Nice week…

Lot of things happened in the week past. They have been really interesting from the perspective of priorities.

The first one was my visit to a premium motorcycle showroom and involved being turned out, metaphorically, by the guys there. I had a word with a good friend of mine and the conversation centred around me having a big head. So big that I could not put up with a little frustration. Whatever it was, I felt closer to my bullet. More importantly, I felt like a kid who was refused his lollipop. I now don’t care about that lollipop. I on the other hand felt closer to my friend.

The second one was a conversation with another friend of mine when we had met after a long time. I was having chicken after close to 2 months. This friend was going through an important stage in his life and that kind of is an introspective phase for him. So we were having food and we were discussing a lot of friends and stuff. I abruptly told him that most of these things are immaterial and we should rather enjoy th food. I did just that. While on the way back, I looked at my day to day routine and found out that we, or atleast I am losing track of time in my everyday routine. I feel that I am  not enjoying the moment as much as I would want to. We all say that time flies, but what we actually mean is that we are wasting our time. We do not value time and the most important reason is because we are so packed in analyzing and dissecting things with our narrow minded priorities and petty politics that we let moments slip by us. We waste ourselves.

What priorities do I have today? To enjoy time. I don’t think there is any bigger priority for myself. Thanks to all my friends who taught me this.

Where is my paper?

Soft and mellow

It is interesting that I had made a draft a long while ago with just the name – ‘Soft and mellow’.

Now I login ages later to be able to relate to it like air. What else do I say when I talk about my moments these days. The swirl of incense in the mornings,..when I sit down to meditate is just like that. The waft of the morning mist and the wetness of dew is just like that. The words of my wife when she has just woken up,..is just like that. The sight of the morning bloom of roses in my balcony,..is just like that. The subtle taste of green tea, at any time of the day,..is just like that.

And yes, the sheer sight of my infant son,…at any time of the day,…any moment,..be it when he is sleeping or awake or when he is playing,….is bang on target – Soft and mellow.

I guess this feeling has less to do with the sights and sounds. It has more to do the inner draft. The incessant flow which sustains me. It is soft and mellow to start with. Everything else follows.

Feel like a ride

It was a fine evening. Just like any other.

Was at office contemplating the next few hours and I was reminded of the road. It has always been a nice thought to munch on. The wide road and the unending miles. Traffic far and between with sparsely interspersed shops and small eats.

I felt like a ride that moment. Light as  the air on my face. Ticklish as the light drizzle on my visor. Wet as the slush on my tyre tread. Steady as the beat on my thumper. I felt like I was ready to drift.

I picked up my keys and was off.

Good times and the bad times

It has beena kind of rough week for me. Half of my relatives are down with some illness or the other. The saving grace has been that each household has only a maximum of one person out of action. But it has been stressful enough with work to add.

But then there is a kind of silver lining everywhere. We just have to search enough for it. It has got be there somewhere. And I got mine in a whole lotta ways.

I got to sit down and chat with ‘Amma’ for a whole day. I can’t remember last having spent a whole day with amma in the recent past. I do not remember at all. We chatted about a lot of stuff. It was good. I made all kinds of things for her. They were simple, but satisfying. 

Spoke with my wife couple of times in the day and was happy to hear that her mother was doing fine. Sometimes a voice is all that is enough to make my day.

Then the evening came and I went off on a long ride with Ashok. It was drizzling and that made kind of a perfect setting for a drive. Lovely ride. Spent the later part of the night listening to old songs which used to make up ‘insti-party’ lore.

There is a silver lining everywhere.

Meditation diaries

I had written a post sometime back, on a particular observation during practise of asanas and meditation. Interestingly I had a comment by a gentleman talking about the a very sweeping description of meditation.

It was a very good description and I would like to agree with him on a lot of aspects. But if I look back and pick up something which had left an impression on me, it was his statement which can be equated with logic.

‘A wise person is intelligent, but an intelligent person is not necessarily wise’

How true?

One thing which I have noticed as a change during the past few years spent in meditation is that there has been a change in my maturity level (a.k.a wisdom). I would strongly attribute this to that fact that I am able to move away from my selfish self. I take myself less seriously and even so others. Can this really be called maturity?

Somebody I know recently said,

‘Let me be myself’.

I asked,

‘What are you, that you want to be yourself? You are but a mixed bag, predominantly composed of your parents and close friends,….and bits and pieces of all the people that you have met since you were born.’

I reflect upon it and isn’t it true that we are all clowns, imitating other in everything starting from the language we speak, body language to everything else. We talk like others, eat like others, think like others. The society seems to be a collective bag of largely identical units walking and talking in a mundane symphony. It as even perfected the art of sustaining itself through generations?

So there is no you as such. So why take yourself so seriously?

My husband, my work, my life……

So much of tension because of these thougths that you are responsible for everything and it is your headache to turn things around.

Is it necessary?

You have no control over why your were born by the collective union of two specific individuals in this wide Cosmos. If you have no control over this fact then you have no control over all the parameters that have influenced you ever since. Everything from your first teacher to the icecream vendor on the street.

A thought like this helps you take yourself less seriously. Can this be called maturity? Can a thought which makes you ligther be called maturity?

Simon say ‘Yes, we can!’

Hah!

Meditation diaries

I had received a book written in Tamil by my Guru and it has been quite an interesting journey.

For one, it is not a book which can be read at one go. To say the least, it is a book which should only be read a couple of pages a time. This is because of the fact that the book is about experiential learnings which cannot be be experienced at any predictable rate. This puts me in a quandry as I had set out to jot down notes on my interpretation of the book.

It seems to me that to literally translate it will not be the best things to do. Instead I will need to write my own bits and pieces.

Let me start with the most recent one.

Generally I sit in ‘Padmasana‘ and meditate for a decent amount of time. It so happens that due to pressure differences in the internal blood vessels of each individual leg, the blood supply is significantly compromised in one leg as compared to another. This is because the pressure is greater on one leg as compared to another.

Now when I come out of meditation and try to relax my legs, one leg is blue due to anoxia and the other leg is more or less reddish in colour. I am immediately reminded of the fact that some represenations of ‘Shiva‘ in India are done with Shiva representing one half and ‘Parvathi‘, his consort,

Arthanari

representing  the other half. ‘Shiva’ is depicted in blue and ‘Parvathi’ is depicted in red. The theme behind this sort of a depiction seems to be that ‘Shiva’ and ‘Parvathi’ are not male and female in the traditional sense, but represent some dual nature within the human body. This seems to be at the physical plane as well as a the spiritual plane.

Will continue in my next piece.

Meditation diaries

I have noticed many a time that I would like to express myself, but it turns out that the subject has already been broached by a different author in a different medium. This is particularly true for reflections in the spiritual space.

Just to give an example, I have heard of a Tamil song, one portion of which goes on like this

‘ Thathuva kuappaiyai marandhuda cheyvai nee..’

To explain word by word,

‘Thathuvam’ means meaning or moral attached to a story or preaching

‘Kuppai’ meand garbage

‘Marandhidu’ means to forget

‘Cheyvai’ means to make something happen

‘Nee’ means you

This song is part of a devotional hymn sung during prayer in Tamil households, particularly devotees of Lord Murugan.

I have found this thought flashing through my mind many a time. This particularly comes to the fore when life in general is being dissected on the logical plane.

I can come up with a few arguments in support of my opinion that life cannot be dissected on the logical plane. But I would be contradicting myself.

Then the question is about how to go about this subject. The fact remains that some questions are never going to be answered by dissections on the logical plane and to move ahead in this search of this ethereal knowledge, faith helps a lot.

I do not why, but I have faith.

Faith that there are some unanswered questions in life and that I need not search externally, but I can get all the answers from within. One simple reason for this faith was the fact that I could see within myself, every grain of emotion that I had seen or heard of. I could just go through all these emotions at my whim and fancy.

I could feel like a sinner and saint. I could feel them all. When I went through this, I knew that the mind is the panoply of a lot of things that I need to explore and learn.

This same faith brought me in touch with my Guru. I never have a logical explanation of why I have spent about 5 years in meditative practices and a bit of yoga thrown in. From an outsiders point of view there are a few things which seem interesting like my ability to exert immense control over my habits, but they seem irrelevant to me. I can observe that my decision making abilities have improved immensely, but they again seem irrelevant to me. This puts me in a situation very similar to that of some of my colleagues. This does not help me answer the simple question, why am I they way I am?

Now I would like to agree with the Tamil adage that I started this write-up with. And I want to write about it. But some intellectual had realized it eons back and had written a poem about it. Here I am trying to expand the essence only to realize that there is nothing new in it.

Come to think of it, have ( Humanity) we really changed the way we think we have? It is a very interesting question. Think about it.

@Ashok

I was asked a question on this forum a couple of weeks back and I had always wanted to write about it. This is probably the first time that I have taken notice of him in the time that I have known him. This reflects more on my relationship with him rather than on him in singularity.

His questions goes as thus.

“…..is exercising control over mind and making urself a better person comes only through internal concentration? Or is it internalizing the external world?”

To star with, the question needs a context. The context is that of me telling him once in a while that he might want to spend more time in collecting his thoughts through meditation.

In response he more or less responds that he needs to do it and probably will, but the question is when?

And probably the more important questions is about how much he wants it? And also the kind of questions that he had to internalise, in this process.

On one fine day he popped this question. And I feel there is a nice point to be brought out here.

Let us look at the typical day when I get up. Now let me fast forward to the point when I am about to sleep. Now let me look at the sheer number of people I meet. It goes without saying that I have very little control over the number of people I meet, the kind of circumstances in which I will meet them, the kind of interacions which happen between us and the outcomes.

Let me put it in a simpler fashion. I eat rice on day x. Let us look at the sheer number of people who are involved in getting rice to my table. Farmer, thresher, transporter, wholesaler, retailer and mother to me. This is simplistic, but it brings across the point about the sheer number of people involved. Again very little predictability.

If this is being a bit simplistic, let me try to cpature the point in a differet fashion. If I get up today, I cannot control what my mother will tell me.

I set out to think. I cannot control what others will say/ do in my day to day life. Then I look around and sit down.

What can I do in this world of apparent turbulence and chaos?

What do I do?

Ah! Yes…I can control my mind. I cannot control others actions, but I can control my reaction to it. That is what I can do and it will make a hell lot of difference to me.

Now it is my world.

To get back to the question, I am not answering the question about making oneself through a better person as I am of the opinion that the objective if meditation is not to make oneself a better person. Rather I am quirked by the second portion of the question which talked about internalizing the world.

And I think that collecting one thoughts in trying to handle one’s life involves internalization of the world. It is about taking a global view of the world. It is quite close to the philosophy of trying to find that ‘one’ which explains everything else.

It is about internalizing the world.

People I know

I have had many a rumination about the way people act and the motives behind the same. Let me tell you a story then.

Damu comes from a very decent background. His father is an established lawyer and his mother is a renowned artist. His lineage is as established as his love for his whiskers. He has been the one eye through which both his parents have seen the joys of parenting and the ensuing responsibilities.

Damu is in college and is part of a discussion.

Damu says to his friend,

‘Can this be a work of the beatles?’

Kris says,

‘ But I am talking about politics’

Damu says

‘You must be a fan of Bob Dylan then..’ Damu snickers away to glory.

Damu likes everything which is associated with intellectual coolness. Say what about the retro posters and marked verbal and non-verbal overtures alluding to a liking for the late-twentieth century association between music and cultural movements across the developed world. Interestingly he is funny guy, one who is able to make people laugh with him rather than at him. 

But what has really made me write about Damu is illustrated in the following conversation.

Damu saya with a note of brevity and nonchalance

‘Things like this tend to happen’

Ron says with a note of surprise at Damu’s attitude to an event of personal grief to Damu

‘But aren’t you worried about things like this happening to you?’

Damu maintains his air of nonchalance

‘Do I look like I care?’

But I sit back and think about another event that had happened sometime back.

Damu says with a note of concern.

‘Don’t talk like that to me. What will people think of me?’

And I know if Damu cares or not. I know if Damu is really cool or not. I know.

But then human emotions are like water. They rise, drop, flow, rise and ebb in unstoppable continuum with very little rhyme or reason. I now know that it doesn’t matter if I know or not.

Damu is a jolly good fellow.

Chennai Diaries

It has been almost a year since I left Chennai to start work in Bangalore. The memories are faint and the emotions are in traces.

I remember many a nice day spent rollicking in my grand parent’s place in Annanagar, Chennai. It is now a faint remembrance of what it used to represent a decade or more ago. A decade ago it would be a potboiler of childhood fantasies. I used to spend hours with just about a patch of mud, building imperfectly perfect castles and cavernous pits to snare that imaginary thug from tales of yonder. A couple of rupees from my mother could end up in hours of budgeting all the goodies that I could afford with that money. The sound of tinker-bells meant either ice-cream lollies or better still, candies being sold in imaginative, bulbous glass containers. The same sound at night could only mean Kulfi, which was sadly out-of-reach for the reason of persistent and menacing common-cold. Grandpa’s snoring could only mean that we could go to the terrace and jump on the roof so that he would come thundering out the the house cursing all of us as he couldn’t possible beat all of us.

All I remembered is an instant, like worn out photograph-negatives that you find in run down boxes from the attic. The trail is missing and so are the players.

Chennai…Ah!