Crows - The Mythical Food Tasters

Observing your brain at work is like living in a room with glass walls - fun for a while, but freaks you out sooner. The human brain, no doubt, is the most complex and thereby the most perplexing of human organs. Most of us, naive or not, would have amused at the way our brains act on stimuli; how our thought process non-linearly shifts across planes seamlessly (sometimes meaninglessly) and attempts to connect the dots of our life events. Many a time, I mindlessly wander, and return to sense with some idea or thought; the thought process of which would seem so bizarre. This post is a small anecdote of one such bizarre line of thought, that traveled from Europe to Akbar to pre-historic Indian tribes all of which started with an innocuous article.

The article was innocuous; but not the person it was about - Hitler. The other day, I came across a news article about the last surviving food tasters of Hitler passing away. For the uninitiated, men in power all around the world - Kings, dictators, leaders, pariahs - induct food tasters (testers) to test the food they are served; if the food tasters did not exhibit untoward behavior/symptoms, the food is signaled safe for consumption. This is to thwart attempts to poison the leader (remember Castro?). Hitler, understandably, had employed 12 German girls as his food tasters. As I was reading this news bit, my crazy brain kicked up its non-linear rendezvous into the realms of my memory pulp; thoughts flickered, sparks flew, and the scene of the article transformed into a royal court house. In the middle of the house was Aishwarya Rai - as radiant as ever (L'Oreal?) adoring a regal golden robe, eating food of a large plate. The setup was Akbar's palace; it dawned on me that my mind, in its characteristic style, has linked the food taster image, to the scene from Jodha Akbar movie, where Akbar's step mom (or was it nanny?) doubting Jodha's (Aishwarya Rai's) intentions, forces her to taste the food before passing it on to Akbar. In a jiffy, my brain has seamlessly and subconsciously connected my reading about food tasters to the movie I saw years ago, thereby plotting yet another path on my memory graph. Bravo Brain Bravo!! 

Hold on! The best is yet to come! Jodha wins over the taste buds and tummies of the courtiers; and Akbar wins over Jodha's heart by eating off her plate, and they break into another of Rahman's romantic tunes. Before I could relish in the rhythm of the moment, my crazy brain was back at work, this time, it transformed the locale into the backyard of my home, and Aishwarya Rai transformed into - a crow! For a moment, I thought the fuses have gone off my brains (and have given my wife more the excuse to pack me off to an asylum). How else would my brain relate Aishwarya Rai to the hideous and generally detested crow. But then the correlation slowly dawned as I saw my mom serving food to the crow after pujas (prayers). After the crow had its full and blessed us with its gory 'kaw', my family feasted on the prayer servings. My conscious brain couldn't relate to my subconscious! What made my brain map the food taster idea to the common crow? I couldn't recollect any prior knowledge or memory of observing crows (except for the one musing I once had that crows born in England are also equally dark in color as Indian crows). May be, it's my constant indignation for Indian customs and attempts to dig out scientific rationale behind customs that is metaphorically drawing a path here. Hey, I don't intend to subvert or mock religious beliefs - the idea that food served to crows fortnightly implies serving daily meals to our ancestors in heavenly abode - though a bit out-reaching - yet reinforces the scientifically proven theory of relativity of time with respect to space, which ancient Indians seem to have mastered long before Einstein. 

But still, from an anthro-zoological point, I couldn't stop thinking of the possibility that the idea of serving food to crows (or other animals) was more of an ancient custom of testing the food we foraged from the wild, and making sure it's fit for human consumption. Wild fruits and shrubs foraged in the wild may have been tested on animals we domesticated or lived around with, and the practice evolved into a symbiotic relationship (with dogs, cows, birds and other cattle) and further on taken a philosophical edge and got absorbed into the religious customs of Indians. Stressing the possibility more is the fact that, most of Hindu gods are mythical Kings and food served to Kings/ Gods are tested before being consumed!

This could be just me day-dreaming, with my brain spinning yet another crazy maze of semi-fiction around history and Indian traditions. Crazy as it may sound; but the more I think of it, the more it sounds plausible!!

- Arun Krishnan

An Obituary

The old man breathed his last this morning. The end took a while to come. But, Time catches up with everyone. Years of toil and age have taken a toll on his health; his frail body looking a distant shadow of his former self. The ‘who’s who’ of the city gathered outside his mansion to pay their last respects. In the queue are business magnates who transacted with him, big shots from politics, celebrities, IIM understudies he mentored, his detractors who for all their professional rivalry still revere him, friends of his older days, and the general public who venerate him to heavenly proportions.

What has this man did that deserves this level of adulation! It’s no simple accomplishment for one who came into the city with nothing more than a ruck-sack. I look back at the times when the old man was still The Man. Looks like distant memories, the days when he, as a kid moved into the settlement with his brothers, and begun their family trade in a small hut. Gradually, his youthful blood and natural instincts developed the business into one of the best in the city. Growth brings wealth; and wealth tends to extinguish the inner fire for excellence. His brothers un-winded gradually; but he went on, chugging like a steamer on full fire. He single-handedly built the family trade into one of the best business empire of the city. What was their hut has now metamorphosed into one of the grandest mansions in the city.

History was in the making. His success story kindled the aspirations of the city’s youth. A new generation grew inspired by his success story; he shone brightly as a guiding light in their lives. His fame attained legendary status; people revered him as their god father to say the least.

But, Time is a great equalizer. Came Fame, Then Came Fall. Age brought with it ailments. Health failed and so did his reputation. His children bickered over his business empire; once the jewel, he was now seen as a liability. The very mouths that praised him, the very hands that waited to shake hands with him, began ignoring and foul-mouthing. The saying one is only as good as his last achievement bore true yet again.

He could sense the end was nearing; but his obsessive passion for his business blurred his vision and masked the reality. His very children showed signs of dissent and sidelined him. Off late, he would withdraw into a shell and dwell over his predicament in silent contemplation. Rational reasoning would advise him to step down, but his passion would inevitably pull him back; bursts of energy would propel him for a few days only to dump him back in sickness and desolation sooner.

Finally, the day has come. Today, the city mourns his passing away; they recollect the hay days of his life, the ordeals that this man went through, the one-man army that bore the burdens of the business and hopes of millions. Superlatives fail to describe his success. To dream is one thing, to achieve it is another! But to have passion in the blood, and not letting the blinding adulation and glory diminish the heart’s burning desire to excel is no mean achievement. This old man deserves a salute just for that!

PS: A scruffy attempt on an obituary. How I wish I could name the old man!

Chaos is Beautiful

For once, I chose to follow Robert Frost - I took the road not taken - well, the road I hadn’t taken before. It turned out I was not the only one. The street was swarmed - never before had I seen such a motley of a crowd plying on the narrowest of streets I’ve ever been - pedestrians, bikes, rickshaws, taxis, trolleys - all crawling about on all directions. Ruing my decision, I resolved to stick it out. Inching slowly, I’d to be at my lapidary best to avoid a nasty dent or a scratched up side on my moto. The intensity of the ordeal got to my nerves and I almost hooted at a teen trying to hop across squeezing into the space in front - but my coy nature reined me and let myself seethe within. That’s when I noticed something - a  behavior not seen even on the better avenues of the city - there was no honking; and there were no tempers flying. These humble commuters on the sidelined by-lanes of the city’ periphery have made peace with their predicament. They smile at the crossing commuter, pass a light-veined comment on the odd pedestrian attempting a Jesse Owens across the street, and move along. There was harmony amidst all the chaos. When, we appreciate the limitations of the circumstances, and accept it with all our heart, we realize that chaos is sweeter than the dreariness of monotony - Chaos is Beautiful.

Ah-ah-achoo!

You slide down the visor; rev up the engine; up-shift the gear. You've your eyes on the crevice - the narrow creek that's the only hope of freedom - freedom to you and your bike - freedom from bondage - bondage of having to piggyback a bus that's been dawdling before you for god-knows-how-long on the desolated road. You go for the kill - you release the clutch; and accelerate your speedster towards the narrowest of a slit between the bus and median. Now, you're sandwiched between them - a thin waft of ethereal space is all that separates you from tapping either. A couple more seconds, and you'll be out ahead - out into the freedom of the barren tarmac ahead. That's when your nose conspires against you, and - you sneeze!