Some jottings, please read only if you are in a patient mood

 Isn’t it sad when the phone ring sounds sweeter than the guitar and cymbals of a Norah Jones number?

It’s been almost two months since we came back from Arunachala.

The end of suffering doesn’t seem near. It’s certainly been more than 7 years. Have I never been a Boddhisattava? If I were to believe the Great Teacher’s words, I’ve been around forever. Is something longer than forever?

The view of the Hill from Arunachaleswara Temple is more magnificent than from the Ashram. When you are done running around the various shrines, and arrive at the temple courtyard and look up, there it is, suddenly massive and embracing. I loved th gigantic Nandi. He seemed to know me. Dear Nandi, please do not abandon me. I am a tiny little creature in so big a world, I cannot do without You.

Sometimes relief will do. Salvation seems over the top.

Arunachala welcomes you on His own terms. I found it difficult to climb. Well, I am not a terribly fit person. And I decided to climb without slippers as is usually advised. Arunachala is not Shiva’s abode. Arunachala is Shiva. The Father. The Reclusive Father, who it seems is very loving. Where is my share of love, my Father? What am I to you? Your supreme indifference is killing me. They say You are kind. Really? What kind of Father are you? Mera number kab ayega? They say you are within, then why do you feel millions of miles away? 

“Naam tujhe hote Gora houni nishkama”. Gora, the saint from Maharashtra, sang this with utter love. I don’t think i know that kind of love, yet I feel that line in my bones. It’s my earnest, sincere and desperate prayer.

God, i wonder why they call you the Almighty… when you can’t even find a piddly, haughty auto three nights in a row?

My ascetic Father, give some of your ascetism to me. No, I don’t want to wear ochre robes (though i love the colour ochre) and live in the jungle. Thank you very much. I like my spouse, the comfort of my home, music, books, movies, and nice clothes. What I want is the ascetism of the mind. Would you please command my mind to not sweat over the small stuff? It’d be awesome if it does not get hyper over big stuff either.

Ramana Maharishi’s Akshara Mana Malai is a beautiful song. I wonder why it discovered me only recently. It feels like i have written it. Ramana did not seek God. God came to him unbidden. Enlightenment, nirvana happened to a young lad one fine day. He did not have to go through the misery of seeking. Yet, how well he knows the anguish of the seeker’s heart!

Dear friend, if you know that heartfelt beautiful song, please hum it for me. Will you?…

Arunachala Siva

For some time

Will be away for some weeks. Repetitive Strain Injury. Am in pain, and the nerve relaxants and pain killers are making me feel drugged and drowsy.

Am a bit scared about my job and career. I guess I just would have to trust the future.

Health. I wish I had good health. I am aware that several people  suffer infinitely more, and that scares me even more. Good health would have made me less of a seeker, more of a happy person. Right now it is a symbol of all that I could do with life, of living and laughing more.

Yes, there is a positive side. I could read loads of books that expectantly look out of my bookshelf.

Hope to see you hale and hearty at the other side of the gap

Take care and God bless,

spirited seeker

Wrote something….

….for the About segment. Finally!

Friendship

And a youth said, “Speak to us of Friendship.”

Your friend is your needs answered.

He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.

And he is your board and your fireside.

For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.

When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the “nay” in your own mind, nor do you withhold the “ay.”

And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;

For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.

When you part from your friend, you grieve not;

For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.

For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.

And let your best be for your friend.

If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.

For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?

Seek him always with hours to live.

For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.

And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.

For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

By Khalil Gibran

On me-time and loneliness

The husband is on a ten-day trek in the Himalayas. I am hoping he doesn’t set up home in a cosy cave. Yes, he is eccentric. Slightly different. He loves moutaineering and hoards books by famous climbers. Why am I not climbing the mountains with him? Because he says he is likely to be asked every five minutes, “How much further?” Besides, I can live in a tent without a bathroom for two or three days, not more. It is freezing there, and I wonder if I am fit enough to walk uphill for a longish stretch.

So, here I am – missing him terribly. A friend suggests I will have a lot of me-time. Not much, I say. With a routine that keeps me out of the house for almost 12 hours, what’s left?

And what is me-time? When i do stuff I enjoy? Reading, listening to music, watching movies at home or theatre, shopping (I like this one!), walks in the park, chatting with friends or sister over the phone, watching TV (least preferred, but ends up being the most indulged-in activity), meditation (haven’t done this for ages). I love all this, but.but.but.

Chores are dime a dozen on weekdays, and weekends too, but even when I am free all by myself, I am given to acutely feel loneliness.

J Krishnamurthy says that if there is loneliness, you can do nothing but face it. He doesn’t guarantee that facing it will ease it.

Why is it so difficult for me to spend time with myself? Am I gregarious? No. But the need for people… to not be alone is there. Some years back I did a 10-day Vipassana retreat above McLeodganj. For 10 days, you can’t talk and you have to avoid eye-contact with others. You wake up at 4.30 am, go to bed by 9.30 pm, and in between sit for meditation with a few breaks. It made me realize that when there is no escape from thoughts, when I can’t drown in outward activities,  I feel swamped. Making peace with my overactive mind has been a long struggle.

I wonder if I was near Basho’s pond would I still feel lonely? He was a Zen monk. A haiku he wrote:

The ancient pond,
A frog jumps in
Plop!

Can you imagine the silence before and after the plop? I wonder if my restless mind would stick out like a sore thumb there.

A year after my mother passed away, I was in Rishikesh by the River Ganga. It was an early winter morning. I was miserable. Then, the river began to lap my feet. The sun rose to shine on my aching back. The breeze blew softly. They knew me intimately! It seemed they had always known me! This experience really defies description, all I can say is that I felt loved and solaced. Later I tried to recreate that miraculous peace. Same spot, same River. But the peace was missing.

I understand that a human being is essentailly alone. We take birth alone, we sleep alone, we die alone. So then, why do I keep running away from myself all the time? Why is the lightness of being so rare? Why can’t I cherish emptiness? Perhaps because it is stewing in a lot of noise.

Little wonder then i find mystics fascinating. Sanyasis living alone in the Himalayas, Sufis whirling and diasppearing. What do they have? Or what did they lose? Or what can they see that I can’t?

Siddhartha by Herman Hesse describes a ferryman who listened like a tree absorbs rain. Imagine listening so totally! Grant me patience, O God, “to listen to whatever comes” (including my own thoughts) .

Love,

a spirited seeker

PS: Will write a little more about my husband soon. He is eccentric, and great

I did not die

A, my dearest daughter….

Do not stand at my pyre and weep….
I am not there, I do not burn.

I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on the snow.
I am the sunlight on the ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awake in the morning hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of the quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft star shining at night…

Do not stand at my pyre and cry…

I am not there, I did not die.

Sandeep, dear friend, philosopher, guide, ferryman, thank you so much for this poem you sent seven years ago.

It gives me comfort, and lets me know that my mum is at peace. It is a soothing breeze, it is a heart that contains everything, yet is empty. 

And to the thousand winds, the diamond glints, the sunlight, the gentle autumn rain and much more, I want to say, “I love you.” Mummy, I love you.

Hyderabad is burning. But there’s hope…

I have just come back from office, and was browsing the newspapers. The old city has been tense for the past few days because of clashes between the two communities. Just when I was despairing, ‘Is peace possible?’ ‘Gaps are becoming wider and wider’, a sliver of hope descends…

Golla Khidki Leads by example

“We had to act swiftly. Khan,along with Md Javed and a few other members of his community soon took to the streets to hold back the Muslim groups from attacking the Hindu families residing in the area.Though tackling a charged mob of over 150 people was a Herculean task,they are glad they succeeded.
While Khan and his people were at it,at one end of the street,it was T Subodh Kumar,his brother Prem Kumar and some more members from the Hindu community who stood tall before a crowd of Hindu agitators,who were heading towards the Muslim households in the locality to cause harm.”

God bless them! And may there be peace.

Notes of an outsider…

I still consider myself new to Hyderabad. So, there is curiosity.

From the bus window on the way back home, I see these Telugu film posters… And wonder why so many heroines are North Indians. Some posters make me want to watch the movies – but language is a barrier. Still. There is this poster of Allu Arjun in bridegroom finery, with his eyes looking down, as if he is feeling shy. Warm colours. It is a lovely close-up. The whole poster has his face and a blur of a bride in the background. Now, I am curious about this film. Then, there is this film Ye Mayavu Chesavu with endearing posters of a couple. It seems the director made a Tamil version also. The guy is Hindu, the girl is Syrian Christian. The heroine wears sarees, and skirts, and the couple looks normal yet have a halo around them. You know what I mean. I want to watch this film too.  Some posters are atrocious, though. I remember one where the hero is scribbling something on the heroine’s tummy!! And then there are several where the hero heaps brands and labels on himself and looks tacky.

Hyderabadis just want to enjoy. So, there is an endless array of festivals – Bonalu, Ganesh Chathurthi, Christmas, Ramzan and Id, Ugadi, Sankranti, Vijay Dashmi and many more. They also account for many residents taking off to their hometowns and villages, every now and then.

You will find muggus, or rangolis, not only on religious festivals but also on New Year’s Eve and Independence Day. Hyderabad is a city of colourful gateways, thanks to the ever-so graceful women of the city.

Hyderabadi biryani can fill up at least two people. And Irani chais are milky, sweet and nice.

I wonder if Hindus and Muslims interact when they share a locality. I have seen several Hindus in Irani Tea Cafes and several Muslims in Chutneys and other South Indian joints. Once I saw (again from the bus window) a dhoti-clad man with a straight teeka on his forehead earnestly talk with a man with a beard and a skull cap. They were deep in discussion by the roadside, outside someone’s house. I hope it was a fruitful discussion.

Many women wear flowers in their hair and sarees, much more than the women in Delhi. Saree ads adorn several billboards. They all make me want to learn the art of wearing sarees.

The women in bhurqas outshine everyone in crossing tempestuous roads.

Big and small Sufi shrines and Hindu temples dot the roads and galis. Yesterday on the way back home I saw a little boy with a skull cap inside a tiny dargah with his palms joint, all by himself.

Hyderabad is blessed with a cool breeze most months. The rocks and boulders spring up in and around the city, and make it beautiful.

And oh! Sai Baba of Shirdi is Hyderabad’s favourite deity. You will find him everywhere: Sri Sai Tutorials, Sai Tailors, Sri Sai Residency, Sai Travel and Tours, Sai Chemists, Sai Bakeries, Sri Sai Bike Point, Sri Sai Book Stall, Sai Restaurant and Bar!

Comments

I recently left a couple of comments on another blogger’s post. They were comments that did not agree completely with their post, though the disagreement was civil.

Now there are other comments there that make it seem like I am not getting the human rights violation angle… It makes me wonder if they are thinking of me as a villain, as someone who will trample upon other people’s rights…

Then someone told me this today: “What others think of you is none of your business.”

Great advice. Don’t you think?

Not a mother, yet a mother!

My nephew when he was just a few days old

 

This is my little one, my sister’s son, my son. 

He is in Delhi, and I am in another city! It’s tough, sometimes. I miss him. Soon baby, soon, inshallah, I’d meet you soon.

(This post inspired by Uttara’s post.)