Brahman and i?

Sarvam khalvidam idham Brahman.

Brahman:

• Is it the primordial intelligence that exists within all of us?
• Is it the communication that occurs between subatomic and atomic particles across physical distances?
• Is it the spaces between matter? Is it the dark energy or anti-matter that exists between ‘things’ that make up matter?
• Is it the cosmic play between matter and space and time?
• Is it Mathematics: “If you subtract the infinite from the infinite, what remains is the infinite?”
• Is it what makes us seek?
• Is it the ‘ocean of milk’ in which Narayana was sleeping on Anantha Sesha/ Adi Sesha? Is it the awakening of Narayana and the simultaneous occurrence of Brahma’s birth? Is it Brahma asking: “Who am I?” and the consequent manifestation of the Goddess?
• Is it adwaitham (One-Without-A-Second)?
• Is it the similarity between: I am the way, and the truth, and the life (John 14:6); Ana al Haq; and Tat Tvam Asi?

La Ilaha Illallah.

Let it be

Let it churn, let it churn, let it churn…
For then we shall get treasures and poisons; answers and questions.

Till then, let it churn, let it churn...

Till I am tired of fighting, till it is time to sleep.
Till then, let it churn, let it churn.

7 Khoon Maaf

This is one movie that holds promise. It says that there is still hope and redemption for us sinners (rather, the sinners inside us).

The movie is a very dark and sometimes funny portrayal of a woman seeking for God in ordinary men (in this case, for the Son of God in ordinary men). Maybe, it’s trying to make a valid point here by revealing the biggest fallacy of lovers: searching for God in our beloved…

In our search for the eternal, the everlasting, and the unattainable, we commit our biggest sins; our biggest mistakes (knowingly?). Our motive is so high, so sacred, and so lofty that we don’t stop at committing any sin no matter how beautiful or brutal.

The six men (in the movie) could hardly hold a candle to the Son of God. But did they deserve to be killed? Did she have a choice (to kill or not to kill)? Maybe, she did not have a choice. As one of her accomplices narrates a short, chilling fable, which explains why she would kill than change her path or search…

Many shots in the movie are dark and brooding, which leave haunting images. Suzanne Anna is one of the best performances in Indian cinema. She was so true to her nature… so honest… so gullible…

When the end credits rolled, the elusive answer dawned… there is a damn good reason for the movie to be titled 7 Khoon Maaf (roughly translates to 7 Murders Forgiven).

The woman was stronger than the six men she thought she loved, except the seventh. For He too had committed 'her' sin for her sake before she was born…

My love is like a red, red moon...

Today, was one of those twilights when the moon was looming over us near the horizon: big and brick red...

For a moment, I stopped my bike at the roadside and stared at the most beautiful object in the sky. And then, I remembered all the previous full moons I had seen in different cities across different landscapes and skylines (The city surely lends or projects its own color and character onto the moon.).

You and I see the same moon no matter where we are and how much you may have forgotten me or the full moon that we saw.

I know, this sounds just like an old, romantic cliche. But is it just that?

Koans from the Self

Can 'I' think?

Where does mu come from?

What is maya?

Energy appearing as a particle is maya; it behaving as a wave is also maya.

Dhobi Ghat (Mumbai Diaries)

This is a movie that says a lot without talking much. The movie captures Mumbai, its people, their lives, and its collective spirit just like two of its lead characters do.

The artist, Arun, and the documentary filmmaker, Shai, are the observers. Both are shameless voyeurs, which help them produce great works of art. They observe/peep into others’ lives and secret or routine patterns to produce great art. In the process, they undergo catharsis in their own mundane lives… Somehow, Mumbai brings both of them together when they were in their own individual voids.

Munna and Noor are the observed. They do not realize that and therefore, they end being temporary muses for Shai and Arun, respectively. Obviously, your heart goes out for both of them. You root for them throughout the movie even though your intuition tells you about impending tragedies for both.

This is a movie that reveals the interlinks and the interactions between the observer, the observed, and the observation(s). At some points, all three merge. And this provides us with a feast of sounds, sights, and events for what else is there to life in the maximum city.

This is a movie that contains shorter movies and films in it. Sometimes, the shorter films take over and we forget the bigger picture. The movie reveals that shared spaces just like shared times never belong to the people who shared it. Nobody owns those moments in time or space; neither the observer nor the observed. In the movie, there are only two silent constants when and where everything changes: Mumbai and Noor’s/Arun’s elderly neighbour.

This is a movie that shows us slices of life. It enters a whole new genre where very few movies belong: such is life…

Behind the scene...

On a breezy, cool December afternoon, an Express train chugs out of Pune…

In the S5 compartment, among the many occupied seats, there is an unoccupied one. Curious passengers eye this seat wondering whether the passenger may board the train at the next station. Or better still, whether this seat is available!

After an hour or two, the TC hands the empty seat (and berth) over to a waitlisted passenger and makes some quick money out of it. This was a train ticket not cancelled…

The waitlisted passenger puts his feet up; he is happy. Perhaps, he was in a last minute rush and could not plan his journey. Maybe some untoward incident happened and he is trying to make it in time. And this time, he got lucky.

The TC and the seat-buyer thanked the passenger who did not cancel the ticket. There sure must be some story behind this, right?

You bet there is.

What is life?

God. Enlightenment. Truth. Shunyata. Mounam.

All these concepts… They’re like defined spaces among undefined spaces. And all that has been defined exists in our mind(s). Outside, these concepts have no validity or utility.

Not able to write more… It is so tough to write what you ‘know’. So much easier to write what you don’t know, or what you understand, or at least, pretend to understand.

Alandi beckoned

Sant Dynaneshwar. I had heard of him and his contemporary saints way back in school first. I think, in 4th Std. My memory fails me. Sant Tukaram, Sant Ramdas, Sant Eknath, et al.

Visiting Alandi was on my mind ever since I came back to Pune last year. Somehow, the calling came on October 30 (Saturday) and I found myself biking towards Alandi.

The town reminded me of Thiruvannamalai though Alandi is still not as commercialized as Thiruvannamalai. And thank God for that!

Headed straight to Mauli’s Sanjeevan Samadhi (samadhi while still alive) spot. Sant Nivrittinath, Sant Muktabai, and Sant Sopandev (Mauli’s siblings) were all present when he took his Samadhi along with many other devotees and followers. Mauli (mother) was what Sant Dynaneshwar’s contemporary saints called him.

After pradakshina, bought the Haripatha and the Pasayana and began reading them in the blessed company of Varkaris. Thereafter, had bhojan prasad.

From what I could gather, the Varkaris were/are like “singing saints”… similar to the 63 Nayanars, I guess. Mauli had resurrected the Varkari sect/movement in the 13th century in only a brief span of 21/22 years that he lived…

Sitting under the Peepal tree near Mauli’s Samadhi is pretty much the same as sitting inside Virupaksha cave.
Nothing more to say.

Borrowed sorrows

Kuch baatein aisi hoti hain,
Kuch rishte aise hote hain jinke naam nahin hote;
Hote hain, toh sirf paigaam...
Warna sirf jaam.

Aap ne aisa jaadu kiya, ke hum hosh kho baithe.
Phir, aap ne aisa jaadu kiya, ki hum humko kho baithe.

Just another day in paradise

It’s one of those days… When you hum a classic song sung in your mother tongue. No matter how much you think and write in English, it sometimes can never relate to your ‘native’ anguish.

Have been humming (trying really hard) Engane njaan urakkendu and Kaliveedurangiyallo..kalivaakkurangiyallo from Deshadanam since morning. Though there is some cathartic effect, the anguish does not break away. It keeps gnawing like a hungry rat trapped.

Just now, another song walked into the remote crevices of my godforsaken mind… Vaalkkanezhuthiya makaranilaavil maamboo manamozhuki from Paithrukum.

Change

Evolution changes choice.
Choice changes evolution.
What changes the change?

Is there more to this than what meets the eye? Is this cyclical or linear? Do we know or as usual merely pretend?

As long as you have not grasped that you have to die to grow, you are a troubled guest on the dark earth. – Mircea Eliade, Romanian writer.

Fleeting lines from a song long forgotten

Main tujhse janmu…
Toh shayad mujhe panaah mile...

If

My life contains my life's most important word.

Gone?!

Gone are the good morning mornings and the good night nights. Each moment, a part of me dies and a part replaces it: trying to live.

Grrr...

Karta: I want to be inside Virupaksha cave right this moment. It is the only cocoon that protects me from the world. Protects the world from me.

Sakshi: What a deep level of attachment! Still have a long way to go...

Who am I: Who is observing the observer observing the observed?

Sound: Grrr...

Once more...

Sudden lovebursts and longings in every heartbeat I hide…
Yet, your deep, loving eyes won't say:
I'll stay.

Your deep, loving voice somehow careless of my heartbreak.
Yet, the broken heart whimpers, whispers, sighs and sings:
Our hindi love song.

Just love me...
At least, lie to me:
once more.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mein aur meri tanhayee;
Mein jaanu aur meri khuda jaane.

Koi khalish hain hawaon mein…

Flowers have been nipped in the bud. Just before they could bloom together.
However, these flowers shall bloom again. When the cold-hearted winter gives way to sunny spring and summer…

Interestingly, there is no pain this time.
Maybe it’s the realization that promises can be broken even before trying to keep them.
Maybe it’s Thiruvannamalai healing me from afar.
Maybe it’s my belief that God is in his heaven and all is well on earth.
Maybe the love went deeper than my sore and numb nerves.

The sun shall rise tomorrow and I shall not dwell in the dark tonight. Every dawn, I meditate facing the east awaiting my sunrise.

I pray to God everyday that I may never get Alzheimer’s. For I believe that I live in my memories. They, along with hope, keep me alive. They provide the courage to love once again.

Once again, a part of me has died. It shall resurrect though. For I shall be reborn; and so shall you.

In a song

We are two teardrops in a song. We'll flow with the music. But eventually, we will dry up somewhere near smiling lips.