My father, the house

I thought this was rather funny and cute. My father used to be one of the first IT people in Estonia so, it seems, they have built a new information technology and research *city*, which they also call the Estonian Silicon Valley, and they are naming buildings after people There are 4 big houses and one of them is called after my dad! My dad is a house !!! It's called the Agur building :))))

That led me to thinking ... wouldn't it be nice it every house would be named after somebody? And every man and woman would have a building with a small plaque with the person's name and short life story on it. There are lots of buildings, structures, huts to go around, everyone could have his or her own! I rather fancy a nice little powerhouse around the corner :)))



I mean, every person is worth a song, every life is important ...



This is what they say on the webpage (http://www.ulemistecity.ee)



Estonian Innovators



Ülemiste City respects the memory of innovative people from Estonia. Therefore, to perpetuate and show our respect to the people who have accomplished great goals, all the houses built in the Ülemiste City innovation district are named after world-famous innovators coming from or involved with Estonia.



Ustus Agur (1929-1997) - Estonian information society pathfinder



Ustus Agur, the "Grand Old Man" of Estonian computers and information, managed over the course of 50 years to work as a computer engineering teacher, researcher, terminology developer, Estonian information system creator and publish more than five hundred publications. A great many of his endeavours were the first of their kind and ground breaking.



Ustus Agur was already interested by electron computers in the 1950s, also being the author of the first Estonian language publication on electron computers. In 1967 Ustus Agur founded the TTÜ computer department (pretty much at the same time that computer science began in England, Germany and elsewhere in Europe). As a professor in the Information Technology Department, and its chair from 1966-1976, Ustus Agur has given many lectures on the different domains: general electro technology, electric drive theory, the bases of informatics, data processing means, and data communication and computer networks. He published dozens of articles every year in different fields - on educational institutions of higher learning, programming, literature, the relationship between art and cybernetics, the effectiveness and quality of information work. In addition to this, he developed numerous specialty text books. The popular scientific book "People and automats" was directed towards a broad group of readers.



A new stage in Agur's life was the years spent working in the Estonian Information Institute, which was the developer of Estonia's science and technology information systems. Under the instruction of Agur, the institute developed the principles and concept behind the Independent Scientific and Technology Information System (VATTIS).



Under the leadership of Ustus Agur, annual independent conferences and consultations were held, which mirrored the development problems of the dissemination of information and information systems. In 1988, under the leadership of the scientist, the concept of Estonia's informationalization concept was completed, which became a participant in high recognition.



The scientist also played an important part in the arrangement of Estonia's informatic life. His activities are related to the formation of Estonia's Informatics Supervisory Board and the Informatics fund, where Agur worked as director in his final years.



Ustus Agur's versatile and novel activities remain as a valuable spiritual inheritance for Estonia. As a researcher and populariser of science, creator of terminology and compiler of vocabulary, first computer and information newspaper publisher and translator, Ustus Agur has left an indelible mark on our national culture.



Materials used:



http://www.tlu.ee/~i-foorum/agur.htm

http://www.itcollege.ee/kolledz/uudis.php?id=516

The record

She hurried out of the record-store, stuffing her purchase into her handbag. "Have a merry Christmas," the voice of the shop- assistant rang out behind her. It was almost dark outside. The streetlights were few, their light dim and yellowish. The inescapable slippery slush of December clung to her boots. The street was full of faceless dark silhouettes, hurrying somewhere shopping bags in hand.

Adjusting the collar of her well-worn fur coat, she sped across the main square, turned a corner and started to work her way uphill. She won't be doing any more shopping today.

Winter had been depressing as usual. The school-term was nearing its end and her pupils and colleagues seemed even more irritating than usual. She had been feeling down for quite a while now. Actually, that was the reason why she had stepped into the record-store today. She had hoped to find something to lift her out of that mood. Something good for the soul: classical music, Christmas carols or Bach, maybe. 

But everything had turned out differently. 

And hurrying home through the darkening winter afternoon, she felt a sudden and inexplicabe surge of excitement rush through her body.

The unlit hall of the old house was dank, the chronic stink of cat pee and boiled cabbage hung thick in the air. Feeling around for the key in her pocket, she realised that her hands were shaking.
 

She unlocked the door in a hurry, rushed in and slammed the door shut behind her. She didn't even bother to take off her coat. As she flung her bag on the kitchen table, a thick stack of exercise-books fell out. She ignored them and fished out the record.

Record in hand, she made her way to the sitting-room, kicking off her winter-shoes mid-stride. She landed in an old armchair, and lit the reading-lamp, an abomination with a faded orange silk shade – a gift from her mother-in-law. At last, she could examine what she had just bought.

Some unknown artist had tried to picture a jungle on the cover of the record and for such purpose, had heaped an abundance of clumsy palm trees, garish birds and exotic beasts on a relatively small surface.

But in the foreground, a surprisingly life-like tiger stood, checking her out with his bright yellow-green eyes that seemed to pop straight out of the picture. Looking into the tigers's eyes, the woman shuddered in delight.

She held the record close to her face, sniffing it gingerly.

THE SOUNDS OF THE JUNGLE, she read the heading. And just for a brief moment, the dark and moist warmth of the jungle, mixed with the aroma of thousands of unknown plants, seemed to waft into the living-room.

Fortunately, the flat was empty at this hour. Her husband was not back from work yet and Mother, in honour of pending Christmastime, had gone visiting in the countryside. On her way back, she would pass by the graveyard and tidy the family plot. But of course she would – everyone did.

She took one of Mother's precious crystal glasses out of the china-cabinet and, slipping her hand behind the plates, fished out an almost full bottle of brandy which Mother used to keep for special occasions and for medicinal purposes. 

"Isn't it funny," she thought, "she still hides liquor from me. As if I couldn't buy my own if I felt like it."

She pushed the ivory-coloured button of the radio-cum-record- player, and it started to hum softly. Beside the front panel, a bright green lamp with a black dot in the middle came to life. Looks like the eye of a tiger, she mused. She took the record out of its cover and gently placed it on the turntable. And suddenly, the whole room was flooded with sounds that only remotely reminded her of music.

She turned off the light and sat in the armchair, nursing her brandy and trying to listen. Her head was empty. In the darkness of the room, surrounded by the eerie whispers and dark hypnotic moaning, she felt her body go limp against the back of the arm-chair. Absent-mindedly, she let her fingers run through the fur of her coat
again and again, petting it slowly.

It was sweltering in the room. Mother had fed the stove in the morning and it was still giving off heat. Inside her coat, she felt her body burning.

When the music finally stopped, she got up and, without switching on the light, wound up the record-player again. Then she sat down in the chair once more, still in her fur coat. Thus, an hour went by.

Suddenly, her whole body tensed and she pricked her ears. A soft fumbling could be heard from the hall. In a single, graceful movement, she was on her feet. As she moved towards the door as silently as a predator, she could feel her muscles ripple under the
silk lining of her coat.

When her husband finally managed to find the key and opened the door, he caught his breath in dismay. From the darkness of the flat, an unearthly howling and hissing emanated.

"What the …" he mumbled, but before he could finish the sentence, he felt a hand being pressed against his mouth. He was nudged, gently but firmly, towards the living-room.

She slid against him from the behind and purring softly, she started to tear off his
overclothes. Soon they both stood naked in the hot darkness.

She pushed him onto the plush carpet. At first, her husband had been dumbstruck by her inexplicable conduct. He attempted to fight back but the strangeness of the situation soon got better of him soon. And so, for a while, muted moaning and panting, accompanied by the sound of two bodies slamming into each other in passion were heard, mixed with the sounds of the jungle.

She woke up early next morning. The events of last night had crept into her half-sleeping brain and suddenly, she was wide awake. She felt blood rush to her face, turning it dark red.

Oh, the shame! What had she been thinking of! How could she! Like an ANIMAL! She
slipped out of bed. Her husband muttered something in his sleep and turned the other side.

She washed with icy water from the tap, scrubbing herself long and hard. Nevertheless, the feeling that something in her life had changed beyond repair did not leave her. She flitted into the living-room, quickly stuffed the record back in its cover and hid it behind the books in the book-shelf. Then she put the coffee-pot on. When her husband stepped into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes, she was already busy preparing breakfast.

The incident of last night was never brought up. Only on one occasion, after downing a couple of drinks to work up the necessary courage, her husband had dared to ask: " I wonder whatever happened to … you know … that record?" She even failed to turn her head. "It broke," she said in an absent voice. With that, the topic was closed.

Life continued almost as before. Christmas and New Year came and went, spring and summer followed and on an unusually stifling August day, her water broke and she was taken to the maternity hospital.

After six hours of labour, she gave birth to a healthy baby girl. The nurse placed the bundle, that was her daughter, beside her and said: "Well, its high time you two got acquainted."

She eyed the baby, feeling something close to disdain. It was bright red and crinkly in the face, as babies come.

But her cheekbones were strangely high and its tiny mouth was closed tight,
not letting out a sound. It was just lying there, checking her out with its slanted yellow-green eyes, not even blinking.

The mother looked back at the baby and gave a sigh.

She realised that for her, real trouble had only begun.

The final station

"So that's it. The final station," the man thought. 

 

It was winter. From the window, he could see a strip of forest. Pines, grayish green underneath a gray sky. Even the snow seemed to gave a gray tint to it. 

 

The man turned around and went to his bed. It was silent in the ward. Some slept, some read, some just lay silently. He eased himself onto his bed. He didn't feel like thinking right now. The nurse would be here soon, bringing the medication. The pills would make his head groggy and that would be just fine with him.

The man closed his eyes and dozed off. When he awoke, he was surprised to see that the lights were off already. "Now this is strange", he thought "I didn't realise I had slept so long."

He turned his head to look out of the window and suddenly, was wide awake. Somebody was standing beside his bed.

A full moon had risen and its bright bluish light, reflecting back from the snow outside the window flooded into the hospital ward. He could see a dark silhouette outlined against the window. 

A magnificent head, with straight whiskers. Small neat ears. A thick neck and an enormous body. It was a tiger.

The man froze, not daring to breathe. The beast drew closer. The tiger's head was almost touching his face now. The animal was breathing heavily. Not thinking of anything else to do, the man closed his eyes. 

The animal sniffed at his face noisily. And then, the man felt a rough tongue go over his face. He was being licked. All of the sudden, the man didn't have a worry in the world. He didn't dare to open his eyes just yet, afraid that if he did, the vision would be gone, as suddenly as it had appeared. 

And then the tiger began to talk. The man kept his eyes shut tight and let the tiger's purring voice lull him into a strange dreamlike daze. Very soon, pictures and colours started to flow behind his closed eyes. He stepped into a land of wonder and everything that passed from there on was more real than reality itself.

He came to with a jerk. Somebody was shaking him. An acrid smell crept up his nostrils, making him cough. He opened his eyes and saw the nurse's face, hanging over him, all motherly and concerned. "Well, you certainly gave us a fright, mister," scolded the nurse. "The doctor will be here any minute."

"A scare, my ass" thought the man. "What's there to be scared about - I'm half dead anyway." But he wasn't too upset with Matron, not really. Actually, he felt a strange elation. He now had a secret.

After that evening he didn't get up any more. He just didn't have the strength for it. He lay there, quietly, and as soon as he closed his eyes, the tiger would come. And each time, it would have another story for him.

The tiger talked of strange and far-away countries that he had never visited, and of great adventures where he would be the hero. In those stories, the tiger always politely keep to the background. Only on rare occasion, its orange-and-black-striped flank or massive tail could be seen flashing among the lush greenery. The man caught glimpses of the tiger's serious face, looking at him from the disance. It felt as if the tiger was keeping an eye on him and the feeling was pleasant.

A few days later, after the visitors had left, one of the other patients suddenly began to weep uncontrollably. Of course, everybody knew what it was all about. Only nobody knew what to say or how to comfort him. 

Then suddenly the man began to talk. In a thin, reedy voice, almost as if he was only talking to himself, he began telling about the strange dreams he had been having lately. By-and-by, the other man stopped crying and soon everyone was listening to the man's story, collectively holding their breath. 

From that day on, the whole ward could hardly wait for each following story. The man spoke of far-away countries that no one of them had seen and of grand adventures, the hero of which could have easily been any one of them. But even more importantly - he told them about tigers. 

A month went by. Some of the patients were released, new ones were admitted. The nocturnal story-telling continued. Soon, news of this strange past-time had spread all over the hospital, and well before eight o'clock, the ward started to fill up with people. Some sat on the beds, others on the windowsills, and even on the floor. The nurses and doctors pretended to know nothing about it but often, one or two of them would find a reason to step into the ward at that time, and after doing what they came to do, they would stay on, leaning against the wall and pretending not to be there.

That particular night, the man finished around nine, as usual. The crowd got ready to leave for their respective wards or stations. Around ten, a nurse came to put out the lights. Within half an hour, everyone was fast asleep. The sound of even breathing, punctuated by an occasional snore, filled the room.

The full moon cast its bluish glow on the snow, the shadows on the pine trees sharp and inky on the snow. From amongst the shadows of the trees, another shadow emerged. Straining his eyes, the man could see that it was the tiger. The animal covered the distance between the grove and the hospital in the blink of an eye. 

Reaching the window, he turned and rested its side against it. Then he gave it a gentle push. The window fell open and the animal sprang in. His huge paws were silent on the linoleum. The tiger stepped up to the bed and looked at the man with its yellow eyes. 

"Wake up," the tiger said. "Its time." The man got out of the bed. With his bare feet, he tried to feel for his slippers from underneath the bed. He didn't come across them but it didn't matter. "Jump on my back," the tiger said. 

The man grabbed hold of the wiry hair on the back of the tiger and hoisted himself up. He sat up straight and adjusted his position. And so they went. He didn't look back.

Stepping into the ward the next morning, the nurse immediately knew that something was wrong. One of the beds was empty. "Sweet Jesus, this can't be happening," she moaned, spurting out of the room. Where could he be? Passed out in some bathroom, no doubt. And anyway - how on on earth did he manage to get himself out of bed?

Soon the entire hopital was buzzing like a beehive. The building was searched from top to bottom and even the pine grove around it was combed through but the man could not be found. 

Finally, the police had to be called.

Finding nothing else even remotely relevant to ask the patients, the junior constable closed his little black book. His brow was wet with perspiration and his neck had turned bright red from embarrassement, as it often would. After all, he was still very young.

"Thank you for your cooperation," he said, trying to look professional. "Should you rember anything else, please don't hesitate to call me. Here's my card." He closed the door of the hospital ward carefully, and then paused for a moment, straining his ears. He almost expected to hear a roar of laughter from behind the closed door. But everything remained quiet. 

Afterwards, sitting in his car, having one smoke after another, he was feeling a whopper of a headache coming on. He just couldn't figure those people out, even if his life had depended on it. Had he witnessed some kind of a collective hallucination or had his leg been just pulled - like never before? Anyhow, either one of those two options didn't save him from having to type up a report. He simply couldn't imagine what he was going to put in it.

Because how do you tell them that a dying man had just vanished into thin air from his hospital bed? How do you explain that all the witnesses, without an exception, calmly state that their room-mate had been carried off by a tiger at night? 

"I wonder," he thought, "how is all of this going to look on paper ..."

He heaved a deep sigh and started the engine. 

It was going to be a long night.

Liisa: a strange story

Liisa: a strange story

I'm sitting in a shop looking at some malas when a group of people comes in. Two women and one man. They ask to see some jewelley, one of the women sits down, browsing the ware on the counter. 

Something makes me look up, and ask: You must be from somewhere in Scandinavia, right? She turns to me, with a smile of slight wonder on her face, and says: Yes, actually, we are from Finland. 

I smile back at her and suddenly, the strangest thing: I'm focussing on her eyes, which are bright blue and have an expression of childish awe and wonderment in them. My focus broadens, and it seems as if the rest of her is gradually building up around those eyes. 

A face lined with age but still with such gentleness and sweetness as to take your breath away. Long luxurious hair, wavy and streaked with grey, hands tanned and gnarled with old age, a spectacular sparkling yellow stone on her finger. To my utter amazement I realise that I know this woman. "Liisa," I say. "Liisa L ."

She looks at me with an almost blank expression. Then she realises who I am, it's coming back to her. She had a little Tibetan Buddhist shop in downtown Helsinki, and I used to spend many happy hours there, talking and feeling so much at home. It's safe to say that she's one of the sweetest persons I have ever had the privilege to meet. And now, after 10 years, we meet here in India like that! What are the odds of something like this happening? 

We agree to get together the next day and as we meet, I immediately get to the point. She used to be Tibetan Buddhist, right? So how come she's here in this town where Westerners (except myself!) usually come to get a darshan with this Great Guru? 

This is what she told me:

When she was a young woman, she was living in a very unhappy marriage. Her husband was a quiet man but quite partial to drink and when he did get into the bottle, it was hard for him to get out again. She felt trapped as they had two children and she didn't have enough money to leave. 

Then, one day, a friend passed by her house and said: Look, Liisa, I think you should come to India with us. There's a big group of people going and when there, we are getting a bus and just driving around, visiting every holy place and meeting every holy man we can find. 

Right there and then she decided that she would go, no matter what, she had to do it. She had had a habit of buying books every time her paycheck came in (she was an elementary school teacher) and by that time, her collection was already considerable. So she called a second-hand bookstore and they came and bought all her books. In order to move this load, they had to bring a truck! 

So now she had the money for her trip to India. She arranged for a babysitter and off she went, knowing that something, a solution must be waiting for her in that faraway land. Curiously enough, her husband, who usually showed no emotion, except when drunken, was now pleading with her not to go and promising to reform himself if she only would stay home. But Liisa did not yield to his pleas. 

The trip to India was everything she had hoped for. For a month, they cruised the country, stopping at historical sites, visiting temples and getting darshans from gurus. The last stop would be the very same little town. 

This town is famous for a great guru who, back in the 70ies when Liisa visited, was only beginning to gather fame. Liisa was sceptical, she had no great love for the guru business, all this kow-towing, alleged miracles, what not. 

But when they finally got there, she felt as if that was the place she was meant to be. Her heart filled with peace, she plopped down in the dust and thought: I'm not moving from this place. They'll have to drag me out first. The rest of the group went to raid the shops for saris as the guru was rumoured to be very conservative when it came to ladies' dressing code. Liisa remained seated in the darshan area. By and by, people started coming back and soon it was darshan time. The guru appeared. 

What happened next is in Liisa's words. "As soon as I saw him, my heart filled with indescribable love, my eyes were brimming over with tears. I sprang up and as if carried by some force greater than myself, I moved towards him. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself on the ground, prostrating myself before him and trying to kiss his feet. 

At the same time a part of my consciousness was witnessing the scene, horrified. I'm not the kind of person to demonastrate emotion like that, I was mortified of what my friends would think of it all. I felt I would have to stay in that position because, for sure, I wouldn't have the nerve to face anybody after shaming myself like that! 

The guru gently put his hand on top of my head, then under my chin and forced me to look up. So, he said. You are the one who doesn't believe in miracles? Look, he said. And suddenly his palm filled with holy ash, vibhuti. Eat it up, he ordered. I licked, and it was sweet. 

Now, said the guru. What do you want?

Sobbing, I repeated just one sentence, over and over again: Please, heal my husband.

He looked at me and asked: Just this? But surely, you must want something for yourself, too?

No, no, I said, if you could just make him well, that's enough for me.

All right, the guru said, so be it." 

After that, there's really not much left to tell. Regardless of what Liisa felt in the beginning about not wanting to leave, she now didn't have a problem with that. She felt that she had found the thing she had come for. 

The hole that she had carried in her heart had been healed and filled with this wonderful guru. The father he had lost in war when she was a child, the emotional cripple of a husband, the god she had never believed in - for her, the guru took the place of all that. 

She stepped out of the plane in Helsinki, a different woman. Before, she almost always dressed in black, wanting to shield herself from the rest of the world. Now she was wearing a bright yellow dress, with bare feet and flowers is her hair. She had been set free.

When she reached home, her husband had some news for her. He was to go on a business trip to Tallinn (which incidentally is my home town, across the Gulf of Finland, and Helsinki where Liisa was living) the very next day. So, he packed his bags and went. Liisa spent the day at home with the children. 

The next morning the telephone rang. It was from her husband's office. They informed her, that sadly, her husband had been found dead in his hotel room in Tallinn. While they were filling her in for details, she could only think of the guru and her wish. So he had done what he promised, he had taken him, she thought, not knowing whether to be glad or to feel guilty. 

What was even more interesting about all of this was that her husband had been found, fully dressed, in the bathtub of his hotel room. There was no obvious reason why he should have died, as confirmed by the coroner. A post mortem was carried out and repeated in Helsinki, and the result was still inconclusive. 

Still numb with it all, Liisa collected a considerable amount in insurance money, immediately sold her apartment in Helsinki and bought a farm house nearby. A place away from city life, a place where she could have animals and where the children could run free.

A little while after that, she accidentally met a Tibetan Buddhist who had a propsal for her. Liisa, as you now have this place in the country, wouldn't you want to occasionally rent it out to us for yoga classes, meditation courses and such, he asked. Needless to say, Liisa agreed. 

She was soon able to quit her day job and throw herself fully into this exiting new world of spirituality. She studied yoga and become an instructor herself, and after a some years they pooled their resources and opened a Tibetan Buddhist shop-cum-center in Helsinki. After that, she travelled to Nepal on a yearly basis, held classes in Buddhist philosophy etc. Her children grew up, married happily and had children of their own. 

As for Liisa ... through all of this, she has remained the same: the gentle, unassuming, humble and incredibly beautiful woman whose life, in a curious way, had been turned around back then in India.

She's an old age pensioner now and free to come to this town every year. The guru is still alive, and she usually spends three months here to be near him.

She says that here, she feels happy, calm and content and that everything is just as it's supposed to be. 

And seeing her shining and carefree face, I feel happy for her.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

I guess a disclaimer is in order here: the author - that's me - does not have a positive or negative opinion on any of this. I myself wouldn't want a guru, though.

But ... in India, things are different than in a Western country. Strange things do happen there on a daily basis, people don't even pay much attention to this. It is as if the mindset of people, who believe that miracles are possible, facilitates the manifestation of thought into reality. My Tibetan friend once lauged and said: You Westerners ... you want miracles. You are so hung up on them but where I come from, what you call miracles ARE the ordinary reality.

So when in India, I take this in account, and do not scoff on such "superstition".