Kabir on a Saturday

I came in to the office today, and see it on a Saturday for a change. A big presentation awaits on Monday, and it could do with more work, hence. No one else is around, and although I could now go home, I decided to stay back and immerse in Kabir for a change, on my own. I had seen the four films last in the U.S., and have since kept a small distance, knowing that the right time would reveal itself when revisiting would become a meaningful experience.

The last few days have been strangely contemplative. Perhaps the effects of the eclipse :). I found myself disinclined to sing at S's place this morning - a first. This would not do, I thought. And to overcome the inertia, I finally made myself pick up a DVD and push it into the disk drive. (This took some labor.) Found myself on Had-Anhad, and re-experienced an introduction to Malwa, to Prahaladji, to Pugal, Mukhtiyar, to dohas that are now an element of daily life. I feel shaken. Not sad, not moved even, nor nostalgic, but shaken. To no small degree, I found tears streaming down my face, and I could not explain. Something is transformed within, yet I cannot put my finger on it. Instead of rambling on in riddles that I'm myself unable to solve, I leave you with (surprisingly) the first doha that has made it to this blog. Fittingly, too. Straight out of Had-Anhad, straight out of Mukhtiyar's crystal clear voice, and straight out of the essence of Kabir:

pothi padh-padh jag muha to pundit bhaya na koye
dhai akshar prem ke padhe so pundit hoye

Reading book after book, no one became a pundit,
But he who reads the 2.5 (or 4) letters of 'love' - he is fit to be a pundit.