Amotley group of people are discussing the cost-benefit analysis of space travel when middle-aged Lars Johansen suddenly goes off at a tangent. "The sun," he says mystically, "is a strange creature." "What's so strange about the sun? It rises in the east, sets in the west, it's been doing that for millions of years and will keep doing that for several million years more," I say.
"The sun doesn't rise in the east," Lars says, looking at me as if I've lost my mind. "Where do you think it rises," I ask, looking at him as if he has lost his.
"The sun rises in the north," he says, absolutely dumbfounded that he is having this coversation with an adult, and that too a so-called international journalist.
"And where does it set? In the south?" I ask indulgently, secretly wondering how lunacy can lurk in a man who looks and had been speaking normally till this very minute.
"No it sets in the north." Lars is now amazed at my stupidity. "Oh, the sun rises in the north and it also sets in the north. By the way what are you drinking?" I ask, now quite intrigued by his madness.
"You know I don't drink. I can't believe you didn't know the sun rises and sets in the north. But of course that's only for part of a year."
"What happens during the other part of the year?" I ask. "The sun rises and sets in the south," Lars says.
"So the sun rises and sets in the north or south depending on the time of the year. How interesting," I remark.
"Actually, sometimes the sun doesn't rise at all, and sometimes it doesn't set at all," says Lars.
Now I look at him keenly, wondering if there're any hidden semblances to an extra-terrestrial. No slanting eyes or weird oval face, so obviously Spielberg got it all wrong. Lars could not possibly be living on planet Earth.
"So what happens when the sun doesn't rise or set," I ask, now searching for my bag to leave.
"Obviously when the sun doesn't rise, we have 24-hour nights and when it doesn't set, we have 24-hour days."
I was glad that something in his and my planet coincides. At least, both have 24-hour days.
"By the way, where do you live?" I ask innocently, all set to make a quick exit as I heard him say Pluto or Mars.
"I live in Tromso," he replies.
Only then did the nickel drop. But of course, Lars lives in northern Norway, land of the midnight sun, where for two months from mid-May, the sun doesn't set and for two months from mid-November, it doesn't rise at all. And yes, in summer the sun rises and sets in the north and in winter it rises and sets in the south. So if the sun rises in the north, it moves sideways and upwards, reaches its acme during midday in the south, then sets in the north again. The sun actually moves in a circle above us. That's of course the pattern of its movement as seen in the Arctic Circle but it doesn't appear that way to the rest of the world, where people see the sun rising in the east, moving in a semicircle across the sky and then setting in the west.
I had a chance to witness this astounding phenomenon recently when I visited Tromso, the picturesque island located in a fjord and surrounded by snow-capped polar mountains. The midnight sun can be seen only if it's a clear, cloudless day and that can be rare. We were lucky.
The midnight sun is an awe-inspiring sight; a miracle of nature of unparalleled beauty and majesty. It's midnight, but the sun's shining brightly in the sky, the way it does in picture books, round and whole with rays reaching out into the expanse. The sun is bright but not so harsh that you can't gaze at it. The light from it is ethereal, casting an enchanting golden glow on the spectacular landscape of rolling mountains, quaint red-and-white doll-like houses, the brilliant blue of the clear fjord waters, dotted by ships and sailboats.
And then after the midnight hour, instead of sinking into the horizon as we're accustomed to, the sun rises - but not straight up. It moves sideways. And the night gets brighter.
One can never think of midnight in the same way again. For us, it's about darkness and sleeping people, watchful cops, prowling criminals, shadowy ghosts. But in Tromso, children are still playing, women are hanging out clothes to dry, men are mowing lawns and friends sitting in open-air cafes, drinking beer and wine. It's a wonderful time of day!
We know the sun doesn't move, but our perception of its movements have become our reality and we live our lives accordingly. Seeing the midnight sun and its impact on the local people really turned one's assumptions upside down; assumptions one took as sacred, indisputable facts of life. You realise at the physical or metaphysical level, there is no "One Reality". For nearly six-billion people, the reality is that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, but for a half-million people the sun rises and sets in the north or south. The minority reality may be experienced by only a few people, but it's as real and valid as the majority experience, however contrary, unreal or absurd it may seem at first.
And that's a message the majority community of any nation would do well to learn, understand and accept. The minority experience is a reality. Seemingly contrary multiple realities can and must coexist harmoniously in a country as they do in nature. The only major religion that has this understanding as its foundational truth is Hinduism. That's the way India has existed and will continue to, no matter that some Hindu zealots periodically attack Muslims and Christians. In fact, "Hindu zealot" is a contradiction in terms because if they're zealots they can't be Hindu.
Unlike Islam or Christianity that says there is only One path that leads to One God, Hinduism says there are several paths leading to several gods... just like the sun following different paths in several parts of the world but always leading to a 24-hour day.
