The Black Gold Adventure

In the summer of 1989, this is how my mother found me- Running in circles around the Jain temple like a compass gone wrong, with my hair in disarray, smeared in mud,  shouting hoarse, along with my partner-in-crime, chased by the temple’s watchman and smelling of dung, that too fresh DUNG.  She assumed, I must have plucked some flowers at the Jain temple, troubled the watchman, made noise in the quiet afternoon, all the common reasons that usually get 8 year olds into trouble. But she was wrong. The reason was GOLD, BLACK Gold. Intrigued? So, was my mother.
I consider myself blessed for being the child of the 80s and 90s. Everything was a wonder, an adventure, a thing to explore! The newly arrived Color TV was beyond my imagination, a fascination I got addicted to. I was a big fan. Right from farmer’s program to Urdu news, I watched everything - the images, the music, the color band at the beginning of the evening broadcast, every line jump of the screen reeled me in! Most of the time, my TV mate was my grand mom. We made a pretty picture gawking at the idiot box like it was GOD delivering innate wisdom. I believed everything. Here is where the story begins.

On a hot summer evening, there wasn’t much on TV and, I was getting bored and then TV God said something- the secret to become rich via BLACK GOLD. My 8-year-old brain understood only this, if I act on this idea pronto, 20 years later I can be in the lap of Goddess Lakshmi! I can eat 100s of Bhel puri, buy chips, chocolates, books without having to ask my mom. I decided not to waste even a minute.

I called my bum chum, my playmate, my little brother to partner me in a task that would just make our future. Now, my little brother was oblivious to the worldly wisdom and knew only one thing- follow his big sister. With his support, I set about the task of gathering the essentials of the plan- piece of iron, fresh mud (red color only), Tulasi, vegetables, cotton, water and fresh dung.
 While we were able to gather the rest, fresh dung posed a challenge. But obstacles didn’t deter us. 

We waited for the neighborhood cow to take its regular stroll.  Thap, thapaak..Voila, we got our fresh ingredient. But we also needed hair. 
We contemplated the potential contributors. My dad and my uncles were not at home and asking any elder would put a dent to our dream and to our skull. Then we found him, Ramlal – the watchman of the Jain temple opposite to our house. He fit the bill- 6 foot, burly man with a head full of curly golden brown hair.  He was on his afternoon siesta. 

The plan was foolproof, at least to two children whose combined age didn't add up to the years it would take that "Black Gold" to actually mature. We tiptoed across the road - my brother carrying the dung in a steel tumbler like it was the crown jewels, me leading the expedition with the quiet authority of someone who had clearly seen this done on TV (I hadn't, not really, but details).
Ramlal was flat on his back on the temple veranda, mouth open, snoring like a generator that needed servicing. His golden-brown curls were RIGHT THERE. Catching the afternoon sun. Practically advertising themselves.

I had brought my mother's small embroidery scissors, smuggled out of her sewing box with the stealth of a seasoned thief. My brother's job was simple - hold the tumbler steady, and if Ramlal so much as twitched, run. We had not discussed run where, or run without me, but these are the gaps that 8-year-old contracts always have.

I leaned in. Snip. One curl, soft and warm from the sun, fell into my palm like a trophy. I was already mentally spending the Lakshmi money. Bhel puri. Five-Star chocolates. That fat encyclopedia set Ramesh from the third floor had and wouldn't lend.
Snip number two is where things went wrong. Ramlal stirred, and in his half-sleep, swatted at what he probably thought was a fly near his ear. His hand connected with my wrist. He woke up to a small girl holding scissors over his head, and a smaller boy holding a tumbler of fresh cow dung with the solemnity of an altar boy.

What followed cannot be called a chase so much as a redistribution of energy. Ramlal roared. My brother, true to his only directive of follow sister, threw the tumbler - not AT Ramlal, just generally, in the spirit of lightening the load for a faster getaway - and several pounds of our precious "ingredient" went airborne, landing generously on both of us and a fair portion of the temple courtyard.

We ran. We ran past the Tulasi plant, knocking it sideways. We ran past the red mud we'd dug up that morning, kicking it into the air like confetti. We ran in circles, because the temple compound was walled and we hadn't, in our infinite planning, accounted for an exit strategy. Ramlal, barefoot and furious, ran after us, shouting things about our family, our ancestors, and our future prospects that were considerably less optimistic than the ones promised by my TV God.

This is how my mother found us. Two children, hair full of mud, smelling like the inside of a cowshed, running in terrified circles around a Jain temple, one curly golden-brown hair still pinched triumphantly between my fingers - the only piece of "Black Gold" we ever got to keep.

Operation Mice!

Hodi maga hodi maga Hodi maga hodi maga bidabeda avanNa…(Translated: Don’t leave him, kill him).

Men in plain white dhotis, armed with iron rods, pestles, wooden logs stood ready. Fierce words of kill, kill rent the air. Filled with blood lust, they reflected the anger and action that would invariably follow. The scene was no less dramatic than one from a movie. But who were these perpetrators who instigated this hatred and ‘intolerance’ in the men? Most important, were the men successful in quenching their ‘blood –thirstiness”?

Drumroll...Rewind to the context.

Growing up in the 80s, yours truly was a member of a 35-member joint family well known for their contribution to art, music, dance and cultural scene of Bangalore. Business and residence operated from the same building. Beautiful surreal chaos invited anybody and everybody who visited our house. For example, kids running around in their chaddis greeted people who came for business while relatives who came visiting would be overwhelmed to see film stars’ sitting beside them for lunch! All in all, this beautiful complex environment was always alive, bewildering visitors irrespective of the purpose of their visit. It was a household that never slept. But thrown into this mix were the occasional menacing visitors – mice, bandicoot and their family, the unwelcome visitors. A problem that had to be dealt with iron hands time and again.

Coming back to the story…

On one such summer day, the unwelcome visitors were running riot, catching people unaware and scaring the daylights out of everybody. The visitors had got quite comfortable in the room adjoining our main hall and it was time to read them the riot act!

So, preparations began. The men got ready. The muhurtam was set for night, post dinner. Weapons consisting of jack, old hammer, wooden pieces and anything that was scrap was tested for their strength and accuracy. All escape routes, doors and windows were locked. We, the children and women were confined to the verandah and were told to watch the action unfold through the window overlooking the living room. Getting rid of unwelcome visitors was the day to be marked in history and tales about the bravery of our men would be narrated. Such was the expectation.

The action began at 9pm. Plates, spoons clashed to create maximum cacophony and scare the bandicoots from its quarters. What followed, certainly went down in history. Hodi maga hodi maga Hodi maga hodi maga bidabeda avanNa, rent the air. It was a kaleidoscope of action! We, the kids had a bet going on, waiting with bated breath to see whose father would hit the bull’s eye. The men with war cries wielded their weapons pretty wildly but with 0 strategy. None of the weapons landed on target. It only managed to elicit few groans as they landed on the shins of their fellow comrades.

The mice were having a jolly good time. Those that were hitherto confined to the middle room now got access to hall, kitchen too!  While one uncle, trampled on my Dad’s toes, the other managed to land in a heap on the sofa. In the whole melee they lost their lungis and were running around in their …ahem! One by one we saw our heroes return injured suffering from loss of face and lungi.  Alas it was not to be.

While it seemed that all was lost, then stepped the ‘shakti’. They quietly picked up the broom sticks, and went for the kill. Phat…phat...phat, 3 down 4 more to go. Phat..phat..pachak, all down. Bringing down the enemy with aplomb, without missing a heartbeat, the target was met! No fuss, no sweat with just a hint of smile, they had triumphed over the evil. The saree saved the day.

But, what went down in history? The men’s ego, their lungis along with some minor injuries.

That day I learnt one thing, never overestimate the power of lungi and underestimate that of saree!

Narishakti ki jai.

Chrrr..parrr…HolyCow!

Nancy said quickly. "I have solved some mysteries, I'll admit, and I enjoy it, but I'm sure there are many other girls who could do the same.”

How these words inspired me!

For the teenagers in the 1990s, Nancy Drew, the famous detective created by Carolyn Keene was a source of great inspiration. Nancy Drew was the perfect guide to every budding detective out there! Apart from their sleuthing skills, she and her friends were these hip, intelligent, adventurous bunch who just didn’t seem to age even after solving 100 case files! They were surely an envied lot. What more, they kept getting one case after another! How much can a 18 year old solve! But, she was my super heroine. As an icing on the cake, they all had boyfriends ( psst..quite a taboo then). It was no wonder that yours truly was quite enchanted. And why not? Imagine, me a detective, a la Indian Naina, Neena or aka James bond style, Balu…Sushma Balu.

Why am I recounting this? Well, this story captures the milestone when the world was saved from Miss Balu’s detective skills and paved the way for her to be a communications professional and tell you all this story! Seriously, it is a funny story.

In the summer of 1994, I and my cousins didn’t have much to do. Confined to indoors it was carrom, monopoly, aluguli mane, chowka bara and I really was not great at that. My biggest strength was devouring story books by the dozen. That summer too, like always I had begged and borrowed Nancy Drew books from the Public Library (they refused to issue more than one book a day and refused to accept the book back if finished on the same day..duh!). After 24 hours of consuming mysteries, I was on a high. I was trying to find mystery and intrigue under every stone, in every swaying tree, old store rooms, diaries..phew. When nothing materialized, I turned to the merciful God. God was kind and soon threw a mystery my way.

On a hot balmy night, I was woken up by a scary, mysterious, never-before-heard sound. It went like this. Chrrr…parrrrr…chrrr..parrrr. What is so scary about that? Many things. For one, it was heard outside my room window, which actually opened to the road. Second, the moonlight threw eerie shadows of the tree outside on my windows, which swayed to some odd rhythm. Last, it had the quintessential element of any mystery, it was heard only at 12 MIDNIGHT! It was time to unleash Miss Balu.

I roped in my cousins, Rashmi who was another mystery buff and Ashwin who basically said yes and followed his older sisters to solve the mystery of 62, Jain Temple Street: File 1. We all decided to stay awake that night. After admonitions from our parents, we managed to hoodwink them and stay awake. At 12 midnight, we heard it, Chrrr..parrrrr chrrr..parrrr.

We, the under 13years bunch agreed that it was a code for some sinister activity taking place. So what does a good detective do? Get up in the morning when there is light and people around, dress up, walk out with a magnifying glass and look for footprints. We did just that and found none. The sinister evil man was intelligent! So, the 3 brains worked together and decided that in the night we will wet the ground around the tree enough to leave a footprint. Job done, we huddled and dozed off at 8.30 pm that day.

The next day brought excitement, nervousness and a sense of elation. The mystery would be solved. The budding detectives forgot about the behavior of ‘good’ detective and just rushed to the spot. 

We were spot..off! No footprints. The mystery deepened. We went back, poured over the collection of Nancy Drew to draw ideas and inspiration. I was sad. Will 62 Jain temple Street: File 1 remain unsolved? Will I get it first time wrong? Oh merciful God! I begged for some guidance. My partners and I finally decided that we need to just strengthen our nerves of steel and catch the sinister fellow in act. That decided, we cooked an elaborate ruse to stay awake till 12 MIDNIGHT.

The clock moved at its own pace. The night was shrouded in mystery. Silent, waiting. The moonlight and street lamp threw eerie shadows. The street was empty. We, the under 13 bunch found it difficult to stay awake, but the thought of failure kept us going. Then we heard it, chrrr..parrrr. We snuck out of my room stationed ourselves near the gate one behind the other- Ashwin 8 years, Sushma 11 years and Rashmi 13 years. The three heads peeped to catch a glimpse of the culprit. Holy Cow, what was that? 

It was The HOLY COW. Pulling at the branch of leaves, rubbing it against the window chrr parrrr, throwing shadows and scaring the nightlights out of budding detectives

In the case 62 Jain temple Street: File 1, the accused stands acquitted of all charges. Case dismissed.

Quietly, the three of us got back to our beds. Tucked ourselves in along with our detective skills and decided mystery or no mystery, all matters of the night is best settled by God and the holy cow!

You should communicate 'basic'ally right!

To effectively communicate, we must realize that we are all different in the way we perceive the world and use this understanding as a guide to our communication with others…and especially when you are communicating with a 7 year old.

Some lessons in life are most effective especially when you are the perpetrator or at the receiving end! Either way it is a lesson well learnt!

It was 1989 (changed, shhh…I am a girl) and I was this wee one, full of laughter, life and chatter. One fine day, I was selected to be part of the welcome group at a function hosted for the then Governor of Karnataka. Since I was the youngest (and cute by all standards) I was to lead and got the maximum share in the welcoming rituals. I was to garland, do the aarti, put the tika on forehead and place the Mysore peta. That was like 4 tasks! Also, they told me that a helper would be placed strategically, ready with these things. What more, I would be photographed by the press and being seen in papers the next day was a high possibility. A girl can ask for nothing more..sigh!

Then began a week of practice. A crash course in walking, garlanding, doing the aarti, putting the right amount of tika, and of course the correct way to hold the Mysore peta! And they even gave me a light-weight plate, so that I wouldn’t drop the aarti (it’s kumkum and haldi in water). Instructions were whispered in my ear every day. For a 7 year old I was so confident and didn’t suffer from any nerves.

The D day dawned. I was in my finest traditional attire. The whole welcome party assembled at the door of Bangalore’s iconic landmark- The Townhall. The Governor arrived, there was frantic activity everywhere. I was hardly 3 foot nothing, couldn’t see much but the frenzied atmosphere told me that my time was nearing. This was THE MOMENT of my life!

I put my best foot forward! I walked, garlanded, did the aarti, put the tika and the mysore peta. I HAD DONE IT! I turned around, looked at everyone, and waited for the pleasant sounds of the claps in appreciation …but there was dead silence. Miss Sushma Balu had executed the 4 tasks remarkably and welcomed the PERSONAL ASSISTANT standing beside the Governor! Why? Because, nobody bothered to tell or point out the Governor to the little one!

So folks, I don’t know whether this incident prompted my decision to join Communications. But it certainly taught me more than one lesson in Communications. One, get the basics right. Two, never ASS U ME (assume)!

As Communications professionals, we are certainly a cool lot (excuse the narcissism) before any press meet or media event. But inside we are in a frenzy. Imagine, we get our messaging right, briefing is perfect, preparations are done, the spokesperson is ready, you are ready…but somebody has actually forgotten to tell the spokesperson that the event is today and not tomorrow! 

Similarly, your business may be booming, profits soaring, order books overflowing, but did you miss compliance? Did u 'accidentally overlook' an ethical/legal thing? All these ‘basic’ things could make your end result redundant if you don’t get it right. One small mistake, assumption or oversight could defeat the entire purpose and you may end up garlanding the PA! 

Yaarigu Helabedi ( Translated: Don't tell anyone)

The word vacation always invokes a feeling of uninterrupted blissful relaxation in the midst of nature.  I used to be under the same illusion until I was rudely woken up to find my vacation plans hijacked and redefined.  Well, read this piece and be forewarned about potential vacation plan hijackers in family.

The hijack took place after my 10^th standard examination.  After a gruelling year I was craving for ‘peace and tranquility’ (had just finished ‘Daffodils’ of Wordsworth).  My father and I planned a trip to Malnad.  But my mother thought otherwise and wanted us to atone for our sins by taking a temple tour.  I dreaded this for my own reasons.  The reason was that I had mixed up south Indian and north Indian styles of architecture in the exam.  Hence I thought it was humane enough not to be reminded of it at every temple that I was going to visit.  Finally we won the battle.  So preparations were under way. I was looking forward to catch some exotic birds that were mentioned in Salim Ali’s book.  I bought a new binocular.  But disaster struck soon. 

My mother had called her family to tell them about the trip. The next thing I knew my plans were hijacked, redefined to mean “temple tour” for us and them.  My father and I were left dumbstruck as if hit by a thunder (note, not lightening).  Why thunder? A few notes on my mother’s family.

They are a boisterous family of six sisters, two brothers and we cousins number 13.  Each member is of a different mould and character.  They love to disagree on things ranging from the right color of rasam powder to the best psychiatrist they have visited! They take it upon themselves to give free advice, especially when not asked. Hence the thunder and not lightning!

My father resigned to his fate.  But being the diehard fighter, I tried to register my feeble protest. At once everyone descended upon me saying I was hurting their religious sentiments! Finally the tour bus was ascended by my gleeful mother and a disgruntled pair - me and my father. 

The bus journey was eventful in more than one ways.  My cousin Bheema loves to tuck in food 24X7.  But his poor stomach protested and finally gave up on the bus. The result was a pungent odor enveloped the entire a/c bus. To top it all the boisterous family was in its element. I could see my hope for peace and tranquility slipping away.  I appealed to god and promised to atone for my sins if only he granted me mukthi from the odor.  Just when I thought I would faint from the odor, the bus stopped in front of the Shringeri temple. 

The temple is a beautiful piece of architecture of Chalukyan style.  But for me it was the ghost of my exam! To add fuel to the fire my uncle the history professor (who is offended by my poor knowledge of history) asked, “What are the features of this temple’s architecture?”  I groaned aloud and made some noises about a disgruntled stomach. This was effective and sent my uncle hurrying away. 

Next we entered the temple to pay our respects. I thanked God for rescuing me from the odor by doing the pradakshinas twenty five times (goaded by my mother) and scalded my feet.  After satisfying their religious sentiments the whole family sat down for lunch. I saw this as my chance for some peace and tranquility.  I picked up my binocular and walked over to the kalyani. Even though I could not do justice to Salim Ali there was a chance to do justice to the beautiful fish in kalyani, I stood on the top most step of the Kalyani and peered into the clear water. Little did I know what was to happen next. One moment I was on the top step and the next I found myself on the step near the water. I suspected that it was a lucky day for an orthopedic as he would would soon have a patient.  I had broken a bone. How did this happen?

My youngest cousin who could be a bus, a truck or a bull all at the same time suffered from role conflict.  That fateful day he decided he would be a bull minus the horns.  He immediately assumed the role and saw my posterior as a potential target. So, he had sent me scuttling in the air and I had landed on all fours.

But still it turned out to be the best vacation. Guess why? I could recoup in the peace and tranquility of my house with ‘Daffodils’ for company.  I was away from the boisterous family and the ghost of my exam mix up (in the form of temples). I had also learnt an important lesson – do not tell anyone of your vacation plans least of all the family if it is anywhere like mine.

So next time you make vacation plans ‘Yaarigu Helabedi’. 

Gastronomy Unlimited!

I was on a mission. It looked like MI V. The odds were insurmountable. I had to
convert Anil Jagalur, an 'I-couldn't –care- less-about-food' man to a passionate
foodie! I was in search of that food haven, the temptations of which even he could
not resist. Yes, It struck me that I should take him to the Mecca of food...
‘Thindi Beedi'.

Tucked away in one of the oldest parts of South Bangalore, Sajjan Rao Circle, is 'Thindi Beedi' (food street) or should I say 'Food Paradise'. After a hard day at the office, I coaxed Anil to accompany me to Thindi Beedi and savor the delicacies on offer. We reached the place at about 7 in the evening with ‘foodies’ streaming in slowly, but eagerly.

 Before i launch into the next part of the story, a few facts about the place: The place is in existence as a food paradise for about 30 years now. It opens in the evening at 7pm and closes by 11.30pm. The street is just about half a kilometer, and hosts about 30 eateries! Each shop has its own menu with a minimum of 10 items. So, all put together one has 200 options to choose from and what more, it is light on the pocket too!

OK, let me name a few from the 200 options - bajji, onion bonda, pakodas, samosa, cutlet, idli, dosé, gobi manchurian, babycorn manchurian, fresh fruit juices, North Karnataka specialties…the list is endless! So we went to this eatery with an assortment of items like - kodbale, obattu, puliyogare, paddu, idlis, jowar rotti, ragi rotti, akki rotti, rumal roti, tandoori roti and 8 types of dosés...phew!

What can mere mortals do faced with such temptations? There we were, scratching our heads and trying to make the best choice. Finally we settled for the quintessential masala
dosé. Now, the making of dosés here is an elaborate ritual. 

First, the dosé batter is spread on the hot tavva to form a perfect, thin circle. While it is frying, with steam emanating from the surface, a blob of Amul butter is placed on the dosé. Now you go counting the calories. Then, the cook picks up a 1 ltr packet of Nandini ghee....brace your heart..your heart beats increase, makes a small hole in the
packet and starts to pour the ghee on the dosé in circules. 1,2, 3..... and it finally stops at 5. It reminds me of a lawn being watered with a hose! The calorie count touches 500 (in my modest estimate). The prepared dosés are served with red and green chutney and the yummy aloo subzi.

The hot steaming doses were served. My question to Anil, “How's it?” was met by closed eyes and a busy mouth! There it was… the expression one has when one achieves NIRVANA!
I had won. The mission was accomplished.

We rounded of our jaunt in the ‘Beedi’ with Butter Gulcan, Ice-cream and mixed fruits for dessert. Needless to say, Anil was, well.... busy tucking it all in!

OK folks, if all this made you hungry drooly, just rush to Thindi Beedi. For directions contact me or our newly converted foodie, Anil Jagalur!

Go Natural

Organic food has lately become a buzz word. In Bengaluru, we have dedicated restaurants dishing out treats made of organic ingredients; stores selling bountiful organic groceries, vegetables or ‘nati tarkari’. But do you know that not all organic is natural but all natural is organic? Sounds profound?

Having made the choice to go organic and natural, I decided to delve a little deep into the ‘what’, ‘how’ and ‘why’ of it. My conversation with Mr Sivanath, a farmer who practices ‘natural farming’, educated me further. So here are some truths, facts and wisdom.

Meet the man

Meeting us at the gate of Sivanik Farm was this unassuming, smiling first-time ‘natural’ farmer Mr Sivanath. Having been in the Merchant Navy for many years, Sivanath moved to the Telecommunication world, but he soon got tired of listening to others’ instructions. He decided to retire and exited the Telecommunication industry at the age of forty five. But the entrepreneur in him took over and he plunged into the world of farming! 

The Journey
The whole journey started in 2013 when he bought the 10 acre plot near Hosur. Hailing from a non-agricultural background, Sivanath did his homework well. He read a lot of books; spoke to agriculturists and the engineer in him devised a feasible plan. Armed with his project plan, he was raring to go. But life always has the habit of throwing a googly at you, when you least expect it. His intention was to ‘manage’ a farm, but he ended up toiling on the farm, literally!

The first challenge came in the form of ensuring water for the farm. He got a geologist who identified 3 points on his land but gave no assurance about getting water! After spending 36 hours on the farm sleeping in his car, he finally managed to get the bore well company to arrive and start the work. At 48 hours he hit gold. He got water. But his struggle didn’t end there. The next was labor.

Right from their attitude to beliefs, Sivanath faced all labor issues which would be a nightmare for any HR professional.  He struggled to make them understand that crops can grow without UREA and DAP! Every stage of farming posed a number of hurdles. But his positive attitude, willingness to learn from his errors has ensured that his farm is running and ready to give its first harvest.

Natural Farming

My first question to him was whether there is any difference between  organic and natural. According to his studies, in conventional organic farming, there are external elements which are used to control and stimulate various phases of plant growth. But in natural farming you do not control anything, but only facilitate.

Sivanath practices the “Zero budget Farming’ method propagated by Subhash Palekar. Here, without adding anything from outside, the plants grow and produce.  It means all the nutrients needed for the growth and production is available around the plant itself. There is no need to add anything from outside.

Soil is a living platform, but the excessive use of chemicals / pesticides destroy all the natural microbes and earthworms. This renders the land useless in no time. In natural farming, soil is nurtured and stimulated. Sivanath uses jaggery, red gram, cow dung and cow urine and supplies it to the plants through drip irrigation. This stimulates the microbes and earthworms which are deep in the ground to come to the surface and do the work that they have been doing for billions of years. This solution is called” jeevamrutha”- the one that gives life. The engineer in him has automated majority of the process. To supplement the electricity, he has also put huge solar panels  which are capable of running his water pump and also provide electricity to his little farm house.

In natural farming you grow a combination of vegetables,  fruits and leguminous plants. This mixed cropping method ensures enough soil nutrients and the leguminous plants fix nitrogen in the soil. He has planted toor, drumstick, papaya, guava, marigold, pomegranate and mango. But how does he ensure that insects are kept at bay? To avoid insects Sivanath has planted marigold plant which serves dual purpose- it is medicinal in nature and attracts all the insects, thus protecting the rest of the crops. Apart from this he also uses a mix of neem, cow urine, garlic and chilli for pest control. To ensure supply of saplings and their quality, he has started his own nursery.

Like any farm, you will find cattle, chicken, dogs and other animals at Sivanik farm.  The cattle he owns are of native breed and serve a major purpose. Here is the wisdom: The cattle not only provide him adequate dung for manure but since they are native breed, the good bacteria in their gut is extremely good and suitable for the lands and crops. Also, they are sturdy enough to withstand our climate. This dung is also used to generate biogas for his kitchen and the leftover waste from biogas plant becomes manure for the crops. 

In fact a natural farm has a very unkempt look compared to the regular ‘neat’ symmetrical farms we are accustomed to. The reason is that, all the weeds that are weeded are left in the same place. Repeated weeding, adds more layers. Soon, they become thick enough to block the sunlight, preventing further growth of weeds. So naturally it becomes a weed-free land!

Now, Sivanath is waiting for his first harvest. He has invited an international accreditation body to certify his farm. But was he never deterred? He says that it was his sense of social responsibility has kept him motivated. He wants to demonstrate that you can grow, eat and live a natural way of life! He hopes that his efforts and experience can help those who take up farming. So here are some tips he shared.

 10 tips to be a ‘farmer’

1. Buy land that is feasible – If farming is a hobby for you , then a 2 acre plot would be great
2. Read and talk to lot of people who are already in the ‘field ’before you pick up that plough
3. Be ready to get your hands ‘dirty’
4. Go natural- It’s the way of life
5. It’s not a one man/woman show- you need labor and help. Especially if you come from a non- agricultural background
6. Hone your interpersonal skills to deal with government official&
7. Ensure you have enough funds
8. High IQ - Agriculture is the most intelligent job. You deal with living beings, weather             other elements which need to be nurture 
9. Perseverance, patience and more of that
10. HR skills - will come in handy while dealing with labor

I came back with a profound sense of respect and happiness. Respect for our farmers who toil tirelessly and happy that I chose to go natural; probably a tad wiser too. May your tribe increase, Mr Sivanath!