Category: Non/Fiction

(Over 600 million people gathered at the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati rivers near the city of Prayagraj for a holy dip from January 13 to February 26, 2025. This 45-day festival is called the Kumbh Mela. I visited this festival from February 1-5, 2025.)

A few days before Kumbh Mela began, some sadhu leaders announced that nobody would go hungry at Kumbh. When reporters asked, “Who pays for this food?” they replied, “One out of ten people donate. Typically, that covers the total cost.”

I have experienced this concept of free food in the past. I cooked food myself at the Sikh Golden Temple in Amritsar. Since Varanasi was established by the Goddess Annapurna (Goddess of food), I personally benefited from the free distribution of sweet kheer on one of the crowded city roads during Diwali. In a small, remote village in the Himalayan mountains called Raithal, I had to literally hide myself to avoid families approaching me with excessive amounts of sweet halwa on Dussehra day. And how can I forget the 4-year-old Pigtail (her trail name)? While helping her mommy bring food to the shelter, she came to me and told me, “There is trail magic nearby. Please do visit. My trail name is Pigtail.” That was the most elaborate free breakfast I have had on the Appalachian Trail. (1)

But food for 600+ million people? Even if one-tenth of these people decided to have free food, that would be 5,000 tons of rice, never mind the huge quantities of cooking gas, vessels, and spices required for this endeavor. How would that supply chain work, especially when big trucks cannot enter these sandy, temporary roads in the Kumbh area? I had no freaking clue.

But I saw an unbelievable amount of free food in this huge area of 50 sq. km. during my walk on the day of Basant Panchami. There was rice and daal, fried rice, khichadi, sweet halwa, vegetables, chai, and all kinds of tasty, healthy, hygienic, awesome food everywhere. Some random person would appear from nowhere with a huge vessel full of khichadi and would start distributing it right on the street. This person would persuade passersby and implore them to have a meal. It totally defies both the ruthless capitalistic business model and the impassioned equitability of socialistic inclinations.

While my left brain was estimating the rice required in Kumbh, my stomach started feeling hungry at about 8:00 a.m. I had been walking for four hours by then. Of course, there were vendors selling all kinds of fresh food. But my destiny brought me to a small crowd just outside one of the hundreds of pavilions. Who knew that I would have an ordinary, yet one of the most profound experiences there?

They were distributing spicy poha (flattened rice). I took a paper dish and extended my hand into the crowd. There were many hands with empty dishes and only one person distributing the poha. I waited, I hustled, and I begged. Finally, I got that poha. Hot poha with the aroma of fresh curry leaves was exhilarating. While looking at the poha, I was thinking about how begging thrashes one’s ego quickly. And exactly at that time, a young girl of probably 8-10 years old came to me and offered 10 rupees (equivalent to 12 US cents) from a stack of notes in her hand. My recently hurt ego and I slightly jumped backward and said, “No, no.” She looked at me innocently and said, “साब, ये आपके लिये ही है!” (“Sir, this is especially for you.”) She almost pushed the ten-rupee note into my hand, and I reluctantly took it.

That’s it. It must have been a one-and-a-half-second interaction. In the middle of that hungry crowd, I kept staring at the poha in one hand and the note in the other, and was not sure what to feel. And the first thought that came to my mind was, “OMG, she has thrust so much responsibility on me and she is gone. How can I pay back to the world? What is my multiplier?”

After 38 days, my wallet still feels weighty. That inadvertent, sacrosanct contract with the most innocent, anonymous, faceless girl still haunts me. When will I act? What will I do? Am I breaking the clause of anonymity in that contract just by mentioning it here in this article?   

Is this what faith is all about? Is this what washing away all sins in the Ganga means? Is this what provides tactical tangibility to that probably illogical, so-called “blind” faith? I have had free food in the past. Why did I feel that responsibility of giving back now, right here in Kumbh? I do not know the answers to any of these questions. But I suspect that the answers lie in my fine-tuned, peaceful, serene mindset that I described in my previous article (2). Such a mindset may be sensitive to the surroundings, may be filled with pure thoughts about everything around me, and may go beyond transactions. If it is my mindset, then the credit goes to millions of people around me.

What happens to the other 600 million people? How will their tangible “faith” materialize? Who knows? Everybody’s life, experiences, surrounding ecosystem, daily learning from parents, education—everything is different. Everybody’s perceptions of पाप (sins), पुण्य (virtues), and faith are different. This is what I said a few years ago in my article called “Tramily.” (3). I wrote, “Tim prayed and thanked God for the food on the table. Tim said, “Do you know something? For me, faith is the anchor.” That sentence from my fellow Michigander, whom I met just one hour ago in the middle of the Virginia wilderness on the Appalachian Trail, is stuck in my head! Yes, faith can be in any religion, faith can be in nature, in science, in oneself, in your parents, in teachers, in your friends, in your nation. Faith can be in anything. But faith matters! It provides an anchor in your life! It makes our lives meaningful, happy, enjoyable, and desirable!” There were 600 million faiths in Kumbh. Who knows what everybody was thinking?

I vow to execute my contract. And when I execute it, I will remember those one-and-a-half seconds again!

-Nitin ”Dadhi” Anturkar (March 14, 2025)

1. A story about cute Pigtail.

Update 5: Back on Trail after injury

2. My previous article, that I recommend you to read to appreciate this article

Kumbh Mela: 7. Om Shanti (Peace)

3. My article on people I met on the trail. I called them my trail family. “Tramily”

TRAMILY

(600+ million people gathered at the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati rivers near the city of Prayagraj for a holy dip from January 13 to February 26, 2025. This 45-day festival is called the Kumbh Mela. I visited this festival from February 1-5, 2025.)

Describing what I experienced at the Kumbh Mela is an impossible task. I struggle for words. There were no sightseeing visits, no temple prayers, no extraordinary interactions with brilliant individuals, no emotional outbursts, no drama, no thrills, no logistical challenges, nothing at all.

And yet, it was the most profound and once-in-a-lifetime experience for me. Let me try to explain.

It was the day of Basant Panchami, one of the six auspicious days in this 45-day mega celebration. I was supposed to start my day at 3:00 am, also called Brahma Muhurta, the quietest time of the day when everyone attempts to take the holy bath. But I was late by one hour. I already knew that the administration had banned all vehicles in this entire 50 sq km area, not even manual bicycles were allowed. The sky was clear, the roads were brightly lit, and the weather was crisp and a little chilly at 8-10°C. At the far end of the tent city where I stayed, there were only a few people walking briskly on the dusty road with anticipation. It was all quiet around here.

About 150 meters away, I saw a huge 4-5 story tall decorated arch on the road. As I entered the arch, I saw a massive temporary pavilion on the right side. 200-300 people were brushing their teeth in an open area using traditional datun (chewing a twig of a neem tree) outside the pavilion. They told me that 35,000 people were sleeping in this hall. I was shocked. I just could not believe it! As I peeped through the brightly lit huge door, sure enough, there were long rows and rows of people, many of them just getting up. On the other side of the road, there was a kitchen for all these 35,000 people and a huge number of portable toilets. Slowly, the massive scale of the Kumbh was sinking into my sleepy brain.

I was walking parallel to the Ganga, heading upstream to the confluence. Steadily, the crowd kept increasing. One could see elderly people with walking sticks, young enthusiasts, dozed-off small children on the shoulders of their fathers, and women in red sarees carrying luggage in ragged jute bags. Many women had wrapped shawls around themselves, while men were wearing sweaters. Some young people carried their parents or other disabled people on their backs. Sometimes, a group of 40-50 people, probably from a small village, would be walking together. There was no crying of babies, no shouting, no pushing, no chest-beating slogans. There was just a hushed murmur in the air, accentuating the silence.

Many had walked hundreds of kilometers. Many came by trains and cars, and a few, like me, traveled from 10,000 miles away by planes. Occasionally, I would come across 10-15 tribal women with elaborate, colorful stone jewelry on brightly colored draped clothes. Suddenly, a tour operator would march from the front with his agency flag leading 20-25 foreigners. Sometimes, a group of lustrous dark-brown-skinned men in distinct white lungis (wrap-around clothes below the waist) and tripunda on their foreheads (three horizontal white lines of sacred ash, signifying devotion to Shiva) would walk next to me. I could instantly recognize warkari (devotees) Marathi group from my own birthplace with white Gandhi topi (white cap), Zabba, and Lenga. I saw beggars, sadhus carrying snakes, and countless vendors selling all kinds of products from vermilion, flowers, and rudraksha prayer beads to toys, food, and herbal medicines.

Over a few kilometers, I started noticing back-to-back hundreds and hundreds of pavilions of various religious organizations on both sides. There were chants of “Har Har Gange” (Hail to Ganga), “Har Har Mahadeo” (Hail to Lord Shiva) on their speakers. Some were chanting Kirtans (devotional songs), some were requesting people to keep roads and Mother Ganga clean, and some were urging others to respect brothers and sisters cleaning the roads. And of course, there were 24/7 announcements about people separated from their families in this huge crowd. All these announcements were coming from all directions. It was chaos. The hushed murmur had faded away. But people continued to maintain a demeanor of relaxed walking with smiling faces. Apparently, the enchanted cacophony wasn’t bothering anyone around me. I saw a masked cleaner with a traditional broom. He readily accepted my hug. He smiled and said that he was from a small village about 50 miles away. We both said “Har Har Gange,” and moved on. Not sure why, but I was slightly emotional.

I stopped at a crossroad for tea. The setup was simple: a small kerosene stove, a boiling teapot with lots of milk and sugar, and very small paper or clay cups. I told the chaiwallah that I didn’t have change for a 10-rupee cup of tea. He smiled. He said, “साब, चाय तो पी लिजिये! पैसे का बाद में सोचेंगे!” (At least have tea first, we’ll worry about money later!). I sat next to him on my foldable stool. His wife sat next to the stove on the dusty floor, cradling their small baby. They told me about their blissful life several miles away in a small village, their thriving chai business in Kumbh, their farming, and their relatives. I told them about my American life, my wife, and my kids.

Finally, I reached Arail Ghat (a constructed bank of the river) at the confluence. It was a huge area jam-packed with people. A large number of steps climbed up the bank. I took a dip in the Ganga (which I will explain in another article) and sat at a vantage point watching the huge crowd. More than 5,000 boats were ferrying people to the confluence and bringing them back. A large number of families were performing candle-lit prayers in the sand, while others were taking a holy dip. There were six to seven police officers here, guiding pedestrian traffic in a one-way direction. From a distance, I could see their smiling faces and polite Namaste gestures to the many inquiring devotees.

There were 500 kilometers of temporary roads, 30 bridges, 9 new railway stations, 100,000 police, 200,000 cleaners—the list goes on. You’ve heard all of this on social media and even in my previous article. Do you really think that such resources can oversee 500 million people? Can you imagine this scale? Can India really allocate one-third of its resources for one-third of its population just for this 45-day Kumbh Mela? Of course not. This was a self-managed festival, where each of the 100 million people that day was doing exactly what they were supposed to do.

Did you get it? Did you walk with me? Can you close your eyes and imagine what I experienced? Did you sense that overwhelming force of peace among millions of people? I was overcome with emotions watching that sea of serenity. I was just a speck, just a proud nobody, being part of this eternal festival, experiencing this fleeting yet profound moment. I cried on those steps, before the quiet confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati rivers, surrounded by 100 million people peacefully performing the seemingly mundane act of bathing.

Wars rage across the world; terrorism, rape, corruption, and theft are rampant; the USA alone experienced 500 mass shootings in 2024; and India continues to bear its own share of this violence. But Kumbh Mela is one place where it all melted away. There was no checking by police, no metal detectors, no screening, no arrests anywhere. Even then, there was no violence, no harassment even when women were changing their clothes in the open, no shouting of ugly slogans, not even yelling at each other. Police told me that people rarely reported a stolen mobile. One sadhu approached me for money. He lingered a little longer, and another sadhu instantly told him, “Do not pressurize!” There was no separate area for rich people or arrogant politicians; everybody bathed in the same river anywhere, irrespective of caste, creed, and gender.

How is this utopia possible? Credit goes not only to Hindu devotees but to all of India. It would have taken just one disturbed person, one miscreant, to destroy the entire fabric of this unbelievable festival. There was none. Terrorists, Naxalite revolutionaries, small-time goons, religious zealots, political ruffians—none of these people showed up. Peace overpowered everything else; peace prevailed.

I have been reciting this prayer of ॐ शान्तिः शान्तिः शान्तिः (om, let peace prevail, prevail, prevail) since I was born. I never thought that I would actually see it in practice on such a massive scale.

What an event it was!

-Nitin “Dadhi” Anturkar (March 11, 2025)

(400 million people are expected to gather at the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati rivers near the city of Prayagraj for a holy dip from January 13 to February 26, 2025. This 45-day festival is called Kumbh Mela. I will be visiting this festival from February 1-5, 2025.)

Just before I headed for the Kumbh Mela, my country (the USA) removed the “transgender” category from federal recognition on one end, while on the other end, my birth country (India) was celebrating the world’s largest religious festival with a transgender Akhara (pronounced “Akhada”) at the forefront of its celebration. Transgender monks held exactly the same religious importance and the same priorities for the holy bathing ritual in the Ganga. Kinnar Akhara was in the news all over India as a Bollywood actress was inducted into this tradition during the Kumbh. But clearly, the presence of Kinnars (transgender people) was a profound demonstration of an accommodative society beyond sensational Bollywood news, not just at the Kumbh but also in Indian traditions for several millennia.

There are thirteen Akharas with more than half a million male, female, and transgender sadhus (monks) that have formed the pillars of Kumbh for at least one and a half millennia. Akhara literally means a field for wrestling. However, in the spiritual context, these are Hindu monastic institutions that were established in the 5th century AC by sage Adi Shankaracharya with the primary purpose of continuing diverse Hindu traditions and protecting Hinduism. Monks in their respective Akharas are trained in meditation, scriptures, and rituals, as well as in traditional Indian weaponry and martial arts. Three of the 13 Akharas also have Sikh affiliations.

Kinnar Akhara was formed in 2016 and then became part of one of the main Akharas called Juna (meaning “old”) Akhara with Kinnar’s distinct identity. Since then, they have been participating in the Kumbh. Although not explicitly a transgender deity, the Ardhanarishwar, representing half male (Lord Shiva) and half female (Goddess Parvati), is worshipped all over India. Additionally, transgender people characters play key roles in Hindu scriptures, such as the Mahabharata. While, women, men or transgender can attain the highest spiritual level through their own perseverance, as rightfully pointed out by my friend and college mate Aziz, the transgender community is still frequently shunned by mainstream society in India. Such is the complexity of Indian society.

So, ultimately what does Kinnar Akhara represent? I feel that it represents a broader acceptance of everyday human experiences. In my limited reading of Hindu dharma, this openness to diverse human experiences is one of the main hallmarks of Indian philosophies and history. Since Hindu Dharma is contextual and non-prescriptive in its approach, embracing new cultures, thoughts, and lifestyles must have been practically easier to incorporate into its philosophies. Even atheism (example, Samkhya philosophy) and materialism (known as Charvaka philosophy proposed by sage Charvaka) are accepted philosophies in Hinduism, and Indian temples do not hesitate to display sexual depictions even in sanctums sanctorum. And then, both consciously and subconsciously, such tendencies might have permeated through all aspects of life, influencing societal attitudes and practices, free from taboos, hesitations, or dogmatic constraints.

Am I taking a leap of faith with such an argument? I don’t think so. Historical accounts suggest that when Hindu dharma was being overwhelmed by extreme ritualism and faced potential extinction in the fourth century BCE, Buddhist philosophies inadvertently helped to revive Hinduism. And how did Hinduism reward Buddha? Buddha became one of the ten reincarnations of Lord Vishnu in North India, despite his initiation of another competing religion. India’s history is marked by the arrival of diverse religious and cultural groups. St. Thomas (one of the 12 apostles of Christianity) visited South India in 52 CE and spread Christianity in India. Jews found refuge in India after the fall of the Second Temple. Zoroastrians sought sanctuary on the west coast, and they became the richest businessmen in modern India. Later, the Mughals, British, and Portuguese brought their influences.  Recently, the Dalai Lama found asylum in India. The exiled Afghan government was based in India. This tradition of welcoming diverse groups continues to shape India’s cultural landscape. Can you imagine that after the 2024 Cricket World Cup, the Afghan cricket team captain stated, “We learned ‘love’ from India”?

These diverse groups of migrants and refugees enriched India’s cultural tapestry with their traditions, ideas, and practices. For instance, Portuguese potatoes and tapioca became an integral part of staple foods in religious fasting diets. Most Indians don’t even realize that the incredible 2,500-year-old Indian classical music tradition adopted the harmonium, tabla (a percussion instrument), and violin just 200-400 years ago from Europe and the Middle East. India is the largest democracy, thanks to British influence. But while the rest of the democratic world banned communism in their countries, two states in India were ruled by the Communist Party until just a few years ago. The all-pervasive English language, initially introduced by colonizers, has become the common medium of communication in India. Hundreds of cuisines and languages, thousands of words, so many sects and subsects, and architectures like the Taj Mahal, all are now as integral to Indian identity as much as the ancient epics Ramayana and Mahabharata.

This potpourri of cultures thrives, and diversity is celebrated all over India. It never had to become a “melting pot.” The conventional Western dichotomy of “conservatism” versus “liberalism” doesn’t exist here, because India incessantly adapts to new ideas. India isn’t just a nation, culture, and philosophy; it’s a constantly changing, vibrant, dynamic “concept.” This adaptability might explain why India remains one of only two surviving ancient civilizations. 

For me, Kinnar Akhara represents this core ethos of Indian philosophies and a highlight of Kumbh Mela.

-Nitin Dadhi Anturkar (24^th Feb, 2025)

(400 million people are expected to gather at the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati rivers near the city of Prayagraj for a holy dip from January 13 to February 26, 2025. This 45-day festival is called Kumbh Mela. I will be visiting this festival from February 1-5, 2025.)

I returned from Kumbh Mela on February 5, 2025 and found myself paralyzed by the sheer intensity of stories and experiences. I am still overwhelmed, still soaking it in and still struggling for words. It will take a while for me to peel my mental inner layers and articulate the impact of this experience. This article addresses common questions about the Kumbh Mela (Part II). For additional questions and answers, please refer to Part I (1).

Q: What is the size of the Kumbh Mela grounds, and how are the sectors organized?

A: A: The Kumbh Mela grounds span approximately 5,000 hectares (50 square kilometers). While the area is vast for individuals to traverse on foot, it’s awfully compact for accommodating 10-100 million people who gathered on Basant Panchami day during my visit A round trip from my camp to Arial Ghat, through the temples in Sector 4 and the Akharas in Sector 20, and back to camp covered 25-30 kilometers. That is a killer walking in one day. This exhausting journey was necessary for two of the three days, as the administration had banned all vehicles except for ambulances and police transport.

Note that the entire Kumbh Mela is situated within the dusty, sandy riverbed of the Ganga-Yamuna confluence. There are no trees and no shades. At early morning, the temperature is cold 5-8°C (41-56°F). Throughout the day, bright sunshine raises temperatures to 30-33°C (85-90°F). Although toilets were abundant, I wasn’t confident about finding them quickly when needed. Consequently, I limited my water intake, which increased my fatigue.

I had to prioritize my activities. I skipped the temples entirely and used local motorbikes for one day. The walks on the other two days were exhausting but exhilarating, filled with activities and interactions.

Q: How was the infrastructure at the Kumbh Mela?

A: The infrastructure was excellent. As I mentioned above, the entire Kumbh Mela city was built on the sandy riverbeds of the Ganga and Yamuna. The Kumbh Mela area contained 450 kilometers of temporary roads, constructed by bolting 4′ × 12′ × 1″ iron slabs into the sand. The main roads were wide enough to require ten slabs across. Thirty pontoon bridges, each 1.5-2 kilometers long, spanned the Ganga and Yamuna rivers. The temporary city boasted a clean drinking water network superior to those found in many permanent Indian cities. Clean water was accessible every 100-200 meters via ATMs and taps for all visitors. The tent city, comprising 350,000 small tents and several massive warehouse-style structures, had an excellent sewage system. The administration installed and maintained 150,000 toilets. While not connected to the sewage system, these facilities were cleaned frequently. The entire city was brilliantly illuminated with 24/7 electricity, especially for the peak crowds during Brahma Muhurt (the auspicious time from 1-3 AM).

There is a network of speakers across the entire city of Kumbh Mela. With over a quarter million people becoming separated during the festival, speakers throughout the city broadcast lost individuals’ names in both Hindi and their native languages. Many of those who become separated are elderly individuals who can neither read nor write and speak only their mother tongue. Such lost and found centers were located every 400-500 meters along the main roads. To support the primary purpose of bathing in the Ganga, numerous changing rooms (small tents) were provided for women and children. Nine new railway stations handled thousands of daily trains, bringing vast numbers of pilgrims to the festival. Large parking lots were established around the perimeter of the Kumbh city. And, yes, unlike many other Indian cities, waste bins were placed throughout the grounds.

Security infrastructure included hundreds of drones, 2,500 CCTV cameras monitored by a central control room, and 150,000 police officers patrolling by foot, horse, boat, submarine, helicopter, and vehicle. Apparently, the control room used AI to monitor crowd density and redirect people as needed. Barricades in the water kept people within safe, shallow areas, protecting them from the Ganga’s strong currents. Fully equipped hospitals operated on both river banks. According to the doctors in our group, these hospitals matched the equipment standards of modern facilities in cities like Mumbai and Pune.

Should this plan be expected from the government? I think so. Is the plan being executed well? The answer is “Yes”. For that execution, I would give them “A” grade. But now here are the kickers for which the administration got “A+”.

I observed or talked to 20-30 police officers. I have never encountered a more polite police force. One fellow was hurling severe insults at the police with the choicest words (addressing police’s mother!) for not opening the pontoon bridge. And what did the police do? The police responded by respectfully folding their hands in namaste while firmly maintaining that the bridge must remain closed. Wow! Unbelievable scenario! I asked other police about their approach. They explained, “Everybody coming here is a divine being. It’s our privilege to serve them.” What the heck? Really? I would give them straight, straight “A+”.

A 15-meter-wide layer of dry grass lined the riverbanks throughout the Kumbh city. This thoughtful provision prevented sand from sticking to devotees’ feet after bathing—another example of exceptional planning. That is another straight “A+”. Maintaining the cleanliness of both the rivers and their banks was a monumental task. Yet there was no plastic, paper, or even the usual ubiquitous marigold flowers used in puja (prayers) visible on the riverbanks. This level of cleanliness was remarkable and exemplified the exceptional standards maintained throughout the Kumbh Mela. That is “A+”. One may find such “A+” situations all over Kumbh Mela.

However, even the government’s extensive efforts alone would have been insufficient for managing 400 million people. The most significant observation from my visit was the self-managed nature of the Kumbh Mela. I will explore this aspect in greater detail in my forthcoming article.

However, the permanent infrastructure in the state of Uttar Pradesh falls significantly short of expectations. The distance from Prayagraj airport to our camp is at most 15-20 kilometers, typically a 45-minute drive. However, since the Naini Bridge—the only crossing point—was blocked, we had to take a circuitous 300-kilometer route via Mirzapur, which took 5-6 hours to reach our campsite.

Q: If planning and infrastructure was excellent, how could stampedes happen?

A: Two tragic stampedes have occurred during the event. The first occurred during Mouni Amavasya at the confluence at 1:00 AM, resulting in 40 fatalities. The second incident took place at New Delhi Railway Station, 800 kilometers away, involving Kumbh pilgrims. These were heart-breaking episodes. I have developed a deep emotional connection with the Kumbh Mela and its devotees. I literally wept on both occasions. I had hoped for a safe travel for everybody. But that was not to be.

Was I anxious about my own travel after first stampede? No, I was not. For more details, please read my blog post titled “My Journey of Confronting Fear.” (2). It sounds very harsh, but In hindsight, the probability of a stampede occurring was nearly certain. However, the sheer number of attendees meant that the probability of any specific individual becoming involved in a stampede was extremely low.

The administration implemented additional safety measures on the auspicious day of Basant Panchami during my visit. All vehicle traffic was closed. Not even bicycles were allowed. All river crossings were closed, and pilgrims were required to bathe at their point of arrival rather than at the confluence. Pedestrian traffic was strictly controlled in a one-way system. Only media personnel were permitted to observe the sadhus’ procession to the Ganga for their sacred bath. These comprehensive safety measures ensured a secure bathing experience for all participants.

Q: How clean was the Ganga?

A: I swear, I swear, I can emphatically confirm that the water was clean. From my camp, I could clearly see a large school of fish at the bottom of the river, approximately 1.5 meters (4.5 feet) deep. The attached photograph shows birds in the river’s center—a scene impossible to capture in polluted waters.  Throughout my stay at the camp, I did not observe any plastic bottles or paper waste floating in the river. In certain barricaded shallow areas, I did observe marigold flowers floating in the water. But the banks were clean. It helped that Government has enforced shutting down of all the industrial waste water entering the upstream river for hundreds of kilometers. Additionally, visitors were continuously reminded to maintain the Ganga’s cleanliness. Naturally, this wasn’t comparable to a pristine Detroit suburb with manicured lawns. After all, this was a river bed. It was muddy and dusty everywhere, but definitely not dirty.

You might find this difficult to believe. There were millions and millions of people taking bath. The visitors came from towns and cities that typically lack proper sanitation. There were probably merely 50,000 people cleaning this area. AND Ganga was clean! Never ever I thought that this level of cleanliness was possible.

But what about millions of people bathing in the river? What about their perspiration, bacteria and undisciplined secret peeing in the river? Well, unlike a swimming pool, the river’s rapid flow constantly refreshes the water. People bathed here precisely because the water is considered sacred. Those concerned about such matters might want to reconsider visiting the Kumbh Mela.

Q: How was my tent?

A: As a trekker, I was ready for a minimalist tent. However, this tent was exceptionally luxurious. It featured a double bed with a comfortable mattress, comforter, standard pillows, and even decorative cushions. There were sofa and chairs in the main room and easy chairs in the verandah. The amenities included 24-hour running water and electricity, hot showers, Western-style toilets, in-room tea and coffee facilities, ceiling fans for warm afternoons, and fresh towels available upon request. The accommodation also provided secure lockers for valuables, Wi-Fi connectivity, and evening entertainment programs. Can you believe that this entire infrastructure was constructed on sand for just 45 days. Though expensive, the tent exceeded all expectations in terms of luxury and comfort.

The dining hall accommodated 250-300 people and offered an impressive buffet featuring reasonable quality of cuisine. The Ganga River was merely 20 steps away, perfect for quiet prayer, and the entire premises were immaculately maintained.

I have now completed my questions and answers (in this and the last article). In next few blogs, I will try to articulate the impact of Kumbh on me.

– Nitin Dadhi Anturkar (17^th Feb 2025)

Acknowledgment:

The majority of photographs featured in my Kumbh Mela blog series were taken by me personally. Some photographs were contributed by friends who accompanied me to the Kumbh Mela..

(1) https://www.dadhionthetrail.com/2025/02/13/kumbh-mela-4-understanding-its-purpose-scale-and-celestial-significance/

(2) https://www.dadhionthetrail.com/2025/01/31/kumbh-mela-preview-my-journey-of-confronting-fear/

(400 million people are expected to gather at the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati rivers near the city of Prayagraj for a holy dip from January 13 to February 26, 2025. This 45-day festival is called Kumbh Mela (festival). I will be visiting Kumbh Mela from February 1-5, 2025.)

I returned from Kumbh Mela on February 5, 2025. I found myself paralyzed by the sheer intensity of stories and experiences. I am still overwhelmed, still soaking it in and still struggling for words.

It will take a while for me to peel my mental inner layers and articulate the impact of this experience. Meanwhile, let’s address some common questions about the Kumbh Mela.

Q: What is the significance of the Kumbh Mela celebration?

A: According to Hindu beliefs, taking a ritual bath at the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati rivers during Kumbh cleanses one’s sins and offers mukti (liberation from the cycle of reincarnation). Millions gather at Prayagraj driven by this sacred belief.

The festival also draws sadhus (holy men) from their solitary retreats across the vast land of India. Among them are the Naga sadhus, who have performed their own pinda-daan (funeral rites) to symbolically end their worldly existence. For these ascetics, Mother Ganga remains their sole connection, making their reunion every twelve years deeply significant.

The Kumbh Mela serves as a massive spiritual gathering featuring thousands of sermons, devotional meetings between pilgrims and sadhus, religious discourses, mass pujas (worship ceremonies), exchange of views among sadhus, induction of new sadhus, cultural events and book exhibitions. It’s also a time when new aspirants begin their journey into ascetic life through Sanyas (renunciation of worldly attachments).

Q: Is the expected attendance of 400 million people at Maha Kumbh accurate?

A: This question is completely irrelevant for my experience at Maha Kumbh. Anything above million people was already beyond my imagination. But let me provide my understanding of the crowd size based on my observations.

The Kumbh Mela has no formal entry points or invitations. Pilgrims continuously stream into the 30-by-2-kilometer area via roads and railways, day and night. Apparently, independent organizations verified that the previous Ardha Kumbh in 2019 drew between 200 and 220 million people. Better access, higher population and social media awareness are expected to increase this number dramatically. During Basant Panchami this year, the crowd density was so intense that my walking even a few kilometers meant constant physical contact with others. With the festival 70 percent complete, attendance has already exceeded 500 million people. So, do I trust government declared daily numbers? The answer is “yes”, with few caveats.

The government uses drones, CCTV cameras, and other aerial surveillance tools to estimate crowd size. However, the constant movement of pilgrims can lead to double-counting. Most people visit the river, take a dip and leave the area, all in a single day. But, multi-day visitors like myself are inevitably counted multiple times. Additionally, the tent city houses approximately one million permanent residents—including sadhus, workers, and police personnel—who are also repeatedly included in daily counts.

As a completely side note, capacity planning for such a unique and massive event in the world has been of interest to many researchers (1). MIT researchers ((Ramesh Raskar, Nilay Kulkarni and Abhishek Mehta) have also visited and analyzed supply chain in 2019 and 2025. Their analysis has assumed the flow of 400 million people.

Q: What role do planetary alignments play in determining Kumbh Mela dates?

A: The Kumbh Mela has been celebrated for millennia at four sacred locations in India—Haridwar, Prayagraj, Nashik, and Ujjain. The dates are determined by specific zodiacal alignments of Jupiter and the Sun, based on highly developed ancient Indian astronomical calculations. Jupiter completes its zodiacal cycle in approximately 12 years, while the Sun completes its cycle in one year. These orbital periods determine the timing of each Kumbh Mela, as illustrated in the diagram.

Jupiter’s precise orbital period of 11.86 years necessitates a correction in the Kumbh cycle. After six consecutive 12-year cycles, the seventh Kumbh occurs after 11 years—a adjustment similar to the leap year correction in the solar calendar. Such recent correction happened in Haridwar in 2021. (3)

Additionally, Haridwar and Prayagraj uniquely observe the Ardha (half) Kumbh Mela midway between two Purna (complete) Kumbh Melas, occurring every six years.

Q: Why such specific planetary alignments chosen for Kumbh?

A: One theory suggests a connection to the 11-year solar activity cycle. However, the relationship between increased solar activity and the spiritual significance of ritual bathing remains unclear. Moreover, this theory doesn’t explain why the Kumbh occurs at different times across the four locations.

Q: Why were these four specific locations—Haridwar, Prayagraj, Nashik, and Ujjain—chosen for the Kumbh Mela, rather than other cities (such as my hometown Dombivali, or my current city of Canton, Michigan)?

A: The mythology of the Kumbh Mela, as discussed in my previous blog post (4), provides essential context. During the Samudra-Manthan (the churning of the cosmic ocean), the nectar of immortality emerged in a sacred vessel called the Kumbh. fierce battle erupted between the Devas (celestial beings) and Asuras (demons) for possession of this precious nectar. During this cosmic conflict, drops of the divine nectar fell at four sacred sites across India: Haridwar, Prayagraj, Nashik, and Ujjain. The specific reasons—whether astronomical, political, or cultural—for the significance of these four locations remain shrouded in mystery.

Q: Is there special significance to the 144-year cycle of the Maha Kumbh Mela?

A: My limited research has not uncovered historical evidence supporting a special 144-year Maha Kumbh Mela cycle. If we account for the correction of the seventh cycle across all locations, the mathematical interval between major cycles would be 143 years, not 144. There is also no specific planetary alignment mentioned after every 144 years.

One theory suggests a connection to the six-planet alignment visible since late January 2025, an astronomical event that occurs every 175 years. However, determining the historical cycles of such alignments from several millennia ago requires further research. (5)

The next installment will explore the Kumbh Mela’s layout, infrastructure, the Ganga’s water quality, and the available tent facilities for me.

-Nitin Anturkar (February 13, 2025)

Acknowledgment:

(1) The planetary alignment discussion draws from correspondence with Anil Ketkar, an accomplished astrophotographer and college alumnus.

(2) Most photographs featured in my Kumbh blogs are ones I captured personally. However, I’ve also included images shared by friends who accompanied me to the Kumbh Mela.

References:

1. “Capacity Planning for Large Scale People Movement: Models and Application to Ujjain Kumbh Mela,” by Jyotirmoy Dalal, Ananth V. Iyer, Naval Research Logistics, Wiley Online Library, 2021.

2. Sanskrit shlokas (stanzas) describing the planetary positions of Sun and Jupiter are mentioned in the source below.

Mahakumbh Mela – Astrological Aspect

3. Jupiter takes 11.86 years to complete one revolution around all the zodiac signs.

https://www.indastro.com/planets/jupiter-planet.html#:~:text=Astronomical%20Facts%20about%20Jupiter&text=It%20takes%20around%2011.86%20years,sign%20for%20around%2013%20months.

4. https://www.dadhionthetrail.com/2025/01/18/kumbh-mela-preview-self-exploration-part-ii/

5. https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20250117-planetary-parade-what-the-alignment-of-seven-planets-really-means-for-science

(400 million people are expected to gather at the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati rivers near the city of Prayagraj for a holy dip from January 13 to February 26, 2025. This 45-day festival is called Kumbh Mela. I will be visiting it from February 1-5, 2025.)

Why should I discuss “confronting fear”? On January 29th, a stampede occurred at the Kumbh Mela during one of its most auspicious days. More than 30 million people had already gathered near the confluence by 1 AM on that day. Unfortunately, more than 30 people died in this mishap. It was a devastating tragedy. While I was grief-stricken, many friends reached out to check on my safety and expressed their concern for my well-being. At the time of the stampede, I was in Mumbai and unaffected by the tragedy. The administration quickly contained the situation. I plan to travel tomorrow for five days as per my original plan.

I want to assure you that I remain undaunted and would like to share my journey of confronting fear.

It was Friday, December 14, 2018. I eagerly anticipated attending a social event at a quaint church in Farmington Hills, a Detroit suburb. During the event, my breathing suddenly became labored, and a sharp pain shot through my heart. I was having a heart attack. What followed was standard protocol. An ambulance arrived promptly; I was rushed to the nearest hospital, where doctors inserted a stent. What wasn’t routine, however, was my unusual state of mind: I felt no anxiety about the future, no questioning of “what” or “why,” no yearning to live, no fear of dying. It never crossed my mind that I might not see my wife’s serene face or my children again. It was not routine that I was joking with my surgeon, while I was on the surgery table. I was lucky. I was simply oblivious to the fear.

Two years later, our friend Manoj suddenly dropped a bombshell on our close friends’ WhatsApp group. His wife Jyothi, a Vedant teacher, had been diagnosed with stage-four cancer and given no more than a year to live. It was a stark and desolate message, the kind that sucker-punches you and leaves us all reeling, struggling to process the information.  After sharing this news, Manoj posted her recent Zoom recording (1). In the video, her voice was calm and peaceful with the demeanor of unwavering assurance. She smiled even while describing her excruciating pain, her eyes brightening as she spoke about death. She stated, “Birth and death are two sides of the same coin. Since one cannot exist without the other, death should be celebrated as much as birth.” I had never heard of such an open, transparent, unabashed and blatant “celebration” of death. Her words were profound. “Since we don’t know when death will appear at our doorstep,” she continued, “we should transcend time by focusing solely on the present moment, letting go of past and future.”

But, wait a minute! I’m not Jyothi! I’m not enlightened! These techniques are challenging to practice, despite my earnest efforts. The journey remains long and arduous. As a first step, I’ve begun to confront and embrace pain and fear directly. During my long-distance backpacking trips, I regularly envision a snake slithering into my sleeping bag. Will this mental preparation help me overcome anxiety and fear on the trail? Can I maintain composure in such situations? I’ve started openly sharing my experience with a “widow-maker” heart attack, both verbally and in writing. I’ve also had candid conversations about mortality and death with my wife Anjali and our children. These explorations of fear and death continue.

Then I embarked solo on the 2,200-mile Appalachian Trail with a strong support of my wife. I had a long list of fears. The fears were numerous: another “widow-maker” heart attack in a remote area, complications with my metal knee replacement, gout attacks, a frozen left shoulder, potential skull fracture on Pennsylvania’s treacherous boulders, the impending emergence of billions of cicadas, the solitude of hiking alone, encounters with poisonous rattlesnakes and camouflaged copperheads, bear confrontations, rats in shelters, bee stings, and tick-borne diseases. The list seemed endless.

Through mental training, I systematically bulldozed these fears. Period.                            

A fearless mind revealed an unexpectedly beautiful world. I observed the glossy-coated bear with wonder, listened to snake rattles as attentively as beloved Bollywood melodies, and walking on the trail itself became a life-time experience! Fearless mind also taught me to live in the moment! No anxieties of the future, no concerns of the past! 1-1, 2-2, 3-3, one breath, one step at a time! Literally! Without realizing it, I had internalized the challenging yogic practice of living in the present moment.

Now I face the sobering reality of the Kumbh Mela stampede as I prepare for my own journey there. Will I have a life-time experience, or will it all be swept away in my fear? Will I achieve self-discovery, or will the crowds cloud my mind? Should I embrace the experience of immersing myself in the Ganges while honoring my ancestors, or should I skip the dip in Ganga? Will I have no stress, no fear, no scare, full focus, full fun and extreme alert, or my mind will be filled with unnecessary anxiety?

What do you think?

– Nitin Anturkar (January 31^st, 2025)

– Jyothi’s video on “Disease, Distress and Death”: 

(400 million people are expected to gather at the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati rivers near the city of Prayagraj for a holy dip from January 13 to February 26, 2025. I will be visiting the Kumbh Mela from February 1-5, 2025.)

OMG, suddenly, there is an overwhelming surge of hype, hoopla, and cacophony about the Kumbh Mela across India. There are thousands of videos and news clips blaring every day. Steve Jobs’ wife has allergies after her first dip in the Ganga, another IIT-baba has emerged, one sadhu (monk) grows rice on his head, another has been standing for last 15 years even in sleep, assembly of 400 million people, Kumbh after 144 years, 150,000 toilets built, mystic of unclothed Naga Sadhus, 30 bridges, free food, underwater drones, clean Ganga, good politicians, opportunists politicians, security, videos from train, videos from cars, videos from helicopters… there is no end to the streaming.

Then there are the rituals: offering water three times to three types of ancestors and taking dips only 3, 5, 7, 11, or 17 times (notably all prime numbers). Perform pooja on the banks; leave your body unwiped for three minutes; and visit the Nag-Vasuki temple to earn punya (virtues). Claims range from the highest centrifugal force on Earth being present in Prayagraj during the Kumbh to the Jovian effect enhancing spirituality—the media’s barrage of advice seems endless.

Do I sound sarcastic? I assure you, I’m not. Five percent of the world’s population seeking liberation (mukti) in one place is truly a mind-blowing event! It deserves all the publicity it can get, and more. Today is the fifth day of the Kumbh, and already 45 million people have visited Prayagraj—remarkably, not a single crime has been reported on our typically negativity-seeking social media. For Americans like me, that itself is a miracle. Besides, there is no stampede, no violence, no crushing others, no dirty trash floating in the river! As we say in America, “knock on wood”—may everything continue to go well.

But that’s not why I’m going to the Kumbh. In my previous article, I discussed what my dip in the Ganga symbolizes to me and what I learned from the sadhus I met during earlier pilgrimages (1). Let me continue my thoughts on self-exploration.

Let’s begin with the mythology behind the Kumbh’s origin: the Samudra-Manthan (churning of the ocean), beautifully sculpted in the main atrium of Thailand’s Suvarnabhumi Airport. The Devas (gods) and Asuras (demigods) churned the ocean using Mount Mandara as a rod and the serpent Vasuki as a rope, seeking the nectar of immortality. The Samudra Manthan yielded various substances from the ocean. Then fourteen special gems emerged, including the goddesses of wealth (Lakshmi), sleep (Nidradevi), and wine (Varuni); the god of medicine (Dhanvantari); and the wish-granting cow (Kamdhenu) and tree (Kalpavruksha). Eventually, the nectar emerged in the Kumbh (pot). The Devas and Asuras fought over it. Drops of nectar fell at four places in India, one being Prayagraj—where the Kumbh is now held at the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati.

The Samudra Manthan has barely begun in my mind—even the poison Halahal hasn’t emerged, let alone the nectar. Can I confront myself honestly during the Kumbh and spew out this poison from my mind? Where within me is the Lord Shiva who can digest this poison? For example, can I challenge myself on:

– Do I harbor racist and biased thoughts, even subconsciously?

– Do I truly respect everyone—regardless of their gender, religion, actions, or even moral values?

– When I offer namaste, do I genuinely acknowledge the divine in the person before me, or is it merely a formality?

– When I pray Pasaydan by Saint Dnyaneshwar from 13th century, it says, “जे खळांचि व्यंकटी सांडो, तया सत्कर्मी रती वाढो, भूतां परस्परे पडो, मैत्र जीवांचे!” (May the negative karma of sinners be eliminated—not the sinners themselves; may their good karma flourish; may friendship and harmony grow among all beings). Do I truly embrace this teaching, or do I still harbor hatred for the sinners themselves?  

– Can I transcend my ego, hatred, jealousy, anger, and desires to fill my soul with infinite love?

– Should I abandon the Manthan entirely and simply surrender to the divine?

These questions could continue endlessly—the list is infinite. The central question remains: “Will the Kumbh accelerate my Samudra Manthan?”

Perhaps what will catalyze my Manthan is the presence of these massive crowds. Will I be able to feel their reverence and devotion, their pious thoughts, their collective spiritual energy? Imagine all these people saving modest amounts of money from their meager daily earnings, imagine their travel to this Kumbh from hundreds of kilometers to fulfill their lifelong dreams, imagine standing in this crushing crowd for hours and hours in anticipation of the dip in Ganga, imagine three minutes of dip, and then spending the rest of their lives cherishing that brief moment while caring for family, helping others, avoiding hatred, working hard, following the law and one’s dharma, and finding joy in life’s simple moments. That is faith—the truth beyond facts. Who am I to challenge such power? I am but a speck in this vast universe.

What a power of this collective faith at the Kumbh—the spiritual force generated by millions of souls! Will I sense it, will I be overwhelmed, will I feel humble, small, and tearful—just another tiny element in this unabating flow of civilization, in this eternal flow of time?

The validity of this experience ultimately depends on one’s purity of heart, perspective, and approach. Just outside the Rameswaram Temple gates in South India, a signboard displays the excerpt from a speech by Swami Vivekanand, the modern Indian saint. Swamiji’s message was very blunt: he advised devotees against visiting the temple if their hearts were not pure (2). The excerpt reads: “It is in pure and sincere love in heart that religion exists, not in ceremony. Unless a man is pure in body and mind, entering a temple and worshiping God is futile. If a person enters a temple with an impure mind, they add to their existing sins and leave in a worse state than when they arrived.” Why would the Kumbh be any different from Rameswaram?

Have I been drowned by social media? Yes. Will my self-exploration continue regardless? Absolutely. Will my mind be pure enough to absorb the extraordinary spiritual energy at the Kumbh? I hope so. Meanwhile, my seeking continues!

Nitin Anturkar (Jan 17, 2025)

– My previous article on Kumbh,

Kumbh Mela Preview: 1. Self Exploration – Part I

– A speech by Swami Vivekanand outside Rameswaram temple: https://singhruby.com/2018/05/29/swami-vivekanandas-message-at-the-ramanathaswamy-temple-in-rameshwaram/

(400 million people are expected to gather at the confluence of the Ganga, Yamuna, and Saraswati rivers near the city of Prayagraj for a holy dip from January 13 to February 26, 2025. I will be visiting the Kumbh Mela from February 1-5, 2025.)

Happy new year!

This will be a totally crazy travel! I will be one among 400 million people visiting the Maha-Kumbh Mela in Prayagraj, India at the end of January 2025 (Nope, there is no typo here!). This party without alcohol is bigger than the freaking entire population of the USA. I suspect that these will be the most exciting five days of my travelling life. (FYI, the previous Ardha-Kumbh in 2019 had 200-220 million people as per Government of India.)

I know! Most of my friends’ first concern is about hygiene, especially if I say that I plan to take a dip in the Ganga/Yamuna/Saraswati confluence EVERY day. But how can I resist myself in submerging (literally and otherwise) and surrendering in this experience! I will be staying in a luxury tent and will drink bottled water. My ass will lie comfortably on a proper mattress each night. But I cannot, will not and do not want to be away from 400 million people during the day. Period.

I know! The government administration will be thinking about safety and security to avoid mishaps. They have deployed thousands of AI equipped CCTVs, robots, boats, helicopters and underwater cameras. They have 30 new temporary bridges and nine new railway stations. But all of these fancy deployments are so inadequate for the scale of the gathering. How can they bring one third of national resources to just one city for the gathering of one third of the nation? Authorities will rely heavily on crowd to self-regulate. They will also rely on a history of extremely low crime, lack of endemic outbreak, major stampede or terrorism in Kumbh.

What will I do in Kumbh?

The one thing that I know! I will not hide my tears. Ganga represents me, my ancestors, my intellect, my consciousness, my culture, my homeland, my roots, my books, my biases, my frustrations, my struggles… everything! I know that I will cry when I take a dip. 

Why is such an emotional response? Let me explain. We are steeped in the symbolism. Lord Ganesh’ broken tusk, General Motor’s corporate logo, “Hail to the victor’s” song of the University of Michigan, national anthem while waving national flag – they are all symbols. There is no end to symbolism since ancient civilizations. I suspect that in most cases, we need symbols for non physical entities that we created or imagined, such as religions, corporations, nations, thoughts, principles, spirituality, values and many more (1).

So why would I be emotional when I touched Ganga? Because Indian civilization thrived on the banks of Ganga, and hence, Ganga is a symbol of me, my ancestors, my intellect and everything else that I mentioned above. Essentially Ganga is my symbol, your symbol, and if Ganga represents rivers and their civilizations all over the world, then it is a symbol of everybody in the world.

I know! I will meet as many sadhus (monks) as possible. This is a much-maligned community, thanks to the notoriety in social media of a few bad apples and inherent skepticism among “intellectuals”. But for every bad apple, there are literally thousands and thousands of remarkable, awesome sadhus, who possess profound wisdom and passion with dedicated purpose, pursuing knowledge and truth in solitude. I want to be inspired, awed by their siddhis, their history of giving lives for freedom struggle, their meager living, their philosophies, their stories of their gurus. Trust me, I am not claiming above understanding of sadhus from thin air. My perspective comes from personal encounters with few sadhus across India over the past two years. (Please refer to the photos and the messages of some of those Sadhus below.)

I already know! I will be moved by the faith of the masses, free of caste, gender and other biases. Oh yes, I will watch and “feel” million individual people. Their joy will be infectious. Their wisdom will humble my stupid ego. Hopefully, I will learn! I will surrender!

I know that I will go berserk! I will take 5,000 photos, try not to sleep as much as I can to soak in this crazy place! Wooohooo, I am incredibly excited!

Happy Christmas on the eve of a spiritual time here in the USA!

– Nitin Anturkar (24^th December, 2024)

(1) “Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind”, Yuval Noah Harari (2015)

Professor (?) Ma Bhaktipriya in the Gangotri temple. Her message was simple. “Find eternal happiness.” She stays a couple of miles up in the cave throughout the year including winter, when even Ganga deity from Gangotri temple moves to lower hills. She spoke to us in fluent English. Her face had a glow that blew our mind. (October, 2023)

Unknown sadhu in Pandav Cave near Gangotri. His desire was to have an empty mind for ten seconds and then he will be ready to take samadhi! But he himself said, “Any desire is not good. This one will prevent me to emptying my mind.” (October, 2023)

Swami Samanand Giri in Maheshwar, Central India on the banks of Narmada river, who is also an electrical engineer by academic background. He told us, “Go to the nature. Talk to the trees.. alone.” He hugged me for walking on the Appalachian Trail few years ago. (November, 2023)

We met this sadhu in a small ally of Varanasi at a street coffee stall. We invited her while she was walking by and she gladly agreed. She is from Austria and has spent last 25 years in Varanasi. She is associated with Juna Akhada (Old Tradition). (November, 2023)

Fireyogi swami Rambhau is a siddhyogi, known for his ability to stay in live fire for a long time. He is a descendent of a 16th century saint, Samartha Ramdas Swamy from Maharashtra. His ancestors reached Thanjavur from Maharashtra when Sardar Ekojirao Bhosale started managing this area for the regional sultanate. He is fluent in English, Tamil, Hindi and Marathi, worships Lord Ganapati, and follows Tantric tradition (not Vedic tradition). I told him that my father is also called Rambhau. Then he asked me about where I am from. When I said that I am from Maharashtra, he spoke in Marathi and told me that “There is no God who is above one’s parents. Just worship your parents. It is like worshipping Gods.”

Chaitanya is based in Krupalu Maharaj Ashram at Mangadh, North India, and is a brother of our close friend. He is from my college (IIT-Bombay) and PhD. in engineering. Even without saffron color robe, he is as much a sadhu as anybody else. He has dedicated his life to sadhana and Radha-Krishna bhakti (devotion). (October, 2023)

Please review the list of ten prominent sadhus from my college (Indian Institute of Technology-Bombay).

https://www.indiatoday.in/visualstories/education/iit-to-inner-peace-10-iitians-who-became-monks-83380-20-12-2023

For additional context, I recommend this one-hour documentary on Kumbh. While somewhat romanticized, it provides a good overview.

When I heard the news of Mr. Tata’s passing, I was shocked. His presence in the world was my own selfish necessity. Souls like his give comfort to ordinary people like me, reassuring us that goodwill exists. He was the flag-bearer of goodwill. I wanted his physical presence—not just his memories, work, philanthropy, humanitarian efforts, or business acumen—I craved his tangible existence. I longed for his physical presence, but now he is gone.

When my wife was gone to office, in solitude, I was tearful. Hundreds of stories kept pouring in. They overwhelmed me.  I had just finished reading of Dnyaneshwari (ज्ञानेश्वरी). It said, “Let there be a rows and rows of good people in the world.” (ईश्वरनिष्ठांची मांदीयाळी ). But Mr. Tata was the leader of these good people. I longed for his physical presence, but now he is gone.

I was lucky. I was hired by my boss and the Tata group at Tata AutoComp. I was lucky that I met him at the board meetings every three months. He even visited my office and had lunch with me and my boss. Maybe it was an assurance from the almighty that Mr. Tata would be around. Therefore, I was OK to be lucky. I will cherish those memories. But that was not my preference. I longed for his physical presence, but now he is gone.

I guess I am nobody! Just like billions of others, I am nobody! I am not lucky enough! Om Shanti!

I was very very emotional yesterday at Hrishikesh. I touched Ganga for the first time. I drank it by taking a few drops in my hand, and while in the boat, I poured it on my head with both hands.

We are steeped in the symbolism. Lord Ganesh’ broken tusk, General Motor’s corporate logo, “Hail to the victor’s” song of the University of Michigan, national anthem while waving national flag that I experienced just yesterday after Ganga aarti at the banks of Ganga and so on. There is no end to symbolism since ancient civilizations. I suspect that in most cases, we need symbols for non physical entities that we created or imagined, such as religions, corporations, nations, thoughts, principles, spirituality, values and many more (1).

So why was I emotional when I touched Ganga? Because Indian civilization thrived on the banks of Ganga, and hence, Ganga is a symbol of me, my family, parents, ancestors, all books that I have read, all the good and bad thoughts I have had, all the value systems I have been taught, my culture and upbringing, all the food I have tasted, all of my likings and dislikes, all my internal weaknesses and strengths, I can just go on and on. Essentially Ganga is my symbol, your symbol, and if Ganga represents rivers and their civilizations all over the world, then it is a symbol of everybody in the world.

What can I say? Finally, I met mother Ganga. She hugged me and she was happy to receive a couple of tears from her son.

(1) “Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind”, Yuval Noah Harari (2015)

Nitin Dadhi Anturkar (October 2023)

There was a discussion on the National Education Policy (2020) in India on our college (The Indian Institute of Technology, Bombay, called IIT in this article) batchmates’ WhatsApp group. As per this policy, local Indian language as the medium of instruction is mandatory until 5th grade, while English language as a subject can be continued in the schools. The medium of instruction can only be shifted to English at that point, if desired. (That is how we all understood this policy). Debate continued among my college mates about the merits and demerits of such a policy. However, I am writing it here because one of the friends wrote his personal story, and I responded with my story. They are described below (with my friend’s permission, of course). 

If you are not from India, you may need to know the following two things before reading below: (1) There are multitude of Indian language, not dialects, with their own scripts, grammar and words, and (2) similar to many countries, there is multi-layered privileges in the Indian education system. One such privilege, at least in India, is the medium of instruction in which you are taught various subjects.

—————————————–

Friend 1: 

As a Gujju (a colloquial slang word for a Gujarati person) born in Hyderabad, the first language I was taught is Hindi (Hyderabadi flavor). That’s because back then, our interaction was mainly with ayahs, maids, neighbor kids and nursery classmates. And we continued this tradition with our kids and grandkids too. The only Gujju I spoke was with my grand mom.

But I was sent to the elite HPS (Hyderabad Public School) where even the dining hall bearers and school bus drivers spoke in English. My days at school convinced me that in order to excel in physics, chemistry and other science subjects, and get admission into engineering college, English was the only language that could do it for me.

When I came to IIT, I experienced some kind of a cultural shock…. So many guys from the vernacular medium…(students whose medium of instruction was the local Indian language). How did they write the formula for Copper Sulphate in Marathi? How did they know about differentiation and integration? About sp3 hybridization and bond orbital formation?

To my pleasant surprise, I found these guys from the vernacular medium to be some of the most brilliant minds that I’ve ever met and the net result was that I would often seek their help in clearing my doubts. (on the few occasions that I tried to study seriously)

And sometime during our second year, I read one article by Mahatma Gandhi published in Young India where he denounces the English language (and ironically, the denouncement was in English) and mentions the example of Japs succeeding in technology and electronics without the use of English. And that led me to think that yes… Come to think of it… The Japs, the Russians, the Germans, the Chinese… All have done well in managing economies, spacecraft, science and technology without needing the English language.

And finally, I came to the conclusion (and still believe) that the primacy of English language in India is a curse which has created an inequitable elite and now, we’re too deeply trapped in it to be able to overcome its necessity.

BTW, these cross-cultural linguistic influences have led me to know English, Hindi (Dakhani), Hindi (normal… Textbook type), Gujarati and Telugu… In this order. But sadly, I cannot claim proficiency in any of these languages. 😞

——————————————————

Nitin (Dadhi): 

OK, my story is exactly opposite of yours. 

At the end of 10th grade, for the first time ever, my teacher showed up at my home. Suddenly, my home turned into a high-stress chamber. She told my parents that “Nitin is good in science and math, but he can not survive with a score of 46/100 in English in his life. His future is in trouble.” My parents had never gone to college and were barely conversant with the English language. But they had started one of the successful schools in Dombivali, my hometown (call it a paradox, irony or whatever English word you want to use!) and had great contacts all over our town. I was promptly connected to the Professor of English, Professor Gadgil, from the SIES college. On a side note, the Head of the Department of the English language at that time in the SIES college was the most influential Marathi poet, Vinda Karandikar, who won the prestigious Dnyanapith award, not in English, but in Marathi. Professor Gadgil offered to review my two essays per week, and asked me to start reading English books, such as Enid Blyton. Believe it or not, even in the 11th grade, I could not figure out the head or tail of such elementary story books. Over time, I developed an all-crucial skill of survival by securing passing grades with 37/100 in First Year and 39/100 in Second Year English at the SIES college before heading to the engineering college. It may appear to be a “proud” story of struggle and survival. But trust me, this was and still is a pretty embarrassing story of my struggle of learning English (and missing out on some incredible novels and poetry in this language). 

Back in Dombivali, we were told that rich students with a fancy English accent are typically ignorant students (maybe to mitigate the inferiority complex of vernacular students). When I entered IIT, it was a shock! Here, I could not believe all these brilliant students, deep diving into Asimov’s Sci-Fi literature, narrating stories from R K Narayan’s books and fluently quoting Khushwant Singh, then editor of the “Illustrated Weekly” magazine. Obviously, it did not help me to overcome my inferiority complex! It was a long long climb out of the ditch! And then finally being able to introduce my father proudly to the friends as a “daily wage earning kamgar (blue-collar worker)”. 

Here are the two associated anecdotal stories!

After the first semester, I realized that I got an “A” grade in MA101 (the subject in which the class did not do well). I came back to the Hostel 5 dining hall and screamed in the usual IITian lingo, “बना दे! (super work!)”. The friend sitting next to me said, “Nitin, I did not expect it, man!”. Even in my overwhelming emotions of jubilation, I still noticed this comment. I asked “ahh, why?” He said, “Nitin, your English is not that good!” Yes, there are many apparent contradictions in his comment. But the real story is that I ACCEPTED his statement as a matter of fact at that time without noticing the contradictions !!

Next story happened in the USA. Mike and Betsy and their children are our family from another continent. When my mom was visiting them here in the USA, she was embarrassed that she did not know English to converse with them. When she mentioned it to Mike in her broken English, he said in his usual humble manner, “Your English is better than my Marathi.” I neither had this perspective of my Marathi vs English, nor was it drilled in my head by anybody during my formative years.

One clarification! When I read my story again, one thing does not come out explicitly. So let me write it down. My inferiority complex was self-inflicted. If at all, my fellow friends pulled me out of it in IIT. I cannot thank them enough!

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Friend: 

Opposite story… True. But the end result is the same I think. Both of us learnt that there is merit in vernacular and that English creates an unnecessary class divide

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Friend 2:

A few months back I watched the movie ‘Hindi Medium’ that playfully highlights the challenges of securing admissions in prestigious schools in India and the extent to which parents will go to give their kids a good start in life. The words ‘Hindi Medium’ strike a chord in my heart. My earliest memories are of a small village in the faraway district of Palamu in Bihar (Jharkhand today). The village had only one school operated by the Company for all children in the colony & the adjoining villages. Naturally Hindi was the medium of teaching. So off I went learning in Hindi. In my third grade my father was transferred to the city of Porbandar at the other end of the country and the choices of learning were between English and Gujarati. Strange as it may sound today, until then I did not know a word of English! For the two weeks we took getting there including a stopover to see my grandparents, my mother taught me English using a pen and paper. I had never read the language in print. When the school Head Master asked me to try reading a few words, I stumbled at the first – dog! The ‘d’ and ‘o’ I understood but I hadn’t the foggiest idea what a letter with two circles connected by a line was! My test had ended on the first word with a big failure! The Head Master was Oxford educated and made a gentle but futile attempt to persuade my father to start me off from grade 1 all over. My father was having none of the arguments about the psychological damage that pushing me to learn in a totally strange language could do. I must have done pretty well in the first set of tests a month or so later. I recall it moved the Head Master to come bounding into our class and congratulate me while berating the rest about how a student had come in from so far behind to score better than them!

Although I completed the rest of my education in English, I never could say my multiplication tables in the language. Much to the consternation of my teachers I would generally do well in Math but flunk the orals when asked to recite ‘Two Threes Are’.  It was always ‘Doe Tiya Chhe’ in my mind!

Midway through the year, we found ourselves deep in the heartland of Tamil Nadu (Madras state as it was called then). Even though I went to an English medium school, my struggle had not ended as the teachers wrote in cursive script and I would sit in class with a blank look on my face. Once again it fell to my mother to bring me up to speed in the new script.

Fast forward thirty odd years – when our son was born my wife and I decided we would start him off in Marathi. We knew eventually he would speak English and worried if he did not know Marathi during his early years he would never eventually learn his mother tongue. We were living in the upscale Mumbai neighborhood of Pali Hill then. When it was time to get admission to school, the teacher was dismayed and asked me how my son could join the school since he did not know a word of English. Gently I asked her, ‘Madam, if I teach him English are you going to teach him Marathi?’. That is where it ended. By Grade Eight my son’s English Teacher was reading his essays out to the graduating high schoolers.

In our family my wife is another example. Today she converses pretty decently in English. Her friends and many acquaintances have been surprised to learn that she has done all her education in Marathi and started to speak English only after we were married and moved to Gujarat, later Mumbai and thereafter outside India where she was compelled to speak in English.

My take away from these experiences is that the human brain has a humongous capacity to learn new things especially languages. Never underestimate your capabilities and especially those of children. I am somewhat dismayed when I see parents avoiding teaching their children their mother tongues for fear of ‘confusing’ or ‘overburdening’ the child. I feel like narrating my experience and that of our family. If we could do it so can you!

English language fluency is a strength that India definitely has. It is important to know the language well for people aspiring to make a mark in the world. However, knowing your mother tongue gives you the appreciation of your culture. Those roots are critical foundation to sculpt a strong edifice of one’s life.

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Nitin (Dadhi) Anturkar (December 2023)

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.

(This Eulogy was written by me 14 hours after my father passed away on November 28, 2016. To keep all thoughts as they were felt at that time, I have not modified or added any new content in this write-up from the original post on the Facebook)

Our father passed away yesterday evening at Vivek’s (my brother) place in New Zealand. Me, Anjali, Tejas and Aarti are on route to New Zealand. After the initial outburst of emotions yesterday, now I am settling down in celebrating his life! Many of you know him personally. Please forgive me for informing you on the Facebook, email and WhatsApp, instead of calling you individually.

Those who have met him, have felt his positive energy, zest for life and ability to connect with all generations. Humor was an integral part of his life. He was a great father, father-in-law, grandfather and a human being.

But those who know him from his younger age will recognize that he was a brilliant example of how an ordinary person can do extraordinary things in the most challenging situations. He was in fact, far less than an ordinary human being. He barely finished high school and went to college. He did not know English well, was a blue-collared tool-and-die maker throughout his life and was never a so-called “cultured” personality. But how many of us can start learning a new language (English) at the age of 75? How many of us can embrace new technology (computers) at the age of 80? At Aarti’s graduation, he proclaimed that he will be a professor at MIT one day, obviously in future reincarnations. After today, I really need to start keeping an eye on new professor recruitments at MIT.

At around the age of 25, he developed a “neutral” growth in his nose and on his upper lip. That growth was required to be removed physically every 6-12 months. It was an ordeal that lasted for 15-20 years. Every time such surgery required blood transfusion, every time it took a physical toll on him and every time it was a loss of family income as he was a daily-wage earner. Through that ordeal, he eventually developed Tuberculosis, which required his stay in the hospital for months and months. But more importantly, except for family and friends, he was a social outcast due to the horrifying look of that weird red blob protruding out of his nostril. Imagine that nobody, I mean nobody, would dare to come closer to him even in a crowded local train. We all barely survived those days, except for his humor and my parents’ positive energy. He used to call himself “human with a trunk” (सोंड असलेला माणूस)

“Humor” and “Positive Energy” take whole new meaning when one reads above experiences. Isn’t it?

This was the circumstance in which his extraordinary work began. My parents started a school, called Swami Vivekanand School in Dombivali. Both personally made sure that the school remained “par excellence”. Eventually, the school became so popular that there used to be a loooong que for two days (no kidding!) for admission in this school. Ministers from the Government of Maharashtra cabinet have come to our home requesting admission for their fans/acquaintances/political associates. The desperation to get admission in this school reached to the point where many people had offered all kinds of money and some had even pulled a knife in our living room in front of my grandmother to threaten my father. He never succumbed to such situations, despite our dire financial circumstances.

We are just lucky, really lucky to have him as our father and grandfather.

Nitin Anturkar (28 November 2016)

(all names are fictitious)

This 4^th year first semester Chemical Engineering (ChemE) process lab was a drab. Absolutely boring, useless, and hopeless crap! We were supposed to make nitrobenzene from benzene, purify water, evaluate efficiency of fractional distillation, and do similar useless lab experiments that nobody cared about. Some enterprising folks from our batch tried to convince the department to include in the curriculum an experiment of distillation of ethyl alcohol from water. But when that idea was shot down (despite potential opportunity to learn superior ChemE processes), everybody lost interest in this lab. Besides, this lab was in the afternoon, the time when all hostelers are supposed to catch up with sleep, so that one could play bridge the entire night, or chase girls at Y-point, or simply drink alcohol and submerge oneself into Ghalib’s shayari at midnight. 

But then SM made nitrobenzene one afternoon and turned this hopeless, boring, useless lab into a scary, funny, “holy shit”, “WTF” lab in approximately 0.4 seconds. 

Story began that morning. Professor HS Mani started handing over the second test paper of CHE401 Reaction Engineering course back to students. In the first test, SM had received only 6 marks out of 20, well below average. SM tried to get an additional couple of marks. He complained that his pen slipped and wrote a wrong answer. Yes, SM did use such ridiculous excuses! Such ultra-creative, unbelievable reasoning had worked in the past for him. But Prof Mani did not oblige. Then SM tried some nonsense, emotional blackmail with teary eyes. That did not work either. Now today SM was concerned, anxious and worried about the second test. He had come prepared to negotiate better marks. He even wore his best polyester pants and shirt in the class. When SM approached Prof Mani’s table to collect the exam paper, Mani looked at SM through his thick lenses, and said in his Australian-cum-Tamil-cum-Bombayite accent, “Very good”. SM got 14 marks when the average was only 8.1. SM was confused, surprised and enthralled, all at the same time. He had no idea what to do. His preparations for negotiations were completely wasted. All SM could attempt was a nice flick to his neck and threw his hair back, exactly what Karsan Ghavari would do at the start of his long run-up as a bowler of Indian cricket team. SM came back to his seat, as if he were floating in thin air.

SM was on the sixth cloud when he landed in Hostel 5 for lunch. Hungry and elated, he completely ignored the taste of the freshly cut grass from the famous “Karkare garden” in Dal-Methi. He enjoyed powdery, sandy, overcooked cross-linked polymer, popularly known as “cement roti” in the hostel. He even commented to nearby folks that baking soda really adds great texture to the rice. SM ate and ate and ate to his heart’s content. 

Although SM was a dedicated Chemical Engineer, he knew one or two things about biology. When one eats or “drinks” a lot, one goes to sleep. SM was obligated to follow biological principles. This 160-pound, 5 ft 10-inch, contented homo-sapien entered room number 159 and crashed on the bed in his polyester outfit, as if he had just landed in heaven. Spread on his tummy like Kumbhakarna, he dreamt of himself getting A grade in Mani’s CHE401 course, Ghavari getting 9 wickets in a Cricket test match, Professor Varma greeting him in the department lobby, four girls in tight jean pants dancing with him in Mood Indigo, and SM himself blocking Vora’s smashing hit in the inter-wing volleyball match. 

He suddenly woke up among these amazing dreams! Iyengar was screaming from next door: “अबे SM, दो बज  गया! लॅब को जाने का नहीं क्या?” SM’s blood was still swirling around his stomach trying to digest eleven cement rotis that he had consumed just one hour ago. His blood-starved brain did not register Iyengar’s screaming and he closed his half-opened eyes again. Iyengar now started banging SD’s door. SM woke up again, and realized that unfortunately, he is still part of the planet earth, somehow stuck in this harsh Kalyug, and he needs to rush to the ChemE Process Lab. 

He grabbed his bag, stumbled out of the room, and started his long staggering, dazed walk towards the ChemE Lab. 

SM entered the room with disheveled hair, crumpled but colorful polyester clothing, usual red color chappals and a dazed look. Chhota Raman was explaining the experiment. Chhota Raman was called chhota (small), because he was chhota compared not only to Bada (big) Raman but compared to almost everybody else in the ChemE department. Chhota Raman looked at SM with disgust and informed him that students can not arrive late in the class. Then he continued his instructions: “In the mixture, start adding benzene very slowly, not allowing temperature to rise beyond 60C. Once you finish adding benzene, remove sulfuric acid from the bottom of the flask. Wash resulting nitrobenzene with distilled water to improve the yield. Later, use a distillation column to separate water, and extract pure nitrobenzene. I need to know how you estimated the yield.”

SM whispered in Bewada Rana’s ears. “Bewada, which mixture?” Rana replied, “Sulfuric acid and Nitric acid”. SM was still confused with a few very basic questions. “Why Sulfuric acid?”, “How do I mix it?” But there was not enough time. Everybody was very eager to get out of this stupid lab. SM took 30 ml of nitric acid and added some sulfuric acid in a round bottom flask. He was always taught to stir the mixture to make it homogenous. He found a glass stick on the countertop next to him and started stirring. He heard the cracking sound of the glass from the flask. He peeped inside. The stirrer was broken. And within a second, it daunted upon him that he is staring at the thermometer in his hand, and not a stirrer. All the shiny globules of mercury were also staring back at SM from the bottom of the flask. 

SM immediately looked at Chhota Raman. He was busy helping Alka, telling her, “Keep adding benzene, but do it slowly, Oooook!” SM was still sleepy. He knew that somebody would eventually help him to create some fictitious calculations at the end. So, he shrugged and started adding benzene in the flask. Slowly this yellowish liquid mixture started boiling. He asked Bewada, “इसको थंडा कैसे करने का?” By the time his question was uttered, BOOM! The whole mixture exploded with a big bang. The hot liquid splashed in the lab, Debris flew all over and everybody screamed and ducked. Chhota Raman’s thick eyeglasses fell on the ground, a couple of guys started running to the door, and Bewada saw that the broken flask was somehow sticking to the roof. He shouted,” Hey, watch out!!!” In a weird way, everybody was mesmerized and started looking up. SM also started looking up. 

Flask came crashing down between Bewada and SM. Both made a weird quack-like sound and jumped like a frog. Everybody was now looking at scattered pieces of the glass flask. And this is the first time, the whole lab noticed that SM IS ON FIRE. SM was on fire. SM was on fire. SM was really on fire. Even Chhota Raman without eyeglasses saw it. Commotion ensued and only then it reckoned upon SM that SM IS ON FIRE. SM observed himself as if he is some third, separate person. Few guys started looking for water. Somebody shouted, “Watch out! Do not throw sulfuric acid on SM instead of water!” Meanwhile, SM frantically started removing shirt buttons, somebody ran to the next room to fetch some water from the bathroom sink. 

Did this explosion happen because of formation of secondary and tertiary nitrobenzene at high temperature? Who knows? Even Chhota Raman did not have the answer. 

When eventually SM’s shirt and banyan were removed, SM realized the burning sensation on his left thigh. He looked at his pants. There was a big hole to the pants and probably acid must have penetrated to his skin. SM screamed, “Oh shit!” Bewada came running and helped him to remove his pants. Burning sensation was intense. Somebody screamed, “Bring first aid box! There may be Burnol in the box.” Meanwhile, water was brought in and people started throwing it on SM’s feet. 

Imagine this historic visual! In the best engineering institute of India, established by the Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru himself in 1960, in the middle of the most prominent Chemical Engineering Department, SM aka Karasan Ghavari is sitting on a stool just on the underwear. For the first time in the history of Indian Academics, student’s pants are willingly removed in full display of the public.  Some colleagues are sprinkling water on this student, as if Lord Shiva’s Maha-Abhishek is being conducted. Lord Shiva himself looks totally dazed, not knowing if there is any additional Ganga going to come crashing down from the roof on his head. 

As commotion settled down, Chhota Raman suddenly remembered that SD would need clothes. He asked, “Is there anybody who stays in SM’s hostel? Can you get his clothes quickly?” Nanya volunteered. He took SM’s room keys and ran out to fetch some vehicle to go quickly to Hostel 5. He found one freshie going back to the hostel on one-sitter scooty. Nanya gave him keys and told him to get SM’s clothes quickly from his room. Freshie said, “Are yaar, why are you troubling me?” Nanya told him, “Hey, this is freaking very serious matter. SM was really on fire. I will tell you the story later.” Puzzled freshie ran away to the hostel. 

Meanwhile, Professor Ram entered the room and asked, “What is going on there?” In reality, there was nothing going on “there”. Topless SM on underwear was happening right “here”, 7 feet from Professor Ram. But Prof Ram was called “Ram There” for a reason. He would use the word “there” in a random manner all the time. For example, he would say, “There are many interesting organic compounds there, such as benzene there, methane there, propylene there and so on there”. Chhota Raman still could not resist and said, “Not “there” sir, right here in front of you, sir.” SM was dazed, embarrassed, scared and was losing patience, especially in front of the only woman student in this lab. He was also getting angry, a totally unfamiliar emotion for SM. He said to Prof Ram, “I was feeling hot. So, I removed all my clothes.” Prof Ram was a gullible but an experienced teacher. In his IIT career, he had seen Gali (cursing) fights in Hostel 5, students copying in exam from Perry’s 1,375-page Chemical Engineering Handbook, and even had eaten cement roti with Dal-Methi in Hostel 5 as a warden. But this sight of SM was something in a different league. He did not know whether to believe SM there or look around for the mess in the lab there, or just ignore and leave the place there.  

Meanwhile, Freshie Kumar just landed in Hostel 5. As he opened SM’s room, Iyengar from next door asked, “SM, तू जल्दी आ गया!” Kumar replied, “This is not SM. I am here to take SM’s clothes”. Iyengar screamed, “WHAT?” Kumar said quietly, “SM was on fire!” Iyengar screamed again “WHAT?”. Kumar repeated, “Nanekar told me that SM was on fire.” In this story, until now, I have requested you to imagine the visual of topless SM on underwear in the most prominent lab in the country and Professor Ram There’s face when SM told him that he removed clothes because he was feeling hot. But I cannot request you to even imagine Iyengar’s face when he heard that SM was on fire. All the best to you and your imagination!

Fast forward by three decades. One day in 2013, SM suddenly saw one vaguely familiar face in his subdivision in Boston while he was walking on the sidewalk. That person exclaimed, “SM!”. SM exclaimed, “Raman!” When they hugged each other, they quivered in memory of the past interactions. Nobody had to utter a word about the benzene explosion. Some things are best left unspoken! 

Nitin Anturkar

(On the occasion of 50^th Inter-IIT Sports Meet in IIT Bombay)

I was extremely anxious. This return journey on Chaddar trek (walking on the frozen Zanskar River in Ladakh) had turned into a huge challenge. At one point on a long icy treacherous patch, despite all precautions, I finally had a spectacular Charlie Chaplin style fall. My legs slipped, for a fraction of a second, I noticed that my entire body was 3-4 ft up in the air, and then I came crashing down. But within five minutes, I was back on my feet limping along in pain, cracking jokes and taking photos. At the camp that evening, one fellow trekker asked me, “How the hell do you manage this pain, man?” I told him, “There is a simple one-word answer: Khatri-sir.” 

Khatri sir…. barely five foot, stocky guy. Baldy, clean-shaven Gurkha face. Classic army person, rough and tough, chain smoker, one who would not tolerate any jokes and would never smile. Almost always, he would wear a brown T-shirt and grey pants, as if these clothes were part of his stocky body itself. Yes, he was our Gymnastics coach. Apparently Gymnastics no longer features in Inter-IIT meets. But in the seventies and early eighties, Gymnastics accounted for seven gold medals and was a crucial event for winning the coveted overall sports trophy. 

I was a freshie when I saw Khatri sir for the first time. I was wandering around the gymkhana, and heard someone screaming, “Thirty more seconds… Thirty.., Twenty nine…” Five pathetic souls were lying flat on their backs and were trying desperately to hold their legs at a 60 degree angle clenching their hands with quivering bodies. Khatri sir was also clenching…. his chappal in his hand, and was ready to hit anybody who failed to hold their position. I wondered, “What the hell is going on? What kind of suckers would want to endure this torture?” When the Gymnastics session ended, I happened to chat with Khatri sir. He told me in his crude Hindi, “One day, you will become a big sahib in your life. You will encounter lots of stress and pain. At that time, you will remember Gymnastics and me. You will learn to enjoy pain” Wow! What a philosophy!

Guess what? The next day, people saw one new guy trying to hold his position clenching his hands and getting hit by Khatri sir’s chappal. A new sucker had joined Khatri’s team. 

His methods of fixing our injuries and health problems were also crude, ruthless and consistent with his philosophy of training students to “Enjoy the life while in pain”. We were preparing for the Inter-IIT meet in Delhi in 1979 (I think!). Sudhir was a sure shot gold medal winner for the horizontal bar with his fancy grand circles. But ten days before the competition in the sports camp, he developed a huge blister on his palm. He was in pain and could not bear to perform grand circles any more. One fine morning, before anybody could realize, Khatri sir ignited some newspaper (with his cigarette lighter, of course) in his bare hands and pressed the burning wad hard into Sudhir’s palm. Holy cow!! Sudhir screamed, we were in shock, we could not believe our eyes. And Khatri sir in his calm voice said, “Everything will be fine.” Yes, the blister did open, Sudhir was rushed to the hospital, they did dress up his wounds with bandages, and in the end, Sudhir actually ended up performing grand circles on a horizontal bar while in freaking pain. 

In another sports camp, many other coaches (Hockey, Football, Basketball etc.) had to go to the city for some conference. Early in the morning at 7 am, they handed over their boys to Khatri sir and said, “Khatri Saab, can you please get the boys to do some warm-up? After that, they will go and practice their own games.” Neither the coaches nor their students were aware of what they were getting into. Khatri sir’s standard warm-up used to be so intense! 800 m sprint, tens of two-hand and one-hand push-ups (yes, one-hand push-ups are possible when Khatri sir is standing next to you with a chappal in his hand), hundred sit-ups, going up and down on MB (main building) staircases… all of these in just 45 min while Khatri sir is screaming at the top of his voice. It was inevitable that after this “Khatri warm-up”, one could barely stand on his own legs. Obviously, instead of “practicing their own games”, all these teams staggered back to their own hostel rooms to rest. 

So, that was Khatri sir… a terrorizing coach, and his blood-curdling, horrific incidents! Over time, however, one could start to understand another, more compassionate side of his character. We all were somewhat awkward, physically little too matured individuals for Gymnastics, who had suddenly discovered our love for this sport, maybe a dozen years too late. Even learning the simplest exercises was a struggle. But even as a 60 year old, Khatri sir provided firm physical and mental support to ensure that we are not injured during training. Imagine leaping backward during a backflip or a back somersault with a real danger of landing on your head or your neck with a potential body-crippling injury. But over time, we developed complete faith in Khatri sir to protect us, sometimes risking himself in the process. Even now in our fifties, when Suhas can still do a backflip, Sanjiv can do a press handstand, I can harden my tummy to withstand hard hitting punches from my teenage kids, or even when we reach our professional meetings on time, we remember Khatri sir!

Despite his tough demeanor, he definitely tolerated pranks by some of us, especially Milind. Occasionally, Milind would disappear in the middle of Gymnastics session. Sometimes, we used to disappear with him as well. Some of our craziest surreal experiences in IIT happened along with Milind during such disappearances. 

For example, how many IITans have experienced catching fish in overturned umbrellas? Or how many of you have actually caught, cooked and eaten multiple animals in one meal? During the first monsoon showers, fish would start moving upstream from Powai lake through the drainage canals near Hostel 8. This canal flowed under the road through a culvert. Fish would have to leap up into the culvert just to continue their upstream journey. Under Milind’s leadership and innovation, many of those ambitious fish landed up in cleverly positioned overturned umbrellas and later on our dinner plates. How can this innovation be any less profound than Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle that we were learning in PH301 during the same summer? Incidentally, during that same summer, we caught, cooked and ate crabs and frogs as well! (But that is another profound and long story!!)

Well, unfortunately gone are those days! And gone is Khatri sir! Couple of years after our graduation, we heard that Khatri sir was sick with rapidly progressing throat cancer. We all went to meet Khatri sir at his home on the IIT campus. His eyes were weak. He had lost his voice, lost his fight. He could barely lift his hand. His forced smile filled us with sadness. His stocky body frame was gone, crude Hindi was gone, this constant fixture of Khatri sir in our lives was fading away. We were not used to seeing Khatri sir in this manner! He was trying to write on the nearby crumpled paper, “Stay well!” And we, a bunch of twenty year old kids, were facing teary emotions that we were not familiar with. 

Sir, after thirty years, we are staying well, enjoying the pains of our lives, occasionally remembering you, remembering those days…! As Milind says, “बंदर बुढ्ढा भी हो गया तो भी गुलाटी मारना नहीं भुलता।” (However old a monkey is, he doesn’t forget his tricks!)

• Written by Nitin Anturkar (ChE’82, H5) (July, 2014)
• Stories by Sudhir Bapat (EE’81, H4), Milind Gokhale (CE’81, H7), Nitin Anturkar (ChE’82, H5), Makarand Karkare (MET’82, H6), Sanjiv Kshirsagar (ME’83, H4) and Ajay Prasad (ME’83, H3)
• Reference: “The day I caught fish in IIT”, Makarand Karkare, Fundamatics, Q1, 2013