Christmas and Avatar

It was a usual Christmas... Worship service in the morning, heavy lunch and the guests throughout the rest of the day. What was unusual though, about this Christmas was the plan for the evening that we friends had instantly charted out. No, it wasn't about 'Kankaria Carnival' (though even that could have been interesting). Nelson, Roger and I decided to go for a movie. Somewhere in its corner my heart screamed, "How in the world can you plan a movie on Christmas day? Blasphemy... that is blasphemy." But then in the same breath it inquired, "Well, what is wrong with that?" I had nothing else to do. I followed my conviction and decided to go for a movie. The movie selected was James Cameron's much awaited 'Avatar.' So we were off to theatre at 9:15 pm for the last show.

As we settled down in theatre, we watched the preview of "My name is Khan." And I heard a dialogue from Shah Rukh Khan, "My name is Khan, and I am not a terrorist." And the very second, I thought to myself, "oh no, one more movie on the same theme. Another 'New York.'" Actually, I got annoyed, and a thought came, "Will we have movies presenting the case of Hindus in Kashmir, and Christians in Iran? or religious minorities in Islamic countries as well?" But I had not come here for discussions and so I stabbed that lingering thought to death. I was interested in Avatar. And so the movie started.

Only in theatre, I came to realize that the movie was dubbed in Hindi, and that put me off for sometime. But as the movie started, my mind was diverted to understanding the seemingly complicated story and the scientific, technological, biological, 'chemistriological,' vocabulary. It seemed to be a sci-fi movie. I hate sci-fi movies, or perhaps I am too dumb to understand them. So I kept waiting for something interesting to happen. And it did. By the time of interval, I was completely into the movie. And after the interval ... it was a Christmas treat. I was entirely taken by the movie, its script, the idea, the story, the technology, cinematography, just everything, so perfectly delivered.

The story revolves about man's hunger to take over the 'pandorum' planet, inhabited by the 'Navis.' Its about man's use of his unbriddled strength and mind to destroy the weak and feeble. And not only people, but also animals, trees and the entire environment. For me it was a story of man's destructive spirit, and yet thankfully there are at least some (and I am surely there will always remain some), who will choose to make right choices, morally upright choices. Finally, the weak and feeble win because of the strong will of such people, but also because God is on their side. That triggered in me a strong idea of connection between the movie and the message of the Christmas, but again, I though that was reading too much into the movie, and yet I could not deny its possibility.

I should also not forget to mention at two annoying things. Firstly, the 'oohs' and 'aahs' I could hear from people sitting behind us, every time the hero and heroine would carass or kiss each other (oh gosh, we still find such people even in multiplexes) . I tend to think that such people would have never kissed their wives in such a passionate manner at home, and thats why they find it very unusual and exciting. And the second thing was a comment by a person at the end the movie, who said it was a 'cartoon film.' That was hilarious but also irritating at the same time.

Anyway, at the end of it all, thanks to James Cameron for a good Christmas treat.

ગુજરાતી અક્ષર સાથેના મારા પ્રયોગો

મને ગુજરાતી લખતા શીખવાડવા માટે આશિષનો આભાર... પ્રભુ તને હજુ વધુ આશિષ આપે....

Jai Hind

Today, for the third time, I watched the movie 'Swades,' and I must say it is as inspiring as ever. May we contribute all that we can, small or big, to this beautiful country of ours. May this sleeping giant break free from the shackles of jaat-paat, from evils of corruption and rise as a nation where love, freedom and justice can reign. Couldn't help remembering the famous 'Gitanjali' by Rabindranath Tagore.

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;

Where knowledge is free;

Where the world has not been broken up

into fragments by narrow domestic walls;

Where words come out from the depth of truth;

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;

Where the clear stream of reason

has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;

Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action---

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Jai Hind.

The Idiot

Fyodor Dostoevsky has influenced many a great thinkers and writers of the Western world through his quality works of literature. “The Idiot” is a masterpiece that he wrote during 1868-1869.

Prince Myshkin, the hero of the novel, though considered an ‘idiot’ by everyone and who rightly was so in his childhood, has not only charming persona, but also such an amicability that even his enemies would, perhaps unconsciously or otherwise, develop an irresistible fondness for him. On his journey from Switzerland to Petersburg, Russia, he meets Rogozhin. Rogozhin speaks to him of his passionate love for Nastasya Filippovna, a notoriously infamous woman and mistress of Totsky. The second chapter introduces several other characters, one of them being General Epanchin, whose wife, Madame Epanchin, actually Myshkin had come to meet. Then, there is a brief introduction of Adelaida, Alexandra and Aglaia, General’s three daughters. Myshkin also happens to meet Ganya, who works as a secretary of General Epanchin. Also, for the first time here Myshkin sees a portrait of Nastasya Filippovna, and instantly proclaims her to be ‘wonderfully beautiful.’ Myshkin soon discovers of Ganya’s plans to marry Nastasya Filippovna, but for a different reason, that of the huge amount (75000 roubles) of dowry he would receive from Totsky. Ganya awaits Nastasya Filippovna’s answer. Myshkin, in some way, ends up in a party thrown by Nastasya Filippovna (in fact, her swayamvar), where she intends to pronounce her final decision as to whom she would marry. To everyone’s surprise, Nastasya asks Myshkin if she should marry Ganya or not. Myshkin struggles to answer but finally asks Nastasya not to marry Ganya. Suddenly, Rogozhin, a thorough drunkard and another strong contender, arrives with his violent bunch of friends from nowhere. Rogozhin offers a hundred thousand roubles for marrying Nastasya. While everyone awaits the beautiful Nastasya’s final answer, in yet another strange gesture of his, Myshkin proposes the lady for marriage. He also declares of a letter that suggested Myshkin to very soon inherit an immense fortune. Despite the best of his efforts, Nastasya decides to go with Rogozhin. Myshkin goes back to Moscow to receive his fortune. During next six months, Nastasya Filippovna comes to Myshkin, but while they decide to marry, she runs away with Rogozhin. Strange as it may seem, soon she runs away from Rogozhin too. Myshkin comes back to Petersburg, looking for Nastasya, but meets Rogozhin instead. Here Myshkin discloses his true feelings for Nastasya Filippovna before Rogozhin, saying that he loves the lady, ‘not with love, but with pity.’ At Pavlovsk, Myshkin gets in touch with the Epanchins once again, and eventually falls in love with Aglaia Epanchin. Myshkin proposes to marry her, but Aglaia, very timely, reveals three letters written to her by Nastasya Filippovna. In each letter Nastasya had asked Aglaia to marry Myshkin, since he too loved Aglaia. However, Aglaia finds these letters confusing and wanting to clear every doubt that surround the strange relationship between Myshkin and Nastasya, she takes the risk of calling the notorious lady for a face-to-face meeting. Their meeting turns out to be full of blames and accusations and even violent after Nastasya, once again, goes wild. In her anger, she challenges that given an option Myshkin would, any day, choose her over young Aglaia. Aglaia runs out of the building, and quite contrary to our expectations, Myshkin stays with Nastasya, or at least stays back to catch her fainting flesh. Aglaia is broken. Myshkin wants to talk about ‘everything’ to Aglaia, but is allowed no opportunity to do so. Myshkin and Nastasya Filippovna prepare for their marriage. And yet again, perhaps as expected at least by now, on their wedding day, Nastasya elopes with Rogozhin. Myshkin is shocked but remains disturbingly quiet. Looking for Nastasya Filippovna, Myshkin comes to Rogozhin’s house. In that dark, gloomy and graveyard like house, Rogozhin takes Myshkin to Nastasya Filippovna, lying in front of them, quiet and pale, no more wild. All the efforts of Myshkin to save that beautiful and infamous lady seem to have reached a dead-end as he stands in front of her murdered body. Rogozhin confesses his crime and is arrested, while prince Myshkin returns to his former state, that of being an ‘idiot’.

Having finished the novel at about 11:30 pm, I threw it on my sofa, greatly disappointed with the conclusion and perhaps quite angry with Myshkin for his decision to stick with Nastasya Filippovna. My resentment continued till I realized that Myshkin does not love Nastasya Filippovna as a passionate lover like Rogozhin does. He does not love her the way he loves Aglaia either. His love for her is beyond the confines of passion and romance. It is love out of ‘pity,’ or perhaps I should say ‘compassion.’ In this, Myshkin is presented as an idealistic figure, just like Jesus. It is strange that figures like Myskin and Jesus are often appreciated by everyone around them and yet they remain isolated beings and mere ideals because of the very idealism they are appreciated for. For some others, they are fools. Myshkin’s is a story of a struggle that an ideal person passes through when he lives in this perfectly imperfect world, the valley of the shadow of death. What happened to Myskin, they did to Jesus. As the novel ends, one just waits for Myshkin to rise again, just as Jesus did, but Myshkin is no God.

“The Idiot” is neither a mere love-story, nor just a thriller. It is both of it together. Yet more than anything else, it is about Dostoevsky’s efforts to search through human heart, to explore the intentions of it. He does explain mundane things, and yet goes beyond them to gauging motivations that lead them. Dostoevsky's courage to generously convey his Christian convictions, especially against atheism and nihilism, is also praiseworthy. One of the statement that I could remember is: "Friend of humanity with shaky moral principles is the devourer of humanity" -

One of the most fascinating passages in the book is Ippolit’s explanation of the picture of Jesus that he saw at Rogozhin’s house. It is certainly very well put. Well, at the end of it, I have become great fan of Dostoevsky and have started reading his famous ‘The Brothers Karamazov.’

Thus saith Albert Einstein:

"A Ship is always safe at the shore – but that is NOT what it is built for.”

Beginning New Year with Hansi

Finally, 2009 has begun. A lot has been happennng here in Gujarat, and in my life as well.

I began my year with Hansi. Ok, before we go further, a small clarification: Hansi is the name of a novel written by Maria Anne Hirschmann, that I completed recently. Its a story of a German girl brought up under the influence of Nazism in 1940s. Hansi becomes a blind devotee of Nazism, and thinks that it has got solution to all the problems in the world. Then she meets people who have walked on similar path dicouraged and full of grievances. She does not want to give up. For her, Hitler and his ideals are everything. She does not understand why Hitler has to suicide, but does not waver an inch from her convictions. Finally, she falls in the hands of Russian soldiers and flees for her life. For quite some time, she plays hide and seek with death, but each time escaping it. She manages somehow to flee to West Germany which is a safer side, and begins her life again. One fine day, when she meets Jesus she realizes that her life held a purpose. A purposeless life suddenly finds a reason to live. By the time the book ends, Hansi has discovered God's purpose for her life, as she surrenders herself into His hands and God starts using her for drawing others near Him.

What was interesting about it? - an innocent girl with a desire to change the world, her failures to realize her ideals, struggles to find the love of her life in the middle of war, her simple questions and difficulties to understand God.

A good book to begin my year with. I normally don't begin my year with resolution, but I wish I spend a little more time in reading this year.

Tryst with Movies

In last two months, I have watched more than ten movies. Does than make one movie buff? If it does, then a small revelation: I think I was lying when I said in the last blog that I am not a movie buff.

Three Hindi movies: Bachna Ae Haseeno and Rock On. I must confess that I have never watched a movie worse than BAH. We thought it would be a good stress-buster, after a long day. But, sadly, I could not reach even 'time-pass' category. Thank God, we reached a little late to theater. The jokes in the movie hardly made us laugh. Absolute boring. '1920' a horror movie was 'comparatively' better, which I watched later.

Our dissatisfaction led us to a new business of 'movie-hunting' for next few weeks.

A week later, "The Quest" reached its destination, with "Rock On" in theaters. I must say after BAH's complete disappointment, 'Rock On' was complete 'Paisa Vasool.' Unlike Bipasha's latka-jhatka, in BAH 'Rock On' had no 'masaledar' songs or scenes. And yet, it appealed more. Perhaps, because it has a simple story-line, less artificiality and great application. Music is just superb. It was a job well-executed. So thumbs up to these guys.

And now, some movies from Hollywood section. Two Chinese movies: Fearless and The Forbidded Kingdom. Both has Jet Li as the lead actor, and in the later Jackie Chan is an added attraction. Both movies are ok. 'Fearless' speaks much about the use and misuse of Kung Fu, and so a moral lesson as well. 'The Forbidden Kingdom' has jaadui fights and mysterious story-line. So, 'Fearless' is a better option.

Two other movies from Hollywood section are: The Bank Job and The Dark Knight. The former is based on true story and is quite interesting. The Dark Knight is a successful effort to resurrect Batman. Mind-blowing stunts and character steal the show. Hats off again.

Conclusion?- May be I should start another blog about my tryst with movies. Just a thought.

Namastey London

I am not a movie buff, nor do I indulge in writing movie reviews. In fact, this is the first time, I am pushed to do it.

The movie is Namastey London. I had the opportunity to watch it almost five times, but I could not complete it even once. But this time I did use the opportunity. Apart from beautiful London and Katrina Kaif, movie offers nothing interesting. But what really disturbed me was the subject of the movie. The director of the movie did try to touch an important subject of our desi bretheren brought up abroad. I thought the director's portrayal of the desis living abroad and the westerners itself was very much biased. I am not sure if he studied the subject well before coming to his conclusions.

It is yet another movie that tries to picture Indian culture as the all good-good and the most 'sanskari' culture in the world. Ironically, it is so fragile that it has fallen prey to the demon of western culture. And Akshay Kumar arrives as the savior of this pitiable, dying culture. He proves that ours is a superior culture. The worst part is that to prove his thesis he has to take support of the "immoral and consumerist" West. He has to prove that the West, its culture and its people are inferior to us. I wonder if we need to demonise other to prove our worth.

I am an Indian. I love my country, I love my culture. I have confidence in the strength of my culture; and do not feel the need to demonise the West to show me the worth of it.

Gosh... What a day!

I don't deny that I am lazy. Laziness does not hinder me when I initiate a thing, but it gradually creeps in. And then slowly it becomes a matter of 'mood.' My blog is the proof of it, where I wrote almost 125 days back. But I had to write today, or rather I was pushed to.

My day began with that usual difficulty to come out of bed. Eventually I did come out, reminding myself of an excitement to visit my hometown. Though the visit was for office-work, I wanted to take out couple of days to spend with my family.

I settled my pending account in the office as early as possible and felt quite relieved. Around 12, I left for the railway station. I found no trace of train on the station and began to wonder as to what could have happened. I went to the inquiry-window to find out whereabouts of the train. I was shocked to hear that the train was canceled. I became numb and did not know what to do. In response to my further inquiry, I was informed that all the trains going to Ahmedabad were canceled. Dejected, I decided to return to office (my home at the moment). I got an auto there, and sitting inside, started skimming what my next step should be. The auto had moved barely five feet, when the driver realized that one of the wheels of the auto was punctured. Still confused, he helped me find another auto. Finally, I settled there and took a sigh of relief. We had moved another two kilometers, and the clutch-wire of the auto broke. The auto-driver asked my ten minutes to repair it. Feeling pity for having a 'manhoos' passenger in his auto, I reluctantly told him to take 15 minutes if needed. He completed his work, and finally we reached back home after an hour.

I went to the office, and started looking at the other options to reach home as early as possible. But all my efforts were futile, since this time the internet gave up. The speed of internet was much the same as my own frequency in writing blogs. I washed my hands off and decided to spend time listening to music the rest of the evening. I was glad that the day was finally about to be over. There was still one surprise pending. This time, it was one of my old kurta that I tore while trying to change. But then, thankfully, the day ended.

One thing I enjoyed in the midst of all these misfortunes: it was the joy that I found in laughing at myself, at the thought that a day can be so bad.

Housholder held the house together!

February was a special month for us. It was a time to look back and question 'so what' or 'how' of all that we had learned throughout our time at SAIACS. An experience at Indiranagar Methodist Church on 23rd was enough to gauge our capabilities in explaining before others what we knew. Puppets of our teacher, Dr. David Housholder, lovingly known as 'Doc', were quite refreshing. Cindy, whom I found fun-loving and jolly (quite like me), and her mother were also blessing in their own capacities.

Yet the best day in the module was 13th. No, not because its the day before the Valentine's Day. It was special because after studying together for more than twenty months, all of us unfolded something new about ourselves that the others never knew.

As a part of our education, our teacher, a truly grand-fatherly figure, Doc asked us to share our unforgettable experiences and influential personalities in our educational career. However, gradually the discussion, for the sake of good I think, turned towards sharing of our testimonies. One after another each spoke about how life had treated them and how God had called them in His vineyard. Each story was unique and special. Particularly impressive were Jayaraj and Jisha (forgive me for my subjective perspective). Not because others had nothing important to say, but probably because I had quite a few things to identify with both of them. I am aware that others have many exciting areas of their life, which they could not open up due to the constrains of time.

This was special occassion because, we, as a class had not been able to spent much time together, at least for last six months, due to our thesis writing work. We had hardly any time to find out how the other one was doing. But now was the time to pour out all that we had in our hearts eagerly waiting to be gushed out once provided the opportunity. It was Doc who with his caring attitude and patient listening opened the doors of our hearts and provided us with long-awaited opportunity. And the stories came flowing.

We realized that Dr. Housholder had not only held our house together, he had made it much stronger than before. Hats off to Doc.

Millers' 46

February 11 was a memorable day for us - M.Th. second year students of Theology department. We went out for dinner, along with Nigel, our department co-ordinator, his wife Selena, sweet and tiny daughter Muskaan, and also this module's visiting faculties Dr. David and Linda Householder. Thomas was appointed as an organizer of the trip. He and Nigel worked together to finally select Miller's 46 as the venue.

We left from SAIACS at 6:30, and reached the venue by 7:30. As usual, some of us were hungry enough to swallow two plates of rice with the ever-tasty sambhar of SAIACS. The thought of dining outside had intensified the hunger. We had talked about our excitement before leaving from SAIACS, least aware of the unique and memorable experience that was waiting for us.

The uniqueness of experience began as soon as we received the menu. Few names made sense to us. These were: chicken, beef, fish, prones or pork; and the spices like pepper and garlic. But these names did not stand alone, they had adjectives, which made them something mysterious. We kept looking, sometimes at the menu and other times at one another, waiting for someone to order first, so it would make it easier for the other to say, "oh, the same for me too." The Householder and the Kumars were done. Jisha, Villo and Thomas too had their preferences. Jayaraj, I, Elayaraj and Zulu were the most confused ones. I and Jayaraj discreetly reached a conclusion that Jayaraj would opt for prawns and I would ask for chicken, and then we can share with each other. We could feel a proud smile on our faces because of making the wisest choice.

Soon, the servers came with what we had demanded. They pronounce the name of each items to place them in a right place. This was another test, because we had to work hard to remember what we had asked for. Soon came a plate, which seemed like made of china and frying pan attached to it. The smoke was stil coming out of the plate. When the server pronounce the name, I realized it was for me. I was scared to see the unique characteristics of my plate. Thankfully, Jayaraj soon joined me. His was the worse case, because he was given prawns with noodles, something he does not like. We looked at one another and smiled. There was yet another man who looked worried - Zulu.

I soon found out that I had something familiar, chicken and rice in the plate. I soon became a happy man. It was even more amusing to see Zulu and Jayaraj struggling. I gave them a devilish smile. Chicken in my plate was tasty and I soon finished it, without remembering the treaty I and Jeyaraj had made. Zulu was struggling and asked for help to finish his food. Thomas, I, and Jayaraj who had by now completed his task willingly lended help to Zulu. Finally we all were done.

We came back to SAIACS, not grumbling but laughing at ourselves. What else could we do! Some of us gathered that night and concluded that it was good to have such an experience once in a while. But yes, only once in a while.

Malgudi Days

I am addicted to this habit of beginning a thing with a bang, and then not being able to give time to it, or wanting to get rid of it as early as possible. But this should not hamper my comeback, so let me decide to be more punctual in blogging this time. To begin with a book that I am reading these days, (actually for a long time, but have not been able to complete - one more proof of my laziness) - Swami and Friends by R K Narayan. I found this particular portion of the book quite amusing.

Let me tell the context first (as an obedient student of Hermeneutics). Swami and few of his classmates did not attend the school for a day. The next day, they are asked to explain the reasons for their absence. And so we have a reply from one of the students:

"The fifth [student] said that his grandmother died suddenly just as he was starting for the school. The Head Master asked him if he could bring a letter from his father. No. He had no father. Then, who was his guardian? His grandmother. But the grandmother was dead, was she not? No. It was another grandmother. The Head master asked how many grandmothers a person could have. No answer. Could he bring a letter from his neighbours? No. he could not. None of his neighbours could read or write, because he lived in the more illiterate parts of Ellaman Street. Then the Head master offered to send a teacher to this illiterate locality to ascertain from the boy's neighbours if the deaht of the grandmother was a fact. A pause, some perspiration, and then the answer thatthe neighbours could not possibly know anything about it, since the grandmother died in the village. The Head Master hit him on the knuckles with his cane..." (p.104).

Remember your school-days?

Saturday Morning with Ghalib

आज मिर्जा़ ग़ालिब की कुछ शायरी पढने का मौका मिला। वैसे उर्दू और हिंदी दौनों मुझे कम आती है, पर दिल से निकले हुए इतने ख़ूबसुरत लफ्ज़ों को अनसुना करने की ताकत नही है मुझ मे। सोचा कुछ शायरी को यहाँ रखा जाये। ताकि सब दोस्त उन्हें पढ़ सके, यह अंग्रेज़ी में लिखी हुई है।

jaan tum par nisar karta hun,
main nahi jaanta dua kya hai.

And this one.....

1. ishq mujko nahi wehsat (solitude) hi sahi
meree wehsat teri shohrat (fame, popularity) hi sahi.

2. kaata kijiye na talluq (relation) hamse,
kucch nahi hai to adaavat (enmity) hi sahi.

3. mere hone mein hai kya ruswaee (embarassment, disgrace),
hai woh majlis (gathering) nahi khalwat (isolation) hi sahi.

4. hum bhi dushman to nahi hai apne
ghair ko tujhse mohabbat hi sahi.


And this one is just too good to resist....

1. Mehrbaan ho ke bula lo mujhe chaho jis waqt,
mein gaya waqt nahi hun ke phir aa bhi na sakun.

2. Zauf (weakness) main tana-e-aghyaar (taunt of an enenmy) ka shikwaa (complaint) kyaa hai? baat kuch sar to nahi hai ki utha bhi naa sakun.

3. zahar milta bhi nahi mujhko sitamgar (oppressor) warna
kya kasam hai tere milne ki ke khaa bhi naa sakun.


I am really kin to read Ghalib's biography, just assuming that such poetry can't come out without some experiential and philosophical convictions. Well, lets finish the thesis first (I have lost my whole Saturday morning to Ghalib, worthwhile though).

Remembering Devanandan

Now that 'Smash 2007,' a Volleyball tournament at SAIACS, is over, at least one baggage seems reduced from my lean shoulders. Though, it may make no big difference compared to the overwhelming amount of energy and time my thesis-project demands. I felt guilty that I could not contribute anything to e-board during this tournament. It was simply because I thought of giving up blogging for sometime and concentrate more on my thesis.

Today, however, I felt to blog. Reason? - because today is the 45th death anniversary of our own Indian Christian theologian, Paul David Devanandan (1901-1962). Born in Madras to well-educated parents, he developed interest in the political and religious life of India right from his childhood. He was brought up in Western education, but in Indian home; this context was an asset to develop a theologian out of him. This context was perhaps a miniature of the context of India. India was absorbing western values, but was not willing to give up its own cultural heritage. This led to self-pride, nationalism and religious resurgence. The nationalistic feelings ran so high, that everything foreign was looked at with suspicious eyes, and everything 'Indian' as perfect, demanding no criticism. Christianity was, sadly, considered a part of this foreign package.

Devanandan spent a great deal of time studying this situation. He responded to the charges of both Nationalistic and Orthodox Hinduism. However, he supported a group of Hindus that advocated reform within Hinduism and absorbed Christian Western values, like abolition of Caste and Sati. Devanandan saw the hand of God in Hindu reforms, and asked the Christians to be supportive to these reforms. Did he think this was the way to bring the Hindus closer to Christ? May be. Whether this would have worked/ has worked is a question, but he did consider this to be a common ground for all religions - to bring social reforms, uplift the poor and striving for just and equal society. Today's India is passing through similar situation as that of Devanandan, and no Indian Christian would make a mistake in appraising his theology for our times.

Assessing Devanandan, it would be good to quote his own sentence, written in praise of Tagore - "A truly great men have been great because they have completely identified themselves with true humanity.... Here then is the paradox of human work; the greater the man and the farther removed from us of common mould and feeble frame, the closer he comes to the innermost being of ordinary humanity," and so was Devanandan. He stands as a source of encouragement to all those who are excited at the thought of developing Indian Christian theology. Hats off to Devanandan.

For the collection of his writings refer to:
Joachim Wietzke, Paul D. Devanandan, Vol.1 & 2 (Madras: The Christian Literature Society, 1983 & 1987).

Identity Crisis

I am writing my thesis on national identity of Christians in India vis-a-vis resurgence of Hindu Nationalism. Yesterday, I submitted my first chapter. No, its nothing to brag about, because I am lagging behind everyone else in the class.

Well, the topic here is identity. The word 'identity' is taken from Latin word idem, which refers to sameness. It has two aspects: psychological and sociological. The former answers the question, "who am I?", the latter "Who do people say I am?" Building on these aspects, famous psycho-analyst Erik Erikson, popularized the term - 'identity-crisis.' This term describes the situation where the psychological and sociological aspects are interlocked in one's sense of self (see Oxford Dictionary of Sociology). But why am i scribbling all these here?

I was in Chandigarh till 2001, and everyone who knew me thought I was Punjabi. Then I moved to Kerala, where they thought I was a 'Mallu.' In between I went back to Chandigarh. The church I visited once had several South Indian families. Right after the service was over, some members of a Malayali family came and started talking to me in Malayalam. I enjoyed it for sometime, and finally bursted out with laughter saying in my broken Malayalam, "Malayalam korchu korchu mansilai" (I understand only little of Malayalam). Here in Bangalore, I recently met Sam. He soon became my friend. He confessed that he thought me to be a Naga. When I visited North-east, some others thought I was Asomi. I wonder if I am having identity-crisis.

Well, it may be identity-crisis for Erikson, for me it is 'identity-bliss.' I think it is blessed to know that people consider you just one of them (at least because of looks, as in my case).

कुछ शायरी हो जाये।

रंज से खूगर हुआ इंसां तो मिट जाता है ग़म
मुश्किलें इतनी पडी मुझ पर के आसां हो गयी।

- मिर्ज़ा गालिब

Kingdom of Small People

Every teacher at SAIACS is asked to share his/her testimony during his/her first speech of the academic year 2007-2008. It was Dr. Babu Immanuel's turn on 6th of June. He brought some beautiful insights by incorporating the truths of the Lord's prayer to his own philosophy of life. One of his memorable statements was: "The kingdom of God is kingdom of small people."

Imagine a strong kingdom, and you would certainly think of Alexander, Nepoleon or someone of similar stature. These were people of high calibre and might. After all, strong kingdom is built by mighty king and his powerful subjects. We measure the strength of the kingdom by guaging the threat it possesses for the kingdoms around because of its vast army of brave and capable soldiers; and its riches.

Strange as it may sound, kingdom of God has no place for those who consider themselves strong enough, big enough, mighty enough, famous enough or rich enough to push their way into the kingdom. Conversly, the subjects of the kingdom of God have often been people who were failure, who seemed useless to the society, or who were often called foolish because of their decision to follow Christ.

Interestingly, Jesus called those blessed who were poor in spirit, meek, hungry and thirsty for righteousness, who were mourning and who were persecuted. Were not most of Jesus' disciples from humble background? Did not our Master Himself (the King of this kingdom) had a humble origin? Did he not live a life of a carpenter? Were not the best of his friends called 'sinners'? And did not Paul found all his achievements rubbish compared to the greatness of knowing Christ?

Kingdom of God belongs to those who have experienced the greatness of God and realized their own smallness. It belongs to those who are not here 'to be served but to serve,' as did their King. When this truth penetrates our heart, we will tear down all that would make us proud (of course, except our King). We will realize that kingdom of God is kingdom of small people.

More Americanized than Americans?

Since the academic year at SAIACS was over, we guys decided to pick up on every opportunity to chill out and kill the stress that assignments and dead lines had loaded on us.

We began with some music concerts. Our enthusiasm suffered badly when in the very first concert, we found ourselves out of place. In the bang-bang of rock music, I was wondering whether anyone standing there understood what was going on (singing in tongues?). Many of us still pretended to understand everything and enjoyed it. Perhaps, we wanted show how westernized (and so civilized?) we were. Apart from a person who did some good rap songs on the portions of the Bible (and then only we knew that we were in a gospel concert, not in Metallica live), everything else was so confusing. Rita and Boicy must be wondering, "why in the world we decided to be here?", just as every other friend was.

But the irony was here. There was a group of American ladies standing in a corner. Soberly dressed and wearing smiles on their faces, they were greeting people around them. It was a quite pleasing scene. Did they look more Indian than those Indians around me?

After some days there was another concert. The scene was quite similar, but just that this time there was no westerner around us.

These incidents challenged my 'contextual theory.' Contextualization has been an important issue in Christian mission. However, I wonder whether we are contextualing and asking our people to contextualize with us. Are we, especially the youth-workers, giving the young people gospel that would fit into their life-style, or are we altogether giving them a new life-style? Do the young people really need what we say they need or are we trying to first decide and then tell them that this is what they need?

I do not intend to demand outright rejection of everything that is western. I really admire these Pakistani bands- Strings and Junoon. They appeal to me as models of western-eastern blending. Why can't we have gospel music like that?

When Americans are appreciating Indian values, we are becoming more Americanized than Americans. Perhaps, its a high time to learn some contextual lessons from them.

Vanhoozer, Wolterstorff and Merlin Jones

It was the month of March. I was in a boxing ring. The fight had been arranged by the faculties of SAIACS, Nigel being the main contributor. I, a thin and lanky man, was to fight against two heavyweight champions - Kevin Vanhoozer and Nicholas Wolterstorff. It was like a newcomer having his first match against the team of Tyson and Holifield together.

Wolterstorff looked a bit feeble, so I took up on him first. I was proved wrong. He was the champion of Divine Discourse. His heaviest blows were the noematic content, designative content and the illocutionary stance. I did not back off easily. The first battle resulted in a draw.

Before I enter in the ring for the second time, Nigel had roped in a coach for me, Merlin Jones. He was a thin man too. He asked me to focus upon Vanhoozer first. Vanhoozer had come up with a title - Is There A Meaning In This Text? Jones had expertized over Vanhoozer's moves. He shared me the stories of Vanhoozer's vehement attacks on Jacques Derrida and Stanley Fish. I had definitely begun to appreciate Vanhoozer for that. Finally, the day for fight arrived. Vanhoozer was not easy opponent, but with Merlin's shrewd tactics I fought him back. The match was over and I was declared winner.

Now I had to look forward to the next fight, with Wolterstorff. This time, my coach Jones, gave me more freedom to do self-study of Wolterstorff's moves and prepare myself accordingly. Last fight had given me some confidence. I took time to understand the blows that I had received last time. The day to show up came. There were eight eager spectators, who were also boxing champs, seated around the ring. The match began. Blow after blow, the battle was getting violent and bloody. It lasted for a little more than twenty minutes. At the end of the match, I received some complements which worked as medicine to my bleeding nose. Finally, the moment of glory- yes, I was declared winner again. The joy was unspeakable.

So this was the module of March- Theological Hermeneutics. Vanhoozer and Wolterstorff came up with heavy philosophical concepts and vocabulary, and my knees did rattle. Thanks to the coach, Merlin Jones. He did put lot of effort to motivate and prepare me for the battle. And yes, thanks to Nigel for roping him in. I think, my classmates, also the spectators of my matches, would have no great disagreement with what I said.

Thank God!

Thank God some late night struggles have produced some good results- have pumped adrenaline for a new commitment towards studies and let the impregnated emotions to birth at least some good stuff like this one which I got last night at 1 am.

If God were to choose people,
on the basis of their credentials,
perhaps I would be the last one,
wondering which one I should count my own.

If it were about riches,
what would I do?
would all my properties put together,
make me rich enough to be accepted.

If it were strength that should be counted most,
pushed and kicked by many machos,
I would be lagging far behind.

If smartness had any part to play,
I am sure I would have been left behind.

If it was all about good works,
my account was nil.

Yes, only if frailty and rags were important criteria,
I would have scored tones.

Thank God it was all by grace,
and that's how I am saved.

True, isn't it?