End of a dialogue

A child (looking out of a window): Wow! Look! The breeze is so cool; the raindrops spraying on my face is so refreshing.

An elder (peering into the morning newspaper): Close the window; the furniture will be spoilt.

The catalyst

Muse.

The very word is amusing. It lives in its own existence. A muse is to an artist what a catalyst is to a chemical reaction. Basically, what God is to creation or life. As Osho says: The catalyst does not cause any reaction or creation though without its presence nothing can be created; nothing happens.

The relationship between a muse and her artist is the most indefinable relationship.

My desktop wallpaper

An ash-clad face with simmering piercing eyes. Sun-dried and wind-beaten long tresses. Agni surrounds him. He stares at me from my desktop.

Who is he? What is his journey?

All I know is that he was at the last Kumbh Mela (where some photographer captured his fiery gaze). Maybe that is all we need to know about him.

kahin toh

Kahaan kho gayi mere ghar kii chaabi;
Kahaan khoye maine meri raah.

Kahaan jaaon ab taala dhoondne;
Chaabi se pehle taala jo kho gaya tha... Kabhi.

khoyi khoyi sii zindagi

Kuch kahin dur khoyi khoyi sii zindagi;
Kuch khayalaton mein basi sii zindagi.

Ab bahaaron mein baahar aayi sii zindagi;
Hasraton aur shararaton mein zindagi
Ab jeene lagi hain
Kuch kahin aur khoyi khoyi sii zindagi.

Random musings of workless days

I love reading what I had written earlier... just to not lose touch with my past. It is only through what I write that I can be in touch with my past. Be an observer and a witness.

I keep staring at my cell phone every once in a while: maybe I am expecting a call. From the birthdaydigitswallah number. Maybe I expect to make a call. To the birthdaydigitswallah number. But I am avoiding the calling… don’t know how. Don’t know why.

The decision is already made, I guess. – Dated: February 15, 2010

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Why do people take offence for subtle acts of kindness?

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Ab aisa lagta hain kii kuch karna nahin;
Dur kidhar jhaake rehna nahin.
Zindagi ne khud bulaya hain;
Ab jeene se pehle maut kii tamanna nahin.

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Existentialism is the only permanent philosophy in life; it never deserts you no matter what path you take.

My woman

My woman...

My goddess knows no fear:
She is Shakti standing on Shiva
Balancing her grace; balancing the world.

For if she falls, he shall be no more.
No more life; no more death.
No more what we know no more.

Unkept promises

The earth is scorched.
It is awaiting clouds that bring rain. Dark clouds are passing by. They are teasing the earth; they descend, hang low, and show promise of rain.
Maybe, they have no more vapours. Maybe, they are meant to rain elsewhere.

Sighs

A thousand sighs replace a thousand and eight names.
Untold, unspoken, unseen sighs. What should ‘I’ do?

Nothing more. No more.

A thulasi leaf

Sometimes the most important journeys in life are not begun by foot, by flight, or by sail. They start in the Heart.

Such journeys bring home new discoveries and visions. But more importantly they bring home truths; truths you seldom realized before.

Where is this journey taking me?

Yedh yedho kathayil Yamunayil oruganna
Uru thulasi dhalam aanu nyaan.

Friday the 18th

Love entered Shiva's being from a far, far away land somewhere in the east near the sea... Where the Sun rises. Where it should rise. Where it shall never set.

He outstretched his arms and welcomed this addiction called life... :-)) Now, he has to journey a thousand miles before he can sleep in peace.

Who am...

The only spiritual texts that exist: Yoga Vasistha Sara, Ashtavakra Gita, Tripura Rahasya, and the Upanishads.

Mahavaakyas such as Tat vam asi, Aham Brahmasmi, and the way of Neti, Neti. The way of “Not this, not this”. And the way of “Even this, even this” blend in these dialogues and statements.

Note: The great maxims contained in four Upanishads of the four Vedas describe Brahman as:

• Praajnam Brahman—Aitreya Upanishad of Rigveda, meaning “Intelligence or Consciousness is Brahman”.
• Aham Brahmaasmi—Brihadaaranyaka Upanishad of Yajurveda, meaning “I am Brahman”.
• Tat vam asi—Chandogya Upanishad of Saamaveda, meaning “That thou art”.
• Ayam aatma Brahman—Mandookya Upanishad of Atharvaveda, meaning “This Self or aatma is Brahman”.

Who am 'I'?

Karta se sakshi tak...
Such a long journey.

Om Namah Shivaya

Early in the morning, lighting the lamp before the brass lingam starts my day. Om Namah Shivaya… the beeja mantra floods my body and mind.

A train of thoughts fade in and fade out:

• What metaphors the lingam conveys, I can only guess or imagine: Being Ardhanareeshwara… male and female… Lightness and heaviness… Yin and Yang… Being and non-being… Is-ness, here and now… Living in the three states and moving towards Turiya.
• Brahma, Vishnu, Maheswaraa… all imbibed in one. Even Devi is present in the lingam: engulfing the lingam in her yoni. This makes the lingam, for me, complete; not just a phallic symbol.
• When you worship the lingam, you are worshipping the very concepts of existence: the life force. Harmony. All is one. Equilibrium. Sex to Super-Consciousness. Fountainhead. Left Hand of God.
• How many worlds it encompasses? How many emotions it kills?
  

The train fades away somewhere, sometime. Looking at the lingam bathing in the warm glow soothes my eyes. Closing my eyes and meditating to the beeja mantra soothes our soul.

Mind games

It’s that time of the year again when Moon and Venus are seen close to each other in the sky. Just like an enchanting, crescent-shaped smile and a beauty spot near the upper lip on a pretty woman’s face.

God knows what mischief these guys will be up to. What mind games will they play with us mortals?

Un-catchable

Seeking. Stopping.

Living. Dying. Every moment.

Do I know where one begins and the other ends? Should I? Could I?

Joys of working in Pune

I can sit at my PC, eat two hot vada pavs with spicy chilies, and drink a chilled cola at the same time.
Anybody feeling a bit jealous? Anybody from Bangalore, especially? :-)

Seene mein jalan

Seene mein jalan aankhon mein tufaan saa kyon hain?
Is shahar mein har shaks pareshaan saa kyon hain?

Dil hain to, dhadakane kaa bahaanaa koi dhoondhe
Patthar kee tarah beheesa-o-bejaan saa kyon hain?

Seene mein jalan…

Tanahaee kee ye kaun si, manzil hain rafeekon
Taa-hadd-ye-nazar yek bayaabaan saa kyon hain?

Kya koi nayee baat nazar aatee hain hum me
Aaina hume dekh ke hairaan saa kyon hain?

This song from Gaman (1979) has been playing in my head today since morning.

I am reminded of my hardworking years in Mumbai:...
Of travelling to and fro in jam-packed trains. Of those soiled notes I received at the end of the month. Of the impulsive expenses I made. Of working late into the day-after-tomorrow.

Those uncertainties and dreams. Those opportunities I missed. Those statements I made. Those promises made to self unkept. Those walks in the rain.

That intense love fading into oblivion or some void. That longing becoming indifference.

At least, I hope so...

Oh cloud, why don’t you just rain down?
Roar in thunder and rub in lightning?
At least for a moment, our existence will be noticed.

Ye wildflower on the country road, why don’t you bloom to your brightest in day?
Spread your petals and let us see the world inside you?
At least for a moment, our lives will be enriched.

My mundane life needs spectacular moments for me to feel alive… Clipping my grandmother’s nails made up for all those lost time that I could have spent with her… At least I hope so. After all she is the only living legacy my grandfather left behind when he passed away 12 years ago.

Footnote: On the morning of April 22, I wrote this piece; she passed away peacefully that afternoon.

Aarti

It was 4:30 pm.

A group of men had gathered in devotion. They were wearing uniforms: matching ties, shirts, and blazers. The huge wall-mounted speakers were blazing out “Sukh harta… dukh harta…” in full volume. The fragrance emanating from incense and dhoop sticks created a hazy and smoky hue in the dimly lit, air-conditioned environment.

All the uniforms were busy clapping their hands and playing the cymbals in tune with the aartis blaring out of the speakers. Some were singing along and singing aloud.

Jaydev jaydev…

Aarti Sai Baba…

Devotion amongst the waiters, the captain, and the hotel owner reached their crescendo with the DJ playing the last aarti fast and louder. The aarti ended around 5pm with distribution of prasad to all.

Now, it was time for Aartis, in their 20s and 30s, to come through the backdoor to please their Gods.