More than ever, politics carves its identity, distinct from economic circumstances or societal constructs of the past. Within the imagination’s vast expanse, the tenets governing political dynamics diverge from the pragmatic. A latent cultural nihilism, juxtaposed with a fervor, facilitates this politics of the fantastical.

And yet, the vision of India ascending to the top three global economies in the next lap beckons the elitist within me. Lest it exposed my utter failure. Acceptance emerges, not from pride, but from recognizing my own status as a compromised soul.

Paradoxically, robust political and economic critique hints at underlying hope. The same sentiment echoed when Raghuram Rajan dissected the government’s policy on mobile manufacturing incentives. I regard it with skepticism, yet acknowledge its intellectual foundation – a call for us to stop watching reels on made in India mobile phones.

Yet, in the void of tangible accountability, where only faith prevails, it’s a bleak acknowledgment of believing for its own sake. This, too, carries an inherent beauty. What else can I do when I know that I haven’t prepared enough for an exam? I trick my mind into believing that a sincere prayer will suffice.

In this gesture, my role isn’t in shaping reality, but in aligning with a future sculpted by those at the helm – be it the PM or CM. The seductive essence of belief lies in its self-fulfilment. Committing to belief alone sets you free from all other obligations – a profound emancipation.

In believing, He materialises…

బాగాయెనయ్య నీ మాయలెంతో బ్రహ్మకైన కొనియాడ తరమా?

PS: Here’s a link to the background music: https://youtu.be/2GFoiuIgtqs

Oxford University, a place known for philosophy, politics and economics (PPE) — is prompting me to write this note on the friendship. Friendship — like philosophy — has no real (worldly) value.

When the Gods smile, one could discover a friend in a fellow (human). And when Gods bless, a friend for life could find us. Resulting in a beautiful non-judgemental space.

Paradoxically enough, the poetic beauty of this sentiment crumbles into untruth for anyone who has ever been buoyed from the pit of despair by the unrelenting kindness of a friend or whose joys have been amplified by a friend’s — mind you, not God’s — warm willingness to bear witness.

As a compulsive deep thinker of the impractical aspects of life, I often meditate over the nature, structure, and function of friendship. At a moment between yesterday and today, I have understood friendship as an essential well-being function. I have found non-judgmental relationships indispensable to my spiritual survival, and I suspect, to most human beings.

During the period of fellowship/ research at Oxford University, we usually hang out with fellows and scholars who are mere peers we barely know beyond the shallow roots of the professional connection. Many a time, we mistake sheer mutual admiration and non-sensical fun for friendship.

And one may even think that people like me would name-drop “friends”, acquaintances associating with whom we feel reflects favourably on us in the eyes of others, thus rendering true friendship vacant. But I’d argue what we cultivated in this short time is worth mentioning to our children. Why would I name-drop you? Because I celebrate you and cherish a friend’s presence in my life.

If you pushed me further, I’d say that true friendship is dharma in action. It can fill the gap between the true self and the present notion of self. A friend embraces both and has generous patience for the rift between the two. Profound friendships hold us lovingly accountable to our ideals and aspirations.

One or two friends can also bear it, accepting the untamed (undomesticated) self as is. They can even forgive and forget when it gets too much. This friendship is neither cerebral nor hearty. It is what it is. Here and now. A witness to the moment.

“The actress with the greatest following, in numbers and devotion, is not to be found in Hollywood, but on the opposite side of the planet – in Bombay, India. Her name is Madhubala. She is nineteen years old, a small girl with arching eyebrows and a shy, sweet smile, who has risen to the top of the Indian movie industry in the last two years.”

“American ignorance of Madhubala is understandable. For one thing, the riotous movie boom in India dates only from around 1943. Nevertheless, the story of India for the past ten years may be condensed as: The war, the movie boom, independ­ence, and Madhubala,” wrote the author with an air of arrogance and notable frustration.

As a matter of fact, hardly when the country had independence from the rule of queen then the princess, Madhubala took over and enslaved the subcontinent. The audience of about 420,000,000 i.e. people of India and Pakistan (about the population of the United States and all western Europe combined) worship everything about her and her story. Thus testifying the intrinsic Indian idea behind the worship of the feminine Nature.

Have I not said that womanhood involves everything that’s love? Have I not told how the universe has nothing better than the best womanhood? Her aquiline nose, unbearably beautiful eyes – deep, large, dark and intense, the lips that complete the rest of the picture. She’s perhaps the answer to the question: if God were an artist.

And those Gods must be (going) crazy!

The present times remind me of my first encounter with the party animal at Lan Kwai Fong in Hong Kong. I vividly remember watching my classmates grow increasingly effervescent as the night wore on. At that moment, I felt compelled to go back to my dorm and connect to the self. My viewpoint about solitude and self-reflection has been brilliantly summed up the French scientist and philosopher Blaise Pascal. “All of humanity’s problems,” he wrote in 1654, “stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.”

Three centuries later, the great Russian filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky shared his single most urgent piece of advice to the young: if you can’t enjoy your company – you’re a wrong person in the first place — you can’t enjoy anyone else’s. And yet today, in the golden age of solo living and social distancing, Pascal’s words ring all the more urgently true and Tarkovsky’s counsel seems all the more unattainable. Lest, the age of Social Everything makes the art of solitude appear increasingly difficult to attain, even terrifying.

And the question remains: to what do we risk entrusting ourselves in solitude? Although God is no longer our perpetual witness, we have our own available ghosts, our constitutive psychoanalytic fictions — the unconscious, the good internal object, the developmental process, the body and its destiny, language. Perhaps only in solitude we are, as we say, simply on our own and connected to God within us. And, therefore, to others around us. You know what? There are no others.

Not so surprisingly, something strikingly similar was envisaged by Swami Vivekananda in the United States, a few decades before neo-renaissance swept Europe, North America and India at the dawn of twentieth Century.

When Einstein met Tagore.

Albert EINSTEIN: Do you believe in the Divine as isolated from the world?

Rabindranath TAGORE (Gurudev): Not isolated. The infinite personality of Man comprehends the Universe. There cannot be anything that cannot be subsumed by the human personality, and this proves that the Truth of the Universe is human Truth.

EINSTEIN: There are two different conceptions about the nature of the universe: one, the world as a unity dependent on humanity; two, the world as a reality independent of the human factor.

Perhaps, Einstein was referring to his concept of God: Quantum mechanics is certainly imposing. But an inner voice tells me that it is not yet the real thing. The theory says a lot, but does not really bring us any closer to the secret of the old one. I, at any rate, am convinced that He does not throw dice.

Gurudev: When our universe is in harmony with Man, the eternal, we know it as Truth, we feel it as beauty.

EINSTEIN: This is the purely human conception of the universe.

Gurudev: There can be no other conception. This world is a human world – the scientific view of it is also that of the scientific man. There is some standard of reason and enjoyment which gives it Truth, the standard of the Eternal Man whose experiences are through our experiences.

EINSTEIN: This is a realisation of the human entity.

Gurudev: Yes, one eternal entity. We have to realise it through our emotions and activities. We realised the Supreme Man who has no individual limitations through our limitations. Science is concerned with that which is not confined to individuals; it is the impersonal human world of Truths. Religion realises these Truths and links them up with our deeper needs; our individual consciousness of Truth gains universal significance. Religion applies values to Truth, and we know this Truth as good through our own harmony with it.

EINSTEIN: Truth, then, or Beauty is not independent of Man?

Gurudev: No.

EINSTEIN: If there would be no human beings any more, the Apollo of Belvedere would no longer be beautiful.

Gurudev: No.

EINSTEIN: I agree with regard to this conception of Beauty, but not with regard to Truth. Gurudev: Why not? Truth is realised through man.

EINSTEIN: I agree with regard to this conception of Beauty, but not with regard to Truth. Gurudev: Why not? Truth is realised through man.

EINSTEIN: I cannot prove that my conception is right, but that is my religion.

Gurudev: Beauty is in the ideal of perfect harmony which is in the Universal Being; Truth the perfect comprehension of the Universal Mind. We individuals approach it through our own mistakes and blunders, through our accumulated experiences, through our illumined consciousness – how, otherwise, can we know Truth?

EINSTEIN: I cannot prove scientifically that Truth must be conceived as a Truth that is valid independent of humanity; but I believe it firmly. I believe, for instance, that the Pythagorean theorem in geometry states something that is approximately true, independent of the existence of man. Anyway, if there is a reality independent of man, there is also a Truth relative to this reality; and in the same way the negation of the first engenders a negation of the existence of the latter.

Gurudev: Truth, which is one with the Universal Being, must essentially be human, otherwise whatever we individuals realise as true can never be called truth – at least the Truth which is described as scientific and which only can be reached through the process of logic, in other words, by an organ of thoughts which is human. According to Indian Philosophy there is Brahman, the absolute Truth, which cannot be conceived by the isolation of the individual mind or described by words but can only be realised by completely merging the individual in its infinity. But such a Truth cannot belong to Science. The nature of Truth which we are discussing is an appearance – that is to say, what appears to be true to the human mind and therefore is human, and may be called maya or illusion.

EINSTEIN: So according to your conception, which may be the Indian conception, it is not the illusion of the individual, but of humanity as a whole.

TAGORE: The species also belongs to a unity, to humanity. Therefore the entire human mind realises Truth; the Indian or the European mind meet in a common realisation.

(…)

EINSTEIN: Then I am more religious than you are!

Gurudev: My religion is in the reconciliation of the Super-personal Man, the universal human spirit, in my own individual being.

The metaphysical and physical duality forms a bell curve. When spirituality in our lives is less than what’s required, we feel dissatisfied. But when it’s too high, we feel disconnected from the reality. Needless to say, in today’s world, the corollary is truer than ever. While the best minds in the modern day management studies have been striving propound theories for business, leaders and individual promising a life that’s happily-ever-after, all the research work, white papers, leadership articles and open-house talks have one common footnote: chapter 3 of the Gita, Karma Yoga.

In the year 1863, on this day — few days before the dark subcontinent prepared for the bonfire representing realisation, transformation and purification — India witnessed the birth of the true Sun of soil: Swami Vivekananda. Born as Narendranath Datta, Vivekananda went to the best Guru of his times, Ramakrishna of Dakshineswar, worked diligently to imbibe the teachings, and then voyaged to the United States to deliver of the world’s best keynote address in the year 1893. I often wonder whether this was a prequel to the modern day keynotes by delivered by Indians who did not stop till they reached the goal: from Amar Bose to Indra Noyi, from Satya Nadella to Sundar Pichai.

Towards the end of the 19th Century, Swami Vivekananda, then in his early thirties, traveled to New York, where he spent a month holding a series of public lectures. Vivekananda attracted a number of famous followers, including path breaking inventor Nikola Tesla and brilliant psychologist and philosopher William James. “Mr. Tesla was charmed to hear about the Vedantic prana and akasha and the kalpas [time],” Vivekananda wrote to a friend. “He thinks he can demonstrate mathematically that force and matter are reducible to potential energy. I am to go to see him next week to get this mathematical demonstration. In that case Vedantic cosmology will be placed on the surest of foundations.”

In the year 1896, one of many works of Vivekananda was transcribed and published as Karma Yoga: The Yoga of Action. Ever since then, Vivekananda and his teachings have influenced the most curious minds and restless souls: Annie Besant, Christopher Isherwood, Ellen Waldo, Paramahamsa Yogananda, Henry David Thoreau, Walt Whitman, Mahatma Gandhi, Leo Tolstoy, John D. Rockefeller, Jamsetji Tata, J.D. Salinger, Sarah Bernhard and George Harrison to name a few. When he was asked about the origins of “My Sweet Lord,” George Harrison replied that “the song really came from Swami Vivekananda,” who said, ‘If there is a God, we must see him. And if there is a soul, we must perceive it.’

Later in Boston, Vivekananda noted that a great deal of our existential confusion about work has to do with our chronic judgment — and, most ironically self-judgment: the compulsive binary view of the world in terms of good versus evil. Karma Yoga is, in a certain sense, the abstract to papers on fuzzy logic, neural networks and artificial intelligence. Vivekananda wrote: good and bad are both bondages of the soul (a higher state of mind — if I may). If we do not attach ourselves to the work we do, it will not have any binding effect on our soul. Work incessantly, but be not attached to it. This is the one central idea that is common to almost all the best-selling self-management books.

It is, however, worth pausing and pondering. It must be challenging to an individualist and progressive global citizen to not mistake Vivekananda’s central point for advocacy of nonchalance and laziness. On the contrary, Vivekananda suggested that our best work comes when we stop being so preoccupied with the end result and instead surrender ourselves to the experience of life itself. And let the end and the means be joined into one.

O’ My Sweet Lord, Swami Vivekananda, fill my heart with joy unspeakable…

The face that starred back at him was ruefully admitted has been losing its verve. The rubicund face was so buoyant that it enticed anyone who crossed the puberty. His face now carried the burden of life. The mirror reflected too many experiences. He did not wipe the water droplets on the spectacles. To him, life has always been like a water droplet on a glass. It would leave its mark. He was experiencing too much of cognisance at once. The kind of reality that could sink even a superman into a pit of ennui.

The image of life continued to browbeat, without blinking even once. He ran his fingers on a light brown patch around the temple region. It looked like the last leaf in the fall season. He removed his glasses and moved closer towards the mirror. The two dark smudges below the eyes attracted more attention than those twinkling eyes. He wondered whether anyone would ever like to watch the stars daring the flickers streetlights. The city kept everyone grounded, lest they launched the moonshots.

His elegant grey matter, and the sideburns were becoming pale white without turning silver. He was reminded of his own joke. Back in the days when they used to talk often, he sent a text to his wife: the roads here in Bangalore are like my face! It’s a Telugu-couple thing .Today, he would say that it was the other way round. He misses talking to her in Telugu.

She had returned to the United States after giving him enough chances. They strictly follow a don’t-ask-don’t-tell protocol. She had agreed to visit him in India once he figured something out. He mortgaged all his personal assets to build a cloud-based platform for craftsmen in India. After all, everyone in India chased the monsoon in one way or the other! Albeit, the technology and the clouds in this country have always lacked the silver lining.

Every time he visited a cottage industry to collect data, he would give away a sizeable sum to ensure the families survived until he returned for the next phase of market research. To those who questioned the rationale, he would often respond: how different is it from the planned operating losses in most startups around? What have they been smoking? OPM? Need I say more? Other people’s money is the most dangerous addiction.

He pitched aggressively to anyone that heard him out. He and those around him eventually gave up on each other. He would practice multiple pitches on his way to temple. He would, then, share the ideas with his favourite deity, Dattatreya. On his way back, he would deliver a better pitch under a tree, while sharing some food with four street dogs, and one cow and her calf.

The media covered him on the front page because he did not spare even the minister during an election campaign. Everyone loved the idea but no one seemed to care enough. He often wondered about the plight of Siri and Alexa. He parted ways even with them a few weeks ago. But, he is sure that his data is safe somewhere in the cloud. He took a deep breath. An exasperated sigh that would cloud the glass. He wrote a note to self on the mirror: It is now or never. Without even knocking, the janitor tried to open to door more than once. It’s time to hit refresh.

The waitress smiled at him. For all its worth, he pulled out a hundred rupee bill from his breast pocket. To him, every hundred rupee bill is a smart contract. His father would give one such promissory note on his birthday and bless: may you live for one hundred years, my son! As a child, he always thought that he would be rich one day and that he could easily amass one hundred thousand rupees. That was much more than the prize money that the team India just won at the Lord’s.

Every year, he would attempt to memorise the serial number on the bill. After going to the grad school, he once attempted to digitalise the entries. Just before delivering the convocation address at the same school, he even explored the idea of a block chain project based on those serial numbers. The cashier had to click on the mouse several times to get back his attention. Before passing on the money, he glanced at the line:Truth alone triumphs. He smirked at the Mahatma.

The lady in a black dress said: “Sir, if you paid just 99, you would get unlimited coffee refills.” He stretched his hand and asked for the one rupee coin. After searching frantically, the perplexed cashier finally passed the buck. He tossed the coin. Caught it. He firmly clasped those trembling hands. The phone vibrated. The sweat on his palms made it difficult to unlock the phone.

He knew that the stakes were high. But this ain’t a game of poker back in Las Vegas. He then slid the coin under his laptop on the table. The text message read: We like the demo. We would proceed with the investment, if you could tell us why you are the right person. My boss wants to join the meeting. He anxiously searched for the wifi password on the receipt. He hooked on to the wifi and opened YouTube in an attempt to hear the latest talk by the legend, who is known to invest only in projects with a purpose. The app would not load. In a hasty attempt to skip an ad about the great Indian festival, he accidentally touched the notification bar.

The video clip on the family whatsapp group started to download and play automatically. He exited the group exactly a dozen times. They had simply added him back every time — 13 ain’t a lucky number. Meanwhile, there was one more text message: if we feel that you are good enough for the venture, we will ensure that the best happens. The video in the background would not stop playing.The speaker recited a poem from Potana Bhagavam. Thrice. And no. The video isn’t stuck.

He knew it was louder than usual. But he could not recollect the exact poem and it’s context. So much of thunder and so little rain? Not again. He thought: If only the clouds could shower just the tears of farmers and craftsmen in this country! Everyone in the cafe was looking at him. After all, it was neither a podcast nor a Netflix trailer. The poker face did not help him this time. He was embarrassed, and he dutifully apologised, not particularly looking at anyone.

The business leader approached towards the door. His gait resembled that of an elephant. He pulled the door wide open. At that moment, he appeared as composed as an Ongole bull. His white cotton shirt and well-combed silver hair, made him look like a blissfully calm swan that has been peddling tirelessly underneath the surface. The air around him was more like a temple cool breeze just before the evening showers. As he walked with poise, the door behind him closed slowly and the bells chimed gently.

Surprisingly, his assistant was nowhere to be seen. Everyone in the cafe stole looks at him. Few of them hesitatingly whispered his name. The store manager came to the table to extend greetings. He came straight to the table and said: “I know I kept you waiting. Let us come straight to the point. I like what you are doing. I have personally reviewed your application. But I need to like you too… isn’t it? I can go all in. So, tell me what have you been upto? Keep it short and interesting please. Before you start, could you share a cup coffee with me?”

He did not know how to start. The poem that he heard few moments ago was constantly running on his mind. On the pretext of being a good host, he made two trips to the counter. He fetched two glasses of water and one tissue. He even read writing on the wall: Our hand-beaten coffee is stirred but not shaken. He sipped some water and uttered the following lines just to get them out of his mind:

ఇది నాకు నెలవని యేరీతిఁ బలుకుదు?
నొక చో టనక యెందు నుండ నేర్తు;
నెవ్వనివాఁడ నం చేమని నుడువుదు?;
నా యంతవాఁడనై నడవనేర్తు;
నీ నడవడి యని యెట్లు వక్కాణింతుఁ?;
బూని ముప్పోకల బోవ నేర్తు;
నదినేర్తు నిదినేర్తు నని యేలఁ జెప్పంగ?;
నేరుపు లన్నియు నేన నేర్తు;
నొరులుఁ గారు నాకు నొరులకు నే నౌదు
నొంటివాఁడఁ జుట్ట మొకఁడు లేఁడు
సిరియుఁ దొల్లి గలదు చెప్పెద నా టెంకి
సుజనులందుఁ దఱచు చొచ్చియుందు.

The gentleman at the table heard them clearly. He said: Hey! I love it! This is interesting. My mother was a Telugu teacher in Mysore. I think it is time I worked with poets who happen to be the world’s best computer scientists. Go ahead! I am listening. I like the way you are approaching this pitch.

He rushed back and he said, “Sir, how can I tell you that I belong to one place? I may appear as though I am all around the place. As a leader, I wear multiple hats on any given day. I talk to artisans, I work with coders, I fight with the system. How do I tell you that I belong to any place?

“I have been born into a modest agricultural family in Andhra Pradesh. At one point, I stood like a mendicant before the president of my village. I had to plead him to implement the government’s farmer weaver program and free my father from the burden of compound interest. Two decades later, I had ensured that my company in the United States adopted my village. I set my soul on fire. Little did I know that I was awefully wrong!”

“I headed the company that reigned its supremacy on the land, the sea and the air. We were the one of those few companies in the valley to build our own hardware, software and middleware. I was crazy enough to believe that I could change the world. I did whatever it took to learn and deliver. I led the three most important mergers in the history of corporate America.

“I trained myself to learn, relearn and unlearn. I worked for the love of task at hand. I managed the best minds in the world at that time. And no one would mean anything to me. Thankfully enough, I was able to make a positive impact on their lives. I created wealth only to share it. You know what sir? Even now, their families would often say that I am everything to them.”

“After scaling several peaks of excellence, I am alone today. My family that was once proud of me is now a deja vu. They think that something has gone wrong with me. Needless to say that I do not shop for them anymore during the thanksgiving season.”

“After working on my current project, I am convinced that I have countless friends that I am yet to discover. I am sure you would have guessed it by now. I made lots of money that never owned me. I don’t own much now. Sir, I like to spend time with good people who are incredibly talented. I feel at home in every room where I am the dumbest person. This is it!”

Meanwhile, the order is ready to be served. He made room for by-two coffee on the table. The three lions on the coin looked right into his face. The ice broke. Their eyes met. Both of them smiled at each other for they knew the truth: Nothing is as powerful as an idea whose time has come. There is one thing stronger than all the forces in the world, and that is an idea whose time has come. They nodded. And they continued to laugh.

The pregnant clouds are gathering over the woods — and the poles, the potholes of Koramangala, dare not step out!

The huge trees in the boulevard are stretching their arms, the clouds look like the crows and eagles, rushing towards their homes,

The forth-filled lakes of the city are longing for just one shower, the have committed suicide by staying in those waters.

The cows are running towards the dark clouds — they think Gopalakrishna is playing the hide and seek game with them.

The daylight is dim today, and a few roads are closed, and those who have no respect for the rules would soon dare the fate.

The wind is roaring like the lions on the coin, the overflowing water on the road is loud, harsh and impatient, and the path to home is slippery!

Godheads and His tales — 
Every great idea is like the good God above! O’ ye!
Who knows? He, maybe, is just an idea? No way!
He knows! God may be is just an idea away!
She knows! We are just a fragment of Her imagination. Maye!
Sive! Sive! Sive!

Top Stories:

The Guardian

In the era of constitutional monarchy in India, emperor Rama and his family are trying to find some place in their hometown. In the world of functioning anarchy, the Ramayana is one doctrine that every home, town and city needs. When in doubt, read the original Godfather: the Ramayana.

The Ramayana — Wikipedia

The Ramayana is a dialogue with the truth. The heroes of the story succeed by moving from one failure to another. When millennials look up for the keyword life on google, the first suggestion is: life is unfair. What of it?

Ideally, the first page of the result should return life story of Rama and Sita (citation needed). If Gods, too, used Google, the search results would appear as below:

Ads by Amazon

Rama and Sita are on cover picture of original version of the Sapiens, a brief history of humankind.

See results about:

Stories by Disney: Rama and Sita are the cutest couple in the neighbourhood. We can befriend them, like them, stalk them, and follow them. They are lovely and loving. Learn more.

Goodreads

Lincoln once said, nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power. Lincoln would have not said so, had he read the Ramayana during his formative years.

Rama stayed calm when life threw disasters at him. He had remained (absolutely) balanced when he was bestowed with absolute power. And, what about the call of duty? He just did it. It’s as though Rama, the sproty husband was spotted with a bow and arrow and Nike headband.

The Washington Post

When Rama was asked to leave the kingdom the day before coronation, he didn’t say a word. When a citizen of his kingdom had used Rama as an example to right the wrong, Rama spoke at the cost of his life. Since then, democracy has never been in danger.

The Economist

Population growth is making the earth a sinful place. Ever since Malthus’s apocalyptic vision in 1798 of overcrowding and starvation, a debate has raged over population growth and its links with human survival. While, we can leave the technicalities to UN Population Fund (UNFPA) to the left brain champion, we must think of better ways of integrating the reality with such turnkey solutions as adoption.

Sita is the poster girl for adoption in this country. Janaka found Sita in the fields, he picked her into his arms and declared her the princess of his home. For, householders of this land have strived to expand consciousness and enhance identity of the Self.

She Reddit all

Sita was a feministic like none other. She knew that she was special but never externalised the superior being in her. At the same time, she never failed to defend her self esteem. Let alone Ravana, Sita wouldn’t spare even Rama. Nonetheless, she seldom attacked men around her to ascertain her feminism.

The pledge:

When Rama asked her to enter the fire to prove her chastity, Sita obliged. She forgave. She never forgot. She went back to live him happily. She understood the shallowness of eternity more than anyone.

The turn:

Years after sending Sita to the forest, Rama regretted his decision. Towards the climax, Rama had met Sita in the forest and requested her to come back home as his queen. She never returned. She comprehended the depth of life.

The prestige:

Sita (re)turned to mother Earth. She remained grounded like a tree, tender like a fresh leaf, and blossomed like a flower. Sita had been mystical, magical and magnificent ever since.

She’s our National Geographic

Sita personified Nature. She nurtured her love for trees and animals. She was at home in the forest, plucking grass and watching birds.

Today, a girl who travels is Sita in a thousand ways. No hash-tagging along please.

The Financial Times — Life and Arts

Mahakavi Sri Sri once said: there are one-short-of-a-million political philosophies that need us to see humans as Gods. Communism, we must love it for this reason if nothing else, is the only doctrine that treats humans as humans. The bard was subtly prosaic. The Ramayana is an extraordinary story of humans. No wonder, his work on the Ramayana remained the best film song he had ever penned.

The TED: Ideas worth spreading

In her TED talk psychotherapist Esther Perel said: choosing to stay, when you can conveniently leave, is the new shame. The selfish gene and anthropology are in our favour: moving on in relationships is the science of life.

Sita had all the reasons to be like everyone else. She remained among others but retained her identity that’s delicately paired to that of Rama.

Harvard Business Review — Ideas and Advice for Leaders

The Ramayana is all about empathy that Satya Nadella used as a tool to transform the culture of Microsoft. The Ramayana is filled with anecdotes of random kindness. Let’s hit refresh more than once. An old lady who had lived away from civilisation conveyed this to Rama: You may be the emperor. You may even be the God. But I am your Mother and you’re in need of some empathy now.

Social Media Results

Humans of India and citizens of world

If the Ramayana were a page on Facebook, a handle on Instagram and twitter today, then we’d need at least 7 billion people to engage with it.

We must read it, watch it, listen to it, like it and share it, like never before. Artificial intelligence and human wisdom for a life, happily ever after.

We send picture cards,
Write letters that echo love.
I am not arriving, and — 
I am not stopping.
I stare at the beautiful horizon,
The love for you, is a writing
On my wall:
We build paper rockets,
And launch moonshots to heaven.
We experience heaven on earth.
We move heaven and earth.

The raindrops touch you first,
And kiss the earth next.
We play in the rain,
Build paper boats,
To explore ocean of churn.

You and I have experiences
Deeper than the sea
that waves at us today.
You and I have no two lives
Bigger than the sky
that covers us well.
You and I have memories
Longer than the road
that stretches out ahead.