Of ghosts and people.

The little girl was scared, terrified, petrified of all things horror. She wouldn't let anyone in the family watch any of those horror programs on the television, never mind that she actually saved them from abysmal direction, cheap animation and really, really badly made up ghosts. When she grew up, she tried to rationalize with herself, forced herself to watch a few horror movies; if cushions could speak (or had rights), they would definitely sue her for domestic violence. She forced herself to watch with peers too, for the fear of humiliation might just make her stronger; as it turned out, her peers were no help.

And so she grew up with a mortal fear of the supernatural, so much so that even an audio-visual representation of a fantasy involving supernatural beings, projected on the TV screen that definitely belonged to this world was a complete no.

She also feared the dark, but got over it quickly. "Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if only one remembers to turn on the light." She became fully functional during the wee hours of morning eventually, though that does not go to say that she did not feel the occasional chill down the spine.

She wondered if the chill was because she had suddenly become aware of an extra-terrestrial, unreal being in her immediate vicinity. She wondered if she could communicate with whatever it was, if it would indeed be a treasure-house of wisdom from the beyond. She wondered if it would harm her, maim her and torture her; what would she do then?

Scream, of course. There were others in the house, too. They would do something, wouldn't they? She was not sure how powerful human will would be against that of a supernatural entity. Maybe she would scream and nobody would listen.

Nothing happened, of course. No screams in the night went unheard, no inexplicable events took place to arouse her fantasy, no supernatural being ever came into contact with her.

She grew up and realized ghosts weren't scary at all. People were.

A thought to begin the year.

Rituals are important, they say; but nobody knows why. There is hardly any evidence pointing to the reason behind certain rituals, be it folklore or be it some vague symbolism, and even then there is no telling why these rituals are still significant to our spiritual lives.

Being an Indian, the symbolic significance of religious traditions and rituals is omnipresent in the celebration of  any festival, but seldom explained to us. The enormity of time that has passed since the creation and early practices of these rituals leaves a lot to wild guesswork, and revisions. We believe that all religious practices must have some logical inspiration, and it is therefore very easy to determine what practices are genuine and what have come through the adulteration of time.

Traditions that are symbolic lend themselves to a host of interpretations, provided your thoughts are not restricted by what your elders tell you. Case in point: the festival of Vishu, the Tamil New Year.

Every year, our mother would tuck us in on the night before Vishu with the anticipation of wealth, fresh fruits, sweets and the Kani. Now the Kani is a curious spectacle that brings excitement to this festival, mainly because of the particular way each item is placed with respect to the other. The Kani includes a huge vessel made of five auspicious metals; the 'Kanikonna', a bright, golden flower associated with Lord Vishnu; all sorts of golden fruits such as bananas, jack-fruits and the golden cucumber; gold coins, coconuts and rice grains with turmeric. These objects reflect the colour of gold, in that they symbolize prosperity. A statue or a picture of Lord Vishnu is then placed in the midst of the decoupage with a golden radiance.

Now for the curious part; the mirror. The mirror must be placed in such a way that the kani must be visible only as a reflection to the onlooker. Also, the kani must be the first thing seen by an individual after waking up, which means a blindfolding of sorts that leads one to the kani.

The elders have told us that the mirror is so that you look at your own reflection just as you look at that of the kani; that symbolizes the fact that only you can bring prosperity and happiness unto yourself. This responsibility is therefore the first thing you assume as the year begins; the responsibility of the prosperity of oneself.

I interpret it this way: the mirror signifies that prosperity is nothing but an illusion, and it is necessary to stick to this idea for the fear of becoming complacent. The fickleness of wealth is reminded to us at the beginning of every new year, taken as a warning to value all that we possess, for we may lose everything in the blink of an eye.

The idea of illusions is not a new one; wasn't that Lord Krishna who said that all the world is just an illusion? Every single thought in our minds, all the laws of physics, this universe and our existence is but an illusion. That must mean that what we experience is not reality, because there is no such thing as reality! That must mean that we are all living a shared illusion of life, and madness is nothing but the breakage of this illusion.

So wouldn't being mad mean that you finally gain control of what seemingly belonged to you in your sanity; your mind? Discerning between reality and truth, between singular sanity and shared insanity; it is sheer madness!

Consciousness is real, but every other altered state of consciousness is true.

What a great thought to start the year with.

The Language of Maths

It's not as boring as it sounds. It's actually quite an amusing story.

Once upon a time, back in school, I used to slog it out with algebra and geometry and trigonometry and calculus and those thingamajigs. I could swear that every important person I met was brilliant at math, and they used to swear by one rule: it's only the answer that counts. Many of them asserted that it was the only reason they actually loved math; no beating around the bush, like in the languages. It doesn't matter what algorithms you use, what formulas you're taught or how you prefer to write your 4's and your 7's, as long as your answer's right.

One might argue then, as to what the point of math class is, post the invention of a calculator.

So, back when I used to struggle with the math, we were told in school that we had marks for the procedure. Many saw it as a chance to score even if the answer was wrong; I saw it as an added stressor. What if I miss a step and lose marks on that? What's the point of this whole charade when nothing but the end result mattered, I asked.

I was never a math person, but I was a good student. My family comprises of hardcore Science and Commerce students, and there is a whole seeking-their-approval thing that may be spoken of another day; let's just say that scoring in math was the only way I could get out of school peacefully. There; motivation.

One fateful evening, I was frustrated with algebra. It seems simple now, but back then I was in the 6th Std. Everything is difficult in the 6th Std.

6x+7y= 84
"Argh!"
"What?", asked my dad. Let me warn you, he's kind of a Math wizard.
"Well, this seems like something we've already been taught, but there's this whole procedure that I need to do before I get to the answer. I've solved a hundred sums today, but if I forget a single step, I lose marks! It's exhausting", I burst out.
"Is it not in English? Read it." My dad said, not looking up from his newspaper.
"What?", I asked, confounded.
"Read it." My dad said, plainly.
"Ok. 6 x's and 7 y's equal 84", I said. Something clicked.
"There. Would it not help your teachers if they could make sense of what you write in the paper? They can read it out just as you did, and then they'll know you've understood your algebra and are not faking it."

6 more years of math after that, and every difficult sum I solved reminded me of this.

I haven't even glanced at a math sum in a year, and this has been the best year of my life, by far; though those might not be completely related statements. I am today a language student with a passion for literature and writing. Would I have been this if my dad hadn't asked me to read the language of math all those years ago? Probably not. My dad taught me to find meaning, a pattern, a language in everything, and it is only today that I absolutely appreciate it.

Math is a form of literature that is straightforward in its own right. And all those signs and symbols that the Greek so sadistically passed on to us, all make sense. Each line in math makes sense; in fact, if it wouldn't screw up decimals, I'm pretty sure they would let us have full stops and commas in the sums too! I'm not saying I miss it; I'm saying I appreciate its presence in the 12 years of my life.

There was also a lesson there, wasn't it? Oh yes, something about means and ends. Never mind that.