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A Salute to Kalpana Chawla
The world recently mourned the tragic death of India-
born Kalpana Chawla and six other astronauts in a very
shocking space mishap. Minutes before what might have
been a smooth touchdown at the end of a 16-day
successful mission, their space shuttle Columbia broke
up in mid-air.
Like every child, Kalpana, the younger daughter of
Banarsilal Chawla and Syongita of Karnal in Haryana,
was fascinated by the moon. As Montu - that was her
pet name - grew up, she became crazy about aeroplanes.
She often drew pictures of planes. Karnal had a flying
club, and she would spend hours watching aeroplanes
flying overhead.
When she was 17, her parents
wanted her to study medicine, but
Kalpana wished to go for engineering,
much against protests. She got
admission in Punjab Engineering
College, Chandigarh, where without any
hesitation she opted for aeronautical
engineering. It is said, her hostel room
had on the walls only posters of aircraft
and spacecraft. As she confided to her
close friends, she had set her eyes on
the moon, especially after reading about man’s landing
on the moon.
After graduation, she got herself admitted to Texas
University in the USA for her Masters in aerospace
engineering. Later, she took her Doctorate from Colorado
University. The year was 1988. In 1994, Kalpana joined
the NASA and went for training in space flying.
The next year she was recruited to the 15th group of
astronauts. She got a chance to fly into space when she
was chosen a crew member of Columbia’s flight on
November 19, 1997. She thus became the first Indian
woman to travel to space. During her sojourn in space,
she studied the effect of weightlessness and also
undertook a space walk.
In an interview after her return, she said: “The best
part was sitting at the door and looking at the earth,
and seeing how small it is.” What attracted her attention
was the view of River Ganga and its pollution. Back on
earth, she often spoke of the need to protect environment.
Kalpana sent space memorabilia to the students and
staff of her alma mater. They were accompanied by a
message signed by all the astronauts. It said: “Reach for
the stars.”
Though the NASA had spotted another woman of
Indian origin, Sunita Williams, and trained her for space
flight, it was Kalpana that NASA chose for a second
flight on Columbia on January 16 this year.
Kalpana then contacted her favourite Maths teacher,
Nirmala Nambudiripad of Tagore Bal Niketan days, now
working in Bangalore, for a banner she
wanted to take with her. With the help
of some arts college students, the
teacher prepared a silk banner. It
depicted the close up of a pair of hands
(of a teacher) blessing a student. It had
also a legend which read: “Showing the
way always.” Teacher Nirmala used
to quote Kalpana’s example and ask her
class, “Can’t you also fly into space?”
Kalpana did show the way. Every
year, she sponsored the visit of two students from Tagore
Bal Niketan to NASA, where she would take them round
and instil in them a sense of determination, courage, and
vision.
From the space shuttle, she sent a message to her
college in Chandigarh: “A path from dreams to success
does exist. May you have the vision to find it, the
courage to get on to it, and the perseverence to follow
it. Wishing you (all) a great journey (in life).” The
message reached her college a day after the tragedy.
Perhaps it was a message for the younger generation,
who might want to follow her, but who should not get
discouraged by the tragedy.
Kalpana Chawla has done India proud.We
salute her. We also salute the other six brave astronauts
who have gone with her to eternity.
Let Leaking Tap Leak
Can heat turn anybody’s head? I don’t
know. But Sunita says it can.
“How can you be so cocksure?”
Ranjan and I ask her.
“Look,” Sunita fixes us with an
you-poor-ignorant-folks stare and
resumes, “I keep my eyes open. I see
things. You have eyes, yet you behave
as if you have no eyes, conduct yourself
like the blind.”
Those are strong words. They hurt.
However, Ranjan and I stay cool. We want
to know what is at the back of her mind before
we attack her.
“Pray, tell us, oh mahagyani, what you see and we
miss,” we ask her.
“Can you see that?” she holds her index finger and
points to the tap that stands on one side of the lawn in
front of our house.
“Yes.”
“Do you notice the little drops of water dripping from
the tap?”
“Yes,” I tell her.
“What does that mean?” Sunita asks.
“The tap is leaking,” Ranjan says.
“So far, so good. Now, tell me, who is the first to
notice leaking taps in this house?” Sunita continues.
“Thatha, of course,” both Ranjan and I respond
together.
“This tap has been leaking for two days. Yet Thatha
has not bothered to set it right. Why?” she waits for our
reply. “You think that the heat has turned his head,” Ranjan
grunts.
“That’s it,” Sunita throws her head back and checks
the strands of long hair that dip down her forehead out of
harm’s way.
“Would you say that the heat has turned the tap’s
head, too?” I joke.
“Just as the strands of hair make you throw your
head back,” Ranjan teases her.
We laugh.
That’s when Thatha enters the scene. “Can I share
the joke?” he walks up to us, gently gathers us in his
outstretched arms and holds us in a loving hug.
“This joke is aimed at you,” says Sunita.
“You mean I am the butt of ridicule?” Thatha gives
us a gentle smile.
“That means ridicule, too, has a butt? Does it butt as
strongly as the goat?” I ask.
“That’s a good joke,” says Thatha. He then turns to
us and asks, “What have I done to earn ridicule?”
“Can’t you see the tap? It leaks!” Sunita points out
the tap.
“I know. I noticed that two days ago,” Thatha smiles.
“Two days back! Yet you haven’t swung into the
role of the plumber? You haven’t collected your tool-kit,
used the monkey spanner to unscrew the tap’s head,
replaced the washer, screwed the head back in place,
and plugged the leak,” I point out.
“We all thought the summer heat has turned your
head,” Sunita tells him.
“Let me tell you. I noticed the leaking tap and had
almost reached out for the tool-kit. But I held myself in
check. This is no major leak. Water is dripping in drops.
One drop at a time. No more,” Thatha has his eyes on
the leaking tap.
Then he holds his index finger on his lips and signals
us to be silent by sounding a rather low “sh” that rhymes
with bush and gush and rush and brush and crush and...
I seek more rhyming words held captive by my brain
cells, but give up the search once my eyes catch sight of
a squirrel, its tail held up, drinking from the puddle around
the tap. It raises its head, every now and then checks
that it has no enemy around and faces no risk before
taking a few more sips.
We feel this is the greatest show on earth.
The squirrel, after having its fill, turns deftly and
scurries to the bole of a mango tree that stands some
distance away. It freezes on the bole, for a second, before
resuming its climb.
“How I wish I could climb trees as easily as the
squirrel!” I sigh.
I hear once again the “sh” that rhymes with lush and
push and flush and slush . . . I free myself from the search
for rhyming words and let my eyes rivet on a couple of
sparrows that dance around the tap. They take turns to
sip the water from the puddle.
Each sparrow takes in a little water, throws its head
up and lets the water run down its gullet. One sip follows
another; and yet another till at last it has its fill.
A flurry of wings, a few merry whirs, and the birds
take to flight.
“Did you see that?” Thatha asks.
“We did.”
“Do you now know why I didn’t repair the
leaking tap?” Thatha asks.
We seek the answer. But somehow we fail
to get the right cue.
“Listen,” says Thatha. “It gets really
hot in summer. We feel thirsty quite often.
We drink water and quench our thirst.
Every living thing . . . man, bird and beast, insect and
plant . . . needs water to survive. Water is essential to
life. In summer, the ponds and pools dry up. So, where
will the beasts and the birds find water to drink? Where
else but at leaking taps?” says Thatha.
“Thatha, we now understand why you left the tap
continue to leak. How foolish of us to think that the heat
had turned your head,” I remark.
“Thank God, you didn’t say I have a touch of the
moon, or that I have gone to seeds,” Thatha laughs.
Does the moon touch a man? How can a man go to
seeds? Aren’t seeds exclusive to plants?
We try to find the logic but fail. Then Thatha says, “I
gave you a few idioms. Each one of them means, one
has gone mad. Do you think I am mad because I let the
tap leak?” Thatha asks.
“That reminds us of the story of St. Francis of Assisi,”
Sunita says.
“Thank you. That is one comparison I like,” Thatha
herds us in a warm embrace, issuing a low “sh” again on
spotting a parrot landing close to the leaking tap
