Author Archives: Rajiv Kapoor

About Rajiv Kapoor

Rajiv Kapoor was born in New Delhi. He was educated by the Jesuits at St Xavier’s, and graduated with Honors, from The University of Delhi. Rajiv Kapoor did his MBA in International Business from Penn State and is now settled in the US. He has traveled across most states of India, when he was working on modernization of Rice Mills, and understands their diverse culture and history. This book is a historical fiction, dedicated to his city of birth. His extensive research dives deep into a critical moment, in India’s long history, for his latest Historical Thriller “The Peacock Throne Wars”..

Affordable care costs and benefits

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healthcare-spending
The U S Chamber of Commerce and the Republicans continue their opposition to #Obamacare as an employment killer; fully knowing that the vast majority of the small businesses having less than 50 employees, do not come under the employer mandate of the Affordable Care Act. The Census bureau has identified over 26 million of these small businesses, who can become the engines of American job growth for the foreseeable future. In fact their employees will now be covered under the new act; and if they are below certain poverty thresholds, will get extra income to cover the gap, of getting health insurance from the government.
The health exchanges with their limited provider networks are here to stay. People who lived through the days of the HMOs, may support this new internet model, hoping to finally bring an end to runaway costs. Their main hope is to promote modernization through standardization, digitization of data, resulting in better analytics and health care and better outcomes and quality. Small businesses should thrive as the cost of health care will no longer be a factor, for reaping the rewards of their entrepreneurships and growth. The efforts should now focus on making more accountable and robust systems, as shown in the recent VA appointment delays shortcomings. The work is only starting but it is a good start and could lay a foundation; for how we take care of our people, in America’s next century. A number of technical factors like the roll out of Electronic Medical Records and the International Classifcation of Disease management standard codeset 10 will enable a far more accurate representation of medical encounters and case histories.
When hospitals, providers, pharmaceutical, device manufacturers, radiologists, payers and numerous other constituents; can come together in an open platform, it cuts down waste. By making the rates public and involving the individual to chose his\her health care, makes each one of us more accountable in reducing costs, and getting maximum benefitts. Finally the consumer of #healthcare has to be educated and must improve lifestyles, diet and involvement in preventive care; for the model to succeed even beyond what the administration has hoped for. Do I see a flattening of the curve already, or is it just my imagination?

Fifth of humanity

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Arundhati Roy has correctly stated that the open sore that festers all the country’s political bodies in #South Asia based on the division on religious lines by the British, now lies exposed to all when she says specifically in this last Indian elections “The two main parties agreed on most policies, and each had the skeleton of a mass pogrom against a minority community in its cupboard. So now, it’s all out in the open. The system lies exposed.”

The attack on the Indian consulate in Afghanistan where luckily no official died is a symptom of this disease. The killing of 60 people in Northern Waziristan a strong hold of the Pakistan Taliban, the killings in eastern India all show countries, in a war with themselves. To the credit of the countries the security forces have behaved admirably and performed their tasks well keeping the separatists and terrorists at bay. The fear mongers and nay-sayers will predict the worst for the future atrocities that humans are prepared to undertake in the defense of their religion or their community. For tribal societies homogeneity is not a preferred lifestyle as life is lived within the remote forests and valleys in their own distinct flavor. With democratic governments all across the SARC region the imagination boggles at the possibilities of a progressive state.

Will the economic ties be strengthened and the rule of law enforced so that trade and commerce can happen in open borders with trust and conviction?

Will cultural exchanges be encouraged so that we can all understand, how much we have in common and to gain collectively, if we all pool our resources and develop together?

Will we open up seamless trade between our traditional Indian Ocean neighbors from South Asia to the far east and Africa in the greatest development of trade ever imagined?

Will pipelines of energy flow into the starved heartland from Iran and Central Asia; so great enterprises can flourish, and tech cities be built to house the next generation?

Will the harnessing of 80% of the region’s water that flows into the ocean today, be saved for prosperity, before the Himalayan snow caps melt into history?

Will healthcare, education, human development and equality be the new standard against which a nation is measured; rather than the old ones of hate, ignorance, bigotry, caste and creed?

Will the infrastructure finally be built to crisscross the land; in 12 lane highways, superfast trains and modern airports, with the bridges, tunnels, ports and warehouses that are required for a modern life?

Will we be able to leapfrog to the internet of things; as while it too a long time to collect 550 million votes, we could count them electronically in just one day. By modernizing electronic communications – imagine what we could do for agriculture, housing, transportation, crafts and local products with open markets?

Will we generate employment for the millions; that will only spur us into an upward spiral of development and prosperity at a scale, that the world has never known before?

Questions that only time and a steely resolve to improve a fifth of humanity’s condition can answer, we can all join in the effort with a single step forward.

Growing inequality

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Wealth distro“This massive concentration of economic resources in the hands of fewer people presents a real threat to inclusive political and economic systems, and compounds other inequalities – such as those between women and men. Left unchecked, political institutions are undermined and governments overwhelmingly serve the interests of economic elites – to the detriment of ordinary people.” Oxfam reports that the 85 richest people own as much as the poorest half of humanity put together.
The growing #inequality between the haves and the have nots continues to grow despite all the trickle down economics that was supposed to help the poor. There is no rising tide in the forecast that will lift all the boats and reduce poverty and provide the education and skills required to improve productivity. Those who have control of the property and assets will continue to reap rewards and those without will continue to struggle to make ends meet. Nation states will continue to protect their wealthy citizens as they control the nation’s wealth. All others are second class citizens and can be controlled with the laws of the state, if they step out of line to grab a fair share of their existence. Who ever heard of laws to help the homeless, insane, destitute or of our own folks in deep despair? The laws are written to protect the precedence of established #wealth and hierarchy, by the paid servants whether by political or economic patronage. Suspect all not for profits and charitable institutions, until you can see them working with the disadvantaged and for them alone.
Modern states have all the tools at their disposal to build a more equitable economy through the use of taxation and the dreaded words to conservatives “income distribution”. A more equal world will open up opportunities for half of humanity living in dire states and allow them to achieve what the 85 can never do on their own. I am no Robin Hood who would rob from the rich to give to the poor. I would instead advocate a path of growth and development where the state provides justice and the rule of law and national security and leaves the rest to the people. The use of taxation is to take from those who have been blessed with too much and use it for education, health care, shelter of the masses by providing the infrastructure for the people to build their own lives. People are resourceful and can solve their own problems and to create what they need, to leads a happier life. We do not need the Rich or the State to provide handout but rather help the individual to develop into a productive member of society.
The state should ensure that the roadblocks from outdated laws and political patronage, should be overhauled to provide more inclusive growth. This overwhelming inequality is a moral insult to all people who value human dignity and respect human freedom. Why force people to live out a life of subsistence and depravation when we have the means to raise them out of poverty and destitution. The cost of raising their standards is insignificant in the larger political economy; as if we stop our wars for even a year, we will be able to pay for it many times over. It is the price we pay every day that is too much; to have this #inequality fester, all over the human body. Given the opportunity people will become productive and lift themselves out of poverty and ignorance. Even history guides us as Greek-Roman historian Plutarch: `An imbalance between rich and poor is the oldest and most fatal ailment of all republics.` . Is the empowerment of 85 more important than that of 3,500,000,000?

Find meaning in life

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Lamp
Viktor Frankl drew on his own existantial experiences as a survivor of the holocaust, to originate the discipline of Logotherapy as explained in Wikipedia. “Logotherapy is a form of Psychotherapy that stresses the need to find meaning in life even in the most tragic circumstances. When “Man’s Search for Meaning” was published in 1959, Carl Rogers called it “one of the most outstanding contributions to psychological thought in the last fifty years.” He broke away from Nietzsche’s will to power and Freud’s will to pleasure by explaining that the individual’s highest calling is to find the meaning in life based on the following:
• Life has meaning under all circumstances, even the most miserable ones.
• Our main motivation for living is our will to find meaning in life.
• We have freedom to find meaning in what we do, and what we experience, or at least in the stand we take when faced with a situation of unchangeable suffering.”
Frankl went on to explain that to find meaning in life we need to be careful against affluence, hedonism and materialism as that will distract from finding the purpose that will give meaning to our life. No matter how adverse the environment we face (Frankl lost his family and survived multiple death camps during the Holocaust), we must always remember “the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances”. The freedom of will is ours and we have to determine our own character and personality, no matter what the circumstances. We will be buffeted by biological, political, social, economic and other adverse situations but our will is our own and we will suffer, but we must never surrender to our circumstances.
Existential analysis and psychotherapy aside how will we bring this message alive, so that we can continue to find meaning in our life and get fulfillment from a life lived with purpose? We are the victims of our own inadequacies which are largely the result of “unfulfilled responsibility” (I could have provided better for my daughter) and we suffer from “anticipatory anxiety” (I will not be able to sleep when I go to bed). To battle anxiety from such situations Logotherapy offers “paradoxical intention”, or go to bed and intentionally try not to fall asleep (this will reduce the hyper anxiety about not being able to sleep, and the person will fall asleep in a more normal timespan).
Now I look back on my life and see the successes of all my contemporaries and also the many accomplishments of the wonderful people that I have known. #Life is valuable and we must not squander this greatest of all opportunities. What are anxieties about my lack of personal success; whether economic or social are eating away at my purpose in life and I am unable to develop myself. The depression from promises unfulfilled to my spouse, or family, or boss have taken their toll over the years; till now I am a mere hollow shell of what I once was. Drop by drop, the repeated blows of perceived failures, have hollowed out my inner strength; till now I project a weak exterior, trampled on by one and all in the passing herd. Life has become a daily look in the mirror at past failures and lost opportunities and preconceived notions of my own inadequacies for #self actualization.
Now I consign all these sorry feelings and low attitudes, to the dung heap of history. I will raise my beliefs again to the level where I will find the meaning in life, which I have long sought. Next time we meet you may find a spring in my step and a vision that rises higher. If you see a new light around me, it is my life burning in a new flame of meaning. The wick is time (my life) and the fuel is will (my attitude) and the light is knowledge (my life providing meaning to others around me). Look closely at the flame that rises; for I have decided that from now on I will become the temple lamp that lights the way, by burning itself out. In my newfound wisdom I will indulge fully in a joyful effort to improve myself and those around me. We will promote training in generosity, patience, concentration, wisdom and above all a compassion for all creatures and promote ethical living. My current flame is weak I know; but by the time I am done I #hope, it will be an inferno that will become a shining lighthouse in life’s storm, for all humanity if you join with me!

Coexist and prosper

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System Components

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The pursuit of happiness is an explicit goal laid out by the founding fathers of this nation; and the Homestead Act was the greatest law ever passed, as it allowed for the settlement of the wild lands of the west expanding the original colonies. The native Indian tribes were driven out and the European settlers brought with them personal property ownership, to what had been a largely communal land. This basic premise where ownership of land and all the resources below it belongs to a person; and not the state was the bedrock of American thinking, which lasts to this day. It laid the foundation for the greatest wealth creation that our times have seen, and changed the course of entrepreneurship and invention over the past few centuries.
Freed from the clutches of the state each individual was truly free to pursue his or her own development and lifestyle. All lands have their own resources but to explore and use those needs courage, determination, vision, steadfast determination and a risk taking ability. Majority of such endeavors may end in failures, but even if a miniscule portion of new projects are successful, they can change the course of our human condition for centuries to come. The latest example is the development of horizontal fracturing (fracking) of shale rock to release the natural gas and oil buried deep in our earth. As people own the land and its resources a new gold rush has started and an example is the remote state of North Dakota where unemployment is 2.6% and the economy is booming.
There is no other country which could have developed this, as it is a unique American characteristic that when faced with resource challenges, its innovators and tinkerers come up with ways to achieve new breakthroughs in how we think and do things. When the oil majors gave up on the US oil fields as too mature and moved their investments to offshore and to other countries; it was the wildcatters in Texas, who continued to pursue new ways to exploit existing resources. Last year alone 150,000 wells were dug to harness this technology in the US, dwarfing all other countries around the world. Majority of these were done by small unknown companies and individuals and have revolutionized American energy growth, while the rest of the world suffers shortages and high prices of gas. Even China which sits on one of the largest shale formations; with its huge state owned oil companies, is far behind and will take decades to catch up as it copies the technology.
The new industrialization of America based on cheap gas and oil will allow the country to continue to create #wealth and become energy independent and eventually the largest exporter of petro chemicals in the coming decades, while the rest of the world will continue to play catch up. It takes trillions of dollars to increase the GDP of America even marginally and thus innovation and continuous technological breakthroughs are required on a daily basis. The internet of things is coming and it will need more energy than ever before. The problem is that all these fossil fuels like coal, gas, oil are destroying our eco system and global warming is leading to an unsustainable planet, as we are destroying habitats and environments indiscriminately.
We are exterminating whole species and microorganisms on a scale similar to the extinction of the dinosaurs. The sad reality is that extinction of a species is final and billions of years of evolution die with it. We are destroying the oceans and the land and all living creatures are threatened by the indiscriminate growth of our species. We have no idea how nature works despite our huge scientific knowledge and research in various fields. The more we learn the more we understand that there is still much we do not understand, about the interdependence of life and creatures around us. The creationists would have us believe that we are created in God’s image; but do they even understand God’s compassion and his laws that are progressive, which allow the blossoming of nature in all its variety and complexity to develop. If we are created in his image then we should be better harbingers of our environment and must ensure that we become the custodians of His world, and everything that exists in it.
There are of course some scientists who have understood our interdependence on everything around us and are pushing for change. Renewal energy whether from solar, wind, biogas, tidal, fusion, fission, algae must be developed to wean us away from the carbon dependency of our addiction to cheap coal and oil. With seven billion humans and growing our energy and resource needs are assuming Malthusian proportions. Global warming has to be reversed or we will face mass extinction of more species of flora, fauna, microorganisms, animal and bird species with devastating effects on our own survival.
There is of course progress being made on renewal sources of energy across Europe, China and America and they are the main consumers of energy today. For example GE just confirmed orders for 3,900 MW for its wind turbines in the US alone, as they have become more efficient. Similarly the dormant nuclear energy industry is showing signs of renewal and new plants are being built again, though the problem of storing nuclear waste still remains. Solar is another area where giant strides can be made to harness the power of the sun to provide for our needs. More funding is required to make alternate energy sources available and also we need innovation to make existing transportation, habitats and lifestyles more energy efficient to reduce our carbon footprint.
My #hope is that instead of destroying each other, we need to find a way to coexist and prosper. The whole universe is available for us to grow, but if we kill our own blue planet then we will have nowhere left to call home. Human ingenuity and innovation knows no boundaries and we have a lot of work ahead of us still to do. In the pursuit of happiness we need to raise our compassion and love for all creatures, as that is the only sustainable path for our future and the generations to come.

“Good Morning”

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There is a thick fog that has covered the bay, as I walk into the dark early predawn hour. A distant fog horn sounds from a passing ship and I peer at the lights, that are circled by the mist and appear dim. I realize it is not my vision that is in a blur, but that the world itself has become opaque from this phenomenon of water and moisture and inverted temperature, causing me to feel disconnected and lost.

I walk on and hear the rumblings of the trucks down Queensway from the Long Beach harbor to the hinterland carrying goods to the consumers of this great land. This Queensway is a road to commerce; very similar to the Queensway of my youth which connected Connaught Place to the Viceroy’s palace on Raisina Hill, in New Delhi. They were both named after the Queen Mary and yet they are not related.  The contrast in ambiance and looks cannot be starker as one was a display of colonial power and this is a utilitarian road of commerce.

As I turn to go back I feel lost in the fog, as familiar signposts are no longer visible. My mind feels the need to identify these comforting signs and I realize that our lives need similar milestones to guide our daily journey. When we lose the familiar we feel lost; and then fear and anxiety and the consequences of these which are loss of self-confidence and the feelings of inadequacies, rear their ugly head. We are the creatures of habit and anything that disturbs our comfortable cocoon makes us uneasy.

Now that I am uncomfortable and vulnerable the morning walk is not as pleasant and thoughts arise of getting back quickly to the familiar hotel room. I realize that this is the crux of our problems, as we are not ready to step out into the unfamiliar. We are not ready to give up what we have built around us, to find the path we need to travel. We cling to our egos as it defines us and do not allow the souls journey to continue, as it will lead us into the opaque and the unknown.

We have to get out of our comfort zone and become vulnerable again, to realize love and compassion. We do not initiate sex with our partner or build loving relationships with those around us due to the fear of rejection, and so it becomes a cycle of withdrawal and jilted relationships. We narrow our world into one where we are no longer free, but confined by our own fears and imaginations of inadequacy.

The fog still sits heavy on the river but now I am ready to go with its flow. I realize that until this ego is killed I cannot be free. My life was carefree and I wandered this world in wonder in my youth, and now that #hope and joy is long gone. I have allowed the fog of fear, uncertainty, unwholesomeness, anxiety become the norm, till I am no longer whole. The perfection we seek often takes us further away from the joy of discovering our own uniqueness, and the uniqueness of those around us.

The morning will come and the sun will rise and burn this fog away. Similarly we have to awake to our own imperfection and then with consciousness drive our fears away. We have to allow ourselves to become vulnerable again, as only then can we open ourselves to the compassion and joy around us. Until we can forgive ourselves and bring compassion to ourselves, we cannot spread compassion to others.

Deeply hurt I stumble into the hotel lobby and know that the healing has begun; and a new life will dawn for I am unloved, because I am unloving. I open my heart a little bit and say “Good Morning” to the surprised lady at the front desk; as she has seen my predawn wanderings before, and I used to pass her silently sulking away to my room. She gives a sleepy smile after her tiring night shift; and jokes that the city seems blurry this morning. I agree hoping that our personal fog will also lift; I can see clearly now that it is only in dying to our self, that we will be reborn to eternal life. My joy returns and spreads outwards…

Dream silence

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With great #Hope for #Self actualization I read the first verse of the Isa upanishad:

īśā vāsyam idaṃ sarvaṃ ¦ yat kiñca jagatyāṃ jagat |
tena tyaktena bhuñjīthā ¦ mā gṛdhaḥ kasya sviddhanam ||

literal translation (Ralph T.H. Griffith, 1899):

“Enveloped by the Lord must be This All — each thing that moves on earth.
With that renounced enjoy thyself. Covet no wealth of any man.”

It is only in the darkest of nights that you can see a pinpoint of light appear like a bright star. Similarly it is in the quite of meditation that you can hear the roar of the ever expanding universe. It is when you still the heart; that you hear its pounding and the pulsation of our body, as it screams out its existence. As I walked past midnight the sounds of far highways and the activities at the nearby harbor; seemed to suddenly emerge and when you seek silence, is when you hear the most.
So waste the time and do nothing, and suddenly you will find yourself in the midst of all the action. When you still your thoughts; then more will rush in from the far corners, of consciousness. No wonder people will not meditate; as we find it too distracting, and we lose the motivation to seek realization. Consciousness is not in doing something for reward but in being present with the whole universe surrounding us. It is then that we become one with everything and compassion and love flow as everything is one with us.

Singularity in a state of consciousness is a hard state to live in, as we love duality. Us and them, mine and yours, it goes on and on and we stay confused, hurt, hateful and unfulfilled. Watch your breath and stay calm and then the powers of universal knowledge appear and we are swept away with the joy of the creator. He is not separate from us and we are him and he is us, and every single moment becomes eternal.
When you live a moment in time then you have gained eternity itself, as everything is connected. Now is the moment that awareness rises and duality falls away. I seek so I find. Having found then one only has to live with it; as what we gain is not the treasures of possession, but the joy of renunciation. As the Isa Upanishad said and Mahatam Gandhi pointed out “Renounce and enjoy” should be our only mantra for life.
So I will seek the solace of my bed again in this passing night as the body is weary and the mind is restless. I pen these thoughts with an effort for life is fleeting and there is much to say. I am; so the universe exists, and when I sleep the dreams will come again. The past lives on in us and we are attached to the karma of our past; just like the child who smiles in its sleep, remembering the times when it was happy. On awaking it cries; for life demands survival, and all that comes with it.
Thus we cry on as life is suffering; and all we seek, we will never find. I give you eternal life and what will you do with it. Will you continue to look for what you do not have, or will you learn to enjoy all that you already have. It is a conundrum and who is happy and who is unhappy, is only known to the wise. I take a breath and allow consciousness to slip away and yet the mind clings to this maya of appearances, and I cannot sleep. Then I drift into a dream and all is real again.

Dock of the bay

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In the predawn hours the clouds were slowly emerging from under the night’s cloak over the Pacific Ocean. I watched a pair of Pelicans do their synchronized skimming; just above the waters of the Los Angeles River, as they looked for their school of fish. They swam upriver and disappeared and then soon returned still executing that tantalizing close flight to the water with the occasional dive to catch their prey. They were intent on their morning catch, in what is largely an unknown ditch across the city; and finally turns into a bay where the old Queen Mary is docked, as a tourist attraction and hotel in Long Beach.
The palms were lining the Marina as the light got brighter and the distant hills came into view. The sun was still not up as I walked, and the morning awaited its appearance. There seemed to be a hush of expectation from the new day as the night had brought passing showers to parched southern California.

The palms and flowers planted looked greener and brighter and a few drops remained in some places adding to the expectation of hope of better things to come. A few fitness enthusiasts were around passing me on their bicycles or just jogging along the scenic pathways; bordering the river, and the landscaped gardens. I watched the light going off, in the city of lights; as the dawn approached. I knew that in this city of dreams and #hope, the dreams of millions fade into the night, as they awake to a new day.
I find a dock and as I sit looking at the bay, I just can’t get Otis Redding’s words out of my head, “Looks like nothing’s gonna change
Everything still remains the same
I can’t do what ten people tell me to do
So I guess I’ll remain the same, listen”
Reflecting with the endless waves of the ocean; I find that my body is growing weaker, from a lack of workouts and exercise. My mind is not as sharp; from a lack of stimulus and also the aging process, which is destroying billions of synapses and cells in the brain. My heart is growing weaker from its inability to love and express affection, whether it is physical or emotional. My habits are not conducive to a better life and the smoking is burning my lungs, throat and body up slowly but steadily. My soul is starving as I do not allow the universe to bring its healing power to me, but remain confined in my narrow world of sin and suffering. My life is wasting away on this bay and nobody is here to show the path, of where to go.
Then I allow the mind to become still in the ancient meditation taught by the Buddha, as I close my eyes and look inwards and allow compassion to spread outwards. A gentle ocean breeze tickles my skin and the sounds of the sea gulls encroaches the peace. I sit still and let the past fade and the future recede and the present is all there is. Thoughts and feelings arise and I let them come and go and stay unattached. I enter the darkness of my consciousness and drift on the ocean of eternity.
Suddenly the darkness is thrust asunder by a light that seems to arise from the deepest darkness of the time before creation. My eyelids turn orange and my eyes are no longer under my control. They burst open and I see a straight line of bright light leading from where I sit across the ocean to the mountain peak across the bay. A single ray from the rising sun peaking over the valley has appeared for me, and only we know each other in a primordial dance of life. Another day has begun and #hope and life are etrnally reborn; I rise to live another day, with the past and my personal pains forgotten.

Lights – Despair, Faith and Hope on Broadway. Preface

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How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
~ ‘Ulysses’ by Tennyson

“Mommy, Mommy!”
Little Henry stood by the doorman at the curb, under the gargoyles peering down at him from the entrance of their granite prewar building. He pulled at Vera’s skirt, “Why do we have to move from here? I like it here and all my friends are here.”
The doorman, in his well-ironed, starched, gray uniform, finally waved down a yellow cab. With his white-gloved hands, he opened the door for Henry and Vera to get in. Doffing his hat at Vera, he whispered, “Have a good day, Miss Lights.” He bowed and closed the door once she had settled in.
Vera instructed the cab driver, “Carter Hotel in Times Square, 250 West 43rd Street.” She noticed Henry staring out of the other window, fascinated by a dog walker taking six dogs out for a walk to Central Park.
She looked at her watch. She was running a little late, as it had taken her some time to settle Loretta with the baby-sitter and get Henry ready. He had insisted on coming with her. She looked out and watched the stately buildings of the Upper West Side and the fancy stores and restaurants go past as they headed downtown.
Vera was meeting one of her old friends from the theater district who had been a producer, and was one of the investors in the recently built Carter Hotel. She planned to move into two rooms of the hotel permanently. The current apartment was costing her too much money and she knew she had to do something, as her savings were dwindling every year.
The producer was offering her a ten-year lease at a ridiculously low rate as he had made a lot of money when he had invested in one of her past performances.
The doorman’s words clicked in the cab driver’s mind and he suddenly recognized Vera’s beautiful face. “Wow!” The cab driver said, looking at her in the rearview mirror, “Ms. Vera Lights, the famous Broadway Star! My wife is a huge fan and has seen most of your performances. Wait till I tell the missus who I gave a ride to today!”
Vera gave him a small smile. She was used to being a celebrity and evoking strange responses in complete strangers.
They finally pulled up to the façade of the hotel and the cab driver refused to take money for the fare saying, “The missus will kill me if I charge her heroine, Vera Lights, for a ride. Please, this trip is on me and it is an honor to have you ride with me.”
The doorman of the hotel held the door open of the cab as Vera and Henry stepped out; and then he guided them into the lobby. Vera and Henry walked in for the first time in their lives through the doors of the hotel which was about to become their Times Square residence.
*
The journey of Veronica Jones, a farm girl from rural upstate New York State, into a Broadway star by the name of Vera Lights, started at a regional theater in Albany.
Veronica’s parents were tenant farmers and she was an only child. She was a healthy young girl with a glowing complexion and had inherited her mother’s good looks.
Her school was part of a theater competition, organized by a philanthropic organization set up by some of New York City’s old families, for the promotion of the theatrical arts. Her natural talents as a singer, dancer and stage performer were recognized as she stood out amongst the other performers in the competition. When the director of a touring company of playwrights and performers from New York City expressed an interest in her joining their company, her father had objected strongly.
It was her mother who encouraged her. She did not want Veronica to have the hard life of a farmer that she herself, as an ex-city girl from Brooklyn had endured when she married her love and moved to the farm in upstate New York. Her dreams of moving back to the city had never materialized and she had resigned herself to her fate. She had worried about the mortgage and how to bring up Veronica so that she would have a more equitable chance in this world. She did not want her daughter to suffer the same fate and persuaded her husband to let her go and explore the world and make a new life.
It was the Director who coached and refined Veronica’s skills. She had worked with the larger troupe and learnt many of her early lessons in the theater, as they performed across the state and city. The travelling and the performances made Veronica very busy and she immersed herself into the acts and the plays. As is often true in smaller companies, she learnt multiple parts, and her natural talent was improved by countless hours of practice and rehearsals.,.
Her big break came when she was selected for her young fresh farm looks to play the part of Abbie in an off-Broadway revival of Desire under the Elms from the famous playwright, Eugene O’Neil. It was also at this time that the director changed her name to Vera Lights to make it more glamorous and appropriate for a star.
The play was a huge success and the young Vera played the tortured role of the young wife of the old farmer and his two grown sons in a lonely farmhouse to perfection. To the city dwellers the vistas of farm living were stark and made the characters appear larger than life.
A young critic at the New York Herald by the name of Jake Alexander was especially enthusiastic about her performance and gave her great reviews. “A new star has been born and Vera’s performance brings alive the desolate life of O’Neil’s young heroine in a natural talent that is so fresh and yet so ageless. This revival is a must see as the young Miss Lights brings alive a role that many other major stars have struggled to portray. Her final scenes will be scorched into the audience’s memories and no one can come away unmoved by her enactment of her character’s moral struggles and lonely despair.”
Vera’s career went on from there to new heights as she became a recognized star. She won new roles and became a regular feature in the leading theatrical circles of New York. She was wooed by many young men and married one of the young and handsome men after a whirlwind courtship.
Elliot, her new husband, and Vera, settled down in New York City where she bought an apartment with her income from her new stardom. They became a fixture in many of the city’s gatherings of young stars and old money as they hobnobbed with the rich and famous. Her life seemed perfect and she was living out all her dreams and all of Broadway and New York City seemed to adore her and put her on a pedestal of stardom.
She received another break when she was selected to play Stella in the Broadway production of A Streetcar named Desire, one of the most eagerly anticipated productions of that year.
*
Vera’s story is closely tied to the environment of midtown Manhattan and the history of the city’s decline and rise. There are references to actual events and persona during this period from the 80’s to present day for completeness and are in no way intended to represent their views or lives.
Midtown’s deterioration, the shutdown of some of the famous theaters of the area and its decline into a crime prone area, is tied into the lives of Vera and her children.
The neighborhood had become seedier and was soon known as the armpit of New York. Crime had soared to 2,300 felonies in 1984 or six assaults a day.
The Light family’s struggle is the story of the people of this great city who persevered against all odds, and especially of single mothers, trying to raise their children in a hostile world.
I refer to Herb Sturz of NJ who had taken up the cause of NYC revival and especially of Times Square with a passion and dedication unrivaled by other skeptics and doomsayers in the city.
In 1979, Sturz became deputy mayor of NYC, defining his job when he said, “We want to bring fantasy back to Times Square and replace the grim reality,” as reported by Sam Roberts in ‘A Kind of Genius: Herb Sturz and Society’s toughest problems.’ He enlisted the help of Rebecca Robertson, an experienced city planner, and involved other leading community activists to reinvent the Great White Way.
Douglas Durst and his landlord family, along with others with large holdings in the area, initially fought any government intervention, considering it wasteful. Eventually, Durst started to realize that Sturz was serious in his efforts and went on to build the 4, Times Square building on his holdings, with a major investment and boost for the area.
It was the first green 48 stories tall skyscraper. It houses NASDAQ with the largest LED screen (seven stories) and solar panels on the roof and taller floors. Gigantic fuel cells warm water for the building and Natural-gas chillers cool it, saving electricity. The air is cooled using special shafts and conduits to enhance filtering.
Also, plans were made to build a glass and steel tower at what became the prestigious new address of One Times Square in a revived midtown.
Cora Cahan, a theater impresario, revived the New Victory for Children plays, as it was her lifetime passion to revive family fun in midtown. As part of the city’s revival they reached out to many major corporations for support and Ford Motor restored the Lyric and Apollo theaters back to their former glory.
Disney renewed the most famous of Broadway theaters, the New Amsterdam, for live plays, based on their popular movies. Modern Broadway was born and over 20 million tourists a year made Times Square the greatest tourist destination in the US.
The theatrical revival led to 39 Broadway houses with 7.5 million theatergoers, making it the best live entertainment in the world. With the improved infrastructure over 200,000 commuters a day passed through Times Square, making its seedy past a faint memory.
*
From her rise to the heights of society, we come upon Vera at a time when her world is collapsing around her, at a time when the Great White Way has crumbled. Slowly, the theaters have closed and, as the producers move on to less risky investments, the work has disappeared.
After a series of unsuccessful short marriages with agents and leading men of her times, she has two children, Henry and Loretta.
. The one shoulder she can lean on is that of her friend, Jake Alexander, who is also Loretta’s godfather. He has known Vera from her younger, vibrant days as a star. Jake is the theater critic of the New York Herald and goes on to become a Pulitzer Prize winning reporter and editor of the New York Times.
Vera, sick of touring the regional towns for negligible pay, comes back to live in her Upper West Side rented apartment in New York City. And then moves on to Hotel Carter.
Will the new world that aims to reinvent the Great White Way, with the revival of NYC and especially of Times Square, allow Vera and her family to bring alive their hopes and dreams from the depths of despair? This is the very essence of this tale.

The butterfly effect- a short story

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14

After a grueling trip; I found myself in the hot and dusty city of Aurangabad, after a tedious journey for reasons that I cannot now remember. It began innocently after a couple of scotches with old friends. We were a couple of houses away in our development in the suburbs; when upcoming India trips were being discussed, to pass the time.

I had let slip that I had long had a desire to see the Buddhist caves of  Ajanta and Ellora and immediately Mr. Ranade from Aurangabad chimed in, that he had the best contacts and he would make all the arrangements in his native place. Not having the least idea about what I was getting into; as until that day the only information I had, came from old India tourism pamphlets that left a lot to the imagination.

There are beautiful apsaras and heavenly creatures and the life of the Buddha; all carved out and painted in the caves, so many centuries ago. I wanted to be transported back in time when life was meaningful and hope and happiness were all around; in the compassion of a society lived by simple laws, laid out by the Buddha in his wisdom.

 My romantic notions were not much appreciated by Mr. Ranade; who I believe is a competent Managing Director, at one of those too big to fail megabanks. “We have to make sure that you have a safe trip, and must make all the proper preparations for your upcoming visit,” Mr. Ranade told me the next day and promptly rattled of a list of things, for me to do.

He soon took over all the practical planning and helped me shop for my onrushing adventure with appropriate insect and bug repellents; malaria tablets topped off by some awful jaundice shots from this entirely too old doctor, just to make sure that my travel is safe, to my foreign motherland.

Mumbai had been a mad chaos as the traffic at rush hour had been total mayhem, but somehow the little yellow and black taxi driven by a Mr. Singh; seemed to weave its way in and out of the traffic in those crazy patterns of Indian embroidery, gone bad. All the time we exchanged the latest weather and other news; in a strong Doaba Punjabi; while he drew paisleys on the roadways, and then neatly executed Hindu swastikas at the crossroads.

I hired him by the day and he showed me all his favorite spots in Bollywood; and where all the filmy stars lived, and played the greatest hits on his radio, while we watched sunsets, drinking coconut juice with wood coal roasted corn. He also showed me the free trade zones; where office towers rose to house the new IT and Telecom stars, of a flat corporate global world.

“Take me to your favorite eating place,” I asked him after a long day and hoping to live the life that he lived, however brief.

“I am not sure it is the right place for your sir, but if you insist there is a place close by where I often go to drink and eat.” He told me reluctantly.

 We imbibed these huge bottles of beer with tandoori chicken kebabs, daal, roti and naans, sitting on jute stringed charpoys; at a local dhabha, under the shadows of the towers of modern India. “I am too tired to go back to the hotel,” I told Mr. Singh, and he promptly yelled to the young boy serving us, “Bring some sheets and pillows for us, you good for nothing fellow.” And with a swirling pedestal fan to keep the mosquitoes away, we promptly slept under the open Indian sky.

The train to Aurangabad passed through the Deccan and the Western Ghats. The Ghats have their own climate based on the monsoon; and were intensely green in some parts, brown expanses of craggy hills and red valleys with streams running from the remnants of the monsoons, like silver streaks in the bright sun in other parts. I was fascinated by the countryside and could spy old forts on lonely peaks from where the proud Marathas, had protected their lands from incoming invaders.

Standing in the shade of railway platform one, a young boy claiming to be Sudhakar Ranade a third nephew to the amazing Mr. Ranade of America,  quickly took charge of my luggage. As I struggled with my luggage he quickly intervened and told me, “Please leave everything to me, my uncle has given instructions for us to make sure that your stay here is made comfortable and that you do not lack for anything. He is now the head of our family, and I am honored to serve you as our guest.”

 We were marched out in military fashion; with a poor red uniformed railway coolie leading our way up the stairs and across the metal bridge, to the exit. Much to my protests, he was happily carrying more than his weight; on his head and bags (laden with gifts from Mr. Ranade for his family) slung from his shoulders, than his thin legs would appear to allow.

 We ended up in a small fort like structure; a few miles out of the city, which was the ancestral home of the Ranade family; with ten foot high walls topped with high barbed wire, running around a large compound. On entering the large gates I found a sprawling complex with multiple dwellings, vegetable fields, cowsheds and horse carriages along the back walls in little huts, with asbestos sheets providing the roofs. The original stone mansion had been extended many times with brick rooms and other extensions based on the current generation’s needs. I was quickly given the honor of a room with an attached bathroom; as it had some prestige attached to it, as Mr. Ranade my friend, had personally had the house modernized some years back. This latest expansion was shining in the sunlight as I admired the sparkling new glass, steel and wood practical structure, designed by a leading architect in Mumbai.

The next day I was off to explore the caves and the four wheel drive vehicle arranged with a local guide proved to be a bumpy ride, over ill banked and often unpaved roads. Added excitement was provided by the gaily decorated trucks flashing bold colors and slogans, when they whizzed by harrowingly close, well past any advisable speed limits. The white pair of bullock carts with the high horns tied with twinkling bells hauling sugarcane to the nearby sugar mill, were of course more charming; but a greater menace on the road. The trucks swung around them playing a crazy game of live pinball, with swirling and flashing lights, accompanied with the playing of loud musical horns in a cacophony that are the local high ways. I was quite relieved when we stopped at a local stall for tea and breakfast and the guide explained, where we were headed and the plans for the day.

“We have engaged a knowledgeable guide for you and he will be with you, to explain all the history and details as per Mr. Ranade’s instructions.” The driver told me and explained where we would be staying and what the plan was.

When I returned home three days later; well satisfied after a long and detailed study of the caves, I had even more questions in my head than before I saw the paintings. Who had painted them and why and how could they have been able to do that in the dark without modern tools and equipment. It was definitely a labor of love and the art had left a deep impression on me, and I was still trying to understand the cultural and historical importance of these finds. What was this Nirvana that the Buddha had talked about, and my mind was even more confused that before.

 There was an urgent message waiting for me from Mr. Ranade, and Sudhakar had been anxiously awaiting my return it seemed. He said that a registered letter with acknowledgement due had arrived from the local municipal courts, and Mr. Ranade wanted to speak to me urgently on this matter. After refreshing myself I found myself having tea in the drawing room; in front of the huge color TV, where some cricket match was being watched with great enthusiasm. Mr. Ranade called into this milieu and asked for a huge favor; as he was extremely sorry to impose on me as an honored guest, in their home. He wanted me to accompany his lawyer to the local municipal courts, to clear up a complaint. He was stuck in important meetings with some mid-west banks and was unable to pull himself out of the work; and did not trust his uncles or nephews, as they were all incompetent and had allowed the situation to fester, for decades. Not understanding all that Mr. Ranade was asking; I still agreed as a friend to go with his solicitor, and report back to him as a friendly observer.

“Please make sure that this matter is resolved once and for all; with the help of our family attorney, who will meet you tomorrow and explain everything.” Mr. Ranade explained over the static, and the cheering of the people in the room as the match took an interesting turn.

 The next day Mr. Aggarwal BA, LLB etc. etc. was sitting in the veranda on the white comfortable rattan chairs with extra cushions and enjoying the paneer pakoras that the cook had rustled up for vakil sahib. I joined him timidly as he joked loudly with the staff; oddly intimidated by his black coat and tie, and impressive khaki files tied in red ribbons lying in view on the table. After a loud guffawing laugh about the washer man’s wife’s latest escapade, he finally turned his attention to me. “Ah Mr Kapoor it is good to meet a friend of my dear client Mr. Ranade, come all the way from the US of A.” He shook my hand in a plump, oily and limpid grip and solemnly picked up a file and passed it over to me.

I fumbled with the red ribbon and did not know what to do; but Mr. Aggarwal came to my rescue and in two swift moves, removed the red ribbon and handed me a bunch of papers on government stamp duty paper; with the impressive seal of the Reserve Bank of India or other government symbols, and red lac where they had been sealed and were now open for my inspection. “This new officer at the municipal office Miss Sita Devi is ruthless sir, and probably a witch. She is pursuing each case diligently and now our turn has come, to go up before her in her office. She is a shrew sir; and nobody can escape from her, once she gets her claws on you.” He whispered leaning into my space; breathing the oily fumes from the savories, even though I knew there was no one around, who understood English.

“She is the embodiment of the Devi and rides a tiger, and his claws are deep and have already destroyed a lot of rich people in this area. Some of the oldest property complaints are being acted on by this lady; or tigress, if I may be so bold to say. It is their way to destroy the prestige and reputation of our dear old established families in this area. These low caste people should never have been allowed to come to power, as they are destroying the very fabric of our established society.” Mr. Aggarwal explained while I studied the papers before me.

At a quick glance it looked like a case for willful pollution and destruction of public land. It seemed some twenty years ago; there was noted spillage of water from this compound; out into the back public road. There was flooding in the area with filth and run off from the houses, cow sheds, chicken coops and horse stables. The problem was further compounded by the use of the area; as a preferred open human latrine by the locals, under the protection of the high wall. This morning ritual was helped by the use of a convenient tap with running water provided gratis, by the Ranade family.

Unfortunately a passing municipal inspector had got bogged down in the twenty foot mud road; that had become a nasty stinking swamp, and had to be rescued when his official car broke down in the thick of it. He had to wade through the muck and fell in when he missed a pothole and ruined his white uniform and brown Solar Toppee. He was rescued from the ignominy of drowning in the shallow waste, but could not get the smell off himself even after a week of daily oblations, of castor oil massages and yogurt rinse bathes. To add insult to injury the grandfather was smoking his hookah on the roof of the mansion with his friends; and being generally high, enjoyed this new found amusement happening in his own back yard, and had a whale of a time. He continued yelling hilariously at this moron with lewd insults to his ancestry, who would try and use this back way in the monsoon season.

He guffawed at the drenched official pouring out the brackish waste from his toppee, before putting it back on his drenched head; “What kind of a fool are you to come this way at this time of year? Even the village idiot Ramu knows, to avoid it during the four months around the monsoons,” he shouted down from the roof. With some final lewd remarks about his mother’s training to the fuming official, he was finally pulled back to the game of cards. They were soon laughing and engaged in their afternoon ritual of smoking and swapping stories; used to pass the time, amongst the town elders.

The case had lingered for two decades as is often the case of these less pressing matters. Big cases hogged the time and delays and dates were pursued by the prosecutors and the lawyers in a ritual that was time immemorial. Things in independent India had improved with the blind justice melted out, in dribs and drabs in this great sub-continent today. Now an exasperated Sita Devi in scouring the office for unclosed cases, re opened the twenty year old case and was asking for action.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that our most resolute Mr. Ranade; on becoming the Karta of the Joint Hindu Family, at the passing of his father at a young age from a heart attack, had made rapid amends. Along with the construction of the new wing; the architect had also designed a whole water harvesting, and environment friendly solution. This had been duly implemented and huge underwater reservoirs to reclaim the water from the monsoons had been installed. Drainage ditches and irrigation channels were built across the compound.

They were the secret to the fruit trees and other orchards blooming in the grounds of the compound, and in the green expanse across the now slightly elevated back road with more drainage ditches, all paid for by Mr. Ranade in his wisdom, some time back.

We set off in advocate Aggarwal’s car which turned out to be a white Ambassador, with white curtains and white cotton seat covers along with a driver all dressed in white. All along the way, Mr. Aggarwal enthralled me with his knowledge of the case and various dates and important evidences. Before setting off he had led me to a pump house in the compound and two gardeners had opened up various large potholes, showing indeed a modern sewage and water system installed and working. I had been requested by Mr. Ranade to represent him as a creditable witness, that the work had been completed as planned, and to excuse his personal appearance.

We got to the session court building and the driver fought his way through and dropped us off near the cart vendors; selling knick knacks, snacks and tea, who were blocking the only pedestrian walkway.  Mr. Aggarwal took command and steered me through a maze of typists with official stamp papers in small glass cases; and other touts hanging around everywhere, offering various services, to smooth the way through the court procedures, for small reasonable fees.

We entered a haven of organization from the chaos outside, when we entered Sita Devi’s office. It was a large wooden desk with four chairs facing it with a rattan weave seat and solid wooden legs. A petite dark lady was peering over her horn rimmed bi-focal; at the bearer in a khaki uniform, standing to one side, explaining the disappearance of a particular file.

“Go to the fourth section and look at the files in the third cabinet marked pending cases” Sita instructed the attendant. “The files for pollution cases are all there and hurry up and get the one in the old cases section.”

 She wore a starched white sari with a red stripe border and turned her attention to a smiling and subservient sounding Mr. Aggarwal. “Well Mr. Aggarwal, it is good to see you and I hope that you are better prepared, as I am not ready to give any dates for postponement of the case anymore.” They quickly dived into the details of the pollution case and her eyebrows rose when she saw that the Ranade family was involved in the case.

The bearer returned with the file and she reached out and I noticed that her hand was severely mauled. She was missing three middle fingers and only her thumb and pinky were left around scarred skin. She still managed to balance the file and set it before her on the desk, and started to raise additional points to Mr. Aggarwal. He rebutted all of them and showed the drawings and plans of the improvements done in the compound, to resolve the old issues.  She continued to write notes on the file’s columns with her left hand and seemed to concentrate on recording Mr. Aggarwal’s comments in a methodical and concise manner.

I was finally called upon to explain the absence of my friend Mr. Ranade, on important business in the mid-west of the US of A and my duty, as a witness for the day. She questioned my background and understood that I had a good position with an American multinational and had lived there for many years, and was here to represent my friend Mr. Ranade.

 When I vouched for the septic tanks and storage tanks she just looked on skeptically at the evidence. When I insisted that I had seen the evidence myself she just gave a small contemptuous laugh about trusting Americans and said “Mr. Kapoor you do not know this land or its people. I have seen many photographs tempered with and even seen water wells disappear overnight; and a wholly modern system like you describe is beyond even my imagination. Anyway good try, but I will go ahead and reserve judgment for negligence, as these papers do not impress me.”

I thought of my friend and made one last effort on his behalf, “No madam, you are mistaken as Mr. Ranade is a very sincere and good person. He has really executed what is laid out in this plan. Please come and see for yourself if you do not believe me.” I gave my most sincere explanation.

“Ha Ha! Ranade and sincere and good,” she slapped the desk in her merriment, “I do not know what world you are coming from, but I have lived in these parts for many generations and have never heard of them, being referred to in this way.”

Mr. Aggarwal also jumped in and made all kinds of conciliatory statements. On consultation with her calendar, it was decided that Sita Devi would visit the compound on the following Monday afternoon, and god help us, if she did not find everything as described in the plans. “I will be there promptly at 2:30 and do not want to hear any more excuses. The case will be decided next week either way.” With that she waved us out with a wave of her hands, and I could not but help but stare at the misshapen stump before I turned, and walked out of her office. She seemed to clutch at it with her other hand, as if some old pains had suddenly come alive.

On the way back Mr. Aggarwal was happy that we had made progress, he praised me for making a good impression; as he had never seen anyone tame the tigress before, when she got into one of her foul moods. “Why that stump armed cotton picker, is just trying to her throw her weight around as usual. She does not know who she is dealing with. She is lucky she is dealing with your friend, as other members of the family would not have been so tame in their response. She was just a cotton picker’s daughter and now she thinks she has become a high officer. That is what people call her behind her back ‘the stump’, and now she thinks she will make everything right again for her caste and people.”

I was intrigued by these new revelations from the suddenly relaxed Mr. Aggarwal, swinging back into his usual colloquial terms and expressions. He described how she had grown up in a poor family and like the hundreds of thousands of other young children of her community, worked in the cotton fields and mills. Her main job was to make sure the male flowers came in contact with the female flowers; and she would do it, going from row to row during the growing season.  She seemed to love her work and would be seen skipping between the rows with her other friends, as children often play; while doing more work, than the adults.

Mr. Aggarwal described how when she was around fourteen, she had been able to get work at the cotton mill to support her family, as the pay was much better. Within a year she had met with an accident; when her hand had come into a machine’s blades. She was lucky that they saved what they could, from her shredded parts. Luckily the surgeon at the city hospital had attended to many similar cases of accidents at the local mill before, and was able to patch her up satisfactorily. He never claimed to be a plastic surgeon and left terrible scars, but saved her hand for what it now was. She received a lump sum payment from the mill and they picked up her health care costs for the first year. The mill owners and officials then promptly forgot about her and the other similar cases, attributed to employee negligence in the official files.

Sita was devastated that she could not work and bring in income to support her family and instead had become a burden on them. It was her neighbor; who was a teacher at the local public school, who saved her. She dragged her to school with her and fed her during lunch, from her own meager meals. Painstakingly she taught Sita how to write with her left hand, now that she could not write with her right hand. She knew that only education could help a physically handicapped person, from becoming a beggar in this community. Sita’s parents were relieved to have her take care of Sita; while they worked and soon she settled into a normal school girl’s life, with lots of help from her neighbor

“That no good uppity neighbor was always trying to make her people better that they are.” Mr. Aggarwal remarked. ”If the government did not give them special quotas and privileges we would still be leading our normal lives. Our hard working youth are suffering from lack of economic opportunity, while these folks are living off the government largesse”

Half the money from the settlement had been saved and when she got into the big university in Poona, the money came in handy. Sita with two other girls also going off to Poona; said their tearful goodbyes to their families at the ladies compartment, at the Aurangabad railway station, as the train pulled away. They were to be away for three years with holidays in between, when they would come back to visit.

 Sita had got into one of the best colleges because of the quota system for her community, and she blossomed in the open inquisitive atmosphere of the liberal thinkers. She began to participate more openly and soon was overwhelmed with the storehouse of knowledge that she had found. Poona had many other colleges and students and she soon made friends; amongst the budding lawyers, doctors, other historians like her. She had more difficulty understanding the more serious scientists; with their important sounding labs and other scientific, and mathematical activities.

Slowly she picked up more confidence and joined the debating society in her second year on the persuasion of a close friend, who was an avid debater. They would go to different colleges and participate in discussing on current affairs and generally intelligential topics, which the professors dreamt up. In the end given the opportunities; she excelled at her work, and graduated almost at the head of her class.

The provincial officer’s exams proved to be a breeze, and she returned to Aurangabad under the same quota, that had given her all the privileges before. Her parents were ecstatic at her great success as she was the first one from her family, to get a government job.

 She was sent to a remote district for two years and promptly forgotten about, till election year when the local MLA (Member of the legislative state assembly) praised her work in the district. She had worked ceaselessly on behalf of young mothers and needy children by ensuring their vaccinations and care in the early months after birth. This had led to increased survival rates for the children and mothers who had often died undernourished and uncared for, by the local medical staff. The local public was very happy at the proper use of the health care funds, and the MLA was reelected with a thumping majority.

She was promptly removed; so a more senior officer could carry out the work, in a more organized way. Sita was transferred with a promotion to the district irrigation desk; where hopefully she would not do any further harm, in her new found enthusiasm for actual work.

 She again disappeared for over three years and then in a severe drought year, her area showed no signs of it, as she had worked hard to dig out the old ponds and reservoirs and lined them to help preserve the rain water, and maintain ground water levels. While the other districts around her suffered; she took the irrigation minister for boat rides on her man-made ancient lake, filled with two year old monsoon run offs.

                                                **

I went ahead and completed my tours of the remaining caves and waited for Monday hoping to see Sita Devi again in the compound. Something about the carved stone figures reminded me at times of the strong love for life, which Sita showed. It seemed that nothing could keep these people from their desired goals. The ancient statues took on new meanings; as at last I understood the pain and suffering; of the people, who built these temples, as an expression of art. I thought in my mind that living beings in the community are modern day examples, of those ancient myths. The beauty that the artists carved into rocks still lives, and one only has to look for it.

On the fateful Monday I had to run into town to finish some last minute errands and to post some letters and correspondence. My time here was coming to an end and I went to the fort and museum one last time and took in some other sights also. After lunch at a favorite restaurant, I headed in for the usual siesta in the hot midday sun; with strict instructions to be roused at two, so I could get ready in time for the appointment.

Mr. Aggarwal showed up in a cloud of dust; as his driver pulled the white Ambassador around, to disgorge him and his files outside the verandah. It was too early for the Bhisht with his goatskin sprinkler system, to come and water down the red gravel drive to the main house; and so the dust flew everywhere. The modern wing had a concrete driveway and I had wanted to have the meeting there.

“All meetings with officials have always been held in the main building’s old offices.” Mr. Aggarwal informed me dismissing any arguments on the subject. “We do not break tradition here and will entertain them in the family style at this great main building. This is far more impressive and will show the officer who she is really dealing with.”

They had planned the visit carefully; so that everything could be shown properly and the head Gardner in his uniform with a large starched turban, and a helper with a smaller turban, had been called to stand by for help with details. With their practical experience I felt that they were ideally suited to explain the advantages of water usage from the new systems. Mr. Aggarwal was hesitant to bring in these lowly staff, but had agreed on my insistence that practical experience was more important than semantics.

Sita Devi arrived promptly and without much ceremony and was shown in by the head Gardner, to the old impressive office with the huge oil portraits of past Ranades looking augustly down in all their glory. The two of us had waited anxiously for her arrival and promptly seated her and offered her tea from the antique silver and china set, brought by the bearer, accompanied by the fried savories, so favored by Mr. Aggarwal.

Sita Devi waved all these away “I have limited time and this is no time for a party. Let us get on with what you have to show me.” This was of course much to the chagrin of Mr. Aggarwal, who was eyeing the disappearing savories with a wistful expression.

Mr. Aggarwal walked her through the plans and maps laid out on the table for this purpose, and to save time. I put the photographs of evidence on the locations in the grounds, where they had been built. Sita reached out and started moving pieces around to understand the lay of the land. I could not look away as her right hand moved the piece above the first storage tank with her thumb and pinky, and the scar seemed to fascinate me.

“I have come here for an inspection and not to move pieces of paper and cardboard around on a table, watched by these ancient fossils on the walls.” She spoke looking straight at Mr. Aggarwal.

“We are ready to take you and show you the improvements,” I spoke up seeing the dumbstruck expression on Mr. Aggarwal’s face, and she turned to look me in the eyes and smiled.

“Lead away,” she said with the usual lively twinkle in her eye, and no nonsense approach that I had come to appreciate.

“I am sure that you will be impressed by what Mr. Ranade has accomplished, with the help of the design from the Mumbai architects.” I told her as the Gardner led the way to the fields under which the septic tanks were downhill. Later on it was planned that he will take us uphill, to the other side where the water harvesting tanks and pumps were.

“There is little a Ranade can do to surprise me, but I will take your word for it,” she walked with a spring in her step and I was able to appreciate her grace; in her sari tightly tucked in and the native figures of ancient India, seemed to come alive in her.

We came upon the first pothole and the Gardner and his assistant quickly pulled it up; and the assistant quickly climbed down the steel steps, down into the large dark tank, and flashed his flashlight all around to show its dimensions.   Satisfied we moved on to the other tanks and the Gardner explained the flow of the underground water pipes and the tanks, and how it all worked together.

He was especially proud of the septic tanks as ever since their installation, no waste had escaped from the compound for two years. Everything was so much cleaner and the old public gardens built across the road in the back; were prospering and already yielding fruits from the many orchards, growing there under the gardening team’s keep.

He was a proud man and would have continued on for a long time; but Sita cut him off with a curt “Thanks and off with you” kind of remark and the two of them trotted off, and left me alone with her as she sat on a bench admiring the orchards, spread out before her. “Times were not like this in the old days, and I agree with you Mr. Kapoor; that now having seen this…, your Mr. Ranade had done good work here. I can’t believe that I can say this about a Ranade, after so many years.” She suddenly clenched her right hand in her left hand as if to stifle an old pain that had suddenly come alive again.

“Yes I never realized what I was getting into when I mentioned Ajanta and Ellora for a desired visit. It has been a true eye opener for me in many ways.” I replied to her. “Tell me about the old days.” I said trying to distract her from her pain.

“Oh I remember being a butterfly and flying in the cotton fields growing up around here.” She looked at the horizon as she spoke, “My family was all there and we were all so happy. We would work all day and then enjoy the festivals and the dances of the seasons. But then this terrible accident happened,” she grimaced at her hand, “and my life changed completely after that. I will never forget that fateful day and the name of the mill, where I almost lost my arm and life.”

“It was a terrible time for me; and if I had not started studying, I do not know what would have happened to all of us. Now my parents live in my government bungalow and lord it over my domestic staff; as if it was their birthright, forgetting the times we went through before. I had forgotten all of this till your friend Mr. Ranade’s file came up. I had even forgotten my butterfly dream and it came back last night.”

As she continued to look at the horizon; I saw the harsh official look disappear from her face, and a young hopeful expression appeared as she mused “I was floating in my dream just like I used to do as a young girl. I went from the male flower and took it and went visiting the female flowers with it. I sampled the honey and flitted from flower to flower in my carefree flight. Thanks to you, the dream has woken up again and I am able to sleep at night.”

I could not say anything to her and just sat there nodding and looking at her strength and determination. I was overcome by the softness that had crept into her voice, as she seemed to remember a life when she was truly happy. She suddenly looked at her wrist watch and said it was time to go. I reached out automatically to shake her hand to say good bye. She stood perplexed for a minute and then she reached out with her claw, and thrust it into my palm and squeezed with her thumb and pinky.

“Oh you modern Americans are such romantics; and do not understand the weight of the ancient cultures, that we live with every day. Have a good journey back and tell your friend that everything will be all right now; with this case. I plan to close it finally once and for all, with some appropriate fines for past negligence. Tell Mr. Aggarwal to come to my office with copies of the plans and to help complete the paperwork, with proper affidavits”

I stood looking into her eyes while my thumb unconsciously soothed the scar skin on her hand, “I hope you have forgiven my friend and his family, then?”

She looked straight at me and said, “There is much about this country that you still have to understand my friend.” She gave a last squeeze and was off in her sari and brisk walk. “It has taken me a long time to understand; what forgiveness and hope truly means. I suggest that you give up your silly romantic notions, and learn about life from all that you have seen here. There is much work still to be done to restore all the wrongs, besides the ancient paintings and statues.”

That week end I was all packed and we did a final round to pick up some mementos of my trip. We headed into the old part of town and I found some unique handicraft shops, and was delighted with my finds. As we turned back the driver took a different route. He said that as the main road had an accident he would try and cut through the Mill grounds.

I had never realized that all along the side of the bazar was a tall wall, which ran down the length of it. The driver pulled into a small lane in the middle of it, and came upon a large green painted metal door and honked. A smaller door was opened and a watchman peeked out. Recognizing the car he pulled aside the large steel doors, and saluted as he let us in.

We drove through the mill, with all its workers and goods looking very busy; and at last emerged on the other side. This was the truck entrance to the main road and away from all the traffic tie ups. The driver was very satisfied; as he had fooled all the other traffic, and soon had us home in time for drinks before dinner. Even Mr. Aggarwal arrived and was served his usual tea and fried savories and snacks.

“I have prepared all the official papers to be presented at the office later this week,” He assured me. “Please tell Mr. Ranade that everything will be taken care of promptly as requested to close the case. It has been a pleasure working with you Mr. Kapoor and I wish you a pleasant journey back and hopefully we will meet again someday.”

  He handed me some important looking papers from the files he had brought with him. “Please deliver these to Mr. Ranade personally as they are important that he review them and get back to me. They are not related to this case, but other important matters that have I have been working on for him.”

I drove back to the airport via the highway and from the overpass, and turned around and took a last look at the town. There under the bridge I saw the long mill for the last time and the sign read Ranade Cotton and Ginning Mill. The connection to Sita Devis ‘s phantom pain and the Ranade name finally clicked in my mind. Suddenly in my confused and troubled mind; things I had not understood before, started to fall in place. I silently reviewed the events of the past few days, and felt a deep pain at all that I had not seen, even though it was right before my eyes.

Later on the plane I fell into a deep exhausted slumber and saw the dream for the first time. I am a butterfly flitting across a cotton field. I am going from the male flowers to the female flowers, sipping the nectar of the gods. Then as I fly, I see Sita looking lovelier as a butterfly, on the nearby row. As she reaches out to the male flower, I can see that she has all her fingers intact again. As I follow her flight; it seems that at her loving touch, the stems of cotton rejoice, causing them to bloom again.

 She is the beautiful goddess of life and nature, and I am so happy and full of hope, in just being with her in this life we cherish. True Nirvana is suddenly a butterfly; fluttering over a flowering cotton field. The ancient paintings and statues come alive and the apsara is no longer in the fables or ancient rock walls; but here with me now, and I find finally the sleep of awareness, and am free.