 We were in the jeep and returning after a day in Manas National Park when the guide suddenly asked the driver to stop and we wondered why. He then pointed out to a tree in which the Bengal Monitor Lizard also known as the Indian Monitor Lizard was peeking out of a hollow. It was so well camouflaged and we could have easily missed it. This behaviour also tallies with its apt Sanskrit name godha, which refers to the habit of concealing oneself. India is home to four monitor lizards: The Bengal Monitor, the Asian Water Monitor, the Yellow monitor and the Desert monitor.
The Bengal Monitor, is a unique reptile of versatile character, connected to numerous folklores and myths. In Indian folklore, the monitor lizard is popularly known for its strong claws and firm grip (Udumbu-pudi in Tamil). Legend lauds the daring feat of Tanaji Malusare, a subedar of the Koli community and the commander of the Maratha army who is said to have climbed the steep walls of the impregnable hill-fort of Sinhagad in Maharashtra. In this daring venture he was assisted by his pet monitor lizard, Yashwanti, with a rope fastened to its tail and succeeded in recapturing the fort from the Mughals in 1669. Another famous Maratha warrior, Kama Singh, used a monitor lizard to breach the walls of the Kelna fort; thereafter his tribe came to be known as Ghorpade (the Marathi name for Bengal Monitor Lizard). The Bengal Monitor was venerated in Hindu tradition. Parvati, specifically in her form as Gauri, is often depicted performing penance while standing on or with it; ‘Godhasana bhavet gauri’ meaning Parvati is known as Gauri when she performs penance standing on a monitor lizard. Devatamurtiprakarana and Rupamandana, composed by Sutradhara Mandana in the 15th century CE, observed, ‘Aksasutram tatha Padmamabhayam Chavaram tatha Godhasanasrita murtirgrihe pujya Sriye Sada’, that the worship of Gauri on vahana Godha in the household shrine is important and crucial for household prosperity. There are many sculptural depictions of the Bengal Monitor in temples. For instance, in the Hoysaleshwara temple at Halebeedu, there is a beautiful sculpture of Umamaheswara which portrays a monitor lizard at the feet of the Goddess. In Thirumagaral near Kanchipuram, Siva is said to have appeared as a golden monitor lizard and the deity is called Udumbeshwarar. I wonder whether these faunal depictions in places of worship played a crucial role in highlighting their importance and conservation of wildlife. One of the biggest threats to these reptiles is hunting them for their skin. The skins of these lizards are used to make drums and their genitals are considered to bring prosperity and are sold widely. People also consider their flesh and eggs as a delicacy and an aphrodisiac. I was curious to find out more about its medicinal use The consumptive and medicinal value of the meat of the Godha has been repeatedly quoted in the early and medieval Indian texts. The Charaka Samhita, in the classification of foods and drinks grouped it alongside the animals of mamshavarga (edible flesh) group of meat, useful for the Ayurvedic practices. The meat of Godha is considered as madhura (sweet) in vipaka (digestion), and kashaya and katu (bitter) in rasa (taste). Its meat is said to enhance body-strength and enzymes and was advocated for people to help them with good digestion. Sushruta Samhita mentions the meat of Godha on several occasions while prescribing its consumption for treatment of hiccough, glandular swellings, eye diseases, and snake and insect bites. Thus there is an interesting ambiguity between the ancient medicinal tradition which stressed on the importance of consumption of monitor lizards to enhance health and the sacred tradition which associated the animal with divinity. Let me end this narration with a tale. Once Prince Devavrata, the handsome son of King Shantanu of Hastinapura, was riding in his chariot when he noticed a monitor lizard sprawled across his path. He was quite irritated and asked it to get out of his way. However, the monitor lizard, basking blissfully under the sun, didn’t heed to his command and asked him nonchalantly to make his way around it. Devavrata (later Bhishma) was angry that an insignificant little animal was not following his command. He got down from the chariot, picked it up and flung it away and got into his chariot. Hurtling through the air, the lizard landed on the trunk of the Aasana tree. Its bark was full of spines and the lizard was totally impaled on them. When Devavrata was about to leave, the lizard said, “You may be the Prince of Hastinapura, and I may be an insignificant little creature. But you have caused me immense pain and suffering for no fault of mine. And now I am lying on the thorns, incapable of living and unable to die. You too shall suffer the same fate.” Disturbed on hearing this Devavrata rides away and the incident is soon forgotten. Many years later, lying on the bed of arrows on the battle field of Kurukshetra, Devavrata, then Bhishma, remembers the little monitor lizard and its curse and bows his head in submission. If you enjoyed walking along the trails of the Bengal Monitor Lizard, do post your comments here!
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 Decades ago, a Commonwealth Fellowship to UK opened my eyes to the fascinating landscape of cultural anthropology. Essentially, it explores how cultural practices shape and influence the personal and social world around us. Particularly in India, we are part of an enchanted universe. The rich and diverse tapestry of Indian culture, finds expression in myriad ways in vibrant festivals, intricate art forms, diverse religious practices, within the veneer of a unique blend of varied traditions. Ahalya and myself make an effort to partake and imbibe them in its various expressions. So when a prospect to experience Bhoota Aradhane arose, Ahalya and myself earnestly seized the opportunity and made our way to Aerya Beedu in Bantwal.
Once I entered the majestic portals of the 140-year-old ancestral house, I was ensconced in layers of carefully preserved history. The walls were adorned with meticulously drafted history of the place, with an imposing family tree that spanned centuries. The performers of the Bhoota Kola were busy preparing their colourful costumes which they would be wearing later, during the function. The attention to detail with which each component of the outfit was being attended to was quite impressive. The ancestral house has been carefully restored with an aesthetic blend of the old and new. We made our way to the Pooja room which was softly lit with lamps and paid obeisance to family deity Annappa Swamy who had a magisterial presence. It was an unforgettable experience to meet with the elders of the household, particularly the matriarch of the house who is 106 years old. The serenity in her visage left a lasting impression on me. During the sumptuous lunch we met with other members of the family, each one of them offering interesting nuggets of information about the hoary history of the place. The Bhoota Aradhane started in the evening. Nema and Kola are two different ways in which Aradhane is offered. Nema is for Rajan Daivas and Kola is for other Daivas. Annappa Swamy is considered as a Rajan Daiva and sixteen specific processes are followed. Curious to see the performance I found myself a seat in the front. I became totally engrossed in what unfolded before my eyes over the next few hours, some of which I tried to register with the lens of the camera. Annappa Swamy was brought in and placed on an austere looking pedestal, beautifully decorated with flowers. Performers adorned in elaborate costumes, possessed by the spirit danced, at times, fiercely, accompanied by loud drumming and singing, invoking the spirit, offering blessings. When they came near me and looked at me, I was locked in their gaze, transported imperceptibly, into another realm. The performers offered their benediction to the elders, ‘yajamanas’ in the family. The entire performance called nema, originating from niyama (meaning rules and regulations in Sanskrit), lasted for several hours. It was neither a dance performance in the conventional sense nor a stage act. It was one imbued with a profound sense of spiritual expression that touched deep chords within. The performers were vassals of a cosmic spirit finding expression in tangible ways for us, reiterating that the human world we inhabit and the order of the spirit world are interwoven in delicate ways. Slowly the villagers made their way to the Annappa Swamy each one with some small offering, seeking blessings. There was a grand dinner in which all the villagers participated. After a day of experiences to savour, we thanked the members of the family for providing a memorable space for us to share this with them. I wanted to personally thank the matriarch of the house and found her in a room quietly sitting and praying in a small room. That image lingered on my mind as we made our way back from Aerya Beedu. Here is the link to some glimpses of the event. Do have a look and feel free to post your comments here and not in Google Photos! photos.app.goo.gl/CucouJXpRr1QDXyD8  Vultures have been around for a long time. Modern vultures evolved and diversified 10 million years ago, developing adaptations like sharp beaks, keen eyesight, and a strong sense of smell. The first scientific description of a vulture species was in 1864 by the French naturalist Alfred Grandidier. They have been depicted in many myths and religions. In Sangam literature which dates back to 300BC-300AD, there are many interesting mentions about vultures. For instance, in verse 51 of Agananuru attributed to the poet Perumthevanar, there is an engaging reference to the Red Headed Vulture;
“ஆள் வழக்கு அற்ற சுரத்திடைக் கதிர் தெற நீள் எரி பரந்த நெடும் தாள் யாத்துப் போழ் வளி முழங்கும் புல்லென் உயர் சினை முடை நசை இருக்கைப் பெடை முகம் நோக்கி ஊன் பதித்து அன்ன வெருவரு செஞ் செவி எருவைச் சேவல் கரிபு சிறை தீய” “In the wasteland with no movement of people, where the sun’s intense heat has spread, the summers are long and soaring bamboos grow in the wide spaces, and a fierce vulture, his feathers singed, his red ear lobes appearing like stuck meat, looks at the face of his mate who desires meat, in their nest on a tall dry branch of a tall tree as the intense wind roars.” In nature’s scheme of things, the role occupied by vultures is a crucial one. They are the keystone species, vital scavengers that maintain ecological balance by feeding on carcasses. India was once home to the largest populations of vultures in the world, and has therefore been the site of its most catastrophic decline. 99.7% of the population has been wiped out over the past few decades, mainly due to the rampant use of diclofenac in cattle. It is the steepest and most dramatic decline of any animal in recorded history. The decline of vultures is not an isolated event. As humans we are just one thread in the vast tapestry of nature. When the other thread constituted by vulture is frayed at the edges, it has a cascading effect on the entire ecosystem. Unfortunately because of their association with discarded waste matter, they are viewed with a sense of revulsion. They are the untouchables of the avian world. It is on this background that the efforts of committed conservationists like Bharathidasan deserve to be admired and applauded. Driven by unstinted passion he set up the NGO Arulagam in 2002, focusing on conservation of endangered flora and fauna, especially the vultures. He and his team have worked tirelessly in the Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve over the past two decades to spread awareness about the harmful effects of diclofenac and enlisting community level participation through various programs and initiatives. It has been a remarkable journey. It was our pleasure and privilege to meet him and travel along with him to his field area where consistent efforts have been made over the years to conserve and protect the vultures. When we spotted nearly two hundred of them, soaring up in the air and settling down on distant tree tops, we were witness to the tireless efforts of Bharathidasan and colleagues over the decades to ensure survival of these endangered species. We were truly overwhelmed with the experience which will remain deeply etched in our memories. In spite of all his remarkable, incredible efforts, Bharathidasan remains so unassuming and self-effacing: a true Karma Yogi! Words fail to capture the grace and beauty of these majestic creatures. They are among the most valuable gifts of Nature. Do post your reflections and comments here!  I am besotted with gardens. When I walk through a garden I am enveloped in a symphony of colors, rustling leaves, bird and insect sounds wafting through the air. It is an immersive experience imbued with a sense of tranquillity. As Bacon commented, “it is the purest of human pleasure.” Gardens are often seen as a refuge, a place to forget the "real" life that lies outside. But they are also quintessential healing spaces.
Oliver Sacks, the famed neurologist and author, whose birthday falls today, wrote a small, wonderful essay “Why We Need Gardens,” in his book “Everything in Its Place: First Loves and Last Tales,” which was published posthumously. Since his place of work was just across the road from the New York Botanical Garden, he noticed how patients who were unable to function inside a hospital setting seemed to come alive in the garden. An elderly lady with Parkinson’s disease, often frozen, unable to initiate movement was more mobile in the garden and even climbed the rocks up and down many times, unattended. Patients with very advanced dementia who had difficulty in even tying their shoe laces, when put in front of a flower bed with some seedlings knew exactly what to do. He described such deep bonds people have with gardens as “hortophilia.” In his words, “I cannot say exactly how nature exerts its calming and organizing effects on our brains, but I have seen in my patients the restorative and healing powers of nature and gardens, even for those who are deeply disabled neurologically. In many cases, gardens and nature are more powerful than any medication”. He went on to add, “In forty years of medical practice, I have found only two types of non-pharmaceutical ‘therapy’ to be vitally important for patients with chronic neurological diseases: music and gardens.” Gardens saturate our awareness and the boundary between our self and the world fuses and we feel more alive and flourish in that moment. It leaves a lasting trace in the innards of our minds. For Thich Nhat Hanh, garden was a metaphor for the mind. He wrote, “First, you have to take care of your own garden and master the art of gardening. In each one of us there are flowers and there is also garbage. The garbage is the anger, fear, discrimination, and jealousy within us. If you water the garbage, you will strengthen the negative seeds. If you water the flowers of compassion, understanding, and love, you will strengthen the positive seeds. What you grow is up to you.”  Aphorisms have been around for long and are iconic “short, pithy sentences” which convey an important observation in a concise manner. By sheer chance I came across a slim book, ‘The Zürau Aphorisms’, written by Franz Kafka. He wrote these aphorisms while recovering from tuberculosis and contemplating the end of his life. In it, he touched on a number of topics: religion, women, marriage, guilt, family and afterlife.
When they were originally published after Kafka’s death in 1924, the contents were not ordered correctly. One day, the Italian critic Roberto Calasso found Kafka’s original notes in a folder at Oxford’s Bodleian Library and he restored Kafka’s wording from these notebooks. He ensured that the layout was as Kafka had designed: each aphorism sits alone on the page, surrounding by a swathe of white space. The book offers an intimate glimpse into Kafka’s thought process. One of the aphorisms in the book that caught my attention was the short and pithy, “A Cage Went In Search Of A Bird.’ It intrigued me. What did Kafka mean when he wrote it? The internet is replete with hundreds of interpretations of this aphorism. I kept reflecting about it and to me the metaphor of cage is representative of our personal and professional frameworks that influence and impact our lives. We weave our lives around them and build cognitive enclosures, which often become rigid over time. Though they offer a sense of security, yet at some point, we cast our gaze outside these structured confines and spy a bird which symbolizes values such as exploration, lightness of being, and freedom. It inspires us to pry open our mental constraints and go in search of it. In that pursuit our cages grow wings and we soar. It is a transcendental search, in which each moment whispers the eternal truth. As Rumi observed “What You Seek Is Seeking You.” What would be your way of reflecting on this aphorism? (Penned on Franz Kafka’s Birthday!)  On the occasion of the World Parrot Day (on 31st May), let me share a story by Rumi, ‘The Merchant and the Parrot - Daftar-e-Awwal - (Masnavi Book 1: 18)’.
A lovely parrot was presented to a Persian businessman by his Indian trading partners many years ago. He kept the parrot in a secure cage where he could keep an eye on her and listen to her sweet song every day when he came home from work. When the time came for him to go to India on a business trip, he asked his family to choose what they wanted him to bring back as gifts for them. Each one, including the little green parrot, requested something dear to his or her heart. My beloved master, she said, my heart truly wishes nothing from my motherland. However, if you happen to come across a bunch of parrots like myself, please offer my greetings and inform them that I'm stuck in a cage in Persia and miss them very much. Ask them if they believe it's fair that they can fly around the country while their cousin languishes in captivity. I beg you to contact them on my behalf and seek their opinion on how to assess my position. The merchant vowed to track down the birds and relay her message just as she had expressed it. When he arrived in India, one day, he came upon a flock of parrots chirping loudly in a forest and faithfully conveyed his parrot's message. Before he could finish, one of the parrots began to shiver uncontrollably, tumbled of the tree and appeared to be dead. He became disturbed, feeling a deep sense of sorrow that he'd unnecessarily killed the unfortunate bird. When he arrived back home, he handed out the gifts that each person had requested, but he didn't say anything to his parrot. The bird, who had been waiting for her mates' responses with bated breath, finally couldn't take it any longer and asked the merchant, “So, where's my gift? Tell me about the Indian parrots. What did you see and hear from them?” The merchant responded hesitantly, “I relayed your story to a flock of parrots in the woods. However, before I could finish, one of them began to tremble and suddenly fell from the tree, dead. I'll never be able to forgive myself for killing the poor bird”. On hearing this, the parrot fell on the cage floor, motionless. The merchant couldn't believe what he was seeing and he felt guilty for causing yet another death. After some time, the merchant nervously unlocked the cage door and carefully lifted up the bird, carrying her to the garden, resting her on the ground while he dug a grave for her to be buried. To his great surprise he saw the parrot flying up to the nearest tree, sitting on a high branch, blissfully staring at her former master. The merchant was taken aback, “I'm overjoyed to see you're still alive and well, but tell me, what did I say that made you want to imitate the bird in India? Now that you're free, tell me your secret”. That parrot taught me how to free myself said the parrot, “Without saying anything, he let me understand that my confinement was due to my lovely song, my ability to amuse you and your visitors. My priceless voice was, in fact, the source of my enslavement. He taught me that my liberation would be found in the act of dying”. After saying this the parrot said her final goodbyes to her master and flew away. The beauty of this story is that it can be read at different levels. It is about the limits of love, how loving someone can also mean letting the person go. At another level, the parrot here symbolises the human soul, trapped in the cage of the body. It is a symbol of our inner reality: the bird of our soul aspires to fly away from the material cage of worldly life. Rumi urges us to disentangle ourselves from the worldly life, open the cages of material life and let our souls ascend to a larger reality. The motto for the World Parrot Day this year is, “ Be smart and creative, be more Parrot”! ( Do pen your thoughts in the blog…whenever you want to listen to the parrot!)  There is magic in nature everyday. Decades ago, after finishing my lecture in a professional meet, I ventured into Mulki, a hidden gem nestled in the coastal region of Karnataka, in the company of the hugely talented birder, Ramit Singal. It was a bit chilly in the morning and as I scanned the landscape I had the first glimpse of the Eurasian Curlew. It was standing at the edge of the water on its stilt-like legs, probing the ground with its long, curved bill. It was absorbing to watch its slow, rhythmic movements as it sauntered across the land, in search of food. Though at first sight it looked ungainly, there was an unmistakable aura of majesty in the bird.
There is a curious tale of the curlew and a Christian saint, Beuno. According to legend, St Beuno, a 7th century Welsh abbot was on a journey from the Lleyn Peninsula to Anglesey. The small boat that he was travelling in, was suddenly rocked by a gust of wind and his book of sermons dropped into the sea. St Beuno was distraught as he watched it sink. It was at this point that a miracle happened. A brown bird with a long, downward curving bill wheeled out from the shore and swooped down to the water, picked up the book and returned it to the shore to dry on the rocks. Overcome with gratitude, St Beuno blessed the curlew and decreed that from that moment on, curlew nests would always be difficult to find and should be protected for ever. Indeed curlew nests are notoriously difficult to spot! 21st April, which is the feast day of Saint Beuno, the patron saint of curlews, is also celebrated as World Curlew Day. Curlews have complex pitch variations and harmonics that are often described as haunting, but can also be ecstatic. Robert Burns wrote, ‘I never heard the solitary whistle of curlew on a summer noon without feeling an elevation of soul, like the enthusiasm of devotion or poetry.’ At night, however, the same sound was believed to emanate from the dreaded Seven Whistlers. In both Welsh and English mythology, these birds of doom fly across the night sky, and to hear them is to be warned of death. But, as the traditional Welsh ballad ‘The Curlew’ mentions, they combine both joy and despair : “Your call is heard at high noon-day A wistful flute across the mere, As herdsman’s whistle far away. Your call is heard at midnight clear then hear we, as you swell your keen, Barking afar, your hounds unseen.” Mary Colwell wrote a memorable book, ‘Curlew Moon’ documenting her 500 mile journey across varied landscapes of the UK, observing and documenting the curlews. The first World Curlew Day in 2017 was her brain-child to shine a light on the plight of this unique bird. There is sheer beauty in the avian kingdom. Every time I observe a bird like the curlew it widens my perspective, and I immerse myself in the sounds, colours and patterns that I was not aware of before. It opens the door to an endless repository of wonder. “As I watch The bird spreads its wings Soars across the sky Leaving its footprints In my memory” The Curlew would love to know what you think of it and do pen your thoughts here!  I have an abiding interest in monuments and heritage structures. One can find an interesting ancient structure in every corner of our country.
On this International Day of Monuments and Sites, let me draw attention to the first site I visited two decades ago. It was an eye opener for me as I was totally awestruck that such beautiful structures can be built of mud. The terracotta temples at Bishnupur, West Bengal are a marvel. I had seen pictures of the terracotta warriors of China, but to find an entire complex of temples built with clay was a revelation. Built by the Malla kings between 10th and 17th centuries, these temples are dedicated to Vishu and hence the name Bishnupur. The unavailability of stone in the region probably led to the use of terracotta in building these structures. Often paucity of traditional building materials energizes the artisans to explore new mediums and the temples of Bishnupur are an enduring testimony to their innovative spirit and skills. Ahalya and myself spent an entire day visiting all the monuments. Since they are made of earth, vagaries of weather have taken a toll on many of them. But the ones that remain well preserved are a treasure to behold. The attached photo is that of Shyam Rai temple. It is the most profusely carved temple in Bishnupur. It has one main shikara on top with four on all sides and hence referred to as the Pancharatha temple. The intricate floral motifs and delicately carved scenes from the Puranas come alive as the rays of sun gently caress them. I couldn’t take my eyes off the enchanting ‘Rasamandala’, portraying Radha and Krishna surrounded by the gopis, linking their arms to form a circle . We spent several hours visiting other temples, each one distinctly beautiful. Terracotta temples are not unique to Bishnupur and there are several others in many parts of West Bengal. The temples at Bishnupur stand apart in terms of their exquisite, intricate work in terracotta. It is not just these creations in clay that set Bishnupur apart. There are a host of interesting repositories interwoven into the cultural landscape of the region. Foremost among them are the Baluchari saris.One of the unique features of these saris is that they tell stories, from the Indian epics, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. Unlike the Banarasi saris, the Baluchari does not include zari work, and instead relies exclusively on the silk thread-work for effect. We were keen to see how they are actually made and visited a weaver. He was working on a big loom in a dark, subterranean space with only a small lamp as the source of light. Weaving a Baluchari saree is a time intensive, laborious process. The designs are first sketched and then copied on to punching cards which are used in the Jacquard loom to weave the pattern. The cards have punched holes which correspond to the design. Thousands of punched cards are required for one design. It takes almost 4-6 weeks to weave a single sari. When we had a glimpse at some of the finished products, we were wonderstruck at the stunning details and the sheer artistry. Another distinctive craft of Bishnupur are the Dashavatar cards. All the ten avatars of Lord Vishnu are drawn on these cards. The ‘Dashavatar card game’ is reportedly a highly complicated one, with numerous rules and regulations, played using 120 cards by five people. They are much like the Ganjifa cards of the Mysore region. Can music be far behind? Bishnupur Gharana is a Dhrupad style of music. It flourished among the musicians of the region and is known to have influenced many of the songs composed by Rabindra Nath Tagore. As we were leaving after an absorbing day, when I looked back, the temples were glowing in the last rays of the setting sun, an image that is deeply imprinted in my mind’s eye. Bishnupur is a repository of a rich cultural heritage which is not confined to the beautiful monuments alone, but also finds expression in various textiles and crafts. It is imperative to protect, conserve and reconnect with them and tune our ears into their timeless stories. Do pen your thoughts/reflections here!  As we advance in life, we all wither at some time either due to illness or merely because of the process of ageing, facing the unavoidable terminality of life. In its throes should we, “rage, rage against the dying of the light” or open the cage for the bird that we nursed so long and let it go? It is a delicate dance.This dilemma is the core premise in O’Henry’s story ‘The Last Leaf’.
In the story, two young artists named Sue and Johnsy live together in a small apartment in Greenwich Village struggling to make ends meet. As winter approaches, their dreams of becoming successful artists seem to be fading. However, their lives take an unexpected turn when Johnsy falls ill with pneumonia and becomes convinced that she will die when the last leaf on the tree outside their window falls. Sue, being the practical and optimistic one, tries to reassure Johnsy that she will recover and that the last leaf will not fall until she is better. Despite Sue's efforts to lift Johnsy's spirits, the harsh winter weather and Johnsy's worsening condition only strengthens her conviction that the end is near. In desperation, Sue reaches out to their elderly neighbour, Mr. Behrman, a failed artist who lives downstairs. She implores him to paint a leaf on the wall outside Johnsy's window, hoping that it will provide the inspiration and hope her friend needs to fight against her illness. Mr. Behrman decides to paint one last masterpiece in order to give her hope. Despite his own failing health, he braves the harsh weather and paints a leaf on the wall, making it look like the last leaf on the tree. The next morning, Johnsy discovers that the last leaf has not fallen and her condition miraculously improves. Sue's relief and happiness is short lived as she discovers that Behrman has caught pneumonia and succumbs to it. Mr. Behrman's selfless act of painting the leaf not only saved Johnsy's life but also showed the girls the value of friendship and the strength to keep fighting even in the face of adversity. It was his final act of building ‘a bridge over troubled waters’. ‘The Last Leaf’, explores the themes of impending mortality, associated despair and the power of hope.The story emerges as an ode to life itself. It serves as a reminder that even in the face of adversity, a single act of kindness can change someone's life forever and there is always hope, even in the darkest of times.. It is also a testimony to the healing power of art. The painting eases Johnsy’s brooding preoccupations about death. Faith changes the course of our existence altogether. The flame of suffering can only be doused by a life affirming gutsy, breeze of kindness. As Henry James observed, “Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind.” “Please call me by my true names, so I can wake up, and so the door of my heart can be left open, the door of compassion”. Thich Nhat Hanh As we weave our lives in the vast tapestry of life, let us strive to embrace the power of kindness. Do pen your reflections here...  Vaslav Nijisnsky was perhaps the greatest ballet dancer of all time. I first read about this talented artist,who was born on 12th March in 1889, in Colin Wilson’s book, ‘The Outsider’. It was a moving account of the extraordinary life and career of Nijinsky. He could perform en pointe with ease and his seemingly gravity-defying leaps were also legendary. Unfortunately he had a psychiatric breakdown when he was just 29 years old and died after battling with the illness for thirty years.
Nijinsky kept a meticulous account of his psychological travails in a diary which he wrote within a short span of six weeks. I read his poignant account when he was in the cusp of sanity and mental illness, in the Internet Archives. It was quite a difficult read and a revealing account of early stages of decline into a psychotic breakdown. For instance, in an accurate account of delusion of influence, he wrote “I write without thinking. I scratched my nose, thinking something was tickling me, but I realised that God did this on purpose so that I would correct my notebook. God writes all this for me”. I delved deeper into his mental illness through various sources. He was first taken to Eugene Bleuler at the Burgholzli. After examining him, Bleuler came out and told his wife Romola, “Now, my dear, be very brave. You have to take your child away; you have to get a divorce. Unfortunately, I am helpless. Your husband is incurably insane. I must seem to be brutal, but I have to be able to save you and your child – two lives. We physicians must try to save those whom we can; the others, unfortunately, we have to abandon to their cruel fate. I am an old man. I have sacrificed fifty years of my life to save them. I have searched and studied; I know the symptoms; I can diagnose it; but I don’t know. I wish I could help, but do not forget, my child, that sometimes miracles happen”. When Romola came out after the consultation, Nijisnsky’ response was “you are bringing me my death-warrant”. As he became quite symptomatic, he was forcibly taken to the Sanatorium Bellevue Kreuzlingen, where he was treated by Dr Binswanger. Romola took her husband to be examined by Jung and Sigmund Freud. Freud opined that psycho-analysis was useless in cases of schizophrenia. In spite of being taken care of by the giants in the history of psychiatry, he grew worse, continued to have hallucinations and was violent at times. Hoping for a miracle, Romola took him on a pilgrimage to Lourdes. “We spent several days there,” she wrote. “I went with Vaslav to the Grotto. I washed his forehead in the spring and prayed. I hoped and hoped, but he was not cured. Maybe my faith was not deep enough”. That year Romola heard about some new treatment approaches in schizophrenia and got in touch with Dr Sakel, who had invented insulin coma treatment. It was arranged that Sakel himself should administer the treatment. Bleuler, who saw him twenty years earlier, paid him a visit after 20 years and told Romola,”‘My dear Madame Nijinsky, many years ago I had the cruel task of informing you that, according to medical knowledge as it then was, your husband was incurably insane. I am happy today to be able to give you hope. This young colleague of mine has discovered a treatment for which I searched in vain for over forty years. I am proud of him. And of you, because you did not follow the advice I gave you so many years ago to divorce your husband. You stood by him during those years of mental dimness, you helped him through this terrible illness, and now I believe you will be rewarded. He will once more become himself.” The insulin shock had freed him from hallucinations and his restlessness abated significantly. Unfortunately Nijinsky never fully recovered from his illness.The Nazi regime gave orders to exterminate all psychiatric patients and he had to hide in a cave. After the war, he and Romola moved to London. He never saw any psychiatrist nor did he required admission during his time in the UK. He passed away on 8 April 1950 due to ‘uremia with chronic nephritis’. Most of the accounts about Nijinsky focus on his illness and the kind of treatment he received. What is missing in these narratives is the crucial role played by his wife Romona. Nijinsky was not an easy person to handle during his psychotic episodes and at times even became physical. Once during their walks in the mountain, Nijinsky suddenly pushed her and she narrowly missed falling into a precipice. She gathered herself, put her around him, remembering Bleuler’s advice that “one should never lose one’s nerve when a mental patient becomes agitated or violent; on the contrary, then one must show utter fearlessness.” She was constantly by his side, tending to him with affection, “Every afternoon I tried to interest Vaslav in small and simple matters, things which were related to his art, his youth or his hobbies. At first, it was an extremely thankless task. His tendency was to withdraw into himself…One had to draw his attention to something and then sustain it. It might be a rose in the garden, which I would show him and make him gather”. Nijinsky died in the presence of the woman who had been for thirty-seven years his wife, breadwinner, nurse and a second mother. In his final moments, he stretched out his right hand to Romona, who bent down and kissed it; “Thoughts and feelings were racing in my mind, but the enduring thought was: You were privileged among so many millions of women to share his life, to serve him. God gave him to you. He has taken him back.” Nijinsky’s illness career is a poignant reminder of the suffering associated with schizophrenia and the crucial role of caregivers in tending to those afflicted with it. To have someone who cares at the most difficult and challenging moments in life is truly a blessing. As Rollo May observed, “Care is a state in which something does matter; it is the source of human tenderness.” (I personally wish that lived experiences of people with mental illness and the narratives of caregivers find their rightful place in psychiatry textbooks). 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Dr Raguram
Someone who keeps exploring beyond the boundaries of everyday life to savor and share those unforgettable moments.... Archives
May 2024
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