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I took a leap of faith and went through the Landmark Forum course (previously known as EST) approximately five weeks ago. It is neither a training nor a “how to” class. It is not about improving one’s habits. It is not a “cult” or spiritual preaching. It is not a group therapy. It does not deliver knowledge. There were no notes to be taken and nothing was comparable to my previous training of any kind. But still it was 4+12+12+12+4 = 44 hours (over five days) of intense engagement on zoom call for the price of $675 with just one solitary coach. OK, then what the fxxx was this course about?

Before the course began, I was asked “What would I like to improve in myself”? What could be my blind spots? That process of self-evaluation was not simple. I have a tight-knit and robust relationship not only with Anjali and kids, but also with mine and Anjali’s siblings, nephews and nieces. In general, I am a happy person who likes to keep a child in me alive. Yes, I feel the pain, get depressed and engulf myself in sorrow. But I am usually aware of my emotions and maybe therefore, I somehow overcome them.

Eventually I figured out my main deficiency. I am an undisciplined fellow and do not stick to routine. There are two undesirable outcomes of such indiscipline. First, I do not complete every one of my projects or assignments. Second, I eat more than I desire, expect, plan or decide. If this course would provide me with “discoveries” or “aha” moments to plug such holes, that would be a fantastic improvement in my life.

The course started building through a series of 2–3-hour sessions. Topic is introduced briefly by the coach with very few examples. She would then challenge the attendees to go through a real personal exercise. For example, we had a session on facts, impressions of facts and fiction. Our mind continuously mixes them up. One attendee lady neither had the courage to divorce nor could she live happily in the marriage. She was encouraged to have a dialogue with her husband during the break. When she reported back to the whole group, she continued to intermix her plain dialogue from her various emotional impressions of the dialogue. She had a tough, iterative, long discussion with the coach to separate emotions from facts in front of all of us.

There were many other sessions, such as forgetting one’s past, living in the present, taking actions NOW even if they are uncomfortable, staying away from biases, becoming honest and authentic in one’s interactions with family members and colleagues. The culminating session was about how life is empty and meaningless (and how one can give it a meaning that one DESIRES .. because it is meaningless to start with). 

In contrast to the other attendees, I was already exposed to these concepts. I had briefly read material on Hindu philosophy, such as Vedas, Upanishads and Bhagavad Gita. But that was just a theory. Practicing such concepts is a whole different matter. For example, I cannot live in present even for two seconds. My thoughts constantly jump from some useless mundane stuff to solving world hunger. Surprisingly, the group sharing in this course of such complex concepts was something totally different.

It was an absolute honor to have so many attendees share their deep personal experiences live with us during the course. The narration of experiences involved tortuous crying, emotional outbursts, exposure of deep wounds and laying bare stories of one’s entire life to 70 strangers. Yes, for any outsider, it looked like a cult gathering, psychological group therapy and a strange meeting with some evangelical priest. But for me, it was Hindu philosophical concepts in practice. The practitioners were not those long-bearded sadhus dressed in Saffron clothes. They were ordinary and vulnerable whites, Hispanics and blacks who had never ever heard about Hindu philosophy.

But wait. Did I plug my holes? Did I discover myself to become a disciplined individual? No, I did not. That self-discovery or “aha” moment never occurred for me. Apparently, I will continue to eat merrily to my heart’s (and stomach’s) content. Weight reduction will continue to be not (a sugar-laden) cup of tea for me. I will continue to move from one assignment to another like a butterfly. Oh well, life will go on. Meanwhile, awareness of empty and meaningless life in the group setting did remind me again that I should pause before succumbing myself to any emotions. I rediscovered that it is fun to see my own emotions as a third person. That “journey” of self-awareness continues! For this one reason, it was worth going through the course for me.

Should you do this course? I do not know. It depends on your affordability for time and money, the stage at which you are in your life, and your acceptance to delve into such esoteric concepts. Otherwise, of course, you can look in the mirror (literally and figuratively), look around to see your own blind spots and move on with your life! And that works too!

Nitin Anturkar (August 2022)

(This is a translation of my Marathi poem)

Recently, I sent my poem “One tear” from 2015 with a new title called “Journey of my Sorrow”. Few friends asked me, “Hey, what happened?” Some others wanted to know what “journey of sorrow” means. A poem belongs to the reader, not to the poet. Reader owns the subtle, delicate waves created in his/her mind by reading such poems. Even then, let me try to answer the above questions in the briefest possible way.

Sorrow is one constant even in today’s high-speed new brave world flooded with social media. Such sorrow suddenly catches me unaware and unarmed, and freezes me in my groove. I had presented four shades of such sorrow in 2015. Sometimes such moments of sorrow are drenched, and I want to throw them away in a flowing river of life like a wasted flower after pooja. Sometimes that moment of sorrow is a weird stranger, sometimes lonely, and sometimes, it is like a detached fakir.

Today in 2022, the same random shades described in the poem in the past, appears to be my journey of sorrow. Am I becoming detached from my sorrow like a fakir, like Yogeshwar Lord Krishna playing on the banks of river Yamuna?

Journey of My Sorrow

One still moment
One stagnant tear
Drenched
Like a discarded dried flower in rain

One still moment
One stagnant tear
the stranger
Like a dark blue cloud on the horizon

One still moment
One stagnant tear
alone
Like infinite presence of north star in a dark night

One still moment
One stagnant tear
the Fakir
Like a floating Krishna in a flowing river

Unfathomable sorrow
And one companion tear!

Nitin Anturkar (June 20, 2015)

I wrote a Marathi article a few years ago about my mostly non-professional experiences. However, some of my non-Marathi family members and friends requested that this article be translated into English. So, here you go with the unconstrained translation!

As we get older, we all tend to dive into our fading brain cells and pull-out old memories. Then we ruminate on those memorable experiences during boring meetings, on the toilet, when we go to bed, or when we are pretending to listen to our spouses. In my case, I even wrote some nostalgic articles in Marathi about some of these unique memories, such as my excursions as a foodie. But what I have never done is take comprehensive stock of all my experiences. Now, my schoolmates have requested that I write about this entire autobiographical journey. For some of you, it could be an interesting read, and for others, it could be just a diatribe.

To ensure that you are not bored by long articles in this fast-paced world, I will write the experiences as non-chronological bullet points. Go ahead and imagine interesting stories behind these bullets. For example, when I write that “In my 9th grade, five of us walked from Dombivali (my hometown in India) to Raigad (the fort capital of the founder of the Maratha Empire, Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj),” I will let you envision the stories behind such an 8-day walk. These stories could include the burning pain of bulging blisters all over our feet, the anxious palpitation of young hearts knocking on random strangers’ doors in the dark for overnight shelter, and the taste of terribly cooked, scorched rice next to the fast-paced thoroughfare under the hot sun.

Oh yes, we did not share our (Anjali’s and my) personal anguishes in this write-up. Let them remain tucked away in our hearts.

OK, shall we start?

I used to spend evenings in fifth and sixth grade catching fish in the sewer nullah flowing next to our home. Yes, that is really, really true! My hometown fruit market used to be occasionally flooded during monsoon rains, and rotten oranges used to flow in the rapids of this nullah. I would lie flat on my stomach on the sewer bridge in the soaking rain and would try to catch these swaying oranges rushing through the overflowing rapids of the nullah. It felt as if this was the ultimate, adrenaline-rushing fun game that ever existed in the whole world.  Once, my teacher pulled me out of the sewer and reprimanded me in front of the girls from my school. It was a very, very embarrassing moment indeed, not so much because the teacher yelled at me, but because the girls were laughing at me.

As I mentioned earlier, we went on an 8-day walking trip to Raigad from Dombivali. The team of a fabulous five included “mature” adults with ages ranging from 10 to 14. We had no idea where we would stay overnight or what we would eat. Our parents said “yes,” and there we went! A totally crazy endeavor! In the evening, we would literally knock on any random door in tiny villages and request that they accommodate us for the night! What hospitality we received from all these families with modest means and humble homes! With such experiences, it was so easy for us to develop unwavering faith in humanity in those formative years.

I loved to swear in Marathi at my school. Later in college, I added fancy English “vocabulary” to improve my “sophistication” in swearing. In my literary exuberance of cursing, if some gentleman got red-faced and unsettled, I used to refer him to one of the popular Marathi theater dramas, “Tee Phulraani” (based on George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion), by the most respected Marathi author Pu. La. Deshpande. The Professor in this play also used to swear and say that “Such beautiful filthy words are the adorned jewelry of any self-respecting language.” I even earned second place in the dorm competition for cursing! But, of course, I have never sworn in front of women, younger children and elderly people.

n my final year of high school, some of my friends incited me to take a math AP class. Our principal was reluctant to conduct AP classes. But somehow, the motivated leaders of our pack persuaded the principal. Furthermore, my close friend Arun Joshi provoked me to take an Arithmetic AP class at the same time. Unfortunately, we had to learn it ourselves, as our principal did not want to offer such a class only to three crazy students. Here in the USA, students may not understand all the fuss about taking AP classes. But this entire self-learning episode during the most crucial academic year was on the borderline of irrational stupidity.

I had a fantastic relationship with my in-laws. I could carry on long conversations with Anjali’s mom. How many people do you know who have such long conversations with their mothers-in-law? Both in-laws have now passed away. But we had a nostalgic, quiet revival of those memories at Anjali’s nephew’s pre-pandemic wedding. That was a great detour into the past!

Until now, I have traveled to 56 countries, sometimes for work and sometimes for pleasure. Nowadays, our family has an unusual modus operandi for such trips. We eat unique local food, sit around watching people go by on the street and observe their daily life, visit local markets, and roam around in nature. We do not chase those conventional sightseeing places anymore that would be promptly forgotten in no time! Some of the journeys are etched in our brains. Te Galapagos, the Amazon Jungle, and Tanzania were simply mind-blowing places. And how can I forget our visit to my brother in New Zealand, followed by a family trip with my parents? That was the last trip with my ever-enthusiastic mom!

I have trekked for more than 300 days in the Himalayas. On the Kalabaland expedition in 1982, at the northwest tip of the China, Nepal, and India border, we had to stay above the snow line for 40-45 days, where snow never melts throughout the year. The only way to get water above the snow line was to melt the snow. We were short of money, short of sufficient porters, and short of fuel. Obviously, water was rationed only for drinking and cooking purposes. What does that mean? It means that brushing teeth and taking showers were completely skipped for the entire 45 days! Woohoo, perfect situation for a lazy bum like me! Never mind that based on my current appearance, many friends think, that I do not take daily showers even today. Hahaha!

When I was working at the Tata AutoComp Systems (TACO) in Pune, I led the negotiations for four joint ventures (JVs). Later, I had the opportunity to nurture these JVs as a board member on behalf of the Tata Group as well. Considering that the Tata Group had 200 companies, very few select strategic companies were led by Mr. Ratan Tata. We were one of those fortunate companies. We met with him once every three months at TACO’s board meetings. I even had an opportunity to have a two-on-one lunch with him, along with my boss. I learned a lot from this incredible mentor and was able to run the business unit without any corruption.

When Aarti and Tejas were 4 and 6 years old, we actually sent them alone to Sydney to my brother’s home. This was admittedly not our wisest decision! The kids even changed flights in Singapore with help from the flight attendant. Later, our bravado melted away. Terrified at the prospect of these kids returning alone, I promptly went to Sydney to bring them back myself. The kids developed such a strong bond with my brother and sister-in-law that when we were returning, everyone in the Anturkar family except me was crying. That bond remains very very strong. My niece’s wedding was a similarly amazing bonding experience in our lives.

I met an elected government official in 1998 near Pune to get approval for an industrial setup. He requested 60 million rupees as a bribe (approximately 1 million USD): 30 million rupees for himself and 30 million for the political party in power. Unfortunately for him, I was raised by parents with strong values and mentored by Mr. Tata. I told him to go to hell. We set up the facility in Hinjewadi, a small village near Pune at that time, where the Tata Group had already established the industrial infrastructure. The government eventually initiated today’s well-known software park there and credited the Tata Group for all the foundational work. Yes, you can stand up to corruption and still build great industrial businesses in India.

I really love exploring all kinds of food. I have enjoyed some unusual exotic dishes, such as grasshopper powder (chapulines) and eggs of large ants (escamoles) in Mexico, horse and crocodile meat in central Asia, unpalatable homemade beer in Kerala, and yak butter tea in Ladakh. In spite of all that exotic food, my most favorite dish still continues to be a homemade traditional Marathi dessert called Basundi (based on thickened milk).

This next experience may be difficult for you to imagine! During the Kalabaland expedition, at one point, my team member Nitin Dhond and I were the only two members present in one of the camps. Suddenly, snowfall began with a blinding whiteout and continued for three days. Throughout this duration, we had to go outside intermittently to remove snow from our tiny tent to prevent its collapse. However, the most significant challenge was that we had no idea how long this snowstorm would last. Rationing food and fuel (for water) in that cold weather was one of the most stressful and anxious moments in my life!

Incidentally, during that expedition, our team scaled seven peaks, including three peaks that had never been ascended before. Did you know that the International Mountaineering Federation allows climbers to designate names for such unclimbed peaks that are recognized on all official maps? Our team did name the peaks using local tradition, language, and norms. This was a very proud moment for all of us.

At the age of sixty, I had an intense, sudden heart attack with 100% blockage of the main artery called Left Anterior Descending artery (LAD) that provides blood to the heart. Apparently, such a heart attack with 100% blockage of the LAD is called a “widowmaker” heart attack due to the patient’s low survival rate.  Lord Yama (the Indian god of death) was knocking on the door. But the door never opened. With blessings from my parents, I felt neither pain nor worry. I exercise regularly. Why me? I have no blockage due to plaque buildup. Why me? I don’t smoke or drink. Why me? Why me? Surprisingly, none of such “whys” popped up in my mind. I had a blast with the nurses and doctors for five days in the ICU. Oh well, who says we should only have experiences of our choice?

I was on the gymnastics team in college. Our coach, Mr. Khatri, was from the army and did not hesitate to smack 20-year-old adult students with his shoes. “Learn to enjoy the pain” was his ruthless mantra.

Before I entered the crucial final year in high school, I scored a pathetic 46/100 in the English language exam. When a teacher visits you at home, you know that you are in deep, deep trouble. Our teacher, Ms. Chemburkar, came home and told my parents that “your child is in trouble!” In India, knowing the English language was (and is) the gateway to higher education and greener pastures throughout life.  After the visit from my teacher, my parents who never went to college, told me something I will never forget. “You are a responsible student, kiddo! NOBODY else can help you shape your future, nobody can!” This was the unforgettable ultimate lesson in empowerment! They did introduce me to a professor named Mr. Gadgil, who taught English at SIES College. He started reviewing one essay from me every day for the next 300 days and told me to start “thinking” in English. Even now, after so many years, I feel that my English is sketchy! Oh well!

The Emergency declared in India by Ms. Indira Gandhi in 1975 was a scary time in my hometown. Many political opponents were jailed. Many families lost their daily income and were devastated. For whatever reason, Ms. Gandhi lifted the Emergency and declared elections in 1977. For reason known only to her, Ms Gandhi lifted the Emergency and declared the elections in 1977. Many intellectuals and writers started campaigning against her autocracy. Some of my friends and I started raising donations at various political gatherings in this oppressive environment without worrying about potential repercussions. I was later appointed as a polling agent by the opposition party to oversee conduct of the polls in Mumbra, a small town near my hometown. I was only 17-year-old, and had never entered an election center. This town was perceived to be pro-Gandhi. I was scared. I had no idea what to expect. Voters would come in, stare at me, and quietly proceed to vote. In the afternoon, one old lady showed up. I was scared when she started walking toward me. She quietly handed me a small wildflower and turned away to the polling booth. I was surprised. What a sigh of relief! With that kind of compassion from ordinary people, the seemingly invincible Ms. Gandhi was thrown out of power. I eventually campaigned only once more, in 2020 in the USA. I hope I never have to campaign again in my life!

My father had a strange ailment that he acquired while swimming in a lake in his twenties. Raw, painless flesh would grow on his upper lip, in his throat, and in the nasal cavity. As this unsightly red flesh grew, it would block his breathing tract. My father required surgery every six months at the government hospital to physically remove this hideous outgrowth. After surgery, until he recuperated, blood needed to be suctioned from his throat using a vacuum every ten minutes while he was still under anesthesia. As a 11-year-old, I spent many nights removing the blood. It’s a very long story, but one fine morning, a doctor at the Haffkine Institute developed a vaccine for his specific problem, and boom—the problem vanished after the unbelievable turmoil of 25 surgeries. Can you believe that even in crowded local trains in Mumbai’s suburbs, nobody—I mean nobody—would even try to come close to my dad due to his terrible appearance?

My father was a blue-collar worker and my mother was a primary school teacher. Neither of them went to college and both barely finished school. Income was limited. And then there used to be frequent labor strikes in my father’s manufacturing uni Then there were frequent labor strikes in my father’s manufacturing unit. How could my parents then provide two meals on the table every day? Well, he would buy vegetable oil and tea powder in bulk and sell them retail in the neighborhood, probably because these commodities had higher profit margins. Sometimes, I would help him out. In my academic life, I learned some advanced mathematical tools, such as Laplace Transform, Eigenvalues, and so on. But the survival skills I learned from selling basic commodities door to door are simply incomparable to the utility of academic sophistication.

My “less-than-ordinary” parents did some extraordinary work. They established a school in Dombivali (my hometown) that exemplified academic excellence. From seventh grade until I went to college, the only two rooms in our home were packed with zillion students from 8 a.m. to 7 p.m. The only available space for the three children and their grandma was in the 70-square-foot kitchen in this “spacious” 535-square-foot palace. Naturally, most of my student life was spent on the rooftop of our apartment building. That is where I memorized some amazing patriotic poems, read some “juvenile” books, taught math to my brothers, and studied really hard for my high school final exam. Did I tell you that despite the struggle to provide for us, my parents never took one dime of rent from the school that he and my mom established? That is what “walk-the-talk” role models look like!

I did a beautiful and risky Chadar trek in Himalayan Ladakh about 8 years ago, involving walking on the frozen Zanskar River for 12 days. It was an absolutely mind-blowing experience with some very challenging obstacles. On one occasion, we had to walk through the waist-deep torrential Himalayan River for 8-9 minutes. To add to the fun, there was ice at the bottom of the river and a lurking danger of frostbite! We walked sideways holding each other’s hands and screaming “ठंडे ठंडे पानी में” (a well-known Bollywood song about cold water bathing) while simultaneously praying desperately in our minds! I was also stuck once in ice boulders. I could see and hear intimidating rapids deep down in the riverbed. Finally, three people somehow pulled me out while lying flat on the ice to prevent triggering cracks with their body weight. After the trek, it took an entire month to bring back any sensation in my legs. I also had to use a donut-shaped medical cushion for one whole year to fix my tailbone from repeated fall in lengthy ice patches.

With limited means in my upbringing, I could never travel away from home. Finally, my friend Arun and I cajoled our parents to give us some money to travel to North India for 90 days. Most of the time, we found refuge on the railway platforms among other homeless people. Eventually, we made friends with some of them, who taught us how to take showers under leaking water pipes between two rail lines. We walked and walked across the cities and ate delicious, cheap street food. We did langar (a service) at the spectacular Sikh Golden Temple in Amritsar and offered chaddar (a traditional Muslim practice in India) at the well-known mosque in Ajmer.

The two most memorable days in our lives were when Tejas got admission to the University of Chicago and Aarti was admitted to MIT. It was their hard work, their disciplined efforts, and their excellence. But we showed off among our friends as if we ourselves had gone to these great universities. These kids have blown our minds with their “out-of-the-box” thinking.

I was a culturally starved moron until I finished college. I never saw a play, never went to a concert, never attended a musical opera, and never heard any great orators It’s true that my family didn’t have any disposable income. But I didn’t even attend free programs. I was personally involved in organizing a Bharatratna Pandit Bhimsen Joshi concert (the finest exponent of North Indian classical music) in my college. But I skipped this program completely. Now, I listen to Sanjiv Abhaynkar and Kaushiki Chakraborty, I watch great Marathi plays, and I visit art museums with my daughter. That is when I realize how foolish I was!

I met some amazing teachers, gurus, and friends in my life. Some pursued their lifelong passion for mountaineering, some played professional bridge, brilliant ex-defense minister Parrikar exemplified a Mr. Clean image in Indian politics, Vasant Limaye became a prolific writer, and Raju Bhat became a naturalist farmer. Some are at the forefront of research in mathematics, some wrote books that created entirely new subjects, and many are celebrity business leaders across the world. I recently found out that one of my teachers was the first disciple of Kishoritai Amonkar (the classical musician referred to as the Goddess Saraswati herself across India). All these down-to-earth, stunning people are working hard to change the world and have made my life colorful. I sincerely cannot thank them enough.

There is absolutely nothing in common between Anjali and me In fact, we are at diametrically opposite ends of virtually every aspect of our preferences and attributes. I love thick curry; she loves thin curry. She wants cilantro in various recipes; I do not. She eats less, and I eat more. She loves to spend money and I do not. I could probably list 500-700 such items. But when it comes to our values and our unflinching commitment to building lasting friendships, we have exactly identical thoughts and actions. No wonder my parents gave her power of attorney over whatever meager assets they had. What can I say? I would love to have her as my wife for the next thousand reincarnations.

Bruhan Maharashtra Mandal is the umbrella organization for all Marathi people in the USA. A few years ago, their biennial convention was organized in Michigan under Anjali’s leadership. I participated in the convention, volunteering for “anything and everything.” For those who are not involved in organizing such community conventions, it is really very difficult to understand the complexities of organizing myriad concerts, performing multiple theater shows, offering amazing food, and arranging accommodation for 4,000 participants in all age groups within the span of four days. I could probably narrate 500 heartwarming stories from this convention. Getting to spend two whole days with my friend and ex-defense minister of India, Shri Parrikar, was one such totally unforgettable experience!

The excitement of starting my own company intoxicated me, just like any other aspiring entrepreneur. I completely failed in this aspiration. I thought I was bringing unique skills and tools to the plastics components industry for the newly emerging modern auto designs in India.  Well, the mighty Tata Group and a few other well-established Western companies were also bringing superior technologies backed by strong finances. I just couldn’t compete. Eventually, the Tata Group approached me and asked, “Why do you want to get involved in this messy business of entrepreneurship? Why don’t you join us?” My intoxication had subsided. I readily joined the Tata Group. I think no one teaches how to deal with failures. It was a tough, humbling, and still incredible learning experience for me.

Another of my complete failures was training for the Ironman, a competition involving a 4-km swim in open water, 180-km cycling, and a 42-km marathon—all to be completed within 17 hours. I lost cartilage in my right knee at the very beginning of training. My entire knee was then replaced with a metal prosthetic in one of the most grueling surgeries and rehabilitation processes I’ve experienced.

Another of my ambitious dreams that Anjali supported was returning to India after spending 10 years in the USA. We felt we owed it to my motherland, which had provided us with top-notch, world-class, and ridiculously affordable education ($12 per year in tuition fees). But it was Anjali who worked hard to support my crazy dream, settling in India for 11 years before we returned to the USA again. Did you know that Anjali traveled and worked in Detroit for 15 days every month for five long years to provide for the family? (I suspect she could write more exciting stories about her life than I could!) I become teary-eyed just thinking about her efforts during that time!

On behalf of the Dandekar Economics Institute, I was appointed at the tender age of 15 to oversee the government’s Employment Assurance Scheme in a very remote, undeveloped region in Wada (in Thane district). Imagine the sight of a mother feeding tree leaves to her small baby to quell the child’s hunger. Imagine the impact this had on me at such a formative age. No philosophy, no preaching, no rationality, no religious comfort or faith—nothing, absolutely nothing can replace the desperation of hunger! I am speechless even now, just remembering that scarring image.

I worked in purchasing at General Motors for 15 years. Almost always, suppliers wanted higher profits while we wanted cheaper, high-quality components. I initiated two major three-year projects for GM. These complex and risky projects involved numerous teams requiring legal maneuvering, public relations and delicate communication. I could write 800-page books on each project, probably in my next reincarnation after all GM confidentiality clauses expire.

A stationary bike falls over instantaneously, while a rolling bike can travel hundreds of miles. Many natural phenomena, such as black holes, ocean waves, airplane flying, and thunderstorms, can be explained by identical mathematical principles. Using the same concepts, I developed a model that could predict multilayer plastic flow and increase the quality and production of some plastic products. I earned my PhD primarily because of brilliant work by people before me in the last 100 years. Isn’t it easy to stand tall on others’ shoulders and then “show off” my PhD?

For all five years of college, I neither shaved nor trimmed my beard. Most of my friends still call me “Dadhi” (which means “beard” in most North Indian languages).

We organized a high-altitude trek called Himankan for 200 students. A long beard, crew-cut hair, a khaki woolen gown, very long beard, and a pair of flip-flops in two different colors were my attire throughout this program. My daily responsibility was buying groceries from local shops in the nearby town of Manali Once, a fellow trekker got off the bus while I was walking down the main street. He looked at my attire and said, “Dadhi, are you wearing anything under your gown at all?” I said, “No.” He couldn’t believe it and challenged me to prove it. I did prove to him then and there that I don’t lie. This trekker was so shocked that he performed the traditional Indian salutation of respect, laying flat on his stomach at my feet right in the middle of the busy road.

I have completed 62 years of life, and my bucket list keeps growing. First things first! I need to complete the stupendous 2,200-mile-long Appalachian Trail, which spans 14 states and involves one million feet of climbing up and down. Then, I need to learn Spanish and Sanskrit, visit the North and South Poles, cycle on salt lakes in Bolivia and India, explore scuba diving in the Galápagos after learning to swim, complete a pilgrimage to the Vitthal temple in Maharashtra, learn the history of paintings, see a world field hockey championship, and so on. Then there are the Dolomites, the great walks of New Zealand, and many treks in the Himalayas. The ride has just begun!

Nitin Anturkar (April, 2021)

I recently attended a webinar series in English on Mahabharat by the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute (BORI), Pune, India. Each of its 15 lectures was presented by the PhD scholar in either Sanskrit language, ancient art and literature, archeology or history. BORI lectures focused on the text and the story of Mahabharat, and stayed away from the topics, such as historical evidence and timeline. The whole series was not just a fascinating summary of the Mahabharat story, but also gave me some idea of why this epic captures my imagination.

What the heck is Mahabharat? Mahabharat is an encyclopedic epic poem (with metered pattern called prosody in English) of 80,000+ verses written in India probably 4,000 years ago. This epic is humungous, really, really humongous. Its English literal translation (without any commentary) has 2.25 million words (Shakespeare’s Hamlet has 30,000 words) and is five times longer than Iliad and Odyssey combined. In 1916, BORI started the monumental project to study more than 1,000+ manuscript versions of Mahabharat in multiple scripts from Kashmir to Kerala, and from Iran to Indonesia. When the project was completed in 1972, it had documented variations in all these texts and arrived at the “critical” edition of Mahabharat using various criteria, including the highest common factors.

Well, the story is a straightforward one liner. “Good people killed evil people”. That’s it. Period. It is the same theme that one hears from Bollywood to Hollywood, and from China to Europe to Australia to Bolivia all the time. So, why has this epic captured the imagination of billions of people from the Indian subcontinent? Why did the behemoth network of the entire Indian railway system (1.4 million employees and 23 million passengers every day) come to a standstill to watch this epic in 100,000 railway stations during the telecast of “Mahabharat” TV serial² in 1988? Why is the real and official name of India in its zillion languages is “Bharat”, based on King Bharat from Mahabharat?

In fact, this story is not directly relatable to our lives at all. It has too many curses and boons and too many poetic liberties. There is no humor and no romance. But the story has Potter-like magic, aura, expanse, broad canvas and Shakespearean tragedy. The story is fantastic and fantastical at the same time, with hundreds of sub-stories. They all are intertwined, appear in flashbacks, box within box within box, and get connected only over the entire epic. Dr Deshpande (one of the BORI lecturers) has called the story “jigsaw homogeneity”. It is very very engaging story. Even today after 50-55 years, I still remember listening to these stories from my grandma with a totally zapped brain.

While the story is not relatable, the characters are! They are exactly the way we all are, complex, vulnerable, unpredictable, with flexible and contextual righteousness, and steeped in anger, greed, empathy, compassion, love and friendships all at the same time. In Mahabharat, the evil brothers go to heaven after death and good winners start their journey in hell. One single queen is married to five brothers simultaneously, the father king of 100 evil brothers is blind, there is a character of a transgender king, everybody keeps breaking the rules of the war, and the reincarnation of the God, Lord Krishna himself, takes the human form with all its virtues and vices.

And then there are so many messages and incidents in these characters’ lives. Every day, I find some mundane incident in my life that connects me to Mahabharat. I still remember this following conversation from 2 months ago.

Few close families meet at Mike and Betsy’s home for Thanksgiving Day celebration. It is at least a 30-year-old tradition. All of us look forward to this day for three simple ingredients of our lives – families, food and fun. We chat and chat and chat about extended families, this crazy world, our careers, books, movies, the University of Michigan (UofM) and the impending 125-year-old annual rivalry football game with the Ohio State University (OSU). (For readers from India, the intensity of this game is similar to the intensity of the India-Pakistan cricket match.) This time, Mike gave me some advice. “Nitin, I still scream a lot during the football game. But as I aged, I have learnt not to get upset over a loss (of UofM) to OSU.” Hahaha, Mike does not know but he is following one of the tools described in Gita (a key philosophical dialogue in Mahabharat) to reduce misery. It says “कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन।“ (One has authority, responsibility and duty to do his/her work diligently, but one should not expect any fruits of the work.³) I will not go in details of our “hard” work of screaming, singing, waving pom poms in front of the TV, and not even going to the toilet to upset the outcome of the game. Phew, UofM won the slugfest this year. But we had prepared not to get disappointed. Mike had reminded us of a lesson from the Gita.

I can just go on and on and on with such day-to-day incidents that connect me to Mahabharat.

In fact, both Mahabharat and my life (for that matter, every human life) are nothing but the multivariable nonlinear algebraic systems that keep changing with time. (Sorry for this nerdy math enunciation!) How does one figure out one’s behavior in such a complex system? Variables in my life include families, friends, communities, countries, the universe and surrounding materials. But the most challenging variable is me. Dr Apte in his BORI lecture says, “When knower himself is the object to be known, solving such life problems is an impossible task.” In such situations, how can I define my “Dharma”? (Unfortunately, the English translation of Dharma is religion. But in reality, Dharma has far broader implications and include ways and processes of life, law and order, righteousness, morality, economics, psychology, rules of the society among other things.) Besides, to make this task worse, the human mind loves simple dichotomous systems. We tend to quickly grasp good and evil, zero and one, up and down. Real life “gray” situations quickly become black and white in our biased minds. Consciously and subconsciously, Mahabharat trains you to deal with such a complex life through its stories.

Mahabharat is visionary and transcends time and space. Let me give you one example. One of the most famous statements in Mahabharat is “अहिंसा परमो धर्मः।“ (Non-violence is the ultimate Dharma.⁴) From Mahatma Gandhi to Mandela to Dr Martin Luther King, Jr., all of them have used the concept of non-violence in recent times against most vicious tyrannies. Two entire religions, Buddhism and Jainism, have originated from this principle. Sage Bhishma explains to King Yudhishthir that, “Not even service to God and guests, steadfastness of dharma, study of scriptures, performing rituals, charity, self-control, austerity, service to teachers, holy pilgrimages and all other good deeds can even come close to the virtues of non-violence.” But I never knew WHY non-violence is so important. Sage Bhishma further explains, “Do not do something that you do not want others to do to yourself (self-interest). Besides, human beings’ innate ability to understand others’ pains (Sym-pathy) is its ultimate strength. Finally, all humans desire to be free, especially free from fear.”  Did you know that sitting 4,300 miles away from India in Glasgow and 3,800 years after Mahabharat, Adam Smith (father of modern economics) talks about exactly the same principles – Self-interest, Sympathy and Freedom from Fear as the three pillars of orderly functioning of society? Of course, Adam Smith may have never read Mahabharat or not even heard of virtues of non-violence. Who would have thought that such transcendental possibilities, such profound and visionary concepts in Mahabharat will show up all over the world?

While Dr Apte from BORI was explaining non-violence in his lecture, I remembered my own Zoom call with college mates on my plan to traverse the entire Appalachian Trail in six months. Somebody asked me, “Why do you not carry a gun or a knife or at least a taser with you to protect yourself from bears or snakes?” I told him, “No, I will not carry any such weapons. I do not want to constantly think about bears or snakes, and be scared on the trail.” I had no idea that I was merely repeating what Sage Bhishma had said 4,000 years ago. Did I subconsciously know about this connection of non-violence with freedom from fear? Maybe I vividly remembered the fear-free eyes of freedom fighters in Attenborough’s “Gandhi” in front of brutal British soldiers! Who knows?

Mahabharat discusses many fundamental concepts, such as Truth, Knowledge, Time, Happiness, Oneself and others. It may be funny, but Mahabharat’s transcendental vision even warns us from “merchants of the Dharma who will use it for their livelihood”. With all the partisan havoc being created by these “merchants” of all religions across the world, maybe we all should read Mahabharat one more time.

But the most enduring training that I got from Mahabharat is to ask questions, on everything, in every context all the time. Oh my god, there are so many questions in Mahabharat. And for most questions, there are no answers, no prescriptions, no “moral-of-the-story-is” statement at the end of the story. As soon as one character asks the question, some sage promptly starts a story to answer the question.

There is a reason for such stories after stories with no well-defined answers. Answers are always contextual. Behavior is contextual. Even Dharma is contextual. That is why questions and answers are a never ending saga of our life and of Mahabharat. There is a beautiful 7-min YouTube clip by a celebrated physics teacher and Nobel Laureate Prof Richard Feynman⁵. He explains that his answers to the question, “why?” are always subjective. The answer always depends on the context, the assumptions the student has made, the knowledge the student has. “Why one falls on ice?” Answer to the ordinary person is, “Ice is slippery.” But to an accomplished Physics student, Professor Feynman may answer that, “Water expands as it freezes and makes ice slippery.” Professor may explain further why water expands and other materials shrink when they freeze. Never mind that on the frontier of scientific or any other investigations, there are more questions and more unknowns. Never mind that answers to many whys’ based on physical senses eventually break down (Even this limitation of physical senses is discussed in Mahabharat).

Anyway, let me illustrate the complexities of questions with three stories from Mahabharat.

• River Ganga (English name “Ganges”) takes a female form on earth and marries King Shantanu with the condition that he will never ask her any questions. She drowns seven consecutive babies. Finally, Shantanu stops her when she has the eighth baby, after his advisor challenges him, “Who are you? A king, a lover, a husband or a father? As a king, who gave you authority to not ask questions? Why are you not prosecuting Ganga? Who is Ganga? A killer, a mother, a lover? What is your Dharma? What is Ganga’s Dharma?”

• King Yayati cheated his wife Devayani and had an affair with Sharmishtha. But Devayani’s father, Sage Shukracharya cursed Yayati and Yayati loses his youth. After lots of pleading to Shukracharya, he gets the boon that he can exchange his senility with anybody’s youth. Guess what? Yayati regained his youth by exchanging his senility with his son. His son became the king and Yayati enjoyed his youth. There are so many books on this story in India raising all kinds of questions. One of my favorite books in Marathi on Yayati even received the national award. I think, you can add your own 25 questions here. There are no answers for these questions in Mahabharat. You are on your own!

• I didn’t even know the next story until I heard it in the BORI lecture. An old lady Gautami loses her son to a snake bite. A hunter brings the snake back to Gautami. He says that the snake is guilty and requests Gautami to kill it. But Gautami says, “Will it bring back my son?” Then Mrutyu (death) shows up as a character. Snake says, “Mrutyu is guilty, at least along with me.” Then Kaal (time) appears as a character. Mrutyu says, “It was a time for son’s death. So, Kaal is guilty.” At the end, Kaal says, “The son himself is guilty. He should not have ventured out. It was his fate.” One simple story, a classic case of complexities of jurisprudence, and there is no answer. Who is freaking guilty? I suspect that the answer is “It depends.”

In 2010, we were dropping our son off to the University of Chicago. As parents, we were awed by the legacy of professors from Milton Friedman to Chandrashekhar to Raghuram Rajan to Obama. We were impressed by the long list of Nobel Prize winners, the beautiful campus and the general aura of academic excellence. We all assembled in the Rockefeller Memorial Chapel to hear the wisdom from the faculty, before saying goodbye to our son. Faculty gave us a jolt right at the outset of the lecture. He said, “Parents, I have bad news for you. We do not teach anything in the University of Chicago. Students will only learn to ask questions.”

I am happy that my parents did not have to pay the tuition for this training “to ask questions”. I got that training free of cost from Mahabharat itself.

I sense it every day! Mahabharat is my 4,000-year-old past that has prolonged itself to the present⁶.

Nitin Anturkar

1. Huge credit to BORI lecturers for their in-depth wisdom, amazing analysis and scholarly articulation. Thanks to my friend, Subodh Ghonge, for referring me to BORI webinar series.
2. “Mahabharat” TV serial: screenplay by Dr Rahi Masum Raza, produced by B R Chopra. 135 episodes (71 hours) were telecasted on Doordarshan TV channel in 1988-90. The TV serial is available on YouTube.
3. Gita is a 700-verse core philosophical discussion between Lord Krishna and the great warrior Arjun at the beginning of the great war in Bhishma Parva (Parva means a chapter or a book).
4. Non-violence is discussed in detail in Anushasan Parva after the war.
5. Richard Feynman explains the subjectivity of the question “Why?” in following YouTube clip. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=36GT2zI8lVA
6. I borrowed this statement from Dr Sukhtankar, founder of the project of “Critical” edition of Mahabharat in BORI
7. Mahabharat painting here was presented in BORI lecture by Dr Bapat and is displayed in Aundh Museum. Many such paintings were sponsored by Panta Pratinidhi of Aundh Sansthan, who was also the primary initial sponsor of the project of critical edition of Mahabharat in 1916.