IN THE GLOW OF MANY NAMES, ONE LIGHT REMAINS

 

Arunachala Hill,

(In the foreground, Annamalaiyar Temple Gopuram)

Thiruvannamalai, TN, India.

Every year, as the new moon (Ammavasai) of Kartika* darkens the sky, Hindu’s all over the world will light up Vilakku (oil lamp). The day when Deepavali or Diwali (often called the “festival of lights) is celebrated. But beneath its glow lie layers of history, faith, and regional memory that make it one of the most diverse celebrations in the world.

In parts of north India, people remember the homecoming of Lord Rama after fourteen years of exile and his victory over Ravana, an event described in the Ramayana vividly. As the story goes, the people of Ayodhya lit oil lamps to welcome him back, an image that still defines Deepavali’s luminous heart.

In south India, the same night recalls another triumph of good over evil, Lord Krishna’s slaying of the demon Narakasura, freeing the world from tyranny. The ritual oil bath before dawn is not just a cleansing act but a symbolic washing away of ignorance and ego.

Across western India, traders close their account books and perform Lakshmi Puja, inviting the goddess of wealth and prosperity into their homes and businesses.

In the east, the night belongs to Goddess Kali, fierce and protective, who destroys darkness to make way for renewal.

Beyond Hinduism, Deepavali carries light across different beliefs. Jains mark the liberation of Mahavira (the last Tirthankar aka Guru of Jainism). The Sikhs on the other hand, make reverence to Guru Hargobind Ji’s (the Sixth Guru of Sikhism) release from captivity and the event is called the Bandi Chor Divas (The Day of Liberation).

The stories differ, but their message converges, in the year’s darkest night, humanity lights its lamps, of hope, courage, and inner clarity. Deepavali endures not just as a festival, but as a reminder that light, in all its forms, must be tended.

But beyond the events that has occurred over time as above mentioned that makes it a day for reflection, contemplation and action, is there any other astronomical, astrological or scientific explanation for this day to be auspicious?

Astronomically, Deepavali marks the end of one lunar cycle and the quiet beginning of another, a cosmic reset. In Indian thought, the Sun represents consciousness, and the Moon represents the mind. When they unite, the mind dissolves into pure awareness. Lighting a lamp, then, is not just ritual, it’s a symbol of inner awakening.

Astrologically, this new moon (Ammavasai) occurs in Libra, ruled by Venus (Sukran), the planet of balance, beauty, and prosperity. The Sun, said to be humble here, reminds us to seek harmony, to pause before the new harvest or business year, and to honour both material and spiritual wealth.

 

Then, there is an all-practical reason too, Diwali arrives just after the monsoon, when dampness breeds insects and disease. So traditionally, oil lamps, incense, and fireworks helped purify the air, while the custom of cleaning homes and exchanging sweets renewed community bonds and morale.

But then what does the scriptures say about this entire phenomenon that reverberates in the conscience of Hindus.  As the monsoon retreats and India prepares for winter, the Hindu calendar unfolds one of its most meaningful spiritual sequences, from Mahalaya Paksha to Deepavali, and finally the Karthigai Deepam. Though each carries its own rituals, together they form a single journey, from remembrance to renewal, from ancestral gratitude to cosmic connection.

The cycle begins with Mahalaya Paksha (this year it was between 7th-21th September), a fortnight devoted to honouring one’s ancestors (Pitru). The tradition holds that during this period, the veil between human and ancestral realms thins, allowing blessings to flow through generations. The rituals of tarpanam (ancestral offering) is not act of mourning but of continuity, reminders that our lives are extensions of countless lineages. Today, science offers a poetic parallel, our genetic code literally carries the memory of those who came before us.

When Mahalaya ends, the focus turns outward. Deepavali (this year celebrated on 20^th October), when the new moon of the Karthigai month, marks the year’s darkest night, when the Sun and Moon align, and the sky turns inwardly quiet. Lighting lamps and bursting firecrackers often seen as mere celebrational, but in actual sense they symbolize the guiding of ancestral energies back toward the cosmic source, echoing through light and vibration. It is a ritual of farewell and renewal, a recognition that life and death, light and darkness, are part of the same cycle.

The journey culminates in Karthigai Deepam (this year will be celebrated on 4^th December) , when countless lamps are lit again, this time reaching skyward. The Agaya Deepam (lamp of the sky) represents light freed from the confines of earth and body. In Tamil Nadu, the great flame atop Arunachala Hill in Tiruvannamalai embodies Shiva as eternal fire, the infinite consciousness into which all life ultimately merges.

Viewed together, these festivals form a spiritual continuum rooted in both astronomy and awareness. From Mahalaya’s remembrance to Diwali’s renewal and Karthigai’s cosmic light, the message remains timeless, we are part of a living chain, of energy, memory, and light. and every lamp we kindle is both a tribute to the past and a beacon for the future.

Let us celebrate the illumination of light meaningfully.

Cheers.

ravivarmmankkanniappan@123521102025 3.0567° N, 101.5851° E

*In most of northern and western India, where the lunar Amanta calendar is followed, the new moon that marks Deepavali concludes the month of Ashwin and ushers in Kartika. Hence, it is celebrated as Kartika Amavasya. In contrast, Tamil Nadu and parts of South India follow a solar calendar, in which the same Amavasya usually occurs within the month of Aippasi (mid-October to mid-November). Thus, Tamils celebrate Aippasi Amavasai as Deepavali.

When the Soul of Education Dies at Home

 

Photo of Teachers from Standard Type Primary School Tamil

Lanadron Estate, Panchor, Johor.

My late Pappa is seated 6th from the right.

(circa 1959)

There was a time when schools were sanctuaries, places where children not only learned to read and write but also to think, feel, and grow into moral beings. Today, that sanctuary feels fractured. What once promised hope now often breeds fear, anxiety, and alienation. We read too often about bullying, suicide, violence, and neglect within the school system. These are not isolated tragedies, but in fact they are reflections of a deeper national ailment, the slow death of our educational soul.

But the decay didn’t start within the classroom walls. It began at home.

Education was never meant to be confined to textbooks or classrooms. It begins in the earliest moments of a child’s life, in the warmth of family, in the habits modelled by parents, in the values taught around the dinner table. Yet, the modern household has become a space of exhaustion. Parents are stretched thin, working tirelessly to put food on the table. In their struggle to survive, the art of nurturing has been sacrificed to the altar of necessity.

Among the more privileged, the problem takes on a different form. Many believe that as long as they provide access to gadgets, tutors, and “good” schools, their duty ends there. The upbringing becomes transactional, where education is outsourced to institutions, empathy delegated to teachers, and discipline left to the algorithmic influence of digital media. But virtue cannot be outsourced, and character cannot be downloaded.

Children now grow up with the internet as their moral compass. They learn not through wisdom passed down by their elders, but through trends and viral content. They mimic what they see, without the grounding of right and wrong. The result is a generation that can code, create, and communicate, but struggles to empathize, reflect, or apologize. They are intelligent, but emotionally adrift, connected, but spiritually hollow.

Within schools, the crisis is equally dire. Many teachers have become job holders rather than educators. This is not entirely their fault, the system has conditioned them so. Teaching, once a calling, has been bureaucratized into a career defined by key performance indicators and endless administrative tasks. Teachers who once inspired are now buried under paperwork and digital reporting systems, leaving little room for genuine engagement with their students.

When passion is replaced by procedure, and creativity is constrained by compliance, schools cease to be centres of learning. They become factories for exam results.

The consequences are grave. A half-trained doctor might take a few lives, but an uncommitted educator, one who teaches without heart or purpose, destroys generations. The loss isn’t immediately visible, but it reverberates through society, in workplaces devoid of ethics, in public discourse devoid of empathy, and in leadership devoid of vision.

Our national discourse on education remains trapped in shallow metrics, exam scores, rankings, and policy slogans. We celebrate rising averages while ignoring the psychological and moral collapse beneath. When a student dies by suicide or another is bullied into trauma, the response is always the same, statements of concern, promises of investigation, and silence that follows when the news cycle moves on.

The real crisis is not academic but cultural. It is the collective surrender to mediocrity and moral detachment. We have allowed education to be reduced to performance, not purpose. We value efficiency over empathy, results over relationships, and prestige over principle.

Reform, therefore, must begin not in ministries but in living rooms. Parents must reclaim their role as the child’s first teachers. Schools must rediscover their purpose as spaces that shape human beings, not merely produce workers. Teachers must be freed from bureaucratic chains and empowered to teach with passion again. And as a society, we must redefine success, not as grades or salaries, but as the ability to think deeply, feel compassionately, and act responsibly.

When homes lose their warmth and schools lose their soul, a nation loses its moral direction. What we are witnessing today, the rising violence, the emotional emptiness, the apathy, are symptoms of that loss.

If we do not change course, we will raise a generation that is intellectually brilliant yet spiritually bankrupt. A generation fluent in technology but illiterate in humanity. And when that happens, no policy reform or ministerial statement will be able to save us, because by then, we would have already forgotten what it means to educate a person.

Cheers.

The school today,

Originally built in 1903

(Photo courtesy, from Google Map)

ravivarmmankkanniappan@124318102025 3.0567° N, 101.5851° E

GOD AND INTELLECTUALS

 

Bust of Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara

(aka the Bayon Bust, teakwood bust at home)

King Surya Varman I of Cambodia was instrumental in creating the Thousand Linggas 

in Kbal Spean, to recreate the Ganges to flow into Angkor) 

Recently I chanced upon a book, “How Intellectuals found God” by Peter Savodnik, and I was truly intrigued by his assertion. His reference were people like Mathew Crawford, Paul Kingsnorth, Jordan Hall, Ayaan Hisri Ali, Jordan Peterson and also Elon Musk. Except for Ayaan, all other reference made were within the sphere of western, male and elite demography. ( I must say that I had to stop here, because of domestic duty calls)

(I am back to now, but accompanied by my dear friend Jameson),  indeed feeling highly spirited but still on track on the topic.  Savodnik’s main thesis is rather sociological, he asserts that the rationalist, technocratic worldview has run dry and he asserts that humanizing corrective is not necessarily “proof of God,” but evidence that meaning and morality can’t be sustained by materialism alone.

So is there a mass transmigration of intellectuals towards the entity called God. But then again do the world of believers need an endorsement from these intellectuals to validify the existence of the God Entity.

Thiruvalluvar, a saint/philosopher from the 3^rd Century BCE (era still disputed), who was considered to be the epitome of secularism, mentions in his first couplet in his famous Thirukural (deemed to be the Supreme Tamil literature on Virtue, Wealth and Love), “Akara muthala elluthellam aathi Bhagavan muthatrae ulaghu."  (அகர முதல எழுத்தெல்லாம் ஆதி பகவன் முதற்றே உலகு). This couplet states that just as 'A' is the first letter of the Tamil alphabet, the primordial God is the first and source of all in the world. So the first Tamil secularist has honoured the God entity as the opening couplet of his 1330 couplets that describes universal ethical and moral principles, guiding individuals through life's three core pursuits. Firstly it’s virtue (Aram), secondly, wealth and governance ((Porul), and thirdly, love (Inbam). It is a secular work containing lofty wisdom on a wide range of subjects, from individual morality and domestic life to social and political issues, offering timeless guidance for all of mankind regardless of caste or creed.   

In ancient Greece, we have Plato (427 – 347 BCE), inherited Socrates’ critical stance toward traditional religion, rejecting the Homeric gods as immoral and anthropomorphic. But in later dialogues (Timaeus, Laws), Plato developed the idea of a single divine craftsman (Demiurge) who created the cosmos rationally and benevolently. This was a major shift from scepticism about mythic gods to belief in a rational, transcendent God, a proto-monotheistic move that influenced later Christian theology.

So this transmigration of from a non believer  to a believer of some sort is not new. It has happened from time immemorial, since the dawn of civilization but at different pace according to the socio-political-economic evolution of mankind, contextually connected to the time.

I have often heard amongst my circle of network as well in my reading, many identify themselves of being spiritually connected but not identifying themselves with any ambit of a religion.  I just thought it’s just a fashionable rhetoric to differentiate themselves from the masses who are more rooted in rituals and the book of God.

J. Robert Oppenheimer (1904–1967), the theoretical physicist who led the Manhattan Project, was not religious in the traditional sense, but he was deeply spiritual, philosophical, and culturally religiously informed, at least that was what has been described about him. Oppenheimer himself described his upbringing as “Jewish in heritage but not in faith.” Oppenheimer rejected a personal God who intervenes in human affairs. According to his autobiography, Oppenheimer believed in an ordered, intelligible cosmos, where beauty and morality arise from understanding reality. His tone appeared reverential but non-theistic, sometimes described as “religious awe without religion.” In one of his interviews he says, “There are no gods, but there is the mystery of the universe, and that is enough”. I would say that, Oppenheimer was not religious in practice or doctrine, but he was profoundly spiritual, ethically reflective, and philosophically theistic in temperament. Based on my reading I can infer that Oppenheimer found that in the world’s religious traditions (especially Hinduism) a language of awe and moral gravity that science alone could not provide.

Peter Savodnik’s How Intellectuals Found God is less a theological argument than a cultural diagnosis. He is not proving God’s existence or presenting new philosophy; instead, he observes that a surprising number of modern thinkers, people formed by secular, rational traditions, are turning toward faith. What Savodnik is really saying is that the intellectual climate itself is shifting. After decades in which materialism and skepticism dominated elite thought, many writers, scientists, and public figures are realizing that reason alone cannot satisfy the human need for meaning, morality, and belonging.

Though Savodnik’s insight may appear “obvious” but people have always sought transcendence when rationalism feels hollow. Yet Savodnik’s point is that this return to belief among high status intellectuals signals a broader cultural fatigue with purely secular explanations of life. For him, these conversions are less about dogma and more about recovering a sense of wonder and ethical grounding. In that sense, Savodnik isn’t just repeating what’s obvious, he’s documenting a moment of re enchantment in Western thought, when intellect and faith, long estranged, are beginning to speak to each other again. His work captures that emotional and philosophical tension rather than resolving it.

The tension between intellect and faith is not something any writer, doctrine, or philosophy can fully resolve. Every religious and mystical tradition ultimately points inward, the real discovery lies within the seeker, not in external authority. Books like Savodnik’s can illuminate paths, reveal patterns, or awaken longing, but they cannot walk the road for us. The journey toward truth is profoundly personal, experiential, and evolving.

Religious dogma, philosophy, or science each offer frameworks, signposts rather than destinations. They can prepare the mind, but the real transformation occurs in consciousness itself, through reflection, doubt, surrender, and insight. That is why sages across traditions, from Socrates to the Buddha, from Rumi to Meister Eckhart, emphasize self-inquiry over mere belief. The intellect may describe God, but only direct experience gives meaning to that description.

So when Savodnik captures the tension between intellect and faith, he touches on the universal paradox, the mind seeks certainty, but the spirit seeks communion. To resolve that, one must turn inward, not to escape reason, but to integrate it with inner awareness, where understanding and faith cease to be opposites and become dimensions of the same quest for truth.

Cheers.

ravivarmmankkanniappan@2150141020243.0567° N, 101.5851° E