© The Indian Express Pvt Ltd
Tags:
Journalism of Courage
A swami isn’t always a mentor, and a mentor is hardly ever a swami. But both can either ground us in the very deepest roots of our human existence or tear us apart into isms that are created merely to serve their own purposes. A mentor mustn’t try to fashion their protégé into a copy of themselves; a good mentor guides their mentee to become a fuller and greater version of who they already are. And for their part, a good swami doesn’t prey upon those in need of tender love and care, turning their followers into sheeple, blind adherents of their brand of faith and religion. A good swami connects their disciples to the divinity that resides in each of us and which is that connecting link that makes all living beings one and equal, as they are all part of the one, the supreme, the creator.
My papa was a prankster and jovial man whose work made the Indian government lucratively sounder in its coffers. Papa treated his job with utmost respect; he brought both his humanity and intelligence to it. His was a balance between professionalism and mindfulness that allowed him to perform his duties as an officer of the Indian Revenue Service with diligence and without corruption and, while doing that, also be son, husband, father, brother, brother-in-law, cousin, uncle, grandfather, and friend.
Papa’s high in life wasn’t just meeting the parameters and deliverables that would make his professional life more celebrated and remarkable, but instead, he worked smarter and harder so he could draw every bit of happiness and joy out of each opportunity with his family and friends that life would send his way. When others around him would take his designation too seriously, he would remind them that once he turned 60 and retired, the titles and trimmings of intoxicating power and indulgence would stay attached to the seat and would be totally unfulfilling and of no use to him. After every posting in his career as a tax man, he left scores of businessmen and private citizens in his debt as his mentees. No surprise then that years after his retirement, at his prayer meeting in a very large auditorium, we had standing room only and people coming to pay condolences who had flown in from every place he had ever worked. Each one brought a story about how he patiently taught them the importance of being a responsible citizen while at the same time being mindful and aware of their own rights.
Born to Bhagat Saran Bhatnagar, a Radhasoami, Papa was raised vegetarian and remained a teetotaler till his last breath. We came of age in a vegetarian and dry household, and I was very uncomfortable as a child around people who ate meat, which was mostly everyone outside of my family. Papa certainly had a sense of pride in my convictions, but also encouraged me to not be didactic in my adherence to principles of faith. He would encourage me to look at these rules as mere guidelines and then have the intelligence to relate them to my life, my circumstances, and my moment in time. He encouraged me to appreciate how my choices and my beliefs would impact the world I inhabited and shared with others.
One day, I asked him why he took family and friends to restaurants and clubs where he would offer them meat and drinks to indulge them in ways they were accustomed to. I asked him, why would he push me to accept those who went against our sect’s views? He replied that when we create divides and isms that separate ourselves from others, we are working against the one Creator who made humans with the intent of seeing them live their own lives. It is this blind adherence to convictions that separate us and make us haters rather than lovers.
I was in my teens when Dr. Prabha Manchanda, my mom’s best friend and gynecologist, allowed me to intern at her clinic. Seeing her work tirelessly for what seemed like days on end, every week, all year long, I started putting doctors on a pedestal. Aunty was my hero, she was my teacher, my friend and champion.
It was in her clinic that I saw firsthand both the vagaries and fulfillment that comes with medical practice. I saw that we humans very happily and hungrily use scientific research and inventions for our benefit and then cling to the dogmas of religiosity with myopic fanaticism. But through her example, I learnt at a young age to appreciate the essential duality that makes religion and science two sides of the same coin, the coin that is life and living, humanity and the human experience. By the time I graduated Class XII and left home to study arts and design at Sir J.J. School of Art in Mumbai, I had made my peace with both.
Papa taught me about our humanity and the human collective, through his acceptance of the other and through the balance of his work and personal life. Dr. Manchanda, who had celebrities, statesmen, and social climbers vying for her attention and skills, taught me through her patient care given to my family and me the power that we have within us to heal and inspire, care and share, if only we will connect with the humanity and grace that exists within ourselves and in those we think of as the other.
Both Papa and Dr. Manchanda lived as mentors and had the charismatic and powerful perch afforded by their professions. Their words were revered by all who sought them and watched them live their lives. Their magnetic personalities made them into heroes with near supreme powers, or so it seemed. They could have turned thoughts into movements and changed the world to their own advantage. But these mortals that I had close access to, one through blood, and the other who brought me into this world, used their powers and humanity for the advantage of the world at large, not just for selfish or sectarian gain. They remained mentors through the arc of their lives, and in doing so, became the swamis the world wanted them to be. They righted wrongs, supported those challenged by life but with the same potential for greatness they saw in themselves, and worked tirelessly to give the safety of welcome and inclusion to others who prayed, worked or dressed differently than they did. They made their gurukuls (religious schools) a haven for open ideation, the frank sharing of thoughts, and hungry exchanges of ideas and discovery. They took those fortunate enough to cross their paths to places of greater and heightened living and thinking where the other would become a friend and not an enemy.
