Sievings

FYI

2009-09-04T20:03:00.000-07:00

I'm letting go of the sievings.org domain, but this blog will remain accessible at http://eightandtwenty.blogspot.com.

We're Moving!

2009-08-31T07:17:00.001-07:00

Time it was, time said, to move on. So here we are - my blog and I - newly aboard at Zero Summer. See you there, then?

On Sievings

2009-08-11T03:41:00.001-07:00

Dear Sievings,

I've loved having you around, and you've been a friend indeed. However, I've been feeling a tension of sorts lately, a need to branch out. Where to, I do not know. Why, too, I do not know. I do want you to be around still, as a sweet remembrance. You have taught me much that I thank you for. I now feel an itch to don a new hat, though. One of these days, it will be time.

But I could never forget you. The seeds that you have planted will continue to grow and bear fruit. There can be no doubt about that.

Love,

8&20

Another way of telling

2009-08-10T11:24:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I found myself amidst quite a struggle. Perhaps this will sound selfish, perhaps altogether inane, but I'll share it with you nonetheless.

In Blossom (the best book shop in Bangalore, or the world for that matter) yesterday, I was looking for a book on photography to give as a present. Not the usual "how to take good pictures" kind of stuff, but really "something more" without knowing what this "more" was. Well, I absolutely stumbled upon this book (nothing quite explains why I was drawn to something that didn't strike a chord at all, at first). As I walked myself through the first few pages, I found that this was it. It really was just the book I'd been looking for. Every page enthralled. I was in love. There was no question of "to buy or not to buy".

Yet, now the question was - "to keep or not to keep". I felt rather shameless reconsidering, and for the thought of getting another book for my friend (after all, I reasoned, how was I to know if she'd love this one just as much as I did.) The truth is, though, that it didn't matter. In a second, I realized that as soon as the decision was made - I'd always feel terrible if I kept it, and I'd always feel happier if I brought myself to part with it for good reason. Thence the doubt disappeared. Doubt is like that, isn't it? It just disappears.

Anyway, it is still a book I'd recommend highly to you all (I intend to buy it right away!)- if photography interests you, even as a faraway subject. It also encouraged me to document my own journey as a photographer a little better. There is such immense joy in discovering another go through the same questions as oneself. Narcissists we are indeed!

This post was meant to be about a landmark on this journey, not so much about photo at a meta-level, but perhaps next time. Good night, all!

On 'old children'

2009-08-10T10:36:00.001-07:00

While I would have liked for this blog to dutifully serve as a travelog, it has been a while since I really penned my thoughts on the travel I've been doing. There is some comfort in the thought that photos are making up for this, to some degree. Anyway, this post is inspired by memories of Malwa, etched in my brain as my first (and most delightful) tryst with rustic bliss.

Of course, words have found their way out of my head so as to be replaced by Tagore's. I no longer fret about not being able to write like him. I don't need to. He already reads my thoughts like a mirror:

Sometimes one or other of our simple, devoted old ryots comes to see me - and their worshipful homage is so unaffected! How much greater than I are they in the beautiful simplicity and sincerity of their reverence. What if I am unworthy of their veneration - their feeling loses nothing of its value.

I regard these grown-up children with the same kind of affection as I have for little children - but there is also a difference. They are more infantile still. Little children will grow up later on, but these big children never.

A meek and radiantly simple soul shines through their worn and wrinkled old bodies. Little children are merely simple, they have not the unquestioning, unwavering devotion of these. If there be any undercurrent along which the soul of men may have communication with one another, then my sincere blessing will surely reach and serve them.

A Day to Remember

2009-08-08T07:40:00.000-07:00

I hadn't realized how long it had been since I was left with a day to myself - in entirety and without responsibility. As I found myself in the midst of just such a one, I rejoiced in watching it amble past me - slowly, as the hours turned.

It was a day spent with music, with writing, with photos. With friends and family, albeit remotely. It was a day spent with myself and my solitude. Poetic that does sound; and indeed, the day was beautiful like poetry.

Empty Offices

2009-08-08T01:05:00.000-07:00

What is it about empty offices that is somehow so comforting? It's my second Saturday at Srishti, and I'm loving the peace and quiet it brings. Of course, it's true that I don't feel much like working either. Feeling inspired, I went through my un-put-up photos from the past few weeks and put them up. Now I feel like writing.

Maybe I should go home to get some work done :).

Bangalore

2009-08-07T21:23:00.000-07:00

This is my fourth and final stretch in Bangalore, and although I've taken several captures to remember it by, perhaps it also merits a post. I sit here then, and wonder - what comes to mind when I think Bangalore? The people first - those who have floated in and out of life ever so seamlessly, bringing with them moments of happiness. Bangalore brought me to meet a friend I hadn't seen in 21 years, a close friend from high school whom I met after 12, several friends from college - some close, some not so close... I also made new acquaintances, forged new friendships, and all of these trysts helped make my stay at Bangalore lovely and memorable. So when I think Bangalore, these will always be the first to come to mind.

And then, the place. Bangalore offered so many and varied experiences. The guest house, in its calmness and serenity, welcomed me each time I entered its vast, green landscape. Even as I sit and type these words, I hear the wind brush against the leaves outside, knowing I will always remember it with great fondness. Outside the guest house, I have gradually developed a deeper acquaintance with Yelahanka - on foot, in a car, bus, auto, motorbike, scooter... And this reminds me to mention the traffic in which the entire city is ever afloat. Indeed, Bangalore would not be Bangalore without it.

At first glance, I loved how green Bangalore was, though I must admit that I've gotten rather used to it and now take its shades for granted. The weather, of course, is to die for. Where else in India does one need to keep a shawl at hand, at all times? I love the breeze, and rejoice when it turns to wind. Indeed, there is a natural air-conditioning that Bangalore is blessed with. And when it rains, it feels as though the heavens are pouring.

Mmm, that about covers it all, doesn't it? And yet, I've clearly done no justice whatsoever. I promise to try harder next time.

Where does it go?

2009-08-07T21:11:00.000-07:00

I just typed a comment in response to Peevee's post. When I first read over it, this is what I saw:

blah. blah blah :).
blah blah. :)

Do you see what I see? At first I winced at the inconsistency in the two lines. A second later, as I read the words and relived the emotions, I realized that there was a reason, be it somewhat obscure:

Ha. Too busy with the darling little kid, I assume :).
I suppose you picked the right forum to get through to her. :)

The first line was conceived of with a smile, while the second came out as a reflection and was followed by a smile. Get it? How interesting is that? :)

:).

Enough Already

2009-08-05T11:34:00.000-07:00

Life's lesson for me today is to stop writing, thinking, talking, discussing... just BE. There's just no other way out of this mess. Got that?

A thought

2009-08-04T22:06:00.000-07:00

Was there a time in the history of humankind when there was no thought? Every thought has a birth and death, does it not? Must it not then follow that there was once no thought, and then the first was born? What was this first thought, I wonder...

Today's was an Eckhart Tolle morning, and there are two thoughts he left me with that I'd like to share:

1. Make the present moment your friend, not your enemy.

2. When we act according to the highest light we can see within us, more light finds its way in.

Apologies

2009-08-04T04:41:00.000-07:00

Earlier today, I posted excerpts from The Secret. I take these back now, with the realization that a little knowledge is sometimes a dangerous thing.

I must admit I do believe that this book is a little in that realm of offering a little knowledge that cannot stand alone on its own two feet. What one takes from it and runs with is anybody's guess really, and that thought makes me rather uneasy. When a kind friend helped me understand the implications from an alternate perspective, I felt rather sheepish about exhibiting this content on my blog.

If you wish to read The Secret, by all means read it. But pray, do keep in mind that most of the great masters it quotes have said a lot more than just what the book presents. The lessons of detachment, mindfulness, acceptance and surrender, equanimity, selflessness... are also to be kept in mind, as one embraces the attitude of gratitude, positive thinking, visualizing goals, and what have you.

I hope we understand each other :).

To the world at large

2009-08-03T11:43:00.000-07:00

[and to me in particular]

Let it be known that life, in this moment, is very very good. It may not have felt so yesterday, as I packed to leave home again. And it may not seem so tomorrow, as I grapple with complex research questions at work. But right now, in this moment, it is very very good. I cannot think of anything more to ask for, even as I find myself miles away from a soul I know... as I dissolve in silence.

And gratitude.

So Far So Good

2009-08-03T10:39:00.001-07:00

Ever since I stated my goals and began to visualize them, I've made some noticeable progress on most (if not all) sectors. Allow me to bore you with the details. Or allow me to allow you to skip reading this post entirely. That will do you good. And don't say I didn't warn you!

I entered a bookstore, not intending to buy a thing really, and my eyes instantly fell on a book of digital photography soon as I entered. This spoke to some of the things I'd been trying to figure out how to do with my photos. Honestly, it was a clear step up. I'm a little better now, and have a tutorial lined up for tomorrow by someone who generously offered to teach me some photo-polishing techniques in Photoshop.
The very same coworker is an expert at Illustrator and illustrated some remarkable tricks today that left me floored. I absolutely have to learn to use this better, and he's going to pass on a copy of Illustrator for Dummies to me tomorrow. Step up.
As for singing - I have found a potential guru, sort of. Regardless, steps have been taken to generate a plan for the near future. In the meantime, meditation upon music continues.
Writing down the bones, no questions there.
The process of photography doesn't ever stop. The digital photography book taught me some great techniques for better management of light, different styles of compositions, etc. I also learned how my dSLR does its metering, after all these years. The India: Then and Now book brought new perspective on perspectives, especially for building/landscape captures. Clear and solid step up.
Not learning Bangla yet, but certainly trying to follow the Bangla words used in the biography I am reading currently. Let's say that counts.
Can't say I've embarked upon solid research questions to explore. However, a long mail update was just dispatched to the advisor, and we'll be talking later this week on phone. I'd say there's progress towards progress.
Continuing to be positive and enthusiastic. Laughing in loud, uncontrolled guffaws. And refraining from homesickness (now that is a big deal!).
Loving as much as I can, and trying to love more. With non-attachment and acceptance. The progress is less discrete, and there's still a long way to go. We'll be hopeful for now, though.
Yep, growing. Trying to expand horizons as we speak. Getting to know new people, more people. Trying to learn new things. I suppose this one is hard to avoid even, though!

acceptance

2009-08-03T07:36:00.000-07:00

is august's votm, and i start my thought process with past reflections.

intriguing it is indeed, to find that lessons could do with endless repetitions. in the school of life i'm really barely passing :(.

and yet, this too i must learn to accept :).

July

2009-08-03T07:15:00.000-07:00

After a tussle between mindfulness and empathy, decisiveness won the VOTM spot. On the flight to Bangalore today, I jotted down the following reflections on making decisions:

The power to make decisions stems from the availability of 'choice'. Those who are blessed with the wealth of resources have also the power, more often than not, to choose what to do with this wealth. The question then remains - what do we do with this power? How best may we utilize it? How do we decide - to do one thing and not another?

I have often entertained the desire of having a 'little person' sitting inside of me, telling me what to do, and all the time. This little person would just know the right thing to do at all times, and guide me to the right path without fail. It took me some time to realize that this fantastic dream of mine was actually real - this 'little person' did exist. It was the voice of my gut, my conscience.

It is this voice that tends to the mind when it has successfully trapped itself in its daily quandaries, as a mother tends to a child who's stuck with his hand inside a cookie jar and cannot get it out. It is then up to the child to let go, let the mother take over, or to resist any help and continue stubbornly to struggle. [This may not be the best analogy, but hopefully it brings the point across.]

To get up or not to get up, the mind asks. "Get up," the voice says.

To eat or not to eat a third slice of this super-indulgent cake? "Not to eat," says the gut.

To let my ego come in way of helping out a friend in need? "Not ever."

And so it goes. The mind plays truant all too often. No doubt it is so often referred to as the 'monkey mind'. But thank heavens for the gut, that brings it back in place. The struggle between the two doesn't 'start' or 'end'. It was and will be. Unless we enter the realm of the Buddha's existence, but the chances are just so slim we might as well leave them out of consideration.

Daunted by the enormity of the task that lay before me of this struggle (when I first awoke to this inner reality), I didn't really know how I could become a fitting defender of this voice, this gut. It always seemed so much easier to let the mind have its way. Despondently I'd wonder - will it always be this way?

It has been a slow learning process (though 'slow' and 'fast' are also constructs of the mind), but I have learned that this conscience evolves as well. It grows from seed to plant to flowers and fruits that are more fragrant and far sweeter than any other. All it asks is to be fed some attention. The more we tend to it then, the more it tends to us.

And as I close this post, I am fondly reminded of this story I had shared with you earlier - about the good wolf and the bad wolf. I suppose I have only reiterated its import.

On The Secret

2009-07-31T10:01:00.000-07:00

I shared earlier that I loved the book and felt empowered by it. A friend led me to a critique that was well-written and effected a balance. I now feel better equipped to write my review. The truth is that the 'secret' has been no secret, really. Few people have made good use of it, true. And now too, few people will make good use of it - it's just the way the world is. But folks like Thich Nhat Hanh or Swami Vivekananda said no different.

There is a 'sensationalized' component to the book, which could go both ways. On the one hand, I feel that it packages the message of positivity, gratitude, careful application of energy, importance of visualization, etc. in a really effective manner. On the other, though, hullo! Do I really want myself to achieve all the things that I could if I put my mind to it? That sounds conflicting, but if what the book says about being able to achieve all that our heart desires is true, such that people dedicate all of their energy thus to acquisition of material wealth, would not the world go berserk?

One could argue that if one practices as per The Secret by being grateful and positive all the time, that one couldn't possibly be a potential hoarder of material wealth, but that's in the gray. The book clearly states that the universe has enough and more of everything for everyone. So we can all be in abundance. Yay. Is it true? What about people, for instance? If a man wants to be dating many women non-committally, he finds three to alternate among. When he decides he wants to settle down, he gets rid of (at least) two of them. Just like that. It sounds a little out of control to me.

Yet. I do really believe that what a man chooses to achieve, he can and he will. There must also be the tiny component of discernment thrown in, that is all. He must be able to think for himself whether his demands, his 'visualizations', are in the best interest of him and his surroundings.

And if you have that ability to discern, but would like an effective action plan for helping you inch towards your goals, then the book is for you. It is true that I say this because I really, truly feel that the book is for me. In my next post, I'd like to outline precisely why this is so.

On Gratitude

2009-07-30T20:51:00.000-07:00

I've been chanting the "be grateful" mantra for several years now. Of course, the second the going gets tough, the mantra gets going too! I'm hoping these two moving accounts (my recent discoveries from The Secret) will do a better job of holding me to it. I've been practicing already, and while I cannot say "it has brought about wondrous changes in my life already!" I can say that it feels good. And feeling good feels good indeed :).

Gratitude has been such a powerful exercise for me. Every morning I get up and say "Thank you." Every morning, when my feet hit the floor, "Thank you." And then I start running through what I'm grateful for, as I'm brushing my teeth and doing the things I do in the morning. And I'm not just thinking about them and doing some rote routine. I'm putting it out there and I'm feeling the feelings of gratitude.

- James Ray

I think everybody goes through times when they say, "Things aren't working right," or, "Things are going bad." Once, when there were some things going on in my family, I found a rock, and I just sat holding it. I took this rock, I stuck it in my pocket, and I said "Every time I touch this rock I'm going to think of something that I'm grateful for." So every morning when I get up, I pick it up off the dresser, I put it in my pocket, and I go through the things I'm grateful for. At night, what do I do? I empty my pocket, and there it is again.

I've had some amazing experiences with this idea. A guy from South Africa saw me drop it. He asked, "What is that?" I explained it to him, and he started calling it a gratitude rock. Two weeks later I got an email from him, in South Africa. And he said, "My son is dying from a rare disease. It's a type of hepatitis. Would you send me three gratitude rocks?" They were just ordinary rocks I found off the street, so I said "Sure." I had to make sure that the rocks were very special, so i went out to the stream, picked out the right rocks, and sent them off to him.

Four or five months later I get an email from him. He said, "My son's better, he's doing terrific." And he said, "But you need to know something. We've sold over a thousand rocks at ten dollars apiece as gratitude rocks, and we've raised all this money for charity. Thank you very much."

So it's very important to have an "attitude of gratitude."

- Lee Brower

Goals!

2009-07-30T05:17:00.000-07:00

Alright, world! The Secret has empowered me. I shall now visualize the following and make them happen in my life :) -

Become an expert at Photoshop such that I can effect all the changes I visualize within, especially with my photos. No more whining 'I wish I knew how to Photoshop'.
Become an expert at Illustrator such that I can create posters, images, etc. No more looking at Kabir artwork and thinking 'I wish...'.
Be regular at singing, keep the process of learning going (ideally, find a guru). No more 'I need to', 'I will', 'if only's.
Write down the bones, i.e. write write write.
Photograph a lot, and often. State clear goals for evidence of improvement.
Learn Bangla, so as to read Tagore in his original works.
Embark upon solid research questions to explore.
Be the most positive and enthusiastic person I know.
Love indiscriminately, and all the time.
Grow!

Inspired

2009-07-30T02:00:00.000-07:00

I was at Time Out yesterday, and although there wasn't a plan to buy anything (I've purchased quite a library for myself this summer, honestly), I picked up The Secret, read 30 pages, and couldn't resist. It's a quick read, and I finished all of it yesterday. True that most of the ideas had been encountered elsewhere, yet - I'm in love. It's an amazing package of positive thought, and intensely motivational.

There are many things in it that I'm struck by, and will take some time to write about these. For now, however, I'd like to leave you with this mantra - don't let a negative thought enter your head. As soon as it comes, find a positive thought to counter it. In fact, maintain a bank of positive thoughts. Think positive. Think love.

More soon :).

What makes a good picture?

2009-07-28T09:16:00.000-07:00

Honestly, I don't know. But it's a good thing to think about I realize, for there is certainly something in it that comes from a very deep location - the something that decides the what and how to click and the what and how to pick.

One Art

2009-07-28T04:58:00.000-07:00

This poem by Elizabeth Bishop blew my mind. How easy she makes it sound... but still, perhaps there's some merit in the idea of doing it step by step.

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

On Stopping the Train

2009-07-28T04:47:00.000-07:00

I stole this from a blog post I just read. Still reeling from the impact of it:

X : Her internet connection should be taken off!
Y : Why?
X: She seems to have time only for checking her mails during office hours resulting in total negligence at work.
Y: Well, if she looks out through her window watching a train passing by, will you go and stop the train?

Photophilia

2009-07-25T21:29:00.001-07:00

I said in my post last evening that I discovered photography anew. More detached now, I realize that this happens often... and feels no different from discovering a new side to someone we know well. Yet, our love grows in leaps and bounds as we discover these new sides, and so it is with me and the camera. Taking a picture becomes much like taking in a sip of water then, and yesterday, I had been in the desert for days, it seemed. As N gave me the liberty to click indiscriminately, I found my energy levels rise slowly, and a fullness prevailed within. It is lovely to be able to capture sights, and the potential potency of a visual capture is really something else. [Yesterday, we talked about how I am forever at a loss for descriptors these days, such that everything is "really something" or "really something else". I can't remember to whom or when though!]

I am helped by the existence of a dear friend from Bangalore (well, at least one, at any rate). While I walk the streets of the city, I do my best to step out and into her shoes - wondering what would make her nostalgic, what would move her as a 'gift' from home, what is the closest I could bring her to home and how? Thank you camera, thank you smugmug, for allowing me to reach her thus :). (And thank you P, for helping me exercise this ability!)

On the way back to Yelahanka, I reflected on a thought process I'd had on M.G. Road. I heard a girl say on the phone, "I'll hang up now, it's really crowded here and my cellphone could get stolen." And here I had an expensive camera generously on display. For a second I wondered if I ought to be more careful. But I had considered that option, packed in my camera, then taken it out again, dismissing the concern. In just a few minutes of walking empty-handed, my fingers had itched, and my eyes had longed for the viewfinder - to capture the richness of the street scenes.

There'd been a time (a very long time) when I was terribly possessive about the camera, and would be extra-alert when it was handled by someone else. I'd also carry the bag with me everywhere, so as to ensure that it was never stolen. Even the thought of it being stolen was uber-painful then. Now, there is no anxiety on that count. I frequently offer it to others to click with (including my four-year old niece and photographer-in-training, though the strap goes around her twice to adjust to her size :). I also embrace the possibility of it getting stolen one of these days, as I click in crowded rural/urban streets indiscriminately. It seems not to bother me at all (and this when I earn a fifth of what I did then!).

A comparison of these two attitudes led me to wonder if one was decidedly better than the other. The latter brings more peace, but does it also make me less attentive, more lax? And even if I was possessive before, I was devoted to the care of the camera, I tended to it as a mother to a child (well, almost). For any two choices, if one involves peace, that's where my pull is, yet it is instructive to realize that it is not all black and white, ever. No shortage of the grey. In fact, ye to "thoos thoos ke bhara hai" (as Qawwal Farid Ayaz would say).

Laagi, laagi...

2009-07-25T20:50:00.000-07:00

S shared this with me last evening:

Laagi laagi sab koi kahe, laagi buri balaa
Laagi hoye jab janiyo, aar paar hoi jaaye

I offer a rough and literal translation:

"I'm struck", "I'm struck", everyone says - they have caught this bad habit
When you're struck, you'll know, for all will be a-scatter

MG Road on a Saturday

2009-07-25T08:36:00.000-07:00

Inspired by Kabira Khada Bazaar Mein, I headed out to M.G. Road (oh dear, that was a terrible attempt, but so very close...). My belief in the spontaneous making of plans served me well, and N and I overcame various hurdles to finally meet. After 21 years. It is amazing to see the ways in which people change, and just as amazing to see the ways in which they don't. I saw the same eyes, the same smile, similar height difference perhaps, but a very different spirited friend. It was, in all, a lovely sight to behold, and I was happy just to look and listen. Of course, a camera was involved as well.

Rewind. After an inexplicably tearful afternoon, I headed out to town with only an objective of indulging in city sights, and in solitude. Although I'd carried my camera out of habit, I had no desire then to click. Another one of those things I mechanically forced myself to do (carry, that is). There is something to be said for energy-inducing inspiration though... as we crossed M.G. Road and I saw the construction workers at the Metro site, I felt a sudden surge to take a picture of them. And so the photography began, as though for a first time. [Photos to be posted on Smugmug in no time.]

Blossom was the only plan I'd had, but it must now wait until next time. As I waited at Barista for N, I saw a gentleman give me a kindly look and smile. I wondered if I knew him from elsewhere, but couldn't quite place him. As I returned a half-confused smile and walked on further, I saw the reason for his smile - his digital SLR. Interesting, is it not - this understanding so tacitly shared between photographers? Or the lovers of any art, for that matter. We are polyglots without even knowing it.

Kabir on a Saturday

2009-07-25T03:00:00.000-07:00

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.

A Suspension of Belief?

2009-07-24T21:24:00.000-07:00

As I meditated this morning, many images flashed past the mind (clearly the goal was not being met). One that came particularly unexpected was that of me on the Lakshman Jhula. I have a vivid recollection of my visit to Roorkee when I was perhaps 6 or 7, from where we headed up to Rishikesh and Hardwar to pay homage to the Ganga.

The Lakshman Jhula is a suspension bridge, built across the river. I distinctly remember my feeling of deep fear as I walked on it, desiring nothing more than to get off it, even as I held on to someone (I cannot remember if it was a parent or a cousin now) for dear life. The view was spectacular, but how was I to tell? My eyes were tightly shut and opening them for a second came with intense fright. How was anyone to assure that there was no need to fear?

The analogy seemed particularly potent this morning, as I realized how I have oft done that in life as well - held on to someone or something for 'dear life', stubbornly shut my eyes, and wished myself off 'the bridge'. Acceptance and surrender are immense lessons to internalize (it is possible my struggle is greater than others'... I can barely imagine others being as petrified as I was that morning!).

How then, may we open our eyes to the truth that the walk may be shaky, but we are held in life's great hands, and thus protected by powers we are too small to comprehend? How then, may we open our eyes to the view so spectacular, the Beauty that lies before us in its supreme vastness? All that is needed is to let go. And yet, how very hard that is... despite the rewards that await us - not just at the other end, but along the journey as well.

Reaching Out

2009-07-24T12:16:00.000-07:00

To offer a world hug...
and to get one :).

The 'Religion of Man'

2009-07-23T19:08:00.000-07:00

I try to ensure that I get at least a half hour with Tagore every day. That half hour is enough, and in fact, more may overload me with ideas too beautiful to have to share mind space with one another, I feel. Today, however, just five minutes were more than I could take. I read this portion of My Life in My Words repeatedly, it touched me so. I share it with you before I commence a new, blessed day:

Marching with the waves of Life Eternal
we must go forward with Truth as our Polar Star
and no thought of death.
Inclement evil days will pour upon our heads,
but we must struggle on
to keep our Tryst with Him
at whose feet we poured the riches of our heart
from age to age.

The day which had its special significance for me came with all its drifting trivialities of the commonplace life. The ordinary work of my morning had come to its close, and before going to take my bath I stood for a moment at my window, overlooking a marketplace on the bank of a dry river bed, welcoming the first flood of rain along its channel. Suddenly I became conscious of a stirring of soul within me. My world of experience seemed to become lighted, and facts that were detached and dim found a great unity of meaning. The feeling which I had was like that which a man, groping through the fog without knowing his destination, might feel when he suddenly discovers that he stands before his house ...

In a similar manner, on that morning in the village, the facts of my life suddenly appeared to me in a luminous unity of truth. All things that had seemed like vagrant waves were revealed to my mind in relation to a boundless sea. I felt sure that some Being was comprehending me and my world was seeking his best expression in all my experiences, uniting them into an ever-widening individuality which is a spiritual work of art. To this Being I was responsible; for the creation in me is his as well as mine ...

I felt that I had found my religion at least, the Religion of Man, in which the infinite became defined in humanity and came close to me so as to need my love and cooperation.

The gift: to give

2009-07-23T11:31:00.001-07:00

In response to my post a few days ago (on aiming to perfect), a friend and kindred spirit sent me the lovely excerpt below. I identified with it so, and found so much beauty in it, that true to it's own core, I could not resist the urge to share it with you all. There is a special elixir of life that is captured right here, in these words by L. M. Montgomery. I leave it here, for you to find.

Emily always looked back to that night spent under the stars as a sort of milestone. Everything in it and of it ministered to her. It filled her with its beauty, which she must later give to the world. She wished that she could coin some magic word that might express it.

The round moon rose. Did an old witch in a high-crowned hat ride past it on a broomstick? No, it was only a bat and the little tip of a hemlock-tree by the fence. She made a poem on it at once, the lines singing themselves through her consciousness without effort. With one side of her nature she liked writing prose best--with the other she liked writing poetry. This side was uppermost to-night and her very thoughts ran into rhyme. A great, pulsating star hung low in the sky over Indian Head. Emily gazed on it and recalled Teddy's old fancy of his previous existence in a star. The idea seized on her imagination and she spun a dream-life, lived in some happy planet circling round that mighty, far-off sun. Then came the northern lights--drifts of pale fire over the sky--spears of light, as of empyrean armies--pale, elusive hosts retreating and advancing. Emily lay and watched them in rapture. Her soul was washed pure in that great bath of splendour. She was a high priestess of loveliness assisting at the divine rites of her worship--and she knew her goddess smiled.

She was glad Ilse was asleep. Any human companionship, even the dearest and most perfect, would have been alien to her then. She was sufficient unto herself, needing not love nor comradeship nor any human emotion to round out her felicity. Such moments come rarely in any life, but when they do come they are inexpressibly wonderful--as if the finite were for a second infinity--as if humanity were for a space uplifted into divinity--as if all ugliness had vanished, leaving only flawless beauty. Oh--beauty-- Emily shivered with the pure ecstasy of it. She loved it--it filled her being to-night as never before. She was afraid to move or breathe lest she break the current of beauty that was flowing through her. Life seemed like a wonderful instrument on which to play supernal harmonies.

"Oh, God, make me worthy of it--oh, make me worthy of it," she prayed. Could she ever be worthy of such a message--could she dare try to carry some of the loveliness of that "dialogue divine" back to the everyday world of sordid market-place and clamorous street? She MUST give it--she could not keep it to herself. Would the world listen--understand--feel? Only if she were faithful to the trust and gave out that which was committed to her, careless of blame or praise. High priestess of beauty--yes, she would serve at no other shrine!

She fell asleep in this rapt mood--dreamed that she was Sappho springing from the Leucadian rock--woke to find herself at the bottom of the haystack with Ilse's startled face peering down at her. Fortunately so much of the stack had slipped down with her that she was able to say cautiously,

"I think I'm all in one piece still."

A smile with every step

2009-07-23T06:13:00.000-07:00

This summer has been thought-provoking, illuminating, rewarding, and all things good and great thus far. Of the many things it has taught me, this is prime - to smile, always, and no matter what. This lesson made itself known rather gradually. At first, the smile would come most instinctively, because everything was new and exciting, and therefore incredibly appealing. Soon, the novelty had worn off. But by then the habit had formed itself, and been assimilated by others as well. I got myself to effect a smile because I couldn't allow this new-found image to suffer :). This may sound forced and unnatural, but in no time, the magic of it made itself known. I realized that in that tiny physical action lay many a liberation. When I smiled, really smiled, the pain of everything would pass. There was no longer irritation when an unruly customer tried to cut the line before me, no longer discomfort at the lack of availability of half-clean toilet facilities, no longer impatience when my train was delayed by three hours, and no longer distress due to unpleasant addresses on the streets of small towns. There is greater peace, an overall sense of serenity, and a nothing-could-go-wrong-ness about life.

Am reminded of a line I read in Eat, Pray, Love many months ago. I attest now to its truth value.

"Why they always look so serious in Yoga? You make serious face like this, you scare away good energy. To meditate, only you must smile. Smile with face, smile with mind, and good energy will come to you and clean away dirty energy. Even smile in your liver."

You get it when you need it.

2009-07-22T22:57:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in the Srishti office right now, feeling rather full after my morning cuppa, plateful of papaya, dosas for breakfast, and yet another cup of chai. The thought of lunch struck me all of a sudden, and rather frightened me in that moment! Yet, instantly the realization dawned that although the thought of food was unwelcome right now, in a few hours I'd be back to relishing the orange flavors of lunch at Srishti. A happy coincidence that when I need the food, I will have it. At the right place and the right time. Perhaps that is how all things in life work. We get what we need, when we need it. Just that we may not always know it.

On creating ideals

2009-07-22T08:34:00.000-07:00

More Tagore, from more reading of My Life in My Words:

It is an insult to his humanity if man fails to invoke in his mind a definite image of his own ideal self, of his ideal environment which it is his mission externally to reproduce. It is the highest privilege of man to be able to live in his own creation. His country is not his by the mere accident of birth, he must richly and intimately transform it into his own, make it a personal reality. And what is more, man is not truly himself if his personality has not been fashioned by him according to some mental picture of perfection which he has within. His piled up wealth, his puffed up power can never save him from innate insignificance if he has not been able to blend all his elements into a dynamic unity of presentation. It is for him inwardly to see himself as an idea and outwardly to show himself as a person according to that idea. The individual who is able to do this strongly and clearly is considered to be a character. He is an artist, whose medium of expression is his own psychology. Like all other artists, he often has to struggle hard with his materials to overcome obstructions, inner and outer, in order to make definite his manifestation.

I do love how Tagore makes artists of all of us in this excerpt.

Oh, when the ants come marching in!

2009-07-22T07:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday in the flight from Delhi to Bangalore, I'd bought myself some breakfast - the (very pricey) vegetarian combo, which came with a pack of cookies among other things. I don't eat cookies really, and there was enough food in the box, so I wasn't going to eat them, but then thought of S, and decided I'd take them for her... somehow thinking she was bound to enjoy chocolate chip cookies :). I put them in my bag, but couldn't give them to her yesterday, since she only comes to the office on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

This morning, I was supposed to be at (other) S's at 8.15, and I was ready to leave at 7.45 (had decided to walk to her place, which takes that long). When I came to pick up my backpack, I suddenly felt a prick on my foot. As my hand instinctively reached the spot, I realized I'd been stung by an ant - a red ant. I didn't think anything of it at first, but when I tried to lift the backpack off the ground, I realized it was absolutely teeming with ants! On further inspection, I noted a gigantic trail of ants leading to the main door. Indeed, the pack of cookies was the culprit. And the ants had penetrated down to the depths of my backpack - big, stinging, red ants were marching all over :). It was so astonishing, it was hilarious!

Finally, I decided I wanted help, so I called one of the guest house caretakers on the phone. He came with a broom, got the ants out for the most part, brushed them off the innards of my bag, ate the cookies :) (I asked him aap ye kyon kha rahe hain? - "why are you eating these?" - and he merrily replied Bhagwan ko uthana hoga to utha lega - "if the Lord wants me to die, I will die", adding a daane daane pe likha hai khaanewale ka naam... ispar zaroor mera naam likha tha - "On every grain is written the name of the person who will eat it, my name was definitely on these cookies" :)), and told me not to keep chocolate around any more. There was an open pack of Good-Day biscuits lying on the table, which I eat from daily with my tea, and I said to him isko bhi le jaiye nahi to ispar bhi cheentiyan aa jayengi - "take this too, else this too will get attacked by ants" but he replied with a nahi, woh sirf chocolate pasand karti hain - "no, they only like chocolates" :). I submitted to his (seeming) better judgment.

By this time I was quite delayed, since I couldn't have left without my backpack. Once it was cleaned out, it was already 8.20. In a flash I remembered that this caretaker had a motorbike, and asked if he could take me to S's (new found bike-confidence after Bikaner). He conceded, and took me. The Bangalore breeze for those few minutes on the motorbike was to die for. It was as if the wind was carrying me forth...

Of course, today was the day that the security at S's had to give me a rather long and hard time (they wrote down my life history, well, almost - phone number, address, purpose of visit, host's name, apartment number, building number, yada yada) (surprisingly they asked (still other) S none of this!). (I just realized that most of my coworkers have names that start with an S - strange!) Finally got to her place only at 8.40, but we sat and sang for a good pleasurable hour.

Anyway, so coming back to the point then. I walk back into my room this evening, and see my old friends - the ants again :). Amused, I look for the cause of the flurry, and find that the pack of Good-Day biscuits had been blown onto the floor by the wind (thanks to the window that had been left open), and the ants had attacked it. So much for them liking only chocolate :).

Aiming to Perfect

2009-07-21T06:43:00.000-07:00

Life's beauty comes to us often and in varied forms: in words, images, music, all of nature. Whenever we're willing to listen, life gives - it is up to us to put ourselves forth as receptacles. I've been thinking more and more about what we do with these gifts of life. How do we tend to them suitably so as to preserve them in fullness and pass them on? Like a book that we buy first-hand, read, and sell again. We could be careful and attentive while we read, so as to preserve the pristine condition in which we made the purchase, or we could be careless and leave it dogeared. It is a decision we make, at some layer of consciousness.

As I try to apply this analogy to my life, I realize that I am constantly being touched by life's beauty in these times. As I travel more and more, I find myself repeatedly enraptured by the beauty of the place, the people, the history, the culture... the list has no end. My camera and I are thus made inseparable, for I am continuously inspired. And inspiration is so valuable - so much comes out of it. I am happier, more at peace, and no doubt I transmit some of that peace, if unknowingly, to the outer world as well. But inspiration is energy, and it could be preserved in fullness, packaged, and passed on in convincing chunks, or it could be allowed to dissipate such that it is too diffuse to carry the impact much further.

Perhaps all of this sounds a little 'out there', but it filled me with a feeling of responsibility, an onus to give back (this inspiration) as fully as possible, as close to the form in which I have been recipient of it. This means one thing alone - that I have to give myself to my expressions in entirety. When I write, I must write with the dedication of an activist who puts mind, body and spirit into her cause. When I photograph, I must photograph in full presence, in ways that I may best inspire the person who views this photograph. It isn't easy, but isn't it the only way? The only worthwhile objective to pursue? Do we even have a choice? It is an onus indeed, and not one we can do justice to in the matter of days and weeks, but as a life goal perhaps?

And this is not to say that we attach ourselves to the receipt of our art, in whatever form. It is futile to imagine that we could dictate ways in which our expressions may be received or appreciated, but in that the intent is purity itself, the goal - I believe - is met.

Jaisalmer

2009-07-20T11:20:00.000-07:00

Sigh. Gone are the days when I would find myself in free-flow mode on the blog. Now, much thought goes into what I'd like to write, whether it is fit to be written about or not, am I really in the mood, will I do it justice, etc. For the better, I suppose. Anyway, this little coincidence, I found, was worth documenting.

I just got back from Bikaner. It was a lovely trip, but it left me longing for more of Rajasthan. As I wrote to a friend about it last evening, I revisited my desire to visit Jaisalmer:

"... I do have to find myself there sometime soon. I can't believe that with all the time I've spent in Rajasthan, I keep missing out on Jaisalmer. I'm sure it will turn out to be quite amazing when I do see it ..."

And then early this morning, completely out of the blue, I received the following email from S:

"I'm just about to book for a trip to Mahesha Ram in Jaisalmer... Aug 18 till 23rd or so. Going to-from Delhi. Need to know if you'd like to join us."

An uncanny coincidence, is it not? Anyway, so you know where I'll be from August 18th to 23rd.

The old Tagore magic

2009-07-19T23:34:00.000-07:00

I am now reading Tagore's biography: My Life in My Words. His words are potent as always, and my joy knows no bounds as I find my way through the words he weaves together as though it were to make music. Until yesterday, I was mesmerized by Tagore, but still considered him a new discovery. Today, he brings to heart the elation of a meeting with an old friend.

But does one write poetry to explain something? Something felt within the heart tries to find outside shape as a poem. So when, after listening to a poem, anyone says he has not understood, I am nonplussed. If someone smells a flower and says he does not understand, the reply to him is: there is nothing to understand, it is only a scent. If he persists, saying: 'that I know, but what does it all mean?' Then one either has to change the subject, or make it more abstruse by telling him that the scent is the shape which the universal joy takes in the flower ...

That words have meanings is just the difficulty. That is why the poet has to turn and twist them in metre and verse, so that the meaning may be held somewhat in check, and the feeling allowed a chance to express itself.

This utterance of feeling is not the statement of a fundamental truth, or a scientific fact, or a useful moral precept. Like a tear or a smile a poem is but a picture of what is taking place within. If Science or Philosophy may gain anything from it they are welcome, but that is not the reason of its being.

More on Malwa

2009-07-15T20:13:00.000-07:00

Touched is what I am... by nature, the outdoors, by greenery, by rustic innocence, by devotional music, a love of people and of relationships, an appreciation for the little things in life that are not so little, by the moonlit skies, sleeping under the stars, by the unnoticeable passage of time, the pace of life, the water - for drinking, for washing, the food - simple, always shared, the spirit of the village life that I tried to imbibe (but there is more ground to cover), the people and their yearning for goodness, love, purity, even the flies that leave no ground uncovered, the lack of electricity but working around it, and the human spirit that is ever willing to adjust and to view life with a positive outlook, the truth that everything passes - all highs and lows, all comforts and discomforts, and that whenever there is a need for help, help appears.

Travel Update

2009-07-15T19:09:00.000-07:00

After my return from Malwa last Saturday morning, I spent the last five days at home, recovering from a stomach infection (still in process) and getting ready to visit Bikaner (Rajasthan). A pity that I always seem to be recovering from illnesses at home; a blessing that mom tends to me while I'm sick - being out in the field would be a lot less fun.

After a complex, organized, and last-minute packing process, I boarded the Awadh-Assam Express from the Old Delhi Railway Station at 4.30 last evening. The station is not a pleasant place to be during the daytime, and one must be careful about where one's vision leads. Mom and I got there rather early, and had a long discussion (that led nowhere, as it is wont to) about why people are so accepting of filth, why they must treat all of land as a trash can, etc. before I boarded.

Although traveling in AC isn't as fun, because it creates an artificial barrier between you and the India outside, it was lovely to behold the rural sights of Haryana and Punjab en route, nonetheless. I found it fascinating that the train was coming all the way from Guwahati, and that it went via Bhatinda (that was featured in Jab We Met not too long ago).

My berth neighbors (for lack of a better term) were rather friendly. I found that they were traveling 40 hours from Siliguri to Bhatinda, on their way to Pathankot, where they'd just been transferred (within the army). I also managed to learn a little about Siliguri, and about how the army works, in the process. They carried a six-year old in tow, who I enjoyed playing 'Statue' with :).

The train ride was fairly uneventful, but for my finally getting done with The Celestine Prophecy which was rather curiously and coincidentally woven around several of my thought processes of late. I don't recommend reading the plot, but the nine insights the book revolves around, were certainly worth the read.

The train got to Lalgarh (near Bikaner) at 5.30am, and the little I've seen of the city since has been quaint indeed. Perhaps I have a natural soft spot for the cities of Rajasthan, so perhaps you should wait for second and third impressions then.

It for now. Be back soon.

All charged up!

2009-07-14T20:45:00.000-07:00

As I get ready to leave for Bikaner this afternoon, I decided to make a packing list (finally!) to expedite the process I'm having to revisit every handful of days. So far, I'm done with the 'gadgets' bullet - inspired by the great need that arose in Luniyakhedi, where I went with blissfully uncharged or half-charged devices. Power was available only for a few hours a day, also the hours we were typically out of the house. And when I thought I'd finally found a time to beat everyone else to the switch plate (only because most of us had left or headed out to Ujjain), I was told by SB - "Aaj Budhvar hai" (today is Wednesday). I said (with a tremendous and unsuccessful effort to hide my incomprehension and ignorance) "Aaj Budhvar hai... to?" (today is Wednesday - long pause - so?). She responded, "To aaj bijli nahi aati" (so there is no power today). The conversation ended with an "Ah...."

Anyway, in my effort to assimilate all the lessons that life is bombarding me with these days, I decided to make a list of my treasury of gadgets, and ensure that they have charge and memory before I pack them in. Check it out:

Voice Recorder + Duracell Batteries + SD Card
Flip Video Recorder + Duracell Batteries + Space
DSLR + Charged Canon Batteries + Canon Charger + Flash Card + Card Reader
Point-and-Shoot + Charged Canon Battery + (Said) Canon Charger + SD Card
Tata Indicom USB Modem (no battery, no space, phew!)
iPod Shuffle + Headphones + Charge + Songs
Cellphone + Charge + Charger
Laptop + Charge + Charger
External Hard Disk

If only I had one more, that would make it a perfect ten. Anyway, are you suitably impressed? Awesome. Now let's pray no one in my train compartment is reading this :).

Barkha bahaar aayi...

2009-07-14T05:00:00.000-07:00

The monsoon rains have taken the country by storm, rather literally. They also seem to be following me around in my travels, filling me up to the brim with love for the here and now. Both urban and rural landscapes appear rather blessed by the onslaught. I only wish that cities such as Mumbai were better equipped to handle the downpour.

Although I managed to steal a few days in Delhi between travels, I also fell sick as soon as I reached home. Good health is tautologically a good thing, but if one has to fall sick, there is no better place to do it than home. After the varied bouts of illness in recent weeks, my mind is convinced that my body will embrace all experiences brought forth by the next couple of months, no problem. Of course, if I end up having to eat my words, then eat I willingly shall :).

I now have a treasure trove of experiences to associate with this year's monsoons - first, the phenomenal moments spent on A's window sill, then the more intimate encounters in Malwa, and finally, the much-needed relief in Delhi. No doubt I speak prematurely, for the next few weeks will find me amidst the Bikaner and Bangalore avatars as well. The world has acquired a greener, cleaner, happier hue. But like everything, this too, I know, shall pass...

[I had wanted to write about the clouds in Luniyakhedi and how they attacked us with great gusto, how we found ourselves completely soaked to the skin. Also, I would've loved to share the many songs we sang to pay homage to the rains - o sajana, rimjhim gire saawan, bheegi bheegi raaton mein, ghanan ghanan, zara zara, the list is endless. Another time, perhaps. The muse is still recovering from being so generously overfed last week.]

Spellbound

2009-07-13T10:16:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to write about my travels across Malwa for a few days now, but words continue to escape me. The mere thought of transferring to writing overwhelms. And at best, I am only able to pick out isolated fragments of the journey and put them forth. What I would dearly love to do is find the entire richness of this experience flow from within into writing, without a conscious attempt. It isn't impossible, but it certainly feels that way. I'll give it a first shot here, nevertheless.

Many, many seeds were planted last week, and watered duly by the monsoons, both literally and figuratively. From the moment I landed in Indore and until my departure from Bhopal, life bombarded me with lessons left, right and center. I could try doing a chronology of events, but there was nothing at all linear about last week. It is the rays of the sun I need to document. Perhaps a chapter for each one? In my second shot, perhaps. We'll start with the basics, here:

I was enthralled by the elements of this universe - the sun, the moon, the stars, the wind, and the rain. Also the earth - agricultural or not, wet or dry. And the trees, the leaves, the many animals we found ourselves in the company of.

The people. I've never found myself in the company of so many people, all so genuine, loving, thoughtful and wise. I can say that over and over again. I felt I understood. I felt understood.

The music was as moving as I'd imagined it to be, and as inspirational. No surprises there, just truckloads of fulfillment.

The 'physical rigor', as S put it - living life on very basic terms. It is an interesting inversely proportionate relationship. The more basic it gets, the more happiness it affords. And it got pretty basic.

As I've said to many, this journey felt like a dive into the depths of my soul. I may have been in alien surroundings, and yet I felt that there was a homecoming within. It is indeed in the villages that the heart of India lies... that's where I was, yes.

The things that had seemed little before suddenly grew a lot bigger. The reverse also happened. Time came to a standstill, and life slowed itself down almost to a halt. Thoughts ceased for a bit, and I was left without a frame of context. And peace found its place, in every step.

And as I close my eyes now, I see the smarak in the heavy monsoon downpour - as I soak in the rain, and the icy winds that bring news of the downpour, the morning walks with the rising sun, and across the wondrous landscape, the faces of those who know only to love and to serve, the limitless joy drawn from water alone, the moon and the stars we slept under every day, the strangers who became friends in no time at all, and the wisdom they shared so generously, the music that transcended all boundaries between hearts - then to my great surprise, the endless offerings of chai, the raindrops as they fell on the car windows, uncountable inspiring and instructive conversations, singing with gay abandon in the train to Bhopal, the 'cold drinks' that quenched many a thirst... and the smile that I carried all through the week, in my heart.

The Life of Art

2009-07-13T09:41:00.000-07:00

Earlier today, A wrote to me saying she and (other) A had painted a photo I'd taken sometime back (part of which forms the header of this blog, at present). Of course, my first reaction was to be flattered and humbled that a photo I took could inspire further artistic expression, using alternative media. But as I continued to ponder, I found myself increasingly fascinated by the ways in which one artistic expression inspires another. And then my mind wandered to a beautiful book I'd recently read, one that drew out the longevity of art, holding it against the ephemeral nature of all else. It is true... these leaves may no longer exist, or if they do, they shall soon cease to, but once captured thus - in photo or painting, they will remain alive for a long, long time. I quote now Narcissus and Goldmund, at the risk of making this post unduly sombre:

He thought that fear of death was perhaps the root of all art, perhaps also of all things of the mind. We fear death, we shudder at life’s instability, we grieve to see the flowers wilt again and again, and the leaves fall, and in our hearts we know that we, too, are transitory and will soon disappear. When artists create pictures and thinkers search for laws and formulate thoughts, it is in order to salvage something from the great dance of death, to make something that lasts longer than we do. Perhaps the woman after whom the master shaped his beautiful madonna is already wilted or dead, and soon he, too, will be dead; others will live in his house and eat at his table - but his work will still be standing a hundred years from now, and longer. It will go on shimmering in the quiet cloister church, unchangingly beautiful, forever smiling with the same sad, flowering mouth.

I leave you then with the lovely paintings as well. And may they live forever.

If you like Indian ads...

2009-07-12T22:10:00.000-07:00

be sure to check these out, especially the "Happy to Help - Soap" and "Happy to Help - Baking" ones. Vodafone is really topping the charts... well, mine anyway.

Go not to the temple...

2009-07-12T21:38:00.000-07:00

The following was published in the Sacred Space of today's TOI:

Go not to the temple to put flowers upon the feet of God,
First fill your own house with the Fragrance of love.

Go not to the temple to light candles before the altar of God,
First remove the darkness of sin from your heart.

Go not to the temple to bow down your head in prayer,
First learn to bow in humility before your fellowmen.

Go not to the temple to pray on bended knees,
First bend down to lift someone who is down-trodden.

Go not to the temple to ask for forgiveness for your sins,
First forgive from your heart those who have sinned against you.

- Rabindranath Tagore

In the words of...

2009-07-12T13:47:00.000-07:00

Sheila Dhar:

Hindustani musicians undergo rigorous training and possess incredible skill and control. However, the central object of their labours is not the cultivation of a 'beautiful' tone but the development of an almost limitless capacity in articulation. The physical sound of the music is, in ideal circumstances, only a medium and not the end product. To the connoisseur, a voice is only as beautiful as what it conveys.

The physical body of the music is to the musician what a writing tool is to the poet. The listener is trained to tune in to the lightly charged state of consciousness of the performer rather than to the physical condition of the sound that carries the music. Consequently, Indian ears are somewhat indifferent to the outer perfection of musical sound. Some of the most revered musicians have been and are people in their seventies. Their glory is in the truth of their experience and though their voices might have lost superficial lustre, the purity of their intention still shines through and is always the focus of attention for the initiated listener.

I read these lines minutes after I met Ustad Fahimuddin Dagar, and the words resonated in entirety. If you ever get a chance to read Sheila Dhar's writings on music, do. You won't regret it.

Struck by Virtuosity

2009-07-12T13:33:00.000-07:00

It was time again to meet Ustad Fahimuddin Dagar ji today. I knew there would be a second time, and I am glad that it took its time. When I suggested I go this Thursday, it was done.

Meeting Dagar ji was like a breath of fresh air. He is 80+ and a child at heart if I've seen one. Words can hardly do justice to the aura I felt in his presence today, the aura that spread the perfume of purity all around. A man of small built, hair all grey, he is soft-spoken and gentle. And with one look at him, the word 'guru' attains definition. The notes that flow out of his lips are perfect indeed, but even the words have a glow to them one must experience to understand. Need I add I was swept away?!

When I walked in, he was teaching two young shishyas, and I sat behind them. I took the empty spot next to I, and immediately found my home in the meditative atmosphere that had been set. The teaching and the learning continued, and as in meditation, my only effort was to remove every other thought from mind and become one with the sound. Every now and then, Dagar ji would correct their posture, explain how the position of the spine was important for it was like an antenna that had to be in place. Or he would break into bouts of philosophizing, as any dedicated guru is wont to, while I breathed in every word. Har lavz sar aankhon par...

A half hour later, he realized he hadn't acknowledged my presence yet. I explained to him who I was and why I was there. After a few tries with my name (he thought I was Nirma!), he finally registered it, and swiftly reverted to his teaching. Students trickled in, as time went by, but the class continued - with him exercising an acute ear and tremendous patience.

For me, this meeting amounted to more than just two hours of my life. It was a listening and a realizing. Perhaps the realization that hit me the hardest was that I had thus far been interested in music, certainly, but with the sole interest of singing rather than learning. As a brand new yearning found its way in today - to learn rather than to sing, to start with the sa and meditate upon it for years if necessary, a strayness found its way home.

The pearls of wisdom that Dagar ji shared were precious. He equated music with pavitrata, or purity, stressing the need for exercising caution - so as to find the right swara and laya. He also spoke of shraddha and prem, and their power to transform into beauty. While mentioning prem, he went on to talk of that emotion that we feel for our parents when we are born, so that we may feel it also for the people around us, and in turn feel it for God. And God himself had no religion with him, as he directed his students - in one breath - to sing Om and meditate upon Allah. A young student repeated Ni-Sa 108 times, as Dagar ji counted on his japa mala.

The singing became so intoxicating, no doubt he too wished for it to be endless, as he continued to 'tune' his speech to 'sa', while he told one of his students to give up on adding sugar-free to his tea because he didn't know how to. It is these little things that made him so endearing, that made him so perfect. Before me, there was not a highly acclaimed maestro, a carrier of the famed name of Dagar, an artist of stature. Before me, there was music, and no one else. The ego seemed to have vacated its place eons ago. Music had left little place for any other existence.

As I yearned to stay there, a strange thing happened. I realized that the encounter was beautiful because that yearning was so deep. And there it ended. There was no desire to linger on to keep that yearning fulfilled for the little time possible. It was a gift, it had been taken and imbibed. Time it was to let it out again. Here it is, then.

[NB: This meeting took place on the 18th of June, 2009.]

Monsoon Heaven

2009-07-04T10:44:00.001-07:00

Like other moments that have been cherished forever, today offered one identifiable such as well. As A&A slept in the afternoon, the torrential monsoon downpour (the first real of the season that left most of the city flooded) afforded indispensable quality time at the sill of the living room window... letting the wind blow through me, and allowing thought of any kind to depart silently. The music on the radio helped tremendously in carrying me away. I knew the moment could not last, but I am grateful indeed to have added one more monsoon treasure to my life's gatherings. The others can be written about on another day.

There was something precious in this afternoon that words will not capture. C'est la vie.

The Cocktail Party

2009-07-04T06:24:00.000-07:00

Unidentified Guest:
Ah, but we die to each other daily.
What we know of other people
Is only our memory of the moments
During which we knew them. And they have changed since then.
To pretend that they and we are the same
Is a useful and convenient social convention
Which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember
That at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.

Edward:
So you want me to greet my wife as a stranger?
That will not be easy.

Unidentified Guest:
It is very difficult.
But it is perhaps still more difficult
To keep up the pretence that you are not strangers.
The affectionate ghosts: the grandmother,
The lively bachelor uncle at the Christmas party,
Your childhood years in comfort, mirth, security -
If they returned, would it not be embarrassing?
What would you say to them, or they to you
After the first ten minutes? You would find it difficult
To treat them as strangers, but still more difficult
To pretend that you were not strange to each other.

As I browsed through the book store at Bangalore airport, Eliot's The Cocktail Party caught my eye. I'd never seen this before, and a love for Eliot's writing brought me to purchase it. A masterfully crafted play, that provides a little of everything - poetry, drama, and a tad of philosophy, as you can perhaps tell in the excerpt above. I definitely recommend the read.

Bombay Dreams

2009-07-03T13:59:00.000-07:00

The city of dreams for some, to me it is an immense breath of fresh air... taking me back to who I have been (narcissistic pleasures never quite end). The sultriness may not share the crispness of the Bangalore's air, but it only adds to the city's overall charm.

At the (newly built and rather impressive) airport, I was received by the very same person all these years of traveling to Mumbai. While little else has been constant, he has been. As we spoke in the car, I was moved by his expression of his work, and how dedicated he was to it. He said something that will stay with me (not only for the words, also the sentiments that lay beneath them) - "I only try my best to help... so that I can get blessings from everyone."

As I traveled to A's place, I was struck by a desire to capture everything along the way - the sights, but also the sounds, and the smells - those pleasant and not so pleasant - to capture and lock them into a treasure trove. And G's words came back to me then, from when I'd said that there was so much I'd read last month that I'd have liked to share on my blog, but found entirely infeasible to do. He'd given me a fitting analogy - of how there is so much I see that I'm unable to photograph. I'd like to think that none of it is lost, but finds its way out in indirect ways. I share by being a changed me as a result.

I wondered why I kept my window down, as we passed through some of the overwhelming stenches of town, and realized that the window-down reality for me was the unqualified reality for many. In trying to scale the distance between that and this, maybe the effort itself counted some?

The monsoons have indeed hit Mumbai, and rain-talk fills the radio stations. On my part, I soak in the 14th floor view from A's place, of Andheri in its fullness, despite the immense clouds that hang above. The star attraction has been, of course, A's little baby Krishna, who fulfills his 24x7 job of charming everyone around him with great devotion :). If the rains will allow, I'd love to step out and experience Mumbai in its monsoon glory. If not, I'll experience it in the clouded view of the city from up here. There is certainly nothing lacking in the precious spending of time at home with an old, cherished friend, listening to the radio play my favorite songs, and watching the city wash itself out. Over and out.

travelogging

2009-07-01T20:10:00.000-07:00

I had written that it would be a traveling summer. Almost two months into the summer, and with two more to go, I can confirm that it has been, and will continue to be so.

The month of June was spent in going from Delhi to Bangalore and back, Delhi to Nainital and back, and finally back to Bangalore. That took three flights, two train rides, and much driving. The month of July will see several unexplored lands, including Malwa in Madhya Pradesh, Bikaner (Rajasthan) and Kutchh in Gujarat.

The mind has its own travels to experience, as it constantly meets some phenomenally inspiring people who leave their imprints upon it in small ways and big. In that every soul has his/her goodness to share, every encounter is fruitful and inspiring. Sometimes a lot is gained, and sometimes less, but there is always a net gain. And when it seems not to be the case, one merely has to dig harder to get to the treasure.

All in all, life is being kind. And I never forget to be grateful.

The sounds of silence

2009-06-30T20:06:00.000-07:00

Strange - I've known (and sung) this song forever, but only today am I able to appreciate the choice of lyrics. What are the sounds of silence? Is there a conflict even? I leave that for you to think about, I'm already (at least) a month into these questions :).

There is never complete silence, is there? Even when I believe I'm successfully silent, as right now, I hear my fingers moving across the keyboard, I hear the rustle of the leaves outside my window, and the tender morning chirps of a host of birds. A TV is on somewhere in the distance, and a man calls out - in a loud voice - to a squad he is training. When I concentrate harder still, I hear a tension in the clouds that will perhaps end in rain, perhaps not. And then there is the unmistakable music of the horn of the auto rickshaw (or is it a tempo?). And now a dog barks in the distance; now there are several. An airplane... These are the many sounds of silence in this moment. When these are gone, there will be others. So when is the sound of one hand to be heard? That, I suppose, is the question.

Well, the month is over, and I am back on the blog. I must confess I feel none of the comfort and free flow in writing this post as was customary a month ago :). In time, I hope, the ease will return. Happy July, everyone!

Remembering the Time

2009-06-26T10:49:00.001-07:00

Question: What is left behind when a great gift to the world of music is lost?
Answer: Everything but silence.

It is true that I haven't heard a song of Michael Jackson's in a few years, and lyrics that were earlier rattled off in a breath are now a struggle to retrieve. Regardless, childhood memories flood my mind as it immerses in fond remembrance.

Back in the day, when TV channels were limited, music was hard to come by on Doordarshan. Still, DD would screen the Grammy Awards, and my sister would record and watch these keenly. Hence, year after year, I would run these tapes on repeat until I knew the songs (and often, their videos) by heart. The first few memories of Michael, thus, come from the Grammy Awards of '88, when Bad was released. I was an ardent admirer in no time - I loved the video, I loved his dance, I loved his singing, and I loved that he was such a sensation. I soon knew the lyrics by heart, though I didn't understand a word... Man in the Mirror was also part of this album, and the image of it still rings clear in memory. I was of the age where I needed a favorite singer - one I could sing incessantly with abandon, and Michael smoothly took that spot. The joy of discovering Thriller, an even greater sensation, definitely helped.

In sixth grade, I remember the usual Friday afternoon "Activity" period we'd have where each Friday would include a different competition between our three sections - sometimes poetry recitation, sometimes singing, sometimes dance, a play etc. I also remember the week we were preparing for the singing competition, when S had asked me (in full faith) to sing the lead for I Just Can't Stop Loving You (and I had thought she was crazy - me? sing? lead?). In those days, Archie's Gallery had begun to carry books of lyrics for a few popular singers (I had Wham!'s, I remember) and she taught me to sing the song from her book of Michael Jackson's lyrics from Bad and Thriller. (I also remember being rather scandalized to discover the first line of Bad, then!)

Dangerous was released that year, and it was gifted to me by a cousin soon after. I suppose my love for Michael had spread its wings wide by then. I loved the album, and listened to it religiously, singing along with every song, writing down the lyrics in my song diary, just truly relishing the experience. This was in the winter break of '91-'92.

And a year later, cable TV made its appearance. We finally got it at home, and I was hooked to MTV - in its clean, pre-controversy days. Remember the Time was one of the first videos I discovered on the channel, and thank goodness it showed umpteen times in a day. I loved it - the song, the video, the drama (on-screen and off). The video of Black and White - with the kid in the beginning and the (phenomenally) transforming faces at the end, also reminds me of the carefree days of growing up. Isn't it wonderful how such associations are born? Music is especially adept at it, somehow, isn't it?

Heal the World was always a special favorite, close to heart. I remember we sang it for our assembly in 8th grade, as G played the piano for it (we were so elated to have accompaniment - otherwise unheard of in morning assemblies). This was duly memorized as well, with a million repeats. And then there was Will You Be There? which took my breath away... indeed, the list is endless, and I shall quit trying to bind his music into a finite set of paragraphs.

Michael Jackson was a legend, and brought much into my world that I shall carry with me forever. After all, I have but one childhood to reminisce over. And then again, like mine, no doubt he touched many, many more lives. For all that he added to the world of music (and dance), and for the joy he added to the lives I have known, and those I haven't, I will be ever grateful. That his music lives on brings me great joy, with the reminder that death does not destroy everything, that art lives on... it has its ways.

Thank you, Michael! May your soul rest in peace. And as long as I live, you will too - this, I promise.

Of a life well lived

2009-06-05T20:49:00.000-07:00

The silence is broken in light of a greater, more deafening silence. Rajeev Motwani passed away today. He was a Stanford University professor of Computer Science with an astute understanding of technology, but more than that - he was an endless giver of knowledge, an emblem of dignity, and a kind-hearted soul. He has been a tremendous positive influence to no small number of students, professionals - all those who have sought his guidance.

I try to fathom the shock and sadness that his young family must feel today, and I cannot. I extend my condolences to them with deep sincerity, praying that gratitude for him will overshadow sadness for his loss, knowing also that there is no greater test. But test or not, it is deeply humbling to be reminded that we as a community, as a people, have no power to hold on, try as we may. Not even to those precious few who work incessantly towards pushing the frontiers of knowledge for mankind as a whole. And while Rajeev may no longer be with us, his contributions are immense and timeless, and he will be held in deep regard for years to come.

When a great soul passes, sadness overwhelms us. And yet, somewhere we realize that life has its lessons to teach us that it will. Our part is in mere acceptance and meditation upon how best we may learn from these lessons. I pray today that as we honor a life that touched so many others, brought light to so many paths, we are justly able to receive from it the inspiration to give - to people, to society as best we can, sans pride of self, of knowledge, fame, or money.

My own remembrances of Rajeev are vivid and fond. I still recall my first meeting with him on the 22nd of January, 2003. He had teased me for not carrying a paper and pen to the meeting, saying it was the first requirement of a researcher (it was my first day in the official capacity of a 'researcher'). I have since done so every time. As it is wont to, the mind relives each of these encounters in an effort to dedicate all the purity it can muster to a life it knew little, but with admiration and with reverence.

As a researcher and technologist, he was brilliant - words could do little justice to his wide circle of influence. As a teacher, he was awe-inspiring - carrying with him an equanimity and cheerfulness that remained undisturbed through every lecture. As a student advisor, he was kind and supportive - never condescending (though he may have had every reason to be so). As a supervisor (when I TAed for him twice), he was trusting and understanding. Most of all, however, his immense stature never came in the way of his friendly, smiling disposition - the same smile that comes to mind with the memory of every encounter with Rajeev. As his contributions are timeless, may his smile be so, ever reminding us of a life well lived.

How well he fell asleep!
Like some proud river, widening toward the sea;
Calmly and grandly, silently and deep,
Life joined eternity.
- Samuel T. Coleridge

Shhhh!

2009-05-31T02:04:00.000-07:00

I'm grateful that I was led to discover the teachings of Ramana Maharshi last December. The words below planted a seed within, that has been nurtured repeatedly since:

"Silence, the unique language, ever surging in the
Heart, is the state of grace."

After eight months of incessant writing, I'm ready now to take a break to immerse in the sounds of silence and obtain if a glimpse of this state of grace. Enough has been read and said; time it is to listen, meditate upon, and internalize. I hear it takes 21 days for the brain to form new neuronic pathways. Just to be safe, I'll give it a month :).

I wish you all a joyous month of silence.

June

2009-05-30T23:26:00.000-07:00

The Zen thought for the month, according to my calendar, is the following:

Our practice is to help people, and to help people we find out how to practice our way on each moment.

I pray that this month is fruitful to this end, for me and for you (should you wish it so :)).

May

2009-05-30T01:11:00.000-07:00

The month comes to an end, but trust, I trust, will be endless :). Some of my thoughts on the virtue of this month are mashed together below.

Trust is believing
in the powers that be,
in the people around us,
in me.

Trust is discovering
that love is without end;
it grows old with the heart
of a friend.

Trust is waiting
sans the pain of the wait.
Life comes always on time -
never late.

Trust is knowing
that all is ever well -
no matter this heaven,
this hell.

Trust is forgiving
and loving all things,
embracing this life,
what it brings.

Trust is hoping
in the dark, in despair
the light will shine through,
'cos He's there.

Trust is being
one one can rely on,
a pillar of strength and a shoulder
to cry on.

Home, Sweet Home

2009-05-30T00:01:00.000-07:00

As I start packing for Bangalore and Business, the following song (that I discovered in Light from many Lamps, among several other treasures) feels rather apt. No doubt you'll identify with it just as well. [And incidentally, in the brief time since I conceived of this post, I've come across the blessed phrase twice already.]

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain;
Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again!
The birds singing gayly, that come at my call --
Give me them -- and the peace of mind, dearer than all!
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild,
And feel that my mother now thinks of her child,
As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door
Thro' the woodbine, whose fragrance shall cheer me no more.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

How sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond father's smile,
And the caress of a mother to soothe and beguile!
Let others delight mid new pleasures to roam,
But give me, oh, give me, the pleasures of home.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

To thee I'll return, overburdened with care;
The heart's dearest solace will smile on me there;
No more from that cottage again will I roam;
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.
Home, home, sweet, sweet, home!
There's no place like home, oh, there's no place like home!

-- John Howard Payne

Invisible Cities & Brida

2009-05-29T11:16:00.000-07:00

I've been eating books not reading them, or it seems that way, at least these last couple of weeks. This has been a tremendous exercise, and in more ways than I can list. After Meditations, I went on to read Invisible Cities - a masterful creation of Italo Calvino (and pleasantly reminiscent of Alan Lightman's Einstein's Dreams). The ways in which this book exercises one's imagination is incredible. Poetic in its prose, its read journeys one through a myriad imageries cover to cover. The conversations between Kublai Khan and Marco Polo are deep and insightful, leaving one ever desirous for more. A must read.

After Invisible Cities, I read Coelho's Brida. While I was more dismissive of it to begin with, because both plot and philosophy seemed lacking, I've come to appreciate parts of it since. I've always liked Coelho's single-minded focus on following one's heart, and it resurfaces here. I also liked a paragraph towards the end where the Magus talks about loving things (and people) in the time and space where they belong, and not pulling them out of there and trying to possess them instead (I do paraphrase). I wouldn't call this one a must read, unfortunately. If you'd really like to read Coelho, read The Alchemist instead (or The Pilgrimage, fine), but don't read Brida. And if you'd really like to read Brida, make sure you're not trying to judge the book by its admittedly attractive cover.

On the side, I also went through a Selected Writings of Albert Einstein's at the IHC Library yesterday (it was a thin book). I've always found his words inspirational, and these were no different. A great exercise it is, indeed, to acquaint oneself more intimately with the lives of the great who have lived before us. For what may be a better example for us to follow?

More than just ordinary

2009-05-29T09:47:00.000-07:00

A long, long time ago, a line from a poem had appeared in a column of a newspaper. My friend A and I swiftly lost our hearts to this line and the article. Then, it was a novel read for us. And although the article was quick to leave my memory, the line occupied a permanent place within because it quickly became a favorite for A, thereby revealing to me a side of a friend I was moved to discover. We were twelve then.

And then last evening, A and I talked after ages, and the joys of tried and tested friendship announced their presence once again. After I ended the conversation with a deep and grateful sigh, I returned to Brida, the book I was reading yesterday, and before me I found that very line, from lifetimes ago. Imagine my surprise, and then to find that it was part of a living, breathing poem. A Yeats poem, no less.

These little coincidences rock my world. Random or divine, my heart rejoices at their generous presence in this one-in-six-billion life and I know only to be grateful. To the forces that be, to her, to the author of that news article (though he omitted to credit Yeats), to Yeats of course, and to the tender love he brings to life in this poem:

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with the golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams...

Aurelius, again

2009-05-27T11:06:00.000-07:00

God has been rather kind, for in my most unsuspecting moments has he sprung upon me life-altering philosophies, earlier with Swami Vivekananda and Thich Nhat Hanh, and now with Marcus Aurelius. When I embarked upon Meditations, I knew almost nothing about it or its author: I did not know that Marcus Aurelius was a Roman emperor, nor that he lived as far back as the second century (AD). I also had no idea that Meditations was a compilation of this great emperor's journal entries and not even intended for an audience. Neither did I recall (after having studied in school, long ago) a thing about Stoicism (although Aurelius is not quite a confirmed Stoic, though he does largely adhere to Stoic thought). The last couple of days have seen a change in all this and more.

It is infeasible (even) for me to type out the entire text of Meditations, but I would like this post to encapsulate its essence. In no particular order, then, do I include the excerpts below. Know that this is a mere scratching of the surface - twelve arbitrarily selected quotes to arbitrarily average one per book.

People seek retreats for themselves in the countryside, by the seashore, in the hills; and you too have made it your habit to yearn for such things with all your heart. But this is altogether unphilosophical, when it is possible for you to retreat into yourself at an hour you please; for nowhere can one retreat into greater calm or freedom from care than within one's own soul, especially when a person has such fine things within him that he has merely to look at them to achieve from that very moment perfect ease of mind.

Everything that is in any way beautiful is beautiful of itself and complete in itself, and praise has no part in it; for nothing comes to be better or worse for being praised. And I say this even of things which are described as beautiful in everyday speech, such as material objects and works of art. As for what is truly beautiful, has it need of anything beyond? Surely not, any more than law does, or truth, or benevolence, or modesty. Which of these is beautiful because it is praised, or becomes any less so if it is criticized? Does an emerald become any worse if nobody praises it? Or gold, ivory, purple, a lyre, a sword, a blossom, or a shrub?

'To what purpose, then, am I presently using my soul?' Ask yourself this question at every moment, and examine yourself as follows: what is the present content of the part of me which is commonly called the governing faculty? And whose soul do I have at present? That of a child? That of an adolescent? That of a woman, of a tyrant, of a domestic animal, of a wild beast?

The idle pageantry of a procession, plays on the stage, flocks and herds, the clashing of spears, a bone tossed to puppies, a scrap of bread cast into a fishpond, the wretched labors of overladen ants, the scurrying of startled mice, puppets pulled about on their strings. You must take your place, then, in the midst of all this, with a good grace and without assuming a scornful air; and yet, at the same time, keep in mind that a person's worth is measured by the worth of what he has his heart set on.

'Do you suppose that human life can seem any great matter to a man of elevated mind who has embraced the whole of time and the whole of reality in his thoughts?' 'Quite impossible', he replied. 'So to such a person not even death will seem anything terrible?' 'Not in the least.'

The light of the sun seems to be poured down, and to be poured, indeed, in every direction, but not poured away; for this pouring is an extension, and that is why the sun's beams are called 'rays', because they are extended. And what kind of thing a ray is you can readily see if you look at sunlight entering a darkened room through a narrow opening. For it stretches out in a straight line and comes to rest, so to speak, on any solid body that intercepts it, cutting off the air that lies beyond; and there it rests, neither slipping off or falling down. The pouring forth and diffusion of our understanding should follow a comparable pattern, and in no way be a pouring away, but rather, an extension; and it should not make a forcible or violent impact on the obstacles that it meets with nor sink down, but stand firm and illuminate the object that receives it; for that which fails to welcome it will deprive itself of its light.

If you can, show them the error of their ways; but if you cannot, remember that kindness was granted to you for this. The gods themselves are kind to such people, and even help them to certain ends, to health, to wealth, to reputation, such is their benevolence. And you could do so too; or tell me this, who is standing in your way?

Today I escaped the power of circumstance, or rather I cast all circumstance out; for it was not outside me, but within me, in my judgments.

But above all, when you condemn somebody for disloyalty or ingratitude, turn your attention to yourself; for the fault is clearly your own, whether for trusting that a man of such a character would keep his word, or for the fact that when you bestowed a favor, you did not grant it unconditionally and in the belief that you would immediately reap your full reward from the very action itself. For tell me, man, when you have done a good turn, what more do you want? Is it not enough that in doing this, you have acted according to your own nature, that you should go on to seek a reward for it? It is just as if the eye sought compensation for seeing, or the feet for walking. For as these were made to perform a particular function, and by performing it according to their own constitution, gain in full what is due to them, so likewise, man is formed by nature to benefit others, and when he has performed some benevolent action or accomplished anything else that contributes to the common good, he has done what he was constituted for, and has what is properly his.

Will there come a day, my soul, when you are good, and simple, and at one, and clearer to see than the body which envelops you? Some day, will you enjoy a loving and affectionate disposition? Some day, will you be satisfied and want for nothing, yearning for nothing, and coveting nothing, animate or inanimate, to cater to your pleasures? And not wish for more time, to enjoy them for a longer period, or a more pleasing place, or country, or climate, or more agreeable company? Or will you be contented instead with your present circumstances and delighted with everything around you, and convince yourself that all that you have comes to you from the gods, and that all is well for you and will be well that is pleasing to them and that they shall grant hereafter for the sustenance of the perfect living being, the good and the just and the beautiful, which generates, upholds and embraces all things, and takes them into itself when they are dissolved to allow others of like nature to come into being? Will there ever come a day when you are fit to dwell in the common city of gods and mortals so as neither to bring any complaint against them nor to incur their condemnation?

...for the pride that prides itself on its freedom from pride is the most objectionable pride of all.

Where is the hardship, then, if it is no tyrant or unjust judge who sends you out of the city, but nature who brought you in? It is just as if the director of a show, after first engaging an actor, were dismissing him from the stage. 'But I haven't played all five acts, but only three.' Very well; but in life three acts can amount to a play. For the one who determines when it is complete is he who once arranged for your composition and now arranges for your dissolution, while you for your part are responsible for neither. So make your departure with a good grace, as he who is releasing you shows a good grace.

On Fortune Good and Bad

2009-05-26T09:21:00.000-07:00

When the duality of 'good' vs. 'bad' is transcended, neither does the distinction between 'good fortune' and 'misfortune' remain. When a certain fate crosses paths with us, I cannot say with any conviction that the laws of karma cause it to be, or that it is all part of God's grand plan, and that everything always happens for the best. Honestly, I don't know. In this, however, my conviction does lie - that in every moment, we have a choice - towards freedom or bondage; whether we're aware of it or not - we're choosing one over the other, all the time. And what is (binding perhaps or) still more liberating, is that this awareness too, is of our own choosing. It is up to us. Then this bondage becomes the 'misfortune', and freedom - the 'good'.

Here's an excerpt from Book 4 of Meditations that speaks to this oft-engaging thought process:

Be like the headland with wave after wave breaking against it, which yet stands firm and sees the boiling waters round it fall to rest. 'Unfortunate am I, that this has befallen me.' No, quite the contrary: 'Fortunate am I, that when such a thing has befallen me, I remain undisturbed, neither crushed by the present nor afraid of what is to come.' For such a thing could have befallen anyone, but not everyone would have remained undisturbed in the face of such a blow. So why is this a misfortune rather than something fortunate? Or do you generally say that human fortune can lie in something other than a deviation from man's true nature? And do you suppose anything to be a deviation from man's nature if it does not conflict with the will of that nature? Well then, you have learned to know that will. Can what has befallen you prevent you in any way from being just, high-minded, self-controlled, prudent, deliberate in your judgment, empty of deceit, self-respecting, free, or from possessing any of the qualities which by their presence make it possible for man's nature to come into it's own? So henceforth, in the face of every difficulty that leads you to feel distress, remember to apply this principle: this is no misfortune, but in bearing it nobly there is good fortune.

On Meditations

2009-05-25T22:51:00.000-07:00

The cover of the book says it's a Wordsworth classic of world literature. I'm not sure what it means for it to be a Wordsworth classic, to be true, but I do agree that it's quite the masterpiece. Here's what wiki has to say about it.

Book 1 was a series of tributes to people who influenced Aurelius's life. At first, I was in awe of the abundance of positive influence around him. On greater introspection, I realized that it was his ability to see this goodness that made it so abundant, for we are all just as surrounded by goodness, though perhaps in varying measure and manifestation. If we chose to, made even feeble attempts to, we would see it everywhere and in fact, in every interaction we share with nature. This book quickly then became my most humbling read in memory.

Book 2 is where I'm at now, and I share with you its first paragraph.

Say to yourself at break of day, I shall meet with meddling, ungrateful, violent, treacherous, envious, and ungrateful men. All these vices have fallen to them because they have no knowledge of good and bad. But I, who have beheld the nature of the good, and seen that it is the right; and of the bad, and seen that it is the wrong; and of the wrongdoer himself, and seeing that his nature is akin to my own - not because he is of the same blood and seed, but because he shared with me in mind and a portion of the divine - I, then, can neither be harmed by any of these men, nor can I become angry with one who is akin to me, nor can I hate him, for we have come into being to work together, like feet, hands, or eyelids, or the two rows of teeth in our upper and lower jaws. To work against one another is therefore contrary to nature; and to be angry with another and turn away from him is surely to work against him.

I cannot say this is my favorite paragraph, only because I find each one surpasses the previous and stimulates in its own unique manner. Meditations has quickly moved into my top 100 book-list, and while I would be only too happy to write out passage after passage for you, I do urge you to read it for yourself as well. MIT has been kind enough to put a translation online.

A week of firsts

2009-05-25T09:50:00.000-07:00

The week that just went by was my second week of the summer, and first week of this vacation. Apart from being the first of this vacation, the week brought several other firsts as well.

For over a year, I haven't spent an entire week without a shred of work on my mind. This was that.
I slept blissfully, abundantly, and helplessly - during the day, during the night, really anytime and all the time. My mom even came to wake me up once asking if there was something wrong and whether I needed her to take me to the doctor. (I slept through that as well, thinking it was but a dream until I checked later.) And this when just a few weeks before I left, I chided a friend for spending several hours of his vacation in bed. I could hardly believe it at first, for really, I've never been this sleep-crazy. It couldn't even have been sleep deprivation or jet lag beyond a point... I just freely willed it to come and it came.
I read a book a day (and each book had 200+ pages). Given how much I was sleeping, this really is surprising.
I learned how to work the Indian TV system - remote et al. - certainly the first time in years.
I drank coke - again a first in years. I'm good for another few though :).
I'm officially over my craze for Indian Chinese food. This was almost disappointing, because now I have nothing to pipe on about in terms of food in India. I'm not sure what happened, but it just doesn't do it for me anymore.

There were more, I'm sure of it, but I can't think of any now. Anyway, I shall look forward hence to a week of seconds :).

@Time Out

2009-05-25T08:35:00.000-07:00

By a stroke of unplanned luck (yes, the luck that is usually unplanned), I found myself at Time Out this morning - the Time Out that is Reliance's gift to mankind, or book-lovers at the least - at Ambience mall in Gurgaon - affectionately known as 'Ambi' mall by its frequenters. I looked for Nine Lives by Salinger, and was promised a copy would arrive for me this Thursday. Other purchases were largely based on the 'calling-out-to-me' phenomenon belabored upon in last week's post. Here's the list:

1. Meditations by Marcus Aurelius - I've encountered mention of this book many times of late, each time with a quote or passage that has left its mark. Excerpts I met in Light from many Lamps this week firmed the resolve to read. As I browsed through the Philosophy component of the Religion and Philosophy section (the Religion more-than-half was covered last December), I was thrilled to find one lone copy of it. Am on page 7 now and can safely say it has (already) altered the course of my life.

2. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath - This was the first book I picked up, again motivated by excerpts I've read though I can't remember where. I've always had great respect for Plath too, though I can't remember why. I do, admittedly, have a soft corner for poets, but I suspect it was more than that...

3. Brida by Paolo Coelho - I'm not (yet) the die-hard Coelho fan who reads every one of his books; in fact, I've been quite content with having reading three thus far, which is why I looked past this book every visit to the bookstore of late. This time however, mom was with me, and when she explicitly brought my attention to it - aware that I'd just read The Pilgrimage - I felt the need to acknowledge it somehow... and my hand, without my knowledge, picked it up and added it to my pile.

4. Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino - This comes by recommendation. A trusted source. It helped that I have great faith in Calvino somehow, even if his book of Folk Tales that I own is not one I would wish on anyone save for obnoxious amusement (I kid you not).

5. Five Moral Pieces by Umberto Eco - An(other) impulse purchase. I've been meaning to explore Umberto Eco for a while, and this one didn't seem to demand too much of a commitment at first sight, unlike most others I've seen (i.e., size factor). The hope is that this will drive me closer to them.

6. My Friend Sancho by Amit Varma - I bought this at the counter where it sat staring me in the face, reminding me of a blog post I read very recently. The post drove me to check out this book for obvious reasons and I enjoyed the read (yes, it was read within hours of purchase). It was witty in parts and hilarious almost always, but the 'plot' lacked punch and I found myself longing for longer conversations, greater detail, and deeper introspections. I've obviously been generously spoiled by my recent readings though, and certainly not every read need drive me into the depths of my soul. In fact, laughter, they say, is where it's at. I take back my whining then. Go ahead and read it. It's only Rs. 195 anyway :).

The House By the Side of the Road

2009-05-24T09:23:00.001-07:00

Here is a lovely poem I just read (and it has a lovely story to go with it, but I'll save that for a later time). A touching real-life encounter lent inspiration to the writing of this poem, now apparently the second most popular in America! (You've already seen the most popular, at least according to the book I read at present.)

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner's seat,
Or hurl the cynic's ban-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears
Both parts of an infinite plan-
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
And the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak,
They are strong,
Wise, foolish - so am I;
Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat,
Or hurl the cynic's ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

- Sam Walter Foss

It is said that Foss's life was true to these words of his. Definitely a source of inspiration, don't you agree? I wonder if it would be wishful thinking to make this the goal of my life just as well... but solace is quickly found in the words of Robert Browning - "Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp - or what's a heaven for?"

Emerson on Self-Reliance

2009-05-23T23:35:00.000-07:00

I was just reading about Emerson in Light from Many Lamps, and it includes an excerpt from his essay on self-reliance, one of his most famous. There is much to be gained from his writings, by a soul if only it is willing. Wouldn't you agree?

There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better or worse as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. ...

Trust thyself; every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so. ...

My life is for itself and not for a spectacle. I much prefer that it should be of a lower strain, so it be genuine and equal, than that it should be glittering and unsteady. ... Few and mean as my gifts may be, I actually am, and do not need for my own assurance or the assurance of my fellows any secondary testimony.

What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after your own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.

The rest of his essay can be found here, and the rest of his essays here.

The Chambered Nautilus

2009-05-23T22:38:00.000-07:00

I am reading Light from many Lamps these days - a treasury of inspiration indeed (as it claims to be on its cover). It includes, with commentary, some of the greatest writings there have been - stemming from the depths of the human soul and therefore documenting its many journeys through the vicissitudes of life. This morning, I was, in particular, moved by the following verse from Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes's famous poem:

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll!
Leave thy low-vaulted past!
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!

While it is lovely indeed to come across a written word that pleases us, it is an exercise more illuminating, I find, to enquire into what it is that appeals to us really. Is there a need of the soul that is thence satisfied? And what is this need? Where does that stem from? The process is endless, and endlessly instructive. Is not the self a source of endless entertainment thus?

And one more...

2009-05-23T12:34:00.000-07:00

Somehow, this excerpt found itself on the top of my list and wheedled its way into a post of its own. What was amazing about the book, I realized at this point of reading it, was that the plot - what was really 'happening' was sort-of just on the side and didn't really matter. What really mattered (to the author and thus to me) was the change in his spirit that he was so consciously living himself through.

I woke at dawn and walked rapidly along the beach towards the village; my heart was leaping in my breast. I had rarely felt so full of joy in my life. It was no ordinary joy, it was a sublime, absurd and unjustifiable gladness. Not only unjustifiable, contrary to all justification. This time I had lost everything – my money, my men, the line, the trucks; we had constructed a small port and now we had nothing to export. It was all lost.

Well, it was precisely at that moment that I felt an unexpected sense of deliverance. As if in the hard, somber labyrinth of necessity I had discovered liberty herself playing happily in a corner. And I played with her.

When everything goes wrong, what a joy to test your soul and see if it has endurance and courage! An invisible and all-powerful enemy – some call him God, others the Devil, seems to rush upon us to destroy us; but we are not destroyed.

Each time that within ourselves we are the conquerors, although externally utterly defeated, we human beings feel an indescribable pride and joy. Outward calamity is transformed into a supreme and unshakable felicity.

I remember something Zorba told me once: ‘One night on a snow-covered Macedonian mountain a terrible wind arose. It shook the little hut where I had sheltered and tried to tip it over. But I had shored it up and strengthened it. I was sitting alone by the fire, laughing at and taunting the wind. “You won’t get into my little hut, brother; I shan’t open the door to you. You won’t put my fire out; you won’t tip my hut over!”’

In these few words of Zorba’s I had understood how men should behave and what tone they should adopt when addressing powerful but blind necessity.

I walked rapidly along the beach, talking with the invisible enemy. I cried: “You won’t get into my little hut, brother; I shan’t open the door to you. You won’t put my fire out; you won’t tip me over!”’

And with this excerpt, Zorba, I bid thee farewell.

Zorba and Me

2009-05-23T11:55:00.000-07:00

I finished reading the book a few days ago and dearly wished I could be a Zorba too... Here are some excerpts from my excerpts:

‘What happened to the crow, Zorba?’
‘Well, you see, he used to walk respectably, properly – well, like a crow. But one day he got it into his head to try and strut about like a pigeon. And from that time on the poor fellow couldn’t for the life of him recall his own way of walking. He was all mixed up, don’t you see? He just hobbled about.’

We stayed silent by the brazier until far into the night. I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else. And all that is required to feel that here and now is happiness is a simple, frugal heart.

Because, as my master, Buddha, says: “I have seen.” And as I have seen and, in the twinkling of an eye, have got on good terms with the jovial and whimsical, invisible producer, I can henceforward play my part on earth to the end, that is to say coherently and without discouragement. For, having seen, I have also collaborated in the work in which I am acting on God’s stage.

I walked along the water’s edge playing a game with the waves. They ran up to try and wet me and I ran away. I was happy and said to myself: ‘This is true happiness: to have no ambition and to work like a horse as if you had every ambition. To live far from men, not to need them and yet to love them. To take part in the Christmas festivities and, after eating and drinking well, to escape on your own far from all snares, to have the stars above, the land to your left and the sea to your right: and to realize of a sudden that, in your heart, life has accomplished its final miracle: it has become a fairy-tale.’

‘What is your favorite dish, granddad?’
‘All of them, my son. It’s great sin to say this is good and that is bad.’
‘Why? Can’t we make a choice?’
‘No, of course we can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because there are people who are hungry.’
I was silent, ashamed. My heart had never been able to reach that height of nobility and compassion.

‘Once when I was a kid – this’ll show you – I was mad on cherries. I had no money, so I couldn’t buy many at a time, and when I’d eaten all I could buy I still wanted more. Day and night I thought of nothing but cherries. I foamed at the mouth; it was torture! But one day I got mad, or ashamed, I don’t know which. Anyway, I just felt cherries were doing what they liked with me and it was ludicrous. So what did I do? I got up one night, searched my father’s pockets and found a silver mejidie and pinched it. I was up early the next morning, went to a market-gardener and bought a basket o’ cherries. I settled down in a ditch and began eating. I stuffed and stuffed till I was all swollen out. My stomach began to ache and I was sick. Yes, boss, I was thoroughly sick, and from that day to this I’ve never wanted a cherry. I couldn’t bear the sight of them. I was saved. I could say to any cherry: I don’t need you any more.’

We are little grubs, Zorba, minute grubs on the small leaf of a tremendous tree. This small leaf is the earth. The other leaves are the stars that you see moving at night. We make our way on this little leaf examining it anxiously and carefully. We smell it; it smells good or bad to us. We taste it and find it eatable. We beat on it and it cries out like a living thing.
‘Some men – the more intrepid ones – reach the edge of the leaf. From there we stretch out, gazing into chaos. We tremble. We guess what a frightening abyss lies beneath us. In the distance we can hear the noise of the other leaves of the tremendous tree, we feel the sap rising from the roots to our leaf and our hearts swell. Bent thus over the awe-inspiring abyss, with all our bodies and all our souls, we tremble with terror. From that moment begins …’
I stopped. I wanted to say ‘from that moment begins poetry’, but Zorba would not have understood. I stopped.

I could not and would not sleep. I thought of nothing. I just felt something, someone growing to maturity inside me in the warm night. I lived lucidly through a most surprising experience: I saw myself change. A thing that usually happens only in the most obscure depths of our bowels was the time occurring in the open, before my eyes. Crouched by the sea, I watched this miracle take place.

‘Well, as I was saying, this Hussein Aga was a saintly man. One day he took me on his knee and placed his hand on my head as though he was giving me his blessing. “Alexis,” he said, “I’m going to tell you a secret. You’re too small to understand now, but you’ll understand when you are bigger. Listen, little one: neither the seven storeys of heaven nor the seven storeys of the earth are enough to contain God; but a man’s heart can contain him. So be very careful, Alexis – and may my blessing go with you – never to wound a man’s heart!”’

Food for Thought

2009-05-22T04:13:00.000-07:00

Below is the part that first endeared Zorba to me as I read the book.

'Look, one day I had gone to a little village. An old grandfather of ninety was busy planting an almond tree. “What, granddad!” I exclaimed. “Planting an almond tree?” And he, bent as he was, turned round and said: “My son, I carry on as if I should never die.” I replied: “And I carry on as if I was going to die any minute.” Which of us was right, boss?’ […]

I kept silent. Two equally steep and bold paths may lead to the same peak. To act as if death did not exist, or to act thinking every minute of death, is perhaps the same thing. But when Zorba asked me the question, I did not know.

‘Well?’ Zorba said mockingly. ‘Don’t worry, boss, you can’t argue that out. Let’s talk of something else. Just now I’m thinking of the chicken and the pilaf sprinkled with cinnamon. My brain’s steaming like the pilaf. Let’s eat first, ballast up first, then we’ll see. Everything in good time. In front of us now is the pilaf; let our minds become pilaf. Tomorrow the lignite will be in front of us; our minds must become lignite! No half-measures, you know.’

The Butterfly

2009-05-21T10:15:00.000-07:00

My reading of Zorba... continues to be slow and easy. I read and re-read paragraphs often, just to drink in the beauty of the writing, the formulation of thought. I hope I always remember the lesson the following passage serves to instill:

I remembered one morning when I discovered a cocoon in the bark of a tree, just as the butterfly was making a hole in its case and preparing to come out. I waited a while, but it was too long appearing and I was impatient. I bent over it and breathed on it to warm it. I warmed it as quickly as I could and the miracle began to happen before my eyes, faster than life. The case opened, the butterfly started slowly crawling out and I shall never forget my horror when I saw how its wings were folded back and crumpled; the wretched butterfly tried with its whole trembling body to unfold them. Bending over it, I tried to help it with my breath. In vain. It needed to be hatched out patiently and the unfolding of the wings should be a gradual process in the sun. Now it was too late. My breath had forced the butterfly to appear, all crumpled, before its time. It struggled desperately and, a few seconds later, died in the palm of my hand.

That little body is, I do believe, the greatest weight I have on my conscience. For I realize today that it is a mortal sin to violate the great laws of nature. We should not hurry, we should not be impatient, but we should confidently obey the eternal rhythm.

I sat on a rock to absorb this New Year's thought. Ah, if only that little butterfly could always flutter before me to show me the way.

Broken Dreams

2009-05-21T01:51:00.001-07:00

Times of India has a 'Sacred Space' where it publishes inspiring poems, quotes, and prayers daily. Here is an adorable little poem that was published in today's sacred space, highlighting the importance of trust and patience:

As children bring their broken toys
with tears for us to mend,
I brought my broken dreams to God
because He is my friend.
But then instead of leaving Him
to do His work alone,
I hung around and tried to help
in ways that were my own.
At last I snatched them back and cried
"How could you be so slow?"
"My child," he said, "What could I do?"
"You never did let go."
- Anon

Zorba the Greek

2009-05-20T23:31:00.001-07:00

Am reading Zorba the Greek now, and since I'm still reading it, this won't be a listing of all the quotes I liked in the book. Today, just one will do.

'Confucius says: "Many seek happiness higher than man; others beneath him. But happiness is the same height as man." This is true. So there must be a happiness to suit every man's stature. Such is, my dear pupil and master, my happiness of the day. I anxiously measure it and measure it again, to see what my stature of the moment is. For, you know this very well, man's stature is not always the same.

'How the soul of man is transformed according to the climate, the silence, the solitude, or the company in which it lives!

As I draw parallels between this book and Narcissus..., I realize that the beauty of both, as I see them, is that they bring out the dualities of life so wonderfully well. And truly, without any one of these aspects unrepresented, neither book would be worth a read.

This excerpt, in particular, made my mind rush to thoughts of acceptance; of truly living in the present with what we have. It also made me think of the fluidity of life, how it constantly transforms itself, when we feed it right.

I love this book.

Bridges of Madison County

2009-05-20T06:55:00.000-07:00

It was a sweet and endearing love story; simple yet profound. It also served to remind that there is still 'magic' in this world, should one ever need one's faith restored. There is no single quote I could find that captured this magic, to be true, for the essence of the story lies not in its words (for me). The single lesson I drew from it was that of genuine, selfless, and unconditional love. And that lesson I shall forever hold close to heart.

franny and zooey

2009-05-19T10:17:00.000-07:00

when i read salinger first (the catcher in the rye, that is), i didn't like him much, even though i knew i was supposed to. i just couldn't. i took refuge by saying that it was a great book, i just didn't identify with it very much.

i'm glad i needn't qualify my praises for him anymore. i loved franny and zooey. i love his writing. and i identify with it just fine. in fact, i identify with both franny and zooey. how's that for identification?!

the book is cleverly and creatively crafted (the alliteration was seriously unintentional), the characters are developed to perfection, the conversations are mindblowingly funny, and the 'plot' could scarcely have been of greater interest to me. i'll leave you to discover the rest. if you do plan to read it though, please don't read this post any further. all that has to be revealed in the book is pretty much revealed in these excerpts:

Concerning the Gods, there are those who deny the very existence of the Godhead; others say it exists, but neither bestirs nor concerns itself, nor has forethought for anything. A third party attribute to it existence and forethought, but only for great and heavenly matters, not for anything that is on earth. A fourth party admit things on earth as well as in heaven, but only in general, and not with respect to each individual. A fifth, of whom were Ulysses and Socrates, are those that cry: “I move not without Thy knowledge!” – Epictetus

"How in hell are you going to recognize a legitimate holy man when you see one if you don’t even know a cup of consecrated chicken soup when it’s right in front of your nose? Can you tell me that?”

“You can say the Jesus Prayer from now till doomsday, but if you don’t realize that the only thing that counts in the religious life is detachment, I don’t see how you’ll ever even move an inch. Detachment, buddy, and only detachment. Desirelessness. ‘Cessation from all hankering.’ It’s this business of desiring, if you want to know the goddamn truth, that makes an actor in the first place. Why’re you making me tell you things you already know? Somewhere along the line – in one damn incarnation or another, if you like – you not only had a hankering to be an actor or an actress but to be a good one. You’re stuck with it now. You can’t just walk out on the results of your own hankerings. Cause and effect, buddy, cause and effect. The only thing you can do now, the only religious thing you can do, is act. Act for God, if you want to – be God’s actress, if you want to. What could be prettier? You can at least try to, if you want to – there’s nothing wrong in trying.” There was a slight pause. “You’d better get busy, though, buddy. The goddam sands run out on you every time you turn around. I know what I’m talking about. You’re lucky if you get time to sneeze in this goddam phenomenal world. … and if you don’t know by now what kind of skull you want when you’re dead, and what you have to do to earn it – I mean if you don’t at least know by this time that if you’re an actress you’re supposed to act, then what’s the use of talking?”

“But the thing is, you raved and you bitched when you came home about the stupidity of audiences. The goddamn ‘unskilled laughter’ coming from the fifth row. And that’s right, that’s right – God knows it’s depressing. I’m not saying it isn’t. But that’s none of your business, really. That’s none of your business, Franny. An artist’s only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection and on his own terms, not anyone else’s.”

"I just damn well wasn’t going to shine my shoes for them, I told Seymour. I said they couldn’t see them anyway, where we sat. He said to shine them for the Fat Lady. He never did tell me who the Fat Lady was, but I shined my shoes for the Fat Lady every time I ever went on the air again – all the years you and I were on the program together, if you remember. … This terribly clear, clear picture of the Fat Lady formed in my mind. I had her sitting on this porch all day, swatting flies, with her radio going full-blast from morning till night. I figured the heat was terrible, and she probably had cancer, and – I don’t know." … “He told me, too,” she said into the phone. “He told me to be funny for the Fat Lady, once.”

“I don’t care where an actor acts. It can be in summer stock, it can be over a radio, it can be over television, it can be in a goddam Broadway theatre, complete with the most fashionable, most well-fed, most sunburned-looking audience you can imagine. But I’ll tell you a terrible secret – Are you listening to me? There isn’t anyone out there who isn’t Seymour’s Fat Lady. … Don’t you know that goddam secret yet? And don’t you know … don’t you know who that Fat Lady really is? … It’s Christ himself, buddy.”

from ulysses

2009-05-19T10:09:00.000-07:00

this powerful excerpt from tennyson's ulysses features on page 1 of kurien's i too had a dream.

Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
... Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
... Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

I Too Had a Dream

2009-05-19T09:55:00.000-07:00

This is the autobiography of Dr. Verghese Kurien - the architect of 'Operation Flood', which made India the largest milk producer of the world. The story is inspiring and humbling, to say very little. Not only did I enjoy the details of India's progress from prevalent milk shortages to self-sufficient milk production, I loved learning about them from the eyes of this wise, honest, and unassuming leader - a leader who truly believed in the strength of his people, of India's farmers.

Reading this account was almost like reading a synopsis of India's political history as well, as Dr. Kurien mentioned the visits of the different prime ministers and presidents to Anand, where it all began. Some of the inspiring bits and a couple of interesting anecdotes (there were many more) are included below. And a poem which deserves a post of its own.

I have often spoken of integrity as the most important of these values, realizing that integrity – and personal integrity, at that – is being honest to yourself. If you are always honest to yourself, it does not take much effort in always being honest with others. I have also learnt what I am sure you, too, will find out someday.

Life is a privilege and to waste it would be wrong. In living this privilege called ‘Life’, you must accept responsibility for yourself, always use your talents to the best of your ability and contribute somehow to the common good. That common good will present itself to you in many forms every day. If you just look around you, you will find there is a lot waiting to be done: your friend may need some help, your teacher could be looking for a volunteer, or the community you live in will need you to make a contribution. I hope that you, too, will discover as I did, that failure is not about succeeding. Rather, it is about not putting in your best effort and not contributing, however modestly, to the common good.

And in the end, if we are brave enough to love, strong enough to rejoice in another’s happiness, and wise enough to know that there is enough to go around for all, then we would have lived our lives to the fullest.

Jawaharlal Nehru arrived at Anand to tremendous fanfare. His daughter, Indira Gandhi, accompanied him. We first took them to my house. We had already received detailed instructions about his breakfast, and how he liked his coffee and milk piping hot. However, we were faced with the slight problem of getting the right trademark rose for his buttonhole. It had to be got in advance but had to be kept at the right temperature because it must look absolutely fresh. It had to be the right shade of red, the right size and in just the right degree of bloom. Molly had to experiment with many a rose. She finally figured out that we would have to store the flower in the fridge for a certain time and keep it at room temperature for a certain time before offering it to the Prime Minister. We did all this and had the rose all ready for him. To our surprise, when Jawaharlal Nehru came out of the bedroom, he already had a rose in his buttonhole, picked from the flower vase in his bedroom. Then he saw us with the rose on a platter. He immediately removed the one from his buttonhole and put on the one Molly offered him.

One day while I was on one of my unannounced rounds in the cold store, I spotted an old employee, with a big moustache and a beard, who had opened the lid of one of the milk cans and was sucking the cream. Suddenly, he looked up and saw me. We stared at each other for a moment. There was cream dripping from his mouth, onto his chin and he faltered, ‘No, no Saheb, I am not drinking, I am not drinking.’ I just turned around and walked away. But the very next day, I told the Manager that every worker had to be given half a litre of milk. These men were handling vast quantities of milk all day long and they were hungry. It was not fair that they did not have a share of the milk.

I remember then explaining to Nirmala that it is terrible to have too little money because you will not even have enough to eat and appease your hunger. But it is far, far worse to have too much money because then you will surely get corrupt. Our family, I think, was truly very blessed because we always had only just enough.

On Symmetry

2009-05-19T09:17:00.000-07:00

This morning, I read "The Equation That Couldn't Be Solved" by Mario Livio - an interesting book on symmetry from a mathematical perspective, also including considerable historical knowledge on some of the greatest mathematicians this world has known. I'd have loved to read this book before I took Abstract Algebra in undergrad, for it covers the introduction to Group Theory really well, also filling one with awe for Galois's short but productive life.

Although this book too featured famous quotes that were pleasant and enlightening, I shall, instead, leave you with one of its puzzles that I enjoyed:

Imagine that you have six equal-length matchsticks. Can you form four equilateral triangles out of these?

(PS: Have you noticed the slow and steady incorporation of caps into my typing? It's what they call change :).)

An evening expedition

2009-05-19T08:09:00.000-07:00

As I sat twiddling my thumbs, out of books, I found that the car was available and I could make a quick trip to KM to get myself something to read. I set out within a minute, and after painstaking navigation through the traffic that KM is ever afloat, I entered Faqir Chand's. Wanting to meander through the book aisles on my own as I am accustomed, the privacy of my thoughts felt a little invaded when it was suddenly asked, "What are you looking for, Ma'am?" Out came "Fiction," and I was led to the latest and the greatest. But the latest and the greatest wasn't what I had in mind. It was the tried and tested that I was looking for, something that had, mmm, journeyed through time. After looking through the shelves distractedly, pausing briefly at Vikram Seth's "Two Lives," I decided to explore other aisles (though I felt guilty doing so under said invader's nose). I could've asked, but I didn't know what to say. "Old fiction" perhaps, "NOT the latest and the greatest, please" - unlikely. I did my own looking, squeezing my way through the narrow spaces between towering bookshelves. Found nothing that pleased, and wanted nothing more than to get out and rush to the next store. Irrational instinct, but what is one to do about instinct? One must resignedly obey.

At "Bahri Sons," I was more hopeful. I can hardly remember walking out of here empty-handed. But while I found numerous books on religion, my now-more-sustained less-crazed reading quest (certainly no offense, I look for Him now in subtler places), 'old' fiction I found none. I know Bertrand Russell awaits, and Vikram Seth just couldn't get enough of my attention, but there was something else I was looking for. I was driven out, either by said instinct or by the boy who dropped the ladder on my foot (but not as you think - my subsequent glare and characteristic slowness in uttering an "It's OK" made me groan inside... I quickly made an exit).

Next stop - Full Circle. I was here just yesterday (ha ha, life does indeed come 'full circle'), and I knew there was something to be found here. The thing is, when you know, you can't possibly not find anything and prove (what you think is) your instinct wrong. I walked back and forth through the shelves, mentally issuing commands for the books to call out to me. If instinct had brought me here, and instinct had filled me with hope, the calling out had to happen.

And it did. While I was open to being pulled to any book that wished to call out to me, I had in mind Hermann Hesse in general, and Bridges of Madison County in particular. Both made sense. Hermann Hesse has taken my life by storm lately, and Bridges... was just recommended by a thoughtful reader (and when recommendations enter the picture, serendipity enters the picture, and we all know how I feel about that).

So, it did. First, with Zorba the Greek. Not a recommendation but a stumbling upon first led me to read about the book. And then to quote from it here. Serendipitously. And if I'm quoting from an unread book, it does make sense to mark it read, yes? One down, and one (possibly two?) more to go.

In a flash, my eye fell on two copies of Bridges of Madison County sitting one atop the other. No, I didn't even look at the synopsis. It was a recommendation, and one doesn't question recommendations. Welll (let me qualify that), not when instinct backs it up so fiercely. Who's to question instinct?

Instinct also said I was done. But I decided I could still look around for more. I found a book on Tagore and Kabir. Lovely! Pick? Instinct said no, they don't know how to spell 'diverse', and on the back of the book, of all places. OK, I looked morosely, as I wistfully turned the pages and saw the word 'helmsman'. Helmsman. I guessed this would've read 'manjhi' in another tongue... and 'manjhi' was so much more attractive than 'helmsman'. I wasn't going to buy Kabir in English when I was soon to be surrounded by Kabir in Hindi, was I? It made little sense, you will agree.

I handed these books over at the counter, offered a 1000 rupee note, and waited. As I waited, I found these utterly fancy tour guides waiting to be picked up, looked at, but not bought. The one on Bangalore was more tempting than the others, but temptations such as these are easily resisted, phew! I thanked the book-keeper for the paper bag, but asked him to reuse it while I placed the books in my amply spacious and newly acquired (but old, old) Turkish handbag (a hand-me-down from the sister, of course). As I stepped out with a victorious spring in step, I was hit in the face by a sudden gush of dust being blown around in the air. Could it be? Heavens, this was a dust storm!

I couldn't stop smiling as I walked the long, uncovered route to the car. Oh, a dust storm after ages! And I was being stung by my first blissful drops of summer rain! All at the same time! The dust entered my eyes and I could barely keep them open, but I smiled regardless. And those cherished lines of the song came back to me...

'cos I'm free... nothin's worryin' me!

my antonia

2009-05-19T05:15:00.000-07:00

my antonia is a present i was given by my aunt several years ago. her being a literary expert if there was one, i wonder why it took me almost 9 years to get to a book i was today done reading in a sitting! i had taken it with me on a flight from san francisco to bombay once, but when i started to read it, i was bored too soon. nebraskan prairies of the 1800s had not featured in my imagination before, and i was less than willing to make room for them then. i put the book aside, leaving it behind in india for better things to carry back instead. (this is where the familiar "oh gawd... was i really like that?" feeling creeps in).

the 'plot': antonia is an endearing little bohemian girl, who comes to live on a farm in nebraska with her immigrant family. here she meets jim, a lifelong friend in the form of a little boy who never falls short of adoration for her beauty and powers of endurance. the story is his, and no, it's not the kind of love story you'd imagine it to be.

while i enjoyed the life of farming, and the characters that made me wonder about years long gone, in mid-western (and perhaps other parts of) america, my heart went out to the lovely, strong antonia. i offer the very last paragraph which, for me, so quaintly encapsulates the essence of my antonia. mine indeed, for as jim says in the beginning, "It's through myself that I knew and felt her, and I've had no practice in any other form of presentation." it is through myself, and then jim, that i know and feel her...

This was the road over which Antonia and I came on that night when we got off the train at Black Hawk and were bedded down in the straw, wondering children, being taken we knew not whither. I had only to close my eyes to hear the rumbling of the wagons in the dark, and to be again overcome by that obliterating strangeness. The feelings of that night were so near that I could reach out and touch them with my hand. I had the sense of coming home to myself, and of having found out what a little circle man's experience is. For Antonia and for me, this had been the road of Destiny; had taken us to those early accidents of fortune which predetermined for us all that we can never be. Now I understood that the same road was to bring us together again. Whatever we had missed, we possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past.

update

2009-05-19T04:38:00.001-07:00

i'm tempted to leave the post empty, but it's been done before, so that would no longer be funny. although i'd like to say i was enforcing a no-internet/no-laptop policy to celebrate the end of my semester, i sheepishly accept that i'm too weak and unmotivated for that, but am glad to add that the three-day mtnl strike (wherein cables were cut and lines down) bestowed that kindness instead.

saturday brought with it the delightful election results that the country has gone nuts over (i'm talking about the stock exchange that went crazy yesterday!). and after all that whining about narcissus and goldmund, i couldn't put it down until i was done with the last page. that was past 3 in the morning.

most of sunday was spent at my sister's new place. i had hoped to offer some help with setting up their house, but jet lag hit again and i was overcome by the greatest desire to sleep. so sleep i did, until it was time to leave!

monday was my very first visit to khan market for the summer. ah, the joy! it was apparently 42 degrees, but i couldn't feel the heat at all. it was nice to bake, in fact, for a change. i took p and her cousin to cafe turtle, the choicest of cafes i have seen in delhi thus far. holds several candles to the cafes in berkeley :).

miscellaneous: yesterday was the k-day for movies: i saw kashmir ki kali, kate and leopold, and karz. as for books, i have devoured four since narcissus: franny and zooey, i too had a dream, the equation that couldn't be solved, and my antonia. not sure what to embark on next - suggestions and reminders are welcome.

Narcissus and Goldmund

2009-05-19T04:31:00.000-07:00

Narcissus and Goldmund has been read and relived. It is ironic that a book I had been putting off for a while, and felt the need for a deeper source of patience to get back to, has turned out to be so special a read that I cannot think of many (if any) that I could (or would) place above it.

The book develops the characters of Narcissus and Goldmund so lovingly and with such tender detail, I have truly been able to immerse in the realities they bring forth. Indeed, I have recognized shades of myself in each, as every reader no doubt will. Hermann Hesse, in his true Nobel worth, speaks as though to voice one's innermost quests, leading to deep insights towards the same. Only an enlightened soul could possibly display such intent knowledge of the intricacies of duality that define human existence.

As always, excerpts do follow. Although I 'digitized' 3600 words in all, this may be an evil number to hit you with. I will share with you a fifth of the excerpts below and consider the left-over for a later time.

“We are sun and moon, dear friend; we are sea and land. It is not our purpose to become each other; it is to recognize each other, to learn to see the other and honor him for what he is: each the other’s opposite and complement.”

He thought that fear of death was perhaps the root of all art, perhaps also of all things of the mind. We fear death, we shudder at life’s instability, we grieve to see the flowers wilt again and again, and the leaves fall, and in our hearts we know that we, too, are transitory and will soon disappear. When artists create pictures and thinkers search for laws and formulate thoughts, it is in order to salvage something from the great dance of death, to make something that lasts longer than we do. Perhaps the woman after whom the master shaped his beautiful madonna is already wilted or dead, and soon he, too, will be dead; others will live in his house and eat at his table - but his work will still be standing a hundred years from now, and longer. It will go on shimmering in the quiet cloister church, unchangingly beautiful, forever smiling with the same sad, flowering mouth.

“Because when a man tries to realize himself through the gifts with which nature has endowed him, he does the best and only meaningful thing he can do. ... It is a philosophical concept, I can’t express it in any other way. For us disciples of Aristotle and St. Thomas, it is the highest of all concepts: perfect being. God is perfect being. Everything else that exists is only half, only a part, is becoming, is mixed, is made up of potentialities. But God is not mixed. He is one, he has no potentialities but is the total, the complete reality. Whereas we are transitory, we are becoming, we are potentials; there is no perfection for us, no complete being. But wherever we go, from potential to deed, from possibility to realization, we participate in true being, become by a degree more similar to the perfect and divine. That is what it means to realize oneself. You must know this from your own experience, since you’re an artist and have made many statues. If such a figure is really good, if you have released a man’s image from the changeable and brought it to pure form - then you have, as an artist, realized this human image.”

“Our thinking is a constant process of converting things to abstractions, a looking away from the sensory, an attempt to construct a purely spiritual world. Whereas you take the least constant, the most mortal things to your heart, and in their very mortality show the meaning of the world. You don’t look away from the world; you give yourself to it, and by your sacrifice to it raise it to the highest, a parable of eternity. We thinkers try to come close to God by pulling the masks of the world away from His face. You come closer to Him by loving His creation and recreating it. Both are human endeavors, and necessarily imperfect, but art is more innocent.”

“Neither of us can ever understand the other completely in such things. But there is one realization all men of good will share: in the end our works make us feel ashamed, we have to start out again, and each time the sacrifice has to be made anew.”

He knew nothing of the figure’s origin; Goldmund had never told him Lydia’s story. But he felt everything; he saw that the girl’s form had long lived in Goldmund’s heart. Perhaps he had seduced her, perhaps betrayed and left her. But, truer than the most faithful husband, he had taken her along in his soul, preserving her image until finally, perhaps after many years in which he had never seen her again, he has fashioned this beautiful, touching statue of a girl and captured in her face, her bearing, her hands all the tenderness, admiration, and longing of their love. He read much of his friend’s history too, in the figures of the lectern pulpit in the refectory. It was the story of a wayfarer, of an instinctive being, of a homeless, faithless man, but what had remained of it here was all good and faithful, filled with living love. How mysterious this life was, how deep and muddy its waters ran, yet how clear and noble what emerged from them.

He had not only sacrificed his horse, his satchel, and his gold pieces; other things, too, had gotten lost or deserted him: youth, health, self-confidence, the color in his cheeks and the force in his eyes. Yet he liked his image: this weak old fellow in the mirror was dearer to him than the Goldmund he had been for so long. He was older, weaker, more pitiable, but he was more harmless, he was more content, it was easier to get along with him. He laughed and pulled down one of the eyelids that had become wrinkled. Then he went back to bed and this time fell asleep.

sievings

2009-05-16T10:04:00.001-07:00

the semester is over, the school year is over, the newness of the phd program is over, and with those, the journey of a thousand steps... leading seamlessly on to another. much has been gained, much has been lost, but all to immensely gainful end. rays of sunshine, fewer clouds - i am grateful.

election results were announced today, and as always, when the voices of the land have spoken, rich and poor alike, there is a deep satisfaction within that everyone has had their say, no matter which say it was in the end. hurrah for freedom! hurrah for democracy!

until yesterday, i did not know who to root for, though i was definitely anti certain forces in both parties. after spending hours in front of the tv listening to all kinds of critiques from all kinds of directions, i am feeling much happier to have discovered today's results. indeed, almost as happy as i was on the day that obama won. i trust that the best outcome has resulted from these weeks of phenomenal electoral effort.

after a fulfilling 4-hour nap this afternoon, i resumed my reading of narcissus and goldmund. i find it hard to confess that it was quite a challenge, as i struggled to keep my eyes on the book. in a flash i was reminded of a conversation with a last week, on her recently discovered patience with reading. and this is how inspiration takes effect - i thought to myself, "geez, why can't i?" i know i shall now finish the book, no matter what. thank you, a. the importance of role models is not to be underestimated!

after several days of largely evenminded peace, i've been in angst mode for a few. the best analogy i can concoct is that of a chicken that breaks out of the egg-shell, except to find herself in yet another egg-shell that she must grow strong enough to break out of, and so on. i'm feeling that angst of needing to break myself out of this current shell. however, what this shell or its breaking allude to, time only shall tell.

ruk jana nahi...

2009-05-15T10:21:00.000-07:00

as dad and i drove home from dinner a few minutes ago, i heard this song on the radio. it used to be one of my most loved songs at a time, and i've always found the lyrics deeply inspirational. before i get back to the last 12 hours of my semester, i thought i'd add in my bit for the day (a modest attempt at translation alongwith).

perhaps some context would help. vinod khanna, in one of his far superior roles imho, comes to a small town as a professor in a local college. of respectable persona and intellect, he is loved by all. a little too much though, leading to jealous vibes that accuse him of a crime he did not commit. if i recall correctly, the misunderstanding is resolved, but he chooses to leave anyway. this song features as he says his goodbyes, leaving the audience in tears, but naturally.

ruk jana nahi tu kahin haar ke
kaaton pe chal ke milenge saaye bahaar ke
o rahi, o rahi...

o traveler,
don't lose heart before the journey is completed
walking on thorns will indeed lead you to beauty unimagined

saathi na karavan hai, ye tera imtihan hai
yohin chala chal dil ke sahare
karti hai manzil tujhko ishare
dekh kahin koi rok nahi le tujhko pukar ke
o rahi, o rahi...

without companion, without support - this is your test
to walk on ahead with the strength of your heart
your goal beckons
don't let anything keep you from it
o traveler...

nain aansoo jo liye hain, ye rahon ke diye hain
logon ko unka sabkuchh deke
tu to chala tha sapne hi leke
koi nahi to tere apne hain sapne ye pyaar ke
o rahi, o rahi...

the tears that your eyes hold, these are the lamps in your path
having given back to people what was theirs
you had set out, dreams in tow
if nothing else, these dreams of love are yours
o traveler...

suraj dekh ruk gaya hai, tere aage jhuk gaya hai
jab kabhi aise koi mastana,
nikle hai apni dhun mein deewana
shaam suhani ban jate hain din intezaar ke
o rahi, o rahi...

see, the sun has stopped to bow before you
whenever a hero such as you
follows his calling undistracted
days of waiting transform into beautiful evenings
o traveler...

more emerson

2009-05-14T21:23:00.000-07:00

emerson has led to considerable ponderings with his beautiful language and exquisite thoughts. here is a quote i just stumbled upon. a lesson in selflessness, trust, and friendship:

It has seemed to me lately more possible than I knew, to carry a friendship greatly, on one side, without due correspondence on the other. Why should I cumber myself with regrets that the receiver is not capacious? It never troubles the sun that some of his rays fall wide and vain into ungrateful space, and only a small part on the reflecting planet. Let your greatness educate the crude and cold companion. If he is unequal, he will presently pass away; but thou art enlarged by thy own shining, and, no longer a mate for frogs and worms, dost soar and burn with the gods of the empyrean. It is thought a disgrace to love unrequited. But the great will see that true love cannot be unrequited. True love transcends the unworthy object, and dwells and broods on the eternal, and when the poor interposed mask crumbles, it is not sad, but feels rid of so much earth, and feels its independency the surer. Yet these things may hardly be said without a sort of treachery to the relation. The essence of friendship is entireness, a total magnanimity and trust. It must not surmise or provide for infirmity. It treats its object as a god, that it may deify both.

i am reminded, also, of the olema retreat whence s, one of the retreatants, mentioned the trees as a source of inspiration. also as s had said earlier at the same retreat. that the trees, the leaves, the animals there - they are there only to give, and in that their presence is fulfilled. they never ask for a thing in return. likewise the sun, as emerson so truly points out. and so the earth, as this earlier post conveys through byron katie's writing. we have so many models of selflessness to guide ourselves with, a little refinement will do the trick.

"through thee the rose is red"

2009-05-14T20:57:00.000-07:00

i was setting up my feed reader in my mail client (to have posts come to me rather than have me go to them... it was high time), and i ran into this soul-touching poem a had posted not too long ago. (no wonder i have so many posts, if i keep lifting poems from everyone else's thus!) another one of those things that, although i enjoyed on a first read, only hit home this morning. after all, there must be a cosy nook created within for the masterpiece to settle into. it was today.

Friendship
by Ralph Waldo Emerson

A ruddy drop of manly blood
The surging sea outweighs;
The world uncertain comes and goes,
The lover rooted stays.
I fancied he was fled,
And, after many a year,
Glowed unexhausted kindliness
Like daily sunrise there.
My careful heart was free again-
O friend, my bosom said,
Through thee alone the sky is arched,
Through thee the rose is red,
All things through thee take nobler form
And look beyond the earth,
The mill-round of our fate appears
A sun-path in thy worth.
Me too thy nobleness has taught
To master my despair;
The fountains of my hidden life
Are through thy friendship fair.

on bread rolls and heidi

2009-05-14T19:00:00.000-07:00

i haven't a clue if these bread rolls i've grown up with are an india-wide phenomenon or really only a home-wide phenomenon, but as a friend asked me to explain what they were the other day, i realized there was once a time when i'd think they were a worldwide phenomenon.

when i was 8 and reading heidi (the book my childhood loved above all others), i was clear as day that i wanted to be heidi in my next birth (this conviction lasted many years). i loved her home, the mountains that were her life, her grandfather, her peter, most of all her love and innocence towards life. i also loved the bread rolls that she loved when she went away to live with the family (names, places forgotten now). i didn't know what hers were like (and i suppose she wouldn't have known about mine), but i still retain my clear image of heidi eating these balls of potatoes wrapped and fried in slices of bread. i could never quite imagine why her bread rolls were white and fluffy (it is why she loved them best), because mine were reddish-brown and toasty. i remember asking someone (my mom or sister) for a clarification then, and being informed of this other kind of bread that existed in this other part of the world.

i haven't ever forgotten that story of the bread rolls. and each time i see something that conforms to the image heidi left behind in my head, i do indeed fill with fondness. it is that one thing that ties us together still, after all these years.

on reading the gita

2009-05-13T22:51:00.001-07:00

this is a most adorable little story that was sent to me by a, who received it in her mail from s, and who in turn received it on a list initiated by the ramakrishna math in chennai. inspired thus, i look forward to many, many more readings of the gita :).

"An old farmer lived on a farm in the mountains with his young grandson. Each morning, Grandpa was up early sitting at the kitchen table reading his Bhagavat Geeta. His grandson wanted to be just like him and tried to imitate him in every way he could. One day the grandson asked, "Grandpa! I try to read the Bhagawat Geeta just like you but I don't understand it, and what I do understand, I forget as soon as I close the book. What good does reading the Bhagawat Geeta do?"

The Grandfather quietly turned from putting coal in the stove and replied, "Take this coal basket down to the river and bring me back a basket of water."

The boy did as he was told, but all the water leaked out before he got back to the house.

The grandfather laughed and said, "You'll have to move a little faster next time," and sent him back to the river with the basket to try again.

This time the boy ran faster, but again the basket was empty before he returned home. Out of breath, he told his grandfather that it was impossible to carry water in a basket, and he went to get a bucket instead.

The old man said, "I don't want a bucket of water; I want a basket of water. You're just not trying hard enough," and he went out the door to watch the boy try again.

At this point, the boy knew it was impossible, but he wanted to show his grandfather that even if he ran as fast as he could, the water would leak out before he got back to the house. The boy again dipped the basket into river and ran hard, but when he reached his grandfather the basket was again empty.

Out of breath, he said, "SEE.... it is useless!"

"So you think it is useless?" The old man said, "Look at the basket."

The boy looked at the basket and for the first time realized that the basket was different. It had been transformed from a dirty old coal basket and was now clean, inside and out.

"Son, that's what happens when you read the Bhagavat Geeta. You might not understand or remember everything, but when you read it, you will be changed, inside and out. That is the work of Lord Krishna in our lives." "

refining the mind's eye

2009-05-13T19:30:00.001-07:00

thinking about photography led to an insight which, if i have mentioned before, do forgive my most un-photographic memory:

i've often said that in a photo, it's the responsibility of the photographer to bring out the greatest beauty in the subject (as opposed to it being the subject's problem). so when a photo is technically good, but not flattering to the subject, i'd say it was a photo ill-taken. the ongoing effort then has been to refine that photographer's eye so as to capture beauty to the highest degree possible, with every scene, in every circumstance.

it's true that there's no way to determine 'best' or 'highest' in any objective fashion. and so the most i can offer is that i do the best/highest as far as possible, given my current and ever-changing state of knowledge and experience, and with single intent.

should translation from the photographer's eye to the mind's eye be so hard? so that all that is captured, iteratively, is the beauty that is utmost?

[clarification: i refer to translation as from being with a camera to being without a camera. just as the photographer's eye attunes itself iteratively to seeing the greatest beauty, so would i like the mind's eye to attune itself iteratively.]

where the heart is

2009-05-13T11:50:00.000-07:00

election fever is on. ipl fever is on. and if something isn't a fever, it will nevertheless feel that way on indian tv.

i've eaten alfonsoes, rasmalai, pav bhaji (x3), french toast, sambar, aloo capsicum, egg curry, nutre-nugget, bhindi, tori, aloo gobhi, kadhi, aloo parval, breadroll, aloo tikki, cold cofee, chai and rusk, mango shake... have there been this many meals?

i've taken a walk on the dew-laden grass on a pleasant indian summer evening with bare feet and experienced unbeatable joy.

i've taken my first cold shower in ages. a luxury i wouldn't afford myself across the world. i did, admittedly, shiver through it.

i've drifted in and out of naps at will (knowing i will be woken up one way or another) under the indian fan which sounds like a train sometimes (if you know what i mean).

i've been eaten by mosquitoes and reacquainted myself with hit, all out, and odomos.

i've seen a mouse run across my room. my mom says it's her pet mouse and it came to say hello to me :).

i've seen my sister - sans kids - for the very first time.

i still also have two papers to start writing. but all in all, life is great. stay tuned for more greatness ;).

the secret of the sword

2009-05-13T01:59:00.000-07:00

typed up below are the green stickied parts of the pilgrimage (thank you, a). while they spoke to me in particular ways, i'll be grateful to have them speak to you in any way :). i suggest you skip reading, however, if you plan to read the book... or just be warned that the 'secret' of the book is revealed here. and with this post, the karma of the book and me resolves itself.

"Try to find pleasure in a speed that you're not used to. Changing the way you do routine things allows a new person to grow inside of you. But when all is said and done, you're the one who must decide how you handle it."

"When we renounce our dreams and find peace, we go through a short period of tranquility. But the dead dreams begin to rot within us and to infect our entire being. We become cruel to those around us, and then we begin to direct this cruelty against ourselves. That's when illnesses and psychoses arise. What we sought to avoid in combat - disappointment and defeat - came upon us because of our cowardice. And one day, the dead, spoiled dreams make it difficult to breathe, and we actually seek death. It's death that frees us from our certainties, from our work, and from that terrible peace of our Sunday afternoons."

"But it was useless to try to save the world: I hadn't even been able to save myself yet."

"The messenger performs only one function for you: he helps you with regard to the material world. And he will give you this help only if you know exactly what it is that you want."

"The other day we talked about the cruelty that people are capable of inflicting on themselves. Often, when we try to demonstrate that life is good and generous, such people reject the idea as if it came from the devil. People don't like to ask too much of life because they are afraid they will be defeated. But if someone wants to fight the good fight, that person must view the world as if it were a marvelous treasure waiting to be discovered and won."

"You are here, searching for a reward. You are daring to dream, and you are doing everything possible to make your dream come true. You need to have a better idea of what it is that you are going to do with your sword; this has to be clearer to you before we can find it. ... The language of your heart is what is going to determine the best way to find and use your sword. ... But you will find your sword only if you discover that the Road and the truth and the life are in your heart."

"We are always trying to convert people to a belief in our own explanation of the universe. We think that the more people there are who believe as we do, the more certain it will be that what we believe is the truth. But it doesn't work that way at all."

"There is no religion that is capable of bringing all of the stars together, because if this were to happen, the universe would become a gigantic, empty space and would lose its reason for existence. Every star - and every person - has their own space and their own special characteristics. There are green stars, yellow stars, blue stars, and white stars, and there are comets, meteors and meteorites, nebulas and rings. What appear from down here to be a huge number of bodies that are similar to each other are really a million different things, spread over a space that is beyond human comprehension."

C: "How do you manage to see the game when your back is always to the field and you are inciting the fans?" A:"That's what gives me satisfaction. Helping the fans believe in victory."

"It's a good idea to always do something relaxing prior to making an important decision in your life," he said. "The Zen monks listen to the rocks growing. I prefer fishing."

"But agape is much more than liking. It is a feeling that suffuses, that fills every space in us, and turns our aggression to dust."

"Don't be cruel with yourself, or you will not have learned the lesson I taught you before. Be kind. Accept the praise that you deserve."

"Still, being fragile creatures, humans always try to hide from themselves the certainty that they will die. They do not see that it is death itself that motivates them to do the best things in their lives. They are afraid to step into the dark, afraid of the unknown, and their only way of conquering that fear is to ignore the fact that their days are numbered. They do not see that with an awareness of death, they would be able to be even more daring, to go much further in their daily conquests, because then they would have nothing to lose - for death is inevitable."

C: "Actually, I was more frightened by the way in which I would die than by death itself." P: "Well then, tonight take a look at the most frightening way to die."

"... a disciple such as you can never imitate his guide's steps. You have your own way of living your life, of dealing with problems, and of winning. Teaching is only demonstrating that it is possible. Learning is making it possible for yourself."

"Our enemy always represents our weaker side. This may be a fear of physical pain, but it may also be a premature sense of victory or the desire to abandon the fight because we define it as not being worth the effort."

As we walked, I asked him what, in a battle situation, was a person's greatest source of strength in trying to defeat the enemy. "Your present. We defend ourselves best through what we are doing right now, because that is where agape and the will to win, through enthusiasm, are. And there's another thing I want to make very clear: the enemy rarely represents evil. He is an everyday presence, and it is he that keeps our sword from rusting in its scabbard."

"... people who consider themselves wise are often indecisive when command is called for and rebellious when they are called upon to obey. They are ashamed to give orders and consider it dishonorable to receive them. Don't ever be that way."

"If you succeed in finding your sword, you will have to teach the Road to someone else. And only when that happens - when you accept your role as a Master - will you learn all the answers you have in your heart. Each of us knows the answers, even before someone tells us what they are. Life teaches us lessons every minute, and the secret is to accept that only in our daily lives can we show ourselves to be as wise as Solomon and as powerful as Alexander the Great. But we become aware of this only when we are forced to teach others and to participate in adventures as extravagant as this one has been."

"Throughout our time on the Strange Road to Santiago, the only thing I had wanted to know was where it was hidden. I had never asked myself why I wanted to find it or what I needed it for. All of my efforts had been bent on reward; I had not understood that when we want something, we have to have a clear purpose in mind for the thing that we want. The only reason for seeking a reward is to know what to do with that reward. And this was the secret of my sword."

contd.

2009-05-12T23:21:00.000-07:00

"Pity those who eat and drink and sate themselves, but are unhappy and alone in their satiety. But pity even more those who fast, and who censure and prohibit, and who thereby see themselves as saints, preaching your name in the streets. For neither of these types of people know thy law that says, 'If I bear witness of myself, my witness is not true.'

"Pity those who fear death, and are unaware of the many kingdoms through which they have already passed, and the many deaths they have already suffered, and who are unhappy because they think that one day their world will end. But have even more pity for those who already know their many deaths, and today think of themselves as immortal. Neither of these kinds of people know thy law that says, 'Except that one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.'

"Have pity on those who bind themselves with the silken ties of love, and think of themselves as masters of others, and who feel envy, and poison themselves, and who torture themselves because they cannot see that love and all things change like the wind. But pity even more those who die of their fear of loving and who reject love in the name of a greater love that they know not. Neither of these kinds of people know thy law that says, 'Whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst.'

"Pity those who reduce the cosmos to an explanation, God to a magic potion, and humanity to beings with basic needs that must be satisfied, because they never hear the music of the spheres. But have even more pity on those who have blind faith, and who in their laboratories transform mercury into gold, and who are surrounded by their books about the secrets of the Tarot and the power of the pyramids. Neither of these kinds of people know thy law that says, 'Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will by no means enter it.'

"Pity those who see no one but themselves, and for whom others are a blurred and distant scenario as they pass through the streets in their limousines and lock themselves in their air-conditioned penthouse offices, as they suffer in silence the solitude of power. But pity even more those who will do anything for anybody, and are charitable, and seek to win out over evil only through love. For neither of these kinds of people know thy law that says, 'Let he who has no sword sell his garment and buy one.'

"Have pity, Lord, on we who seek out and dare to take up the sword that you have promised, and who are a saintly and sinful lot scattered throughout the world. Because we do not recognize even ourselves, and often think that we are dressed, but we are made; we believe that we have committed a crime, when in reality we have saved someone's life. And do not forget in your pity for all of us that we hold the sword with the hand of an angel and the hand of a devil, and that they are both the same hand. Because we are of the world, and we continue to be of the world, and we have need of thee. We will always be in need of thy law that says, 'When i sent you without your money bag, knapsack, and sandals, you lacked nothing.'"

Petrus ended his prayer. As silence prevailed, he gazed out over the field of wheat that surrounded us.

there's the end. sometimes i think we don't need a 1,000 prayers to guide us. just one of these will do. but the human mind was built to forget, and thank god that it is so. all we need then, is to constantly remind. it seems like a small price to pay...

personal vices

2009-05-12T22:25:00.000-07:00

i loved this chapter on personal vices in the pilgrimage. it is a long prayer indeed, but insightful in many ways. i wondered why the chapter was called personal vices, and was gladdened by the explanation that it offered...

"We are going to say a prayer concerning the only thing that can defeat you as a pilgrim after you find your sword: your personal vices. No matter how much you learn from your Master about how to handle the sword, one of your hands will always be your potential enemy. Let us pray that, if you are successful in finding your sword, you will always wield it with the hand that does not bring scandal down upon you."

It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and there wasn't a sound to be heard as Petrus began to pray aloud:

"Pity us, O Lord, for we are pilgrims on the road to Compostela, and our being here may be a vice. In your infinite pity, help us never to turn our knowledge against ourselves.

"Have pity on those who pity themselves and who see themselves as good people treated unfairly by life - who feel that they do not deserve what has befallen them. Such people will never be able to fight the good fight. And pity those who are cruel to themselves and who see only the evil in their own actions, feeling that they are to blame for the injustice in the world. Because neither of these kinds of people know thy law that says, 'But the very hairs of your head are numbered.'

"Have pity on those who command and those who serve during long hours of work, and who sacrifice themselves in exchange merely for a Sunday off, only to find that there is nowhere to go, and everything is closed. But also have pity on those who sanctify their efforts, and who are able to go beyond the bounds of their own madness, winding up indebted, or nailed to the cross by their very brothers. Because neither of these kinds of people know thy law that says, 'Be ye therefore as wise as the serpents and as harmless as the doves.'

"Have pity on those who may conquer the world but never join the good fight within themselves. But pity also those who have won the good fight within themselves, and now find themselves in the streets and the bars of life because they were unable to conquer the world. Because neither of these kinds of people know thy law that says, 'He who heeds my words I will liken to a wise man who built his house on rock.'

"Have pity on those who are fearful of taking up a pen, or a paintbrush, or an instrument, or a tool because they are afraid that someone has already done so better than they could, and who feel themselves to be unworthy to enter the marvelous mansion of art. But have even more pity on those who, having taken up the pen, or the paintbrush, or the instrument, or the tool, have turned inspiration into a paltry thing, and yet feel themselves to be better than others. Neither of these kinds of people know thy law that says, 'For there is nothing covered that will not be revealed, nor hidden that will not be known.'

(to be contd.)

i could have typed on, but better to meditate upon a little at a time. a lesson in moderation, don't you think? i am reminded of parts of the gita as i read.

on travel (the pigrimage)

2009-05-12T11:33:00.000-07:00

the last few days have been the craziest in a while. in fact, certainly in this first year of the phd. and yet, a fulfilling experience. i traveled 24 hours, reached home, and started working. there was a 25-page paper due today that was started 30 hours ago, argument et al. an overwhelming experience, no doubt, and it took all of my energy to type non-stop and keep stress at bay. i realized i had some left over (energy, that is), and so here i am, post submission.

in the flight to hong kong, i read the pilgrimage. this was quite a pleasant read, and there are parts i'd love to share with you as time permits. right now, i have time for one (and you'll see why it resonates, i bet):

"When you travel, you experience, in a very practical way, the act of rebirth. You confront completely new situations, the day passes more slowly, and on most journeys you don't even understand the language the people speak. So you are like a child just out of the womb. You begin to attach much more importance to the things around you because your survival depends upon them. You begin to be more accessible to others because they may be able to help you in difficult situations. And you accept any small favor from the gods with great delight, as if it were an episode you would remember for the rest of your life.

"At the same time, since all things are new, you see only the beauty in them, and you feel happy to be alive. That's why a religious pilgrimage has always been one of the most objective ways of achieving insight. The word peccadillo, which means a "small sin," comes from pecus, which means "defective foot," a foot that is incapable of walking a road. The way to correct the peccadillo is always to walk forward, adapting oneself to new situations and receiving in return all of the thousands of blessings that life generously offers to those who seek them.

[...]

Everything in our surroundings reflected an uneasy peace, the peace of a world that was still in the process of growing and being created - a world that seemed to know that, in order to grow, it had to continue moving along. Great earthquakes and killer storms might make nature seem cruel, but I could see that these were just the vicissitudes of being on the road. Nature itself journeyed, seeking illumination.

"I am very glad to be here," said Petrus, "because the work I did not finish is not important and the work I will be able to do after I get back will be so much better."

jet lag rules!

2009-05-11T14:09:00.000-07:00

i'm reminded of the time i had flown back to india 1.5 years ago with little time left to compose my statement of purpose for berkeley. i had stayed up all night to do it, using the jet lag to immense advantage. i attribute my getting in to that jet lag, entirely!

with the three papers still remaining to be done, i now make use of the jet lag once again. my body and computer both say it's 2pm right now, while it remains dark outside. since i'm awake, it's no problem how dark it is. and then in the morning, when i start to tire, it will be light out, and life will retreat to its normal pace at home, keeping me awake thus. isn't it awesome?!

thank you, jet lag! may these few days remind me never to complain about you again!

oh gawd!

2009-05-10T19:08:00.001-07:00

it's that time of year again - when there is nothing to do save write papers (not even pack and fly to india). 12 pages today, 25 in 2, 2500 words in 5, and another 12 pages... this is the non-final, all-paper world. i am grateful that i can be at home and turn these in, but 'tis also mildly disorienting to take a 2-hour power nap and be woken up by a mom i am used to having very far away. i was certain i was dreaming when she woke me up a little while ago. i'm not really complaining, though :).

travel may have begun, yes, but the semester is far from over. and when it is, in 5 days, we shall all celebrate, yes? but not now. now i shall get back to personas and scenarios. mystic poetry, spiritual contemplations, immersion in india... will just have to wait.

@HK

2009-05-10T05:01:00.001-07:00

ok, one down. after a 14-hr stretch from sfo to hk, i now have another 7 hours to go until i reach the homeland. after the intense activity this past week, it was actually quite pleasant to be tied down to my seat, forced not to move. i finished and started the pilgrimage at about the same time, and have a strong desire to rename 'sievings' to 'the road to santiago'. and if i'm not making much sense it's because you may not know that a gave me the lovely going-away present of paulo coelho's novel. she also gave me tiny post-its so that i don't dogear the pages as i read. a mighty thoughtful present, that. thank you, a!

hk is beautiful. well, at least the airport is. i love that i can see through glass walls and ceilings far into the distance. i am in china... that feels a little hard to believe. easier when i try to log in to blog and have to guess what the boxes are meant for (since everything is in chinese).

but back to flying. flying is great. it helped exercise patience almost constantly, for i initially found myself switching between the extremes of wanting to hit land asap vs. the inertia that wished me never to move at all. eventually, it was all ok. there were excellent movies on the plane, and when i decided to watch one (for the first time in many flights), i found my headphone jack didn't work. too bad, 'cos they had dostana among the movies and jaane kyon in the audio collection. sleep beckoned, however, and all was well.

halfway across the world - neither here nor there - is a great place to be, i find. it is almost as though in this stretch of time i don't exist. moreover, the airport is one place where one finds every kind of person, from every kind of place. and we all share one thing in common. is not that intriguing?

i suppose the travelog has begun. next post - next country.

the summer

2009-05-09T10:05:00.001-07:00

it starts now. shortly. as i board the plane in but a few hours.

take care, world! you'll be in my thoughts...