mypajama.com is all about storytelling. Stories and essays are published at an alarmingly infrequent rate. Subscribe with RSS or via email.

First things first. Every baby, by simply being a baby, is a successful baby. Being a baby is all any baby has to do in order to be a baby, and they all seem to be remarkably good at it. It is a powerful truth that eludes many grown-ups. But we are not talking about grown-ups here, are we?

We are discussing the ways of a creature far more motivated and discriminating. A being wiser than most that write our books or speak to us through TV or radio. A miracle that just might be the only reason higher powers tolerate our existence.

Partly because of the fluid nature of Hindu mythology, and partly because of my all too human memory, I cannot point out the precise source of this theory. It is a story about the creation of the universe. It says that the creator of the universe was not old man Brahma. It was Kama, god of desire.

First came the idea for a universe, and then, everything else. How perfectly sensible!

There is this thing we all know. It might just be the only thing we are all certain about. We think, we hope and we plan to the best of our capacity. And yet, nearly all of it is rooted in chance. The only thing that will happen for sure is that we will all die.

Is that why we don’t talk about it? Because we are sure it will come? The way I see it, it appears more a case of denial. We refuse to talk about it, we fear signs of ageing, we even presume we are safe and secure in our environments! We refuse to consider the possibility that we might just drop off the edge of a cliff one day — tomorrow maybe — and never return.

There is an enormous backyard somewhere. It is full of dogs. Every dog has his day. They are all seeking theirs. Actually, they are all chasing their tails, convinced that the day they have their tails between their teeth, will be theirs.

Dogs of all ages strain themselves. Some are more determined than others. Some are really not into it. They are just doing it because everyone else is. Many have been doing it for years and think they can’t stop now. In any case, everyone is going round and round.

Between all the praise flying around for Chak De India, combined with the occasional whine by people prepared to hate SRK no matter how well he acts, I saw the movie twice last weekend. Tricolour marketing and ‘India’ in the title aside, I couldn’t help thinking the story stood for much more than the mere patriotism flick it was being served as.

I can imagine the producers rubbing their hands in glee at the multiple marketing pitches the story presented. Patriotism, feminism, sports (a friend decisively labeled the movie ‘SRK’s Lagaan’). I got to thinking about what Chak De India really meant.

The goat chewed absent-mindedly as a small group on the other side of the stable made merry. A bull, flanked on either side by a brown horse, was saying, “Her skin was like milk and her neck was like marble.” His friends approved of the direction the story was going in by mooing and bleating their general appreciation. The bull continued, “She nuzzled my neck, ‘Mahabali, take me! Make me a cow,’ she said.”

“This is what Ayodhya is coming to,” said a displeased voice from behind the goat. The goat turned and momentarily stopped chewing. A beautiful cow stood in front of him. There was hay in her mouth but she wasn’t chewing. She looked holy.