Enough Already

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?

Oh, when the ants come marching in!

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 :).

All charged up!

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 :).

Spellbound

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.

Struck by Virtuosity

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.]

travelogging

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.

on brewed awakenings

a few weeks ago, i heard someone's reflection on how she believed that the best decisions she had experienced were those made within, and how she'd never had reason to regret them. this echoed something i'd read earlier in eat pray love. as i thought more, these insights directed my inquiry towards what went on within, and i asked myself how it was that my own decisions were made. even the seemingly inconsequential decisions that were about, say, washing dishes or doing laundry. byron katie's reading definitely helped as well.

we've all experienced moments in our lives when our bodies have become so in tune with our gut that they seem just to act on their own. i'm sure many of us can identify with the strangeness of waking up for an early morning flight and hearing the alarm go off just a minute later. starting from that familiar notion, i tried to understand other ways in which my gut communicated its way out without my mind doing any of its crazy thinking.

my experiment began with a kind of 'programming'. this was about 3 weeks ago when my week had piled up with deadlines and stress was always just around the corner. i started to feed my questions (/concerns) to my gut and instructed it to process them. i helped it also to understand my schedules, the time i could afford, the resources i had access to. there was no pressure, just belief. and complete and honest communication.

i found that the answers just came. some answers took longer than others, but given the limited resources i had (time, knowledge, people, etc.), my gut always found a way to communicate its answers to me in very satisfactory ways. i remember having a paper to write that was due at midnight. at 8pm, i did not know what i was writing about and i rambled - without direction, without motivation. i then decided i would let my gut do the work. while i busied myself with mindless tasks on the surface, i let the gut have its silence and do its work within. between 10 and 11, i found that voice. and then i wrote as though nothing else mattered, addressed all the requirements of my assignment, and submitted before 12. these 'brewed awakenings' have taken place several times since.

what i mean to argue is that there is an inner voice each one of us has, that each one of us can count on for all the right answers. this voice needs love and care, though. when it knows that we consider it important, it speaks with greater volume and confidence. but that love and care must be cultivated first.

to believe in this process, however, means to exercise infinite patience with the gut so as to align our actions with it. an enlightening read i found online this morning talks about decision-making based on patience. although i encourage you to read the whole thing, here's an excerpt i especially liked:

The principle here is clear, but in the midst of our own confusion, we ask: “How do we know when to move?” The answer is, “If we don't know, if it's not clear, we're not ready.” If not moving means an opportunity slips by or a path closes, we've made our choice by not doing. If we're not ready, we're just not ready, and the decision has made itself.

and here's one that wowed me, really driving home the true meaning of this amazing virtue of the month:

To better understand patience, let's look at the Chinese character, which is "nin." Like many characters, it is made out of two separate ones. The upper means, "sword blade." The lower, "heart." The meaning is: to bear something painful in the heart. The sword blade is poised, ready to slice. Backed into this corner, we cannot move. Therefore, "patience," or "endurance." When we don't know which way to turn, or where to go, any movement at all can not only further muddy the water but can also bring disaster: the sword blade severs the heart and all is lost. Thus, the value of patience.

on anger

i did have quite a temper growing up, and somewhere along the way accepted this as an immutable character trait - a congenital defect of a kind. as i look back, i recall a number of instances where i'd lose my temper, then follow it with a 'this is who i am, i cannot help it' explanation. i did not mean ill; i really did believe there was nothing i could do about it. i wonder now if the ego played its part in giving it a warm, cushy abode to live in comfortably.

and then many months ago, i fell in love with the writings of tnh. as i read book after book, i found myself more driven, more inspired. to change, to become the kind of person i wanted to become but had not believed i could. one day, when i was at half-price books looking for more tnh books, i found anger. i bought it. i remember feeling uber-embarrassed as the cashier charged me for it, not being able to let go of the thought that she must disapprove of my need to purchase this book. i was well-ensconced in the tight confines of fear.

i read the book within the next day or so, and loved it. but was unable to talk about it for a few days. when i bravely 'confessed' my purchase to a close friend, i was greatly surprised to hear that she too was interested in reading the book because she (thought she) had an anger problem. i still remember the sense of relief when i told myself that i wasn't the only one on earth with this problem (imagine the suffering that weight must have caused!).

then yesterday, i saw this post. i found myself stunned again to discover that a person i consider to be one of the most loving, most patient, and most giving people i know ever had an anger problem. i nostalgically identified with several parts of the post - the problem, the recognition of it, the desire to transform it, and the experience of looking back upon it. it has been a journey to remember, for me as well.

this experience of transforming the anger, or rather, the several small experiences of transforming it, gradually and increasingly, have been instructive to no small degree. this tremendous journey helped me learn that the strongest of weeds can be uprooted within, the greatest of urges are mutable, and mere belief and resolve are sufficient for the cause. it helped me learn, also, that the world we see and respond to is a projection from within, and when we bring about a change within, the world changes along with. it has been a liberating find indeed that it takes a mere tuning of our inner radio to experience unconditional peace and happiness.

thank you, monday!

monday is my day to get back to my desired quietude. not to say i don't suffer monday morning blues, but these blues are really my push towards that place of peace i seem momentarily to lose in these so-called blues. it is easy to go out into the world of happenings and lose one's equanimity to the forces we meet. where i'm at, it is very easy indeed :). but it gives me that much more direction to improve, to become stronger, to understand what i am responsible to/for in different spaces. and while it is often great for the head to have unshakeable clarity on what needs to be done, it does occasionally get frustrating when the heart is lagging behind. and that is why we have the month of patience :).

reflecting, once again, on the zen thought for april:

So whatever you do, just do it, without expecting anyone's help. Don't spoil your effort by seeking for shelter. Protect yourself and grow upright to the sky; that is all.

yesterday, in conversing with a friend, i said that even as one tries to do for others one should really do for oneself. he said that was wrong, that one should try to do with others' interest in mind alone, not one's own. my impulse to disagree made me delve deeper to understand what i really meant (and if, even, we talked about different things). my current state of understanding is that when there is purity in the heart, the things we do are always automatically done keeping *everyone's* interests at heart. at that core, there is no 'me', only 'we'. it is key to do without expectation, however, without desire for a particular outcome.

my conclusion, on reflecting upon this weekend, is that i cannot please all of the people all of the time, no matter what. it is incumbent upon me, however, to keep my thoughts, my intent clean and pure, and then offer thus inspired actions to the god that i believe in. and this is what the last line in the quote above seems to say to me as well. that is all.

stories do help

as i walked back home this evening, i saw a glass canister of parmesan cheese lying on the sidewalk. it had broken in two pieces. my first instinct was to dodge and walk on by, and then i remembered the story we'd read in school, years ago - raaste ka pathhar (the rock in the way). it's a story about a king who wishes to test his subjects, and he places a rock in the middle of the road. it is long before a noble soul actually makes the effort to move the rock out of the way. and as one would hope, the king rewards him generously. 

this story, like others we read, had planted a seed within that i was able to water today. today was my turn. life had placed an obstacle for me that i could remove - not only for myself, but for others too. and i did - i picked up the pieces and dumped them into the trash. and then thanked life for giving me this chance.

unlearn the unlove

as i contemplated over silence, the analogy that struck me was that of a clear and open canvas that allowed sounds, like colors, to find their place upon it. to get to silence, one has to wash away the colors first. just as to get to the truth, one has to strip away the layers of falsehood we have - knowingly or unknowingly - assimilated through our life. and as to get to the core of love, we must unlearn the ways of unlove:

Often I say, learn the art of love. What I really mean is: learn the art of removing all that hinders love. It is a negative process. It is like digging a well -- you go on removing layers of earth, stones, rocks and then suddenly there is water. The water was always there as an undercurrent. When you remove all barriers, the water is available. So with love. Love is the undercurrent of your being. It is flowing, but there are many rocks, much earth to be removed. That's what I mean when I say: learn the art of love. It is really not learning love but un-learning the ways of un-love.

--Swami Chaitanaya Keerti

pearls before breakfast

here is a pulitzer prize-winning article that you absolutely must read, if you haven't already (thanks, s!). it's an experiment run by washington post, where they had joshua bell - the famous and acclaimed violinist - perform incognito at the l'enfant plaza metro station in d.c. what do you think happened? how do you think the 1,097 metro commuters would have reacted to a musician so great performing a few feet away from them, for 45 minutes, some of the hardest works of all time? read the article to find out. and if you don't read my reflections below until you have, you'll enjoy the article way more :).

idealist that i am (perhaps naive is a better word), i was tempted to think that a crowd would have gathered. that people would have unknowingly experienced the high that comes from listening to music deep within. that the sound of music would win over everything else. i am sad that i was mistaken, but this article was an enlightening read, for it made me stop and think for a moment about the things i might be missing in life. music, however, is not one of those things, i have to say (phew). no matter where i hear it, my heart feels the vibes. i stop and listen. i stand and stare. but there is nature's beauty that i so often miss. for instance, i completely missed the transition from fall leaves to spring leaves on the trees i pass by as i walk to school. anyway, here are some excerpts:

Each passerby had a quick choice to make, one familiar to commuters in any urban area where the occasional street performer is part of the cityscape: Do you stop and listen? Do you hurry past with a blend of guilt and irritation, aware of your cupidity but annoyed by the unbidden demand on your time and your wallet? Do you throw in a buck, just to be polite? Does your decision change if he's really bad? What if he's really good? Do you have time for beauty? Shouldn't you? What's the moral mathematics of the moment?

What is beauty? Is it a measurable fact (Gottfried Leibniz), or merely an opinion (David Hume), or is it a little of each, colored by the immediate state of mind of the observer (Immanuel Kant)?

"When you play for ticket-holders," Bell explains, "you are already validated. I have no sense that I need to be accepted. I'm already accepted. Here, there was this thought: What if they don't like me? What if they resent my presence . . ."

Leithauser's point is that we shouldn't be too ready to label the Metro passersby unsophisticated boobs. Context matters.

The poet Billy Collins once laughingly observed that all babies are born with a knowledge of poetry, because the lub-dub of the mother's heart is in iambic meter. Then, Collins said, life slowly starts to choke the poetry out of us. It may be true with music, too.

Watching the video weeks later, Bell finds himself mystified by one thing only. He understands why he's not drawing a crowd, in the rush of a morning workday. But: "I'm surprised at the number of people who don't pay attention at all, as if I'm invisible. Because, you know what? I'm makin' a lot of noise!"

There's nothing wrong with Myint's hearing. He had buds in his ear. He was listening to his iPod. For many of us, the explosion in technology has perversely limited, not expanded, our exposure to new experiences. Increasingly, we get our news from sources that think as we already do. And with iPods, we hear what we already know; we program our own playlists. The song that Calvin Myint was listening to was "Just Like Heaven," by the British rock band The Cure. It's a terrific song, actually. The meaning is a little opaque, and the Web is filled with earnest efforts to deconstruct it. Many are far-fetched, but some are right on point: It's about a tragic emotional disconnect. A man has found the woman of his dreams but can't express the depth of his feeling for her until she's gone. It's about failing to see the beauty of what's plainly in front of your eyes.

He was too loud, too, Souza says. Then she looks down at her rag, sniffs. She hates to say anything positive about these damned musicians, but: "He was pretty good, that guy. It was the first time I didn't call the police."

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
-- "Leisure," by W.H. Davies

"Koyaanisqatsi" is a Hopi word. It means "life out of balance."

If we can't take the time out of our lives to stay a moment and listen to one of the best musicians on Earth play some of the best music ever written; if the surge of modern life so overpowers us that we are deaf and blind to something like that -- then what else are we missing?

Of course, Davies had an advantage -- an advantage of perception. He wasn't a tradesman or a laborer or a bureaucrat or a consultant or a policy analyst or a labor lawyer or a program manager. He was a hobo.

"No. If you love something but choose not to do it professionally, it's not a waste. Because, you know, you still have it. You have it forever."

to love, to understand

i'd like to share the insight that came to me in this wednesday's meditation session - it's true that it is easier for us to love some people over others. often because we find we have more in common with these people that we love more, that we understand them better in some ways that we find important to us. it should follow, then, that to love those that we find more difficult to love, we just need to make a more concerted effort to understand them, to understand where they come from, what beliefs lie behind their actions, how we may better relate to these beliefs, etc.

the other day, s said something about my disagreeing with him. i told him that i did not disagree, i just did not understand well enough. the line came spontaneously, and later, as i thought about it, i realized that it spoke to the core of the problem. each time i'd harbored any hurt or unpleasantness, the problem was a lack of understanding - sometimes at a superficial and easy-to-spot level, and other times at a much deeper level.

the lessons i take away from this insight are two-fold:

1. whenever i wish to love someone a little more, i have only to try and understand them a little more. understanding then becomes the practical aspect of loving.
2. whenever i find unpleasantness crop up within, i have only to tell myself that it stems from an inadequate effort to understand. directing my energies towards understanding then does a lot of good.
   

don't give up

the words of wisdom continue to inspire, and as i continue to reflect on them, i thought i'd share my reflections with you. the lines i'd italicized are the ones that resonated, because these efforts were already in motion before today. the first of these lines was -

Never give up on anybody. Miracles happen everyday.

a while ago, i had shared with you my exasperation over judging people. when i have a problem with my insides, i try hard - at first - to resolve it inside. i summon all of those pieces of inspiration from memory and get to work. sometimes though, i don't succeed right away, and as i continue to struggle, somehow serendipitously i read a line that makes me go "aha!". this line above summarizes my "aha!" moment (this came a few months ago).

the truth is that people can and do change. not only do they change, but from being seemingly rude, abrupt, and insensitive, they blossom into the most loving, most giving, most sensitive of beings. because insights are like ripened fruits - they're constantly falling into our lap, should we choose to notice. and if our eyes and ears are ready, then as soon as the right insight falls our way, the deed is done.

when i keep my eyes open, in fact, i see these miracles happen around me all the time. and these are the miracles that matter. and they are there for all of us to see, but first we must open our eyes.

a resolve

the other day, a and i talked about setting ideals for ourselves, and how the setting of the ideal is half the work already. once the ideal is set, the heart knows where its 'head'ed. subliminal processes take care of the rest.

this comes to mind as i find one more ideal i'd like to set for myself, in the words of wisdom i just posted - to become the most positive and enthusiastic person that i know. and part of realizing that ideal is also realizing (fascinatingly) that there is no can't. i can't imagine what would/could be a more delightfully self-fulfilling cycle. the choice is up to us, to be sure.

the day that was

it was a busy day, and there were many thoughts that passed through me hoping to be logged. not all may end up here tonight, but here's the short of it. an autobiographic account:

i had a reading response due today - a one-page paper, a response to the class readings. my writing of it reminded me of 11th grade unfortunately, when i would write aimlessly to fill the space (perhaps also thinking that i was doing a decent job). the last time i did this for a paper, i did really well on it. it's good to know that this need not happen each time.

hafiz, in a handful of poems, added many rainbows to my morning... but you know that already.

i also got back an assignment, graded a b. instead of being disappointed (and this is what is so bizarre these days) i smiled with divine confidence (for lack of a better name) that i would now put in far more effort to regain my lost stance. the guest lecture we had today was also quite something. the speaker was a first-year phd (like me) but so confident, engaging, dignified in her lecture, i was filled with admiration. her last slide ended with a lessons learned - don't be too touchy. take your work seriously, not yourself. what a wise thing to say. wisdom doesn't only come from books, i realize. i made sure i complimented e on how brilliantly she'd conducted herself. it is never a bad idea, i think, to tell people what you love about them.

at 2, i headed down to yali's on oxford. i had suggested meeting at milano or m.o. since they were familiar ground, but j stuck with yali's. so glad he did, because my walk there and back, and my stay there, were all fantastic. i couldn't help thinking - i never learn, do i?! i wish embracing the new came much more naturally to me... i am trying. after all, it always rewards.

as i walked in the bright and beautiful sunshine, i smiled at everyone i passed. i'm not accustomed to be smiled back at, for the most part, and i just go about my business. today however, a young lady (chicly dressed so perhaps not a student) returned my smile with full gusto. i looked away and immediately looked back, as i registered the smile. by this time she was passing by me and said, "that's a great haircut!" i was reeling from the encounter for several minutes after. no, not because i was complimented :), but for the open energy that she shared in that split second. i often think these things, and would like to say them, but something always gets the better of me. i will try harder next time, though.

the meeting with j was perhaps one of the most critical meetings i've had since i joined berkeley. serendipity again, believe it or not :). he asked me several pertinent questions, shared with me some of the lessons he had learned in the course of his phd, and gave me some useful pointers. i was left with a feeling of awe for him and a feeling of stupidity within :). i had fumbled with all of the questions that he'd asked. as i felt compelled to confess that i hadn't thought about many of these things before, i realized what an immense delight it was to be pointed to the gaping holes in my knowledge. all of a sudden, i had so many avenues of growth spring up on me. and this in a meeting with someone who isn't in my field of research, isn't at berkeley anymore, i hadn't met before, and may never see again!

i walked back to school with the most joyous feeling in my heart, thus. are all spring days just as sparkling? is it berkeley? or is life always thus, i just don't see it with the right eyes? as i walked up the stairs to the second floor, i ran into a face i did not know but spontaneously uttered a 'hi'. for the next 5 minutes, my heart sang 'i did it' :).

in class, a hornet appeared out of nowhere and found its way into the folds of my scarf (luckily, the scarf was not on me but on the desk) and my sunglasses (also on the desk). as i saw its 2-inch body, telling myself there was nothing to be afraid of, i witnessed a series of chills within. my breathing sped, i found myself wish for it to leave my vicinity, and then a voice told me to be calm, to accept. it was a struggle, and i was only able to maintain an outer calm with success. yes, avenues for growth are in plenty. in another 8-10 minutes, i heard a huge slam. a classmate had brought his shoe down on the hornet. it was dead. i felt numbed.

class was over early, and since the next kabir film was in 40 minutes, i found my way to the lawns outside vlsb, found a sunny spot, lay down, and read my hafiz the entire time. yes, those minutes were minutes of bliss. i wished i could buy several copies of the gift and gift it to all my loved ones. i would soon run myself bankrupt though, and that is sad :(. i'll do what i can here, however :).

the kabir film was something else. it will have a post of its own. for today i took notes.

unbelievably, it was still light out when i came out of the film. i asked a stranger what she thought of the film, and made pleasant conversation for a fulfilling few minutes. then, after a beautiful walk home, i broke my fast with satisfaction. i may not become a spiritual powerhouse in a day, but i certainly feel the progression with every successive day of fasting.

spring break is here, folks. i can't wait to finish the 8 books on my 'now reading' list.

and that will be all for now. over and out.

zellerbach woes :)

last evening, i was at aswat - an arab music concert at the glorious zellerbach auditorium. the experience was lovely to behold. well, if i were to be completely honest, i'd say that i fell in love with half of it, while the other half demanded of me a more trained ear for the music. also, it is true, that next time i'll love it more.

while at zellerbach, i looked at the cal performances program and saw that mclaughlin and corea are performing here this saturday. my heart leapt, and i wanted to attend. in a few hours, i had decided i would indeed attend. in another few hours, other constraints had ceased to appear challenging. and another few, i was making plans. and then, when i wrote to a friend asking if he might be interested in attending, i finally took myself to the website to send him the link. the website said in no ambiguity - "sold out". my immediate reaction was a loud, internal groan :). this concert that i found out about only 12 hours ago (of music i haven't even developed an ear for yet, incidentally) had viciously transformed itself into a civil right i was now feeling deprived of. shortly enough, i stepped out and had a tremendous laugh at myself :).

i may not attend the concert, but i'm glad i've learned something from it anyway :).

on grazing the cows of others

i haven't written about 'divine interventions' in a while, but last night, again, i was touched to receive in my mailbox, thanks to s, a beautiful story that spoke entirely to my state of mind (also documented in my previous post).

In Indian villages and small towns, people keep cows or buffaloes mainly to get milk for the family. During the day, the animals are sent out to graze along the roads or in the open areas. Young boys serve as cowherds and they take ten to a hundred animals. While the animals are grazing, the boys often get together to play games or just chat. A popular topic of discussion is the animals. Knowledge of animal behavior is shared. They talk of the animals in their care as ‘my’ animals. Number is important, their looks and their milk yield are also features to talk and boast about. They compare ‘their’ cows with those under the care of others and brag. They often get into heated arguments defending their cows. Yet none of them own even one animal and probably never will. Sounds hilarious, rather silly, doesn’t it?

But on thinking about others and myself it occurs to me that we scholars and teachers act much like the cowherds. We interpret, defend and oppose ideas we have read in books as if they were ours. But they are never our ideas, as the cows do not belong to the cowherds. They cannot drink milk of their animals nor profit from their sale. Similarly we do not mould our lives by the good ideas. In fact many of us remain completely untouched.

For instance, depression seems to be descending on us. Scholars cry hoarse about its nature and cause. They also talk of what needs to be done. But when we look at our lives we know that we are totally vulnerable. We will sink line, hook and float when the storm hits.

The ones who are likely to be least affected and to survive are the poor. They have never been to college. Nor have they read any books that theorize on these events. Their strength is the ability to adapt to the environment. When there is more, they enjoy it. In times of scarcity, they reduce their consumption. Their suffering is minimal.

There is a moral to all this. We own only those good ideas that we live by, for only they benefit us. Others are like ephemeral bubbles thrown up by agitated water--here now and gone in the next moment.

addendum

it's like when i was at microsoft - some parts of the powerpoint code base were ancient (perhaps even from the very first release of powerpoint). yet, they had been edited and re-edited to be transformed into this monstrosity where nothing made any sense or was effective enough anymore. but who would want to do the hard(er) work of deleting it all to start afresh? not unless the manager stepped in and asked for just that, right? not all of us can be diligent all of the time...

well, there is a manager, for those of us who believe. and sometimes, the code just desperately needs to be written from scratch. more work, yes, but it's worth an assured promotion, right? a bonus too, perhaps?

:)

and on sunscreen

i remember this from my schooldays - indeed, there was a time when i was still in school :). it was so the rage, and at that point in our lives, we thought we understood the meanings of these words. years later, i wonder if we still really do. perhaps at 85? :)

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’97 -

Wear sunscreen. If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience… I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh never mind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You’re not as fat as you imagine.

Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing everyday that scares you.

Sing.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself.

Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life… the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year-olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of Calcium.

Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary… what ever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s. Enjoy your body, use it every way you can… don’t be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.

Dance… even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.

Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

(Brother and sister together we'll make it through. Someday your spirit will take you and guide you there. I know you've been hurting, but I know I've been waiting to be there for you. And I'll be there, just helping you out, whenever I can. Everybody's free.)

Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for good.

Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.

Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen….

(Brother and sister together we'll make it through. Someday your spirit will take you and guide you there. I know you've been hurting, but I know I've been waiting to be there for you. And I'll be there, just helping you out, whenever I can. Everybody's free.)

thank you, baz luhrmann. it's worthwhile, don't you think, to incorporate even a fraction of his advice into our lives? maybe start by wearing sunscreen? ;)