204. Void

Readers of this blog know that I have a poor memory. As is my habit, I must have shared this fact with you a number of times. I hardly worry about poor memory – but on some occasions it creates embarrassing situation for me. Today was one of those days.

Today I started early for office. I had to prepare for a meeting and in the evening I was planning to leave early. Taking advantage of ‘flexi-time’ facility, I took Metro early than my usual time. I had a different crowd around me. Everyday though I do not have conversations with my co-passengers, we do exchange smiles. If someone is in good mood, she would ask me where I was last week and then I share travel experiences with her. Today too, I was taking Metro after a gap of couple of weeks. But as I mentioned, this was not my usual time, so there was no possibility of meeting someone.

I entered Metro and found a vacant seat. The route I take is underground, so there is nothing to watch through the window. As the journey takes hardly 20 minutes, I generally don’t read book in the Metro. I close eyes and just relax – that is what I was planning to do even today.

Suddenly a young woman sitting opposite to me said “Hello” and smiled. I too smiled spontaneously, but I did not reply. I realized that I did not know this woman. I assumed that she must have addressed to some other woman. So, I kept quiet. Smiling to strangers is alright, even I talk to strangers, but today I did not want and so kept quiet.

I noticed that none of the women sitting either to my left or right spoke to that young women. I was curious. Of course, it was happening in an instant – I am take much longer time to write it; even your are taking more time to read it. I was looking at that women but did not respond to her. Suddenly she showed a feeling of insult and stopped smiling. Her eyes showed frustration and anger. She stopped looking at me, and adjusted her earphone for music on mobile handset. It was clear from her body language that she was not comfortable.

By that time, I too wasn’t comfortable. Part of my brain was trying to find out ‘whether I know this woman and if yes, where have we met.’ The more I thought about it, the more I felt that I have met this young woman earlier. In knew her face, her eyes, her voice … I was sure that the women had said “hello” to me and to none else.

So, I wanted to initiate dialogue with her and started looking at her. But now the woman was not at all looking at me. As if the one-two feet distance between us has suddenly become one or two kilometers. For a moment, I thought of leaving my seat, approaching her and talking to her. But I noticed that the woman was completely ignoring me. That created another wave of doubt. Was she really addressing me or someone else?

I kept on staring at the woman and with every passing moment, I was sure that I knew this girl. She must have been aware of my gaze, because next moment she looked at me. I was fully ready for that moment, and I asked, “Do you everyday catch the same Metro?”

She nodded – indicating ‘no’. I said, “I am surprised that we have never met on the Metro.”

Now she was completely relaxed and gave a big smile. I said again, “How is it that we have never met on the Metro? I travel everyday around the same time.”

She explained about car servicing and said, “Are you coming to Chanakypuri office today? We have to gate down at Race Course station.”

Listening to her, it dawned upon me that this young woman was none else but Shehanaz.

I was ashamed of myself.

I know Shehanaz for more than a year now; I have met her at least 25 times during the year. At for hundred times I had tele-conversations with her. She is receptionist –cum –telephone operator in one of my offices.

/

Shehanaz is a good natured woman. She is efficient and proactive. Her work is always of a good quality. She has offered me help on many occasions. Whenever I visit Chanakypuri office, Shehanaz is always kind to me. She always asks about my wellbeing, offers me coffee and helps me to sort out my work in that office. What I have observed that Shehanaz is good with everybody around. She is a kind soul. I have a very good opinion about Shehanaz and I have written good words about her to her seniors.

I speak to Shehanaz. We hardly get five minutes. Shehanaz is now in good spirit and she is smiling. Metro arrives at Race Course. Shehanaz gets down. Doors close. Shehanaz moves away but turns back and smiles at me, waves her hand. I too smile and wave back.

However, I am engrossed in thought. Why did not I recognize Shehanaz immediately? If I meet someone after a long gap or someone whom I hardly know and like – I can understand poor memory. But I like Shehanaz and I keep on meeting her regularly – still I failed to recognize her.

It is possible that as I had never met Shehanaz on the Metro, I least expected her to meet here. Well, if I was surprised, it would have been natural – but I failed to recognize her cannot be justified in any manner. Generally we picture people in a given set up – it is hard to recognize postman in civil dress and without postbag; or a vegetable vendor at a movie theater. So, maybe meeting Shehanaz here was not at all expected by me.

Am I equating human being with his/her work? Am I looking at them as machines and not as human beings? Am I too selfish or insensitive to existence of others? Am I always lost in my own world? Am I getting disconnected from the reality around me?

Life has its own speed. There are always new happenings in life, so the old ones are easily left behind. But is it just a game for me – to replace old memories by new? Am I looking at life as a game? What will it lead to me? Until I get old, new persons, incidents, memories will keep on entering into my life – so I can afford to forget the past – persons, incidents, memories and what not. Because I am still active, my senses are working alright, I can play this game; as if it the only one of any significance.

What will happen if I get long life? By law of nature, my senses will become weak; a time will come when nothing new would be added to my life. When the inflow of new persons, incidents, memories etc. stops (and it will stop one day); what will I remember? By that time past will be dead and there will be hardly exciting ‘present’. If I remember something from the past, will that past have any place for me? Will those people, incidents, memories of the past mean anything to me? Will there be only a vacuum – where there will be no past and there will be no present. What will I do then? With the Mind, with the Body and with the Ego?  

Will I be able to live happily in that void? 

**

164. Irony

Sometime in 1980:

I pull five two rupees notes from my bag. I count them twice.

Last week, I have received the scholarship amount. My friends have asked for a party. It is supposed to be a lavish party. We will be having Cream Roll with cup of tea. A cup of tea costs twenty five paisa and Cream Roll costs about twenty paisa each. There would be nine friends with me. I calculate the amount. Five rupees would be sufficient. However I am keeping additional five rupees. I come out of room and my mind starts asking questions. Should I not carry more money with me? If by chance someone wants to eat Idlee or instead of tea wants coffee, I will need more money. I run upstairs. There are only coins. I count five more rupees; lead my friends towards the hotel in the corner. My pocket is heavy with coins and heart happy to be able to treat friends.

All these nine are my good friends. I know that if I need a loan of a rupee or two, one of them would certainly oblige me.

Sometimes in 1990:

I am leaving Mumbai. I have submitted statement of accounts to the office. I have no personal bank account, so there is no question of clearing and closing the account. One of my friends had bought a train ticket for me which will take me out of Mumbai. But I don’t know how I am going to manage my expenditure. I have to certainly start from scratch, but where does that particular spot lie I am not sure.

We are at Dadar station. My train leaves at 8.00 in the night. Many of my friends have come to see me off. The train moves slowly. One of my friends hands me an envelope through the window. The train has gained speed, so I don’t have time to ask what the envelope is for.  It must be a farewell letter – I think. I sit quietly – thinking about Mumbai and thinking about clueless future. After an hour or so, I open the envelope; there are grand new four fifty rupee notes and nothing else. I smile. At least, I don’t have to start from a scratch.

2000:

I can tell you story after story.

2010:

However, I am aware that your story might as well fit into this narration.

2012:

Now I carry ATM cum Debit card with me and don’t have to carry cash. But still one never knows whether the ATM would be functional or not. So, I still prefer the old way. I check my wallet; there are few five hundred rupee notes. I don’t know whether amongst strangers if I need help, will there be someone in these strange parts of the country?

I sigh. And I withdraw some more money – just to feel secure and safe!

I won’t say that with lesser money I was happier. But the converse is also not true. I mean, I am not happier because of more money! I was not unhappy because I had no money  - for me happiness and money were never really related. 

I have realized that many of our happy moments have nothing to do with money. In the midst of happiness, one does forget all such things as money, possessions, relations, success… The moment of happiness is very peculiar and it is not bound by any such material aspects of life.

For that one moment, we all strive to do our best in material life (that is making money) – that is the irony, which amazes me. I am sure it will always amuse me.  

159. Not Enough

When I entered Mumbai office, the first thing I noticed was that poster. Nobody remembered from where it came from, but it was there.

A young man was jumping from a hilltop into the deep sea and the poster said, 'One Life is Enough.’

I liked the poster.

People around me thought that the poster gave a contradictory message to what the organization and everybody around stood for. They wanted to remove it and I stood for it.

My teammates believed in re-birth. My team argued with me about this ‘One Life’ concept. Well, I don’t mind dreaming that in next birth I would be this and that. But I know: then I won’t remember this birth. So logically, in each life there is only one life. We should live this life fully as if it is never going to come again and that is why I liked that ‘One Life’ approach.

Moreover, I do not know anything about ‘Life after Death’ or that ultimate ‘Truth’. Many scriptures and saints have said so much about that ultimate Truth – I do respect them. However it is their knowledge and experience they are talking about; until I have that experience, I cannot talk about Ultimate Truth and series of life etc. – though I know many theories.  I am not ashamed of declaring that ‘I do not Know’.

We kept on arguing. Once when I returned from a week long tour, I found that the poster was removed and was replaced by something else.

Well, majority wins – almost always wins.  In democratic set up, one can argue and one can try to convince others, but one can’t always win. Fair enough.

Days, months, years passed by.

Now-a-days I feel that life is moving too fast. There are many things which I need to do and need to learn, but there is no time.

I would like to study Mathematics again. If time permits, I would like to spend some time on excavation site. If I get some time, I would resume my association with flute and/or harmonium. If I have some spare time, I would like to read many books. There are places to visit and there are people to converse with.  

I have an ever-growing ‘to do list’ and somewhere deep within I know that I won’t be able to all that in this one life.

Indeed; One Life is not Enough!


(Delhi) 

145. Lost Privilege

I could not help in comparing ‘Now and Then’ – a kind of time-frame analysis. That is because I had reached this particular place almost at the same time I had reached years ago.

On material plane, I was as hungry and as tired as I was then.

However it was not exact ‘replay’ of what happened earlier. Certainly, things have changed a lot.

First and foremost, then I was young, now I am old.

Then I did not know where I was reaching, I did not know anyone here, I did not know what to expect and I had nothing to fall back. I was full of uncertainty.

Now I know where I am going, I know people and places here, I know what to expect – rather I have choices about what to do and what to avoid and I have a return ticket back  home. I don’t take anything for granted even now (like returning, having a home), but I am certain that I will always find out a way.

Then I was full of doubts, now I am peaceful.

Then I would try to convince people, now I let it go – until they are happy without exploiting others. I don’t try to convert anybody and I am patient enough to listen when somebody tries to ‘convert’ me.

Then I was as if person A; now I am as if person B – there is continuity but also a lot of change.

After reaching years ago, I was offered tea and Parle G biscuits. Today I consume a cup of coffee and as Parle G is not available, I have Britannia 50:50 – that is amazing link with the past within the range of changes.

I move around to my favorite spots and find out the serenity of the place is lost due to typical ‘loud’ behavior of the tourists. I suddenly realize that even then it would have been there – I do notice it now because I have lost some privileges in the process. With that acknowledgement of loss, peace is regained.

One of the old men invites me for lunch. I say yes but I do not go, not even on the second day. I do not feel like going.

“Do you feel shy? Do you feel guilty?” he asks later in the evening.

I am surprised by the question. Why should I feel guilty? Why should I feel shy? I am only trying to keep away myself from irritation- irritation at the way people talk, people assume, people think and people advice.

Then I would have told him the plain truth. Now, I smile. I say, “No, I forgot. Next time I will certainly join you for lunch. ”

“Come back here” someone says.

“Sure, whenever opportunity is there I would certainly make the best of it.” I answer. My goodness, what bookish language I am speaking.

“Come here forever,” he adds hurriedly, “when you have done your work and when you feel lonely.”

I am aghast at the suggestion. These people sitting on self made thrones treat other people with so much of hypocritical compassion. They think there is only one way – theirs!

Like old days, a strong reply comes to me. But I keep quiet. That does not mean I accept what he says, but there is no need to tell him that I disagree. He is happy to have me here listening, so let me listen.

“You know, you are a privileged child; that is why you came here in the first place” another one says.

I completely agree with this sentiment. I have always felt that coming to this place was a turning point, years of privilege shaped me in different way – I am thankful to all those moments, all those people and all those memories.

However, giving up that privilege was my conscious choice. I am glad that I came here and I am glad that I left this place. There was pain while leaving, but now I have overcome the pain. If I had stayed here this long, I might have become a person whom I would have not liked much. That would have been the price greater than the pain and sorrow I went through.

Now I feel free of burden of expectations, of traditions, of norms, of what not – laid down by others. It created horrible bondage for me – worst than the bondage life had caught me in initially.

Every time I re-visit the place, I realize that: What I gave up was worth giving up!  I acknowledge that it is one of the greatest places to be at least once in life ……still, after certain time it became worth leaving.

Every time I re-visit the place, I realize that: What I have left back has nothing to contribute in my life!

 

Every time I re-visit the place, I realize that: What is past should remain as past; never try to turn it into present or future.

Some privileges are better lost. 

103. Missed Meeting

There are some persons whom you keep on meeting, whether you want or not. You get so used to it that you stop thinking about these people and these meetings.

There are others, whom you know, you will have to meet. You know you have no choice. So you try to keep it as short as possible. You rush through it.

Today was one of those days when I wanted to avoid meeting these two types of people. Not because I hate them, they are not worth that intense feeling, but they tend to draw you out of yourself. Today was one of those days when I wanted to be with myself. Now I am happy because I have been almost successful at not meeting any of them. This is sheer luck, nothing else.

On the other hand, there are others, whom you badly want to meet, but somehow do not meet when you need them most. You expect, you even try but somehow you cannot reach them. They either have become stranger to you or there is some kind of stress in your relationship with them. Sometimes people are simply busy; there is a distance which you cannot cover. Sometimes, the urge of meeting is not mutual. One end of the line is closed down without the other being aware of it.

There is yet another category. Some people you want to meet, but never meet. You go so near but miss meeting them. Not even a formal meeting. You like these people, you have a kind of dream of meeting them; you respect them and would take extra efforts to meet them. Mostly these people are public figures, famous people.

I once had a good opportunity to meet well known Marathi poet Kusumagraj. I adore his writing and meeting him was a life time chance.

Kusumagraj Pratishthan (Foundation) had declared a competitive examination focused on Marathi Literature. I generally keep away from competitions. But I respect and like (well, these two are not necessarily mutual feelings!) Kusumagraj so much that I thought responding to the appeal by the Foundation was the right step. If you love someone, you need to turn that into an action desired by that person. So I appeared for that examination. It was not a typical classroom examination but an open book examination. I studied different aspects of Marathi literature and enjoyed my study for months. Then within a stipulated period, the writing was to be submitted to the Foundation.

It was a coincidence that I won the first prize. I was invited to Nasik. The invitation letter said that Kusumagraj would be present for the prize distribution ceremony.

I was based in Pune then and was associated with an organization as a Full Time Activist. My colleagues from Nasik arranged organizational meeting on the same day. I was intelligent enough to understand that they had arranged it so that I could participate in the Foundation prize distribution ceremony. I was tempted to meet Kusumagraj and so I happily accepted to facilitate one day meeting.

When I reached the venue of the function, the Pratishthan people welcomed me. ‘When would I be able to meet Kusumagraj?” I asked eagerly- a bit like a child.

“Sorry, but he is not attending the function.” One of the office bearers of the Pratishthan informed me.

I was so disappointed that I lost the interest in the ceremony. I almost turned back but stopped not realizing what reason I should give for turning away from the function. I am a very transparent person and people generally can read my face easily – especially sensitive people. One of the Foundation volunteers fully understood my disappointment. He hastily added, “If you insist, we can arrange your meeting with him. But remember, for just couple of minutes because he is really not keeping well. He would not like to disappoint you like this because he has read your writing (the one that was submitted to Foundation) and he appreciated it so much.”

For a moment I was in a dilemma. Here was a chance to meet a Jnyanapeeth Award winner poet – a poet and writer whom I respected. But at the same time he was not well. He was not in a position to meet me; otherwise he would not have denied the meeting. If I insisted, he would meet me no doubt. But by troubling him in such a way, what was I going to get?

Did not his poetry and his writing always give me immense joy and happiness – whether I met him or not? Did not his words convey me what was to be conveyed? What was I going to say him when I meet? Saying ‘Thank you’ to such a great person was out of question. Except for satisfying my ego, I was not going to get anything by meeting him – when he did not want.

“It is alright. I do not want to trouble him when he is not well,” I said and attended the function till the end.

Some of my friends were very angry with me for not insisting meeting Kusumagraj. But I do not regret the decision. In its real sense, I do not miss meeting Kusumagraj. This is possible because my relationship with Kusumagraj is nurtured through his powerful words – both poetry and prose. The bridge is already functional – without personal interaction. Meeting him in person would certainly have been a memorable moment - but not meeting him never destroyed my deeper sense of his being part of my world.

Kusumagraj is always there when I want him, when I need him most.

We never met, but he has always been part of my life. I never miss him. That is such a luxury.

**

94. Puzzle

Lately I am going through a funny experience. This is one aspect of growing old I guess.

A few months ago I met an old friend - now a very famous person. We were introduced to each other in 1984. She must have invited me for dinner at her place about 300 times during those five/six years. I was sort of their family member – a pampered one. I was part of their joy and sorrow. We used to talk to each other a lot during those days.

Later I left that city and kept constantly moving on. Those were the days when letter writing was the only means of communication. By the time I could afford email and mobile, I had lost contact with her. Because she has grown to be a ‘Page 3 Person’, I did not dare to contact her. In the mean time life had taught me how to deal with such losses and so I did not lament. I have grown to realize that everything disappears when it ceases to contribute, when the teaching is transmitted.

The other day I happened to attend a public program where this old friend of mine was the chief speaker. She instantly recognized me, was happy to see me and started chatting with me the moment the official function was over.

My friend was bit emotional – naturally. Then she asked me, “Do you remember this?” and narrated a particular incidence, which I did not at all remember. She was surprised. Then she kept on asking me the question repeatedly and funnily I did not at all remember any of those events, happening, joys and sorrows.

It was striking that she remembered certain portion of our interactions which I had completely forgotten. Even after listening to her, I was not able to recall any of those incidents.

Last week, I met another friend. Here too, I was meeting her after almost 10 years. In earlier times, her home was my home for few months. For about 10 years she had taken care of me – by feeding me nourishing food, by offering books to me and by sharing life with me. The contact was lost due to unavoidable circumstances –my moving out of the town again.

This friend was talking to me and again I had the same feeling. She was remembering certain portions of out interactions, discussions which I had completely forgotten and could not recall.

Whatever incidences my friends were sharing (and asking me whether I remembered those) were not at all inconvenient to me (rather they were emphasizing goodness in me), but I had no traces of those. Does it mean I have a bad memory?

Does it mean that we understand/interpret the same facts differently and we underline experiences differently?

Does it mean that the intensity of each person is so unique that the same experience can be labeled (sorted and stored) differently by different persons?

Does it mean life is a jigsaw puzzle of pieces and everybody gets hold of one or the other piece only?

Does it mean that we should be more tolerant and more patient – because whatever is important to me is not important to others and vice versa?

Does it mean that human beings are so complicated (and so is human life) that no one ever will be able to complete the jigsaw puzzle called human being and human life?

86. Connection

What one thinks is long forgotten, suddenly rushes in, without warning, without indication, without any premonition.

That is what I experienced today evening.

It was 5.30 in the evening; I was in the crowded Laxminarayan chowk. The road coming from Gultekadi area is bit narrow. I wanted to go towards Mitramandal area so at the signal I moved to the left of a water tanker. The indicator showed green and without having to take a moment’s stop at the signal I rushed forward.

For a second, I smelt diesel, must be coming from the tanker, I thought.

And suddenly it reminded of a small village. The village adults were excited because a new railway line was being installed in the village. There were suddenly too many new people in the village with hundreds of vehicles. The workers and their ‘sahib’ were staying in newly built homes called ‘quarters’. It was like a city. A city was shaping within a village.

We see small trucks. There is a miracle. With one single action the driver pushes the backward portion of the truck in such an angle that it drops the stones and the soil without any human intervention. When the material is completely dropped down, with a single action the driver brings the portion back to normal. It is a magic for us. However, we (the children) keep away from it. There is a fear: a fear of unknown, a fear of strangers, a fear that someone is destroying our world and a fear that everything is going to change suddenly. All of us are attracted towards that vehicle called ‘dumper’ but we keep away.

We children gather at the lake. We have a serious discussion at hand. Now to think of it, it was indeed a small lake, but for us then it was the world. “Now they are going to dump all that soil in this lake, what will happen to our fish?” one worries loudly. We look at the water. We look at the fish. They seem to be happy and careless as usual. “Hmm, they do not know what is coming to them,” adds another one very philosophically.

‘What is this railway like? And why are they bringing to us? Where will we all go?” is the third query. “And who is this Sarkar they are talking about all the time? When he comes to our village we will throw stones at him. Then he will have to run away with his railway,” fourth point of view is expressed.

“I don’t know why the elders are treating these people well. You see how much tea they drink, even there is a tea shop there,’ fifth mystery to be solved. “Let us run away from this village, my mama’s village has a lake, there are many fish and there is a school too. Let us go there,” that is the sixth option. Questions follow each other without any way out.

Someone laughs at us. We are frightened. We tightly catch each others’ hands.

The truck drivers have come for a stroll at the lake after long working hours. They are listening to our loud discussion and can’t help laughing at us.

“Do you want to drive a truck?’ one of them asks smilingly. Without knowing what it means, I say ‘yes’. My group looks at me as a traitor. But I do not want to miss the adventure. “Come all of you. Will teach you to drive the truck.” one more invitation and that is enough to tempt rest of them.

We rush towards the dumper. Now we are excited, we are shouting, laughing, and teasing each other. The five of us are in the dumper along with the driver. He pushes the key and suddenly there is an unknown smell, very strong and very peculiar.

That was the first time I smelt diesel.

When did it happen? In the antiquity, I guess. I was six or seven years then. I left the village at the age of ten and never went back there. I never remembered this incidence.

But today with that one second of diesel smell, everything came back to me in a crystal clear way. I could smell the dumper, I could smell the lake, and I could see the clear blue skyline disappearing behind the tress. I could hear the laughter of my friends; I could feel the fear of all of us. Though I do not have any contact with anyone of them, they are there with me. Not just the friends, but the place, the earth, the sky, the water, the ‘me’ of that time.

It is strange that there is such a strong connection within the subconscious.

Whether I am physically connected to a place or not does not matter because the subconscious connection exists. That is actually stronger than the physical connection.

Some day in future, my present will become my past. What I will remember then probably will be only such intense moments. If I live superficially today, I will have nothing to remember tomorrow. For making the future connection, I have to live passionately in the present.

The connection of how I live will remain forever for me!

64. Inverter

Please, do not misunderstand me.

But I like darkness. The deep darkness that occasionally envelopes me is a treat not only for eyes but also for permanently rushing mind. I have not installed any power backup instruments at home. When there is power cut in the night, I just relax and enjoy the darkness.

Many of our likings are rooted in our childhood. Though I was born in a town, I was brought up in a very small village. In the first ten to twelve years of my life, I did not know what electricity was. I still vividly remember the magic moment, when I first came across it. It was the ultimate luxury then. I fear with the climate change and power cuts, it will become a luxury again in my old age.

When you are not surrounded by shining lights, you learn to find fun in darkness. No doubt there were ghost stories. The fear of snakes and scorpions made life miserable. One could not read and write after the Sunset. The kerosene was limited and one could not study during night. Actually one never thought of doing anything important after the Sunset – of course dinner and sleep were the exceptions.

In the night the only bus came to our village. All villagers gathered at the bus stand, and waited for the arrival of the bus. Hardly anyone came from outside. But the village gathered as if each one had a guest arriving by that bus. The road passed through small hills. So, the headlights of the bus were visible from miles. They were there, and they were invisible. I still remember that ‘hide and seek’ game of the headlights. I always wondered whether the headlights were seen first or whether I heard the sound of the bus engine first. I still do not know who travels faster – light or sound? The confusion is deep rooted in me.

In the summer, the front-yard was cleaned and watered in the evening. I was always enchanted by the innumerable stars in the sky. The moon in the early morning was so majestic that I did not sleep in the nights – just to watch that moon. And nobody labeled this as ‘insomnia’ then. Early morning also brought the cold wind, and the first ray of the Sun was indeed life giving.

Monsoon nights were special. The lightening added spice to the environment. The rain tunes differed at various stages. The frogs started singing. The rushing water played around.

Evenings generally came slowly and silently. Everything became quiet. As if the whole world around went to sleep. The toils of the life were forgotten. It was like going back to a world where there were no problems, no stress, just joy and dreams.

I liked the surrounding darkness. I actually waited for it. It was the time, I could talk to myself. It was the time; I did not have to face others. It was the time, I could be alone. It was the time I could dream. It was the time I forgot to ask myself purpose of life. To be left alone was a boon. To experience wind, moon and stars was luxury. To face the fear was an important training. I loved it to the core. There was the knowledge that darkness does not last long, after every night there is a Sunrise….. which was influential in shaping my life.

For middle school education, I shifted to a small city. There was electricity, but it was very tender in nature. I mean with a little shower, with a wave of wind, it used to stop functioning. And even in that small town, many nights were spent in full darkness. The kind of darkness: where one cannot see even oneself. I had plenty of it in life. I actually grew with that kind of darkness around me. But it was always comfortable to have the presence of darkness. It created coolness, happiness, it filled the vacuum, and it was always so peaceful.

Recently the cyclone ‘Fiana’ just touched my city. For one night, there was no power. But I could not get that enveloping darkness around me. Couple of my neighbours have ‘inverter’ installed in their house. The cancer center adjacent to my apartment, naturally immediately turns on generator. The headlights of vehicles on the highway bring a piece of light in my house. I do not get darkness around me. I was just feeling aghast about the generators and invertors.

But then I realized generator and inverters too have their value. It is necessary that we store some positive energy when it is available and use it when there is no light, no hope. I understand that for everyone darkness cannot mean peace and opportunity to be introvert – due to some experiences people may have fear about the darkness.

I agree that those who want light have the right to get it. I am aware that unfortunately most of them do not have opportunity to get it. I understand that we need a real inverter to change this situation.

But somehow I miss the deep darkness. I tend to blame inverters.

41. After the Rain….

It happened only yesterday afternoon. The whole day, I was working on a project budget with my colleague. It was 7th or 8th draft, so we were tired enough. The calculations had to be checked and re-checked. My workstation is not ‘off the road’. So, I cannot see anything outside. I would love to have an open space to work, but well, it is not so.

Amidst all those figures, I suddenly smiled. I said, “Ah! It is raining…” There was no sound of rain, no smell of rain, but still I could feel the rain outside. May be because I was born in July, I love rain. It rains within me, when it rains outside. The rain touches my soul.

Whatever good childhood memories I have, all those are associated with rain. I was brought up in a rain-shadow area. So, I guess, there was not much of rain. But whatever it was, it filled my life.

My childhood house had a tin roof. So, when it rained in the night, there was a typical sound of the drops falling on the tin. I would somehow always be awake when rain came.. Whether at two or at six in the morning. Everybody around me, almost the whole world around would be asleep, only the rain accompanying me. Many nights I opened the door without making any noise and tried to catch rain in my hands. I tried to quench my thirst with the fresh water. Sometimes I got myself drenched in the rains and then sat all the night on the floor happily… feeling the rain all over me and integrated within me.

When it rained during day time, the sky changed its colors. Many evenings the golden Sun after the rain melted in my eyes, making me light. It was as if I could travel to different worlds with the help of those mystique golden sunrays. I would soak my feet into the small water pools. The trees would be fresh - like a just bathed baby - after the rain, and I would touch the leaves very softly. The thundering and lightening accompanying the rain brought a great excitement. There was some world unknown to me, but it brought its joys and beauty to me through rain. I loved rain more than anything.

Slowly when I grew, I became more attracted to rain. Many cycle trips in the rain in Pune, a walk on Pondicherry beach in torrential rains, windy rain in Mumbai, monsoon treks with clouds in your hands, rain in Tamhini, rain in Satpuda, rain in Himalayas, …. I have innumerable memories of rain. With rain I change, with rain I live, with rain I smile....

Though nowadays with rain comes the feeling that so many people would be displaced and so many poor and homeless would be distressed…

I am happy that monsoon is approaching. For next few months I would have hardly any time to be unhappy and I will not at all be stressed. Because at every corner, there would be the sky full of rain or at least a promise of rain.

I come home, physically exhausted but with mental vigor… and the sky is teasing me to interpret the meaning of life…. the clouds act as if we are strangers to each other….

After the Rain…life becomes more beautiful, more meaningful, more original…

(Note: All these photos are taken with a Sony Ericsson Cyber Shot mobile 2 mp camera on the evening of 5th June 2009 from my residence balcony – of course by me!)

28. Hide and Seek

In my childhood days, ‘Parle G’ was the only biscuit available. It was very scarce and so was always desired.

When I grew a bit (yes, I keep on growing), ‘Parle G’ was still with me. During student life I could afford it simply because it was very cheap – one and half rupee cost of one packet – which contained 14 biscuits. I had number of breakfasts, lunches and dinners with just this biscuit and tea. One of my childhood dreams was to have a full pack of ‘Parle G’ biscuits; all for myself. Later in life, I have ample money, but during many travels I can’t eat junk food, oily food, dirty food, spicy food, hot food……. and so I still continue with ‘Parle G’ and tea. It is my all time favorite meal.

I like chocolates too. So, when chocolate biscuits arrived on the scene, I happily consumed them. ‘Hide and Seek’ was one of the best I ever liked. The chocolate in these biscuits is consistent and is well mixed. It was a blessing … because by this time I had realized that I did not always like tea. If you have ever tested railway tea, you would naturally give up tea very easily. In a way, you are forced to give up tea. Samnyasa is not very difficult in this world … it is easier to leave many things rather than living with them. So, life went on without tea and with sufficient ‘Hide and Seek’ in the travel bag.

But something has gone wrong over last few months. I don’t remember when and why I stopped purchasing biscuits (for no apparent reason). No, I am not health maniac; I am not bothered about calories. Gaining and loosing weight happens naturally, I do not waste conscious life into it.

This has created a big problem for me; as during travels I do not understand what to eat. I keep on postponing decision about eating and end up in unplanned (and irreligious) fasts. I purposely purchased one ‘Hide and Seek’ pack about three months ago, but I have not opened it till today.

Whether my mind is rejecting biscuits or my body – I cannot definitely tell. Is the law of diminishing returns working now? Have I over- consumed, so that there is nausea? Is this one more state of ‘na iti, na iti’ (not this, not this) but not clearly understanding what it is that I want? Is there some other confusion at subconscious level and not wanting ‘Hide and Seek’ is just an outward expression? What is the barrier? What do I need to break? What do I need to overcome?

The World seeks nothing. The World hides nothing.
It is only that I do not know what I seek and what I hide.