to know the story about that song later, from my grandmother.

My aunt, herself a teacher, had taught a few neighboring children a dance to perform at a function in the layout. It was a Hindi song. The kids learned the dance with great enthusiasm and were looking forward to performing at the function. A couple of days before the performance, they got to know something shocking. A few miscreants - Kannada warriors got to know that there was going to be a dance performance set to a Hindi song, and they had decided to create trouble. The kids were crestfallen. After practising for so many days, getting ready with costumes and telling all their friends about the dance, their program was about to be canceled because it was simply not safe to dance to a Hindi song.

My grandfather had a brilliant idea then. He immediately composed a song in Kannada which could be sung to the same tune and matched the dance steps. The kids practised a few times with the changed lyrics in Kannada. The adaptation was beautiful and the presentation on stage was a huge success. After watching the dance performance, the miscreants went back home with greater wisdom in their heads and their pockets still bulging with the rotten tomatoes they had intended to throw at the dancing children.

The song is beautiful and set to the rāga Kāpi. It does not adhere completely to the metrical rules of Kannada poetry, but has great word-ly beauty - like "ಜುಳು ಜುಳು ಹರಿಯುವ ಯಮುನೆಯ ಕಲ ಕಲ ನಾದವ ಕೇಳುವ ಬನ್ನಿ ", "ಜಗದ ಜಂಜಡವ ಮರೆಯುವ ಬನ್ನಿ ಜಗನ್ನಾಥನೆಡೆಗೆ".

I happen to be humming this song since morning and wanted to share the story here. 

To Enter or Not To Enter; That is the Question

There is a beautiful story about Meera Bai, whose devotional songs linger on a million tongues even to this day. She once visited a temple at Brindavan, which, at that time, was only open to men. When the priests prevented her from entering, she innocently told them "I thought Krishna was the only male in this universe". The priests were tongue-tied and let her in. 

I wonder if the women who are making a hue and cry about Sabarimala and Shani Shinganapur know about Meera bai. The noise that is being made over Sabarimala and Shani Shinganapur would have been funny (come on, airdrop?) if it were not so pathetic. It is evident that these ladies do not have any love for these Gods or for the religion that endorses these Gods. They are in it just to prove a political point and buy their two minutes of fame, and that is it. 

In a country as diverse as India, there are many, many unique temples and unique ways of worship. In Sandur, there is a Kumaraswamy temple that women of child-bearing age are denied entry to, much like Sabarimala. There is a short wall right in front of the main door, that prevents others from even snatching a glimpse at the icon inside. And there are some Maaramma temples, where traditionally there are priestesses but no priests. Some Gods and Goddesses are worshipped with flowers and fruits and sweets, whereas others need meat and liquor. Yet others are worshipped with song and dance. Flowers are not to be worn in Tirumala, because all the flowers that grow in the vicinity are meant for the Lord. There is room for the devotion of everyone and answers to the spiritual aspirations of everyone. This diversity is what makes sanAtana dharma so charming but yet so difficult to understand. 

The devotees of Ayyappa undergo penance for forty days before visiting Sabarimala. They dress differently. They abstain from meat, alcohol and sex. Can they do these without the consent and help of their wives? The day before the men leave for Sabarimala yatra is a big festival for the entire family. All the people (women included) worship and sing bhajans in praise of the lord. At least, this was what I had seen a few years ago, when I was invited to the celebration before the departure of the yaatris. The women send their husbands and brothers and fathers happily for the yaatra. Women participate in the celebrations with great fervor, even if they don't enter the temple.

And then there is Shani Shinganapur, unique in its own way. The temple does not have doors, like any other house in the village (even the bathrooms do not have doors, believe me!). Contrary to what some of the loud voices of today would have us believe, women do enter the temple for darshan. However, going up on the platform to pour oil on the icon is done by males who have undergone purificatory bath just before entering the temple. My mind simply fails to understand how this is an affront to women.

The vrata men perform before visiting Sabarimala is arduous. Also, it emphasizes self-denial and detachment. The daily duties of women need some level of attachment to the family and worldliness. Taking care of children, for instance. Whatever the feminists say, mothers' duties towards children are more those of the father. This affects other aspects of their lives also. They dress in different ways. They prefer different timings at work. They worship in different ways. sandhyāvandane is for men, whereas Hūvīḻya and kuṅkumārcane are for women. The Kathasaritsagara talks about a weird vrata that was performed by women to ward off diseases that are common in the rainy season. 

The argument that feminists put forth is that the patriarchal society of the day kept women out of places of worship because they menstruate. They try to falsely imagine the shortcomings of Islam in Hinduism too. However, except in places like Sabarimala, women of menstruating age are allowed to enter the temples and offer our worship. Yes, there is a restriction on women visiting temples when they are actually menstruating. But frankly, half the women I know would rather spend those days curled up in a bed and reading, than visiting overcrowded temples (please don't go by the feminine hygiene ads where women are jumping and playing during their periods). Whatever prompted these rules to be dictated, they are a blessing, even if in disguise. This is especially true in India where public sanitation leaves much to be desired.

Finally, the ultimate truth is that Biology is Destiny*. Until technology can make men with uteruses and make them produce babies, there is going to be this difference. But I hope we never get such technology, because we should accept and cherish these differences. A painting with many colors looks far prettier than one that has been smeared with red ink all over. 

*Not my quote, but I love it.