We are told that the disintegrating state of our mind and of our school system, for that matter, is because we lack imagination. Even further: this innate creativity is decaying because of the age we are living in, the Internet Age. “Has modern society really extinguished the creative spark among our youth? Experts say creativity is innate, so it can’t really be lost. But it needs to be nurtured. … The current focus on testing in schools, and the idea that there is only one right answer to a question, may be hampering development and creativity among kids, … But the situation is not hopeless, … In fact, there’s evidence to suggest that, worldwide, youngsters are very creative, particularly with their use of digital media, … And a recent study found that, at least in their playtime, kids are becoming more imaginative. Experts agree changes can be made in the classroom to cultivate creativity.”(1)
Every career move has its risks
By twelve, I had figured out how I was going to escape the drudgery of industrial work as a career – or work in general, for that matter. I was going to be a rock-and-roll star. My poor qualities of talent and musicality did not seem to be major challenges: maturity, however, affords us a totally different perspective, doesn’t it? Music was the rage. It dominated the youthful society of the time in a way that social media does today. At the top of this social hierarchy were the musicians. God took lessons from them, obviously. When John Lennon said, “Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn’t argue about that; I’m right and I’ll be proved right. We’re more popular than Jesus now; I don’t know which will go first — rock-and-roll or Christianity. Jesus was all right but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It’s them twisting it that ruins it for me,” (1) he may have provoked outrage – but he wasn’t far off for the times.
Freedom: how it all begins with a moment.
I remember a freshness and an excitement when I think back some sixty or so years. In this, I am sure that I am not unique: life with all its complications and frustrations begins much like a distant vessel on the horizon. It is initially just a small dot that slowly gets bolder and bolder, and finally looms fully into view. It is only then that you can make out its details: its huge size, its complicated structure, its blazing color, its sublime profile. In all of this, you sense a feeling of lightness, the embrace of optimism. You do not know why you feel this way, but you do. You are alive, though somewhat dull and awkward. Now: what do you do with this life? This is the fundamental question that sticks with the thinking person until the end is presented. Its answer does not seem to reside in money, power or the things of the world; it appears to be a higher goal – almost unreachable. It is “to know the unknowable,” to paraphrase Averroes (1) or “to achieve my meaning to life,” in the parlance of Dr. Frankl. (2) I was just too young to properly articulate this question, though I felt that the query was there, nonetheless. I also suspected that to not adequately address this concern would fill my life with needless pain and suffering, the classic unrequited life. I wanted freedom, whatever that meant!
Don’t be a Wage Slave: a career is a must.
My trip to India has only reinforced that what beats in the breast of every human being is the desire to be an adventurer, a dreamer, a seeker: coupled with the knowledge that we are intrinsically free. These are universal qualities and define us more than religion, race or culture. They delineate our very humanity. This is a bold statement and requires explanation. When we first left the Rift Valley (in modern day Ethiopia) approximately 200,000 years ago, (1) we were in search of a better environment: climate change was upon us. Homo sapiens were certainly few in number and not braver than our hominin brethren, Homo erectus, who had ventured out of Africa 1.5 million years before. But, we had our advantages: we had bigger brains; resourceful ingenuity and the ability to adapt to any habitat. We were also not selfish – we worked together. These capacities allowed us to dominate our species and populate the world, and we did.
The return never leaves you the same
We have come to the close: my final day dances with delights. I am up early, yoga and my morning ablutions. The lady of the house makes me a truly sumptuous English breakfast: bacon, sausages, eggs, tomatoes, beans, toast, and jam — I am forgetting the percolating coffee! (1) I sense a tinge of guilt concerning last night’s water, or lack thereof. This permeates the crisp linen tablecloth and polished silverware. “What century am I in?” I ask myself. In an earlier age, I would have graciously accepted the meal and suffered from gluttony for the rest of the morning. Seniority has its advantages: I opt for a small bowl of yogurt and, as a concession to her kindness, a cup of black coffee. I refuse to feel the requisite guilt at the unconsumed meal. I take my leave and say my goodbyes: the driver is waiting. I suddenly have more luggage than I remember, though this is not possible. The woman sensing something amiss summons a nearby neighbor to act as valet: remember — 1.25 billion people. She pays him a pittance which she states, condescendingly, is already too much. The man trundles my, now overweight, suitcases to the entrance of the building. As if acknowledging he has been overpaid, he carries them to the taxi. He proceeds initially in the wrong direction. Exhausted but morally satiated, he deposits them in front of the vehicle. His fee has been equitably used. We are off. New Delhi is a leafy and beautiful city. I, of course, have come just after a typhoon so I have no exposure to the choking air pollution that I often read about.
Nirvana awaits: are you ready?
I catch the train to Agra. It is an uneventful trip. The only truly exciting occurrence is that the Indian Rail Corporation does not view Agra with the reverence that I (or we) do. I am sitting rather contentedly, half asleep, in my seat when the train suddenly comes to a lurching stop. I am jarred to attention. As I glance out the window, I see an enormous sign: Agra. “Are we in Agra?” I inquire with some urgency. The incredulous look of the weary conductor says it all: another ridiculous foreigner with an inane question! “You have three minutes!” he responds rather haughtily. Life moves in slow motion. I cannot seem to disengage my valise from the upper rack.—the seconds tick by. I tumble out of the train scuffing my newly polished shoes: such are the blemishes of travel.
Can a frail human being comprehend the vagaries of life?
How do you approach one of the wonders of the world: Should I genuflect? Should I prostrate myself, crawl on my belly, what? These thoughts dance in my head as I arrive at the train station in New Delhi: my destination Agra – The Taj Mahal. This is my second excursion by train during my Indian adventure. I am more familiar with the transportation system and am therefore not as filled with anxiety. There are not 10,000 thieves lurking to steal all when I turn my head in the opposite direction. I ask two young men to glance over my luggage as I go to the washroom; miraculously, it is there when I come back. What fun this trust ‘thing” is: wow! Perhaps we could change the world just by trusting one another more – now that is a revolutionary thought.
Continue reading Can a frail human being comprehend the vagaries of life?
Gandhi changed the world: you can too.
I am off to New Delhi: capital of India. It is a relatively new “first” city. The great trading port of Kolkata, which we have already visited, was the capital of the British Raj until 1911. Old Delhi, however, did have a ruling pedigree having been the capital of the great Mughal Empire (1649-1857). The British were renowned for ruling their empire with great efficiency. The bureaucracy, in turn, was constantly “fine tuning” the workings of government. To this end, during the early 1900s, a proposal to shift the capital back to the environs of this region was accepted. The rationale being that this administrative district was geographically central to the subcontinent as a whole and yet could be more easily defended from military assault, as it was more isolated. The land for building the new center of Delhi was thus acquired. The city was finally inaugurated in 1931. Its main designer and planner, Sir Edwin Lutyens (1869-1944), can be credited with leaving the modern metropolis some of its most iconic edifices – many in the so-called Indo-Saracenic style. (1) As an aside, in the building of this new capital, the pure wealth of India was put on display. It was a fact not missed by future luminaries such as Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948). The construction was undertaken in the haunting shadow of the Great Indian Famine of 1899-1900. The government painted itself as completely soulless and not even worthy of contempt. This did not bode well for the future of Empire.
Abode of the Gods
When I first hear of this city, I am mesmerized by its name. It has four syllables. Four stresses always fall off your tongue like droplets of wisdom: Varanasi – very classy, tumultuous, magnificent, esoteric, unknowable. Mere words are inadequate to catch its expression of humanity: India’s Delphi, (1) where all is possible if you believe! A trip to the city and you leave modernity.
The City of Joy
I’m not a Raj orphan, (1) but I was imbued with the values of empire. When I was growing up in Canada in the early 1950s and 1960s, “that’s cricket” (play honorably) and “keep a stiff upper lip” (never show your emotions) were but a smattering of the concepts associated with the imperial ethos: though in its twilight days, it was not totally moribund — not dead yet. I remember coming to school and standing to sing God Save the Queen. (2) The teacher’s pedantic deference and contrived esteem made you feel as if you were in the Roman Empire being presented to Augustus Caesar; we only lacked the Nubian slaves (I had a vivid imagination). It was the same with our history studies. We were constantly shown textbooks with the British Empire in red, the color of the British army dress uniform, “The Sun never sets on the British Empire,” to paraphrase John Wilson. (3) Everyone knew of the Black Hole of Calcutta and how, after this abomination, Robert Clive, — justifiably, or so we were taught –, (4) established the suzerainty of the British East India Company in Bengal, thereby beginning the creation of The British Raj.