In pursuit of the query “Who am I?”

The pursuit of the query “Who am I ?” destroys all other thoughts. I ask myself relentlessly this question over and over again. Who am I? What is my role in the bigger scheme of things? Where is the life leading me? Is it the right path I have chosen or let’s say have I given any direction to my life as yet or is it simply flowing without any aim , any course?

I look within and find a storm rising. A disturbance .. something is not right. I need to go inward and seek the answer.

If I am not the five senses and the body, if I am not the mind and not the doer , who am I ? I meditate on this and still find no clue, but I am reduced to nothing. everything falls apart. The “I ” , the “ego” drops dead. leaving behind a void. All illusions vanish. Everything seems fake.

I let the thoughts freeze .. silence follows. A deep rooted silence. I try to make the mind come out of the illusion of self, of the world around me. It hurts. The mind pushes me to either close or open my eyes ( I meditate with half closed eyes). It persuades me to go flow with the world we have created to satisfy our “self”. The tussle intensifies within. I am pulled away by an inner force.

I want to remove myself, even from myself. Why is it that I can not be complete within? Why do I need someone to copliment me or complete me? What does it take to break away from bonds that tie you in the shackles of expectations, hope, pain, guilt, love, desire, anger, envy, rage, jealousy, and much more?

I try to set free the things and events that hold me captive but in vain. The mind overpowers and even though there is realization , I am unable to act. Giving in to the viciousness of my mind.
Why is it that even after knowing how to discern, I give importance to things, events, people who mean so little in the journey called life.

I am lonely when I want to be alone. there is a difference. It is an obstacle in my path of self realization.

I let emotions rule, even now. Even After some years of self control I still give in. Give in to circumstances which should not affect me.

Where is all the learning going? Why I feel a sense of guilt when one part of me mocks at the other for my actions.
what pulls me ? what force? is it greater than the one I need to pursue or is it that I am not yet ready? I feel I am creating stop overs. Places from where I can return if I get scared or feel lost. The absolute faith in the divine and unknown is still lacking.

The question remains unanswered .. the desire to renounce is growing. To uncling, to let go, to set free .. to move forward by taking an inner journey ..let us see how I am able to achieve it.. till then the relentless pursuit is on.

Dream Diary : Dead man talking

They say that morning dream often come true and many a times dreams also indicate some future events. There are also different interpretations to what a specific dream may mean.

I had a strange dream two days back. It must have been three in the morning and I was in a half awakened state I guess.

The time was around 6 in the morning. The body of a man lay on an elevated wooden platform in the park right behind our home. I could see that his face was visible and so were his hands. A crisp white sheet covered the rest of the body. He was about 50 years of age. On the top floor of the building opposite ours, lot of people had gathered. Maybe the man lived there. Some young men were washing large utensils at a little distance from the platform. Hardly anyone noticed as we approached. Adi and I were curious. It seemed strange that a dead man was left unattended in the middle of the park.

As we inspected the body I noticed something strange. His eye balls were moving under the closed eye lids. We are a different lot and such things don’t scare us so we came a little closer to see what was exactly happening. Adi pointed out that even his lips were quivering a little at a specific interval. The man seemed dead all right but to confirm I placed my hand on his chest. No heartbeat. We were concerned. Was the man alive? why was he lying there alone on a wooden platform, declared dead ? I wondered if we should try to bring some life into him. But how ?

There was something strange about the whole situation and we looked around to find some clue. Nothing. The workers kept talking in low voices and concentrated on their washing, oblivious to our presence.

The very next moment my hubby called us to come and watch something from the terrace facing the park . My son and I rush to the terrace.

The dead man had risen to sitting position and there was a group of people facing him. The workers were no more there. Everyone was dressed for the occasion in pure white. They all had strange expressions on their faces. We decided to take a closer look.

Ignoring the angry shouts of his dad , Adi took my hand and we rushed to the park. As we moved in from behind, we heard the dead man speak

” look at yourselves. I have been dead since last night and you abandoned me here in the chill of the night whereas these mother and son came to me with concern and care even without knowing me.” He kept muttering something which we could not understand.

The group of people wore a puzzled look and their faces were while as snow.

I held Adi’s hand and whispered,” His eyes were closed damn it, how does he know we are mother and son ?”

Adi’s hands were moist but he kept staring at the dead man.” He looks dead all right ma. He is stiff and ..well… Darn .. it beats me what’s going on, let’s move out “.

A dead man sitting up and talking ..beats me as well

Adi turns 18 : Remembering the special moments

Today my first born will turned 18. Its five in the morn’ and I watch him sleep peacefully feeling warm all over and remembering the special moments we shared since he came into my life. How we overcame each handicap like a hurdle in a steeple chase, riding smoothly with courage and confidence and throwing our hearts over it so that we could cross it too.

There were times when every debate would start and end with two sentences. I would say,” Not till you are 18.’ and he would say ,” Wait till I turn 18″. It scared me at times but most of the times I would smile and wonder,
“Will the excitement of turning an adult be as much as it is now?”

There was always something special between us. Though I never pampered him like all Indian mothers do, there was an unexplainable unsaid bond with which our heart strings were attached. Somehow I had the feeling that he understood more than the other children of his age. He had a very rough childhood and for me as a mother It was an extremely difficult time. Many a times I would look into his deep questioning eyes and have no answers to anything. He would watch the drama unfold in the house scene by scene everyday and cling to me unable to express how he felt. Helpless and sad. It was heart wrenching and I tried to instill love, compassion, forgiveness and taught him not to judge and be independent of any thing that hinders his growth as a human being.

Just as I was given a choice to discern and take decisions on our own, I wanted my child to do the same. There were never any social or religious bondings. The child was free to blossom and I tried to do my best, under the given circumstances, to see it happen.

There are times when I felt guilty of bringing him into a world where I myself was finding roots. At times I would takeout all the frustration on him , knowing it was wrong… but still.. He would never utter a single world of rebellion or throw tantrums making me feel even more guilty.

A lovable, calm child, he would spend hours playing by himself, reading books, coloring or just observing nature in the park from the little terrace. He is a wonderful dancer and loves music just like the rest of us.

I had my share of “Oh please not again” times, when he would quietly empty a shampoo bottle in tub or hide in a corner behind the curtain with ladoos or any mithai. He loved to sing and we would have sessions of music and book reading. It used to be a joy to watch this little thin lad run after butterflies or chuckle at the sound of some bird or on spotting a ladybird.

I would smile and watch him observe the line of ants and marvel at the amount of curiosity he had. Always open to learn anything new. During his middle school, the teachers used to call him ” walking Encyclopedia”.

Sometimes I would find him hiding and watching me put a freshly painted picture on the refrigerator door. I can never forget the look of pride and love he used to have at such times. Cleaning his room was like shoveling the path before it stopped snowing.. At night the last thing I did for years was , pick up dinkies, toys, books, pencils, colors, clothes, half eaten fruits, empty cans and some mysterious looking objects which I never could make out what they actually were.

The time he fell sick was the most difficult period for all of us. Glumer Nephritis and Nephrotic Syndrome were new words for us and It was unbearable to see a child of three suffer so much. The disorder took a toll on his health. Although he recovered fully, It was remarkable the way he handled his illness. Silently he would observe everything and everyone including me and tell me to rest for sometime, eat something etc, assuring that he was feeling better and there was no need to worry. With moist eyes I watched my son’s courage and consideration.

Sending the cynosure of my eyes to the residential school simple broke me and him, although he was keen and it would have helped his frail health aslo. Ranikhet is a beautiful place and I thought the mountain air would help him build up his stamina. Four years of residential schooling changed him completely. He matured into a handsome athletic independent boy. All the pain and tears of seperation were washed away.

Although both of us pretended to be happy at the end of it , each one knew there was a hidden guilt and sorrow behind his going. Sending him away from a younger sibling and the rest of the family wasn’t a right step, but there was no other option. It was a sacrifice he had to make because of our mistakes. I still feel guilty about it.

Now when I watch him paint and draw and pursue his passion for animation and visual graphics I thank the creator for giving him a creative mind. Be it food, music, dance, art or anything he is always experimenting. Both my boys are complete foodies and love to experiment.

Adi and I shared some wonderful moments cooking, baking, reading, dancing, traveling to new destinations, enjoying local cuisines, doing window shopping and our love for all creatures big and small especially snakes and raptors and all the creepy crawlies made life one big adventure.

The best workout sessions were helping him take baby steps, running all over the house after him, walking along his bicycle, and then going for long walks. we explored the hills wherever we went discovering new flora nad fauna. Those are the moments of unexplainable joy and comradeship.

Each moment that we shared till now was an unrepeatable miracle, thats what it was , unrepeatable and miracle.

Though I had my share of troubles with him , I think I enjoyed it. The foundation of our love and friendship is laid on solid grounds and we grow seperately without growing apart. He is the best friend I have and we share all the secrets , almost all

I support all his dreams even if that means he moves away..I hope he takes the right direction and takes right decisions, makes right choices.

I had the highest salaried job ..Motherhood… coz the payment was Pure love..

I live though him and when I see him excel in things I could not pursue it gives me immense joy.

Now from today his life takes a new dimension. As a young adult there will be added responsibilities towards self and others and I am sure he will take life with serenity and poise.

Seeing the fan following he has and the girls of all shapes and sizes that hover around him like delicate butterflies, I call him ” love magnet’ and he calls himself ” LOVE GURU”. There are long sessions of confessions, suggestions, advice, over the phone and chats. I am glad in a way that he is able to change lives and make people feel good in some way. Few people have that gift.

Each of his growing year has been a new learning process for me and I attained a new avtar each time. Some of the best teaching and words of comfort came from my first born. In times when things seemed bleak and the darkest clouds wrapped my life , he , as a bright shinning sun brought so much strength and showed me the light. I am thinkful to each of my boys for enriching my life in one way or the other.
love you guys.

Happy18th Birthday sweetheart .. may you always be blessed with good health, peace and joy ..

The Thought Fox by Ted Hughes

Edward James Hughes also known as Ted Hughes (1930-1998) was appointed the Poet laureate in 1984.
His work is rooted in nature and the animal metaphors he uses are brilliant. The poetry of Hughes is about survival of the fittest in animals as well as humans When I read Iron Man , I had no idea he wrote such excellent poems. Hawk Roosting and crow are my favorites. Here is one more that I really like

The Thought Fox

I imagine this midnight moment’s forest:
Something else is alive
Besides the clock’s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.

Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow,
A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now

Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come

Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business

Till, with sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.

-Ted Hughes

Two poems by Ogdan Nash

Ogden Nash (1902 – 1971 ) America’s Laureate of Light Verse

Candy is dandy,
but liquor is quicker — ON

I love his poems. It was a pleasure to discover some which I had not read before. Simple verses, sometimes humorous, insightful, whimsical, and sometimes nonsensical and immensely enjoyable. Even the titles of his poems are such fun for example ‘I Always Say a Good Saint Is No Worse Than a Bad Cold’. Nash’s poems contained some truth of human experience. His signature style used exaggeration, an element of surprise,and absurdity juxtaposed with the universal experience.

There are hundreds of his poems I can share but for now enjoy these two.

1. No, You Be A Lone Eagle

I find it very hard to be fair-minded
About people who go around being air-minded.
I just can’t see any fun
In soaring up up up into the sun
When the chances are still a fresh cool orchid to a paper geranium
That you’ll unsoar down down down onto your (to you) invaluable
cranium.
I know the constant refrain
About how safer up in God’s trafficless heaven than in an automobile
or a train
But …
My God, have you ever taken a good look at a strut?
Then that one about how you’re in Boston before you can say antidis-establishmentarianism
So that preferring to take five hours by rail is a pernicious example of
antiquarianism.
At least when I get on the Boston train I have a good chance of landing
in the South Station
And not in that part of the daily press which is reserved for victims of
aviation.
Then, despite the assurance that aeroplanes are terribly comfortable I notice that when you are railroading or automobiling
You don’t have to take a paper bag along just in case of a funny feeling.
It seems to me that no kind of depravity
Brings such speedy retribution as ignoring the law of gravity.
Therefore nobody could possibly indict me for perjury
When I swear that I wish the Wright brothers had gone in for silver
fox farming or tree surgery.

Ogden Nash

2 What Almost Every Woman Knows Sooner Or Later

Husbands are things that wives have to get used to putting up with.
And with whom they breakfast with and sup with.
They interfere with the discipline of nurseries,
And forget anniversaries,
And when they have been particularly remiss
They think they can cure everything with a great big kiss,
And when you tell them about something awful they have done they just
look unbearably patient and smile a superior smile,
And think, Oh she’ll get over it after a while.
And they always drink cocktails faster than they can assimilate them,
And if you look in their direction they act as if they were martyrs and
you were trying to sacrifice, or immolate them,
And when it’s a question of walking five miles to play golf they are very
energetic but if it’s doing anything useful around the house they are
very lethargic,
And then they tell you that women are unreasonable and don’t know
anything about logic,
And they never want to get up or go to bed at the same time as you do,
And when you perform some simple common or garden rite like putting
cold cream on your face or applying a touch of lipstick they seem to
think that you are up to some kind of black magic like a priestess of Voodoo.
And they are brave and calm and cool and collected about the ailments
of the person they have promised to honor and cherish,
But the minute they get a sniffle or a stomachache of their own, why
you’d think they were about to perish,
And when you are alone with them they ignore all the minor courtesies
and as for airs and graces, they uttlerly lack them,
But when there are a lot of people around they hand you so many chairs
and ashtrays and sandwiches and butter you with such bowings and
scrapings that you want to smack them.
Husbands are indeed an irritating form of life,
And yet through some quirk of Providence most of them are really very
deeply ensconced in the affection of their wife.

Ogden Nash

Lover’s Gifts by Rabindranath Tagore

“When the voice of the Silent touches my words. I know him and therefore know myself.” Tagore

Everyone knows about this great poet, song writer, painter and story teller. Gurudev has been an inspiration for me since childhood. Every poem, every story has left a deep impression. His poems are spiritual, sublime, simple and timeless at the same time.

He was awarded Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913.

I will be posting more of his work later.

Enjoy these beautiful gems from his collection ‘Lover’s Gifts’.

Lover’s Gifts LIV: In the Beginning of Time

In the beginning of time, there rose from the churning of God’s
dream two women. One is the dancer at the court of paradise, the
desired of men, she who laughs and plucks the minds of the wise
from their cold meditations and of fools from their emptiness; and
scatters them like seeds with careless hands in the extravagant winds of March, in the flowering frenzy of May.

The other is the crowned queen of heaven, the mother, throned
on the fullness of golden autumn; she who in the harvest-time
brings straying hearts to the smile sweet as tears, the beauty deep
as the sea of silence, -brings them to the temple of the Unknown,
at the holy confluence of Life and Death.

Lover’s Gifts XIII: Last Night in the Garden

Last night in the garden I offered you my youth’s foaming wine. You lifted the cup to your lips, you shut your eyes and smiled while
I raised your veil, unbound your tresses, drawing down upon my
breast your face sweet with its silence, last night when the moon’s
dream overflowed the world of slumber.

To-day in the dew-cooled calm of the dawn you are walking to
God’s temple, bathed and robed in white, with a basket full of
flowers in your hand. I stand aside in the shade under the tree,
with my head bent, in the calm of the dawn by the lonely road to
the temple.

Lover’s Gifts XLVIII: I Traveled the Old Road

I traveled the old road every day, I took my fruits to the market,
my cattle to the meadows, I ferried my boat across the stream and
all the ways were well known to me.
One morning my basket was heavy with wares. Men were busy in
the fields, the pastures crowded with cattle; the breast of earth
heaved with the mirth of ripening rice.
Suddenly there was a tremor in the air, and the sky seemed to
kiss me on my forehead. My mind started up like the morning out of
mist.

I forgot to follow the track. I stepped a few paces from the
path, and my familiar world appeared strange to me, like a flower
I had only known in bud.
My everyday wisdom was ashamed. I went astray in the fairyland
of things. It was the best luck of my life that I lost my path that
morning, and found my eternal childhood.

Lover’s Gifts XXVIII: I Dreamt

I dreamt that she sat by my head, tenderly ruffling my hair with
her fingers, playing the melody of her touch. I looked at her face
and struggled with my tears, till the agony of unspoken words burst
my sleep like a bubble.
I sat up and saw the glow of the Milky Way above my window,
like a world of silence on fire, and I wondered if at this moment
she had a dream that rhymed with mine.

George Gray by Edgar Lee Masters

George Gray is part of The Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters (1868-1950). What an unconventional book both in style and content. voices of the dead .. never read anything like this before. Each dead citizen has a story to tell and the free verse narration is awesome. I am still reading the book and enjoying every bit of it. Thanks Mike and Kris for recommending it. Each poem is a gem and a learning..

I will be posting some more poems later.

George Gray

I have studied many times

The marble which was chiseled for me—

A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.

In truth it pictures not my destination

But my life.

For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;

Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;

Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.

Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.

And now I know that we must lift the sail

And catch the winds of destiny

Wherever they drive the boat.

To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness,

But life without meaning is the torture

Of restlessness and vague desire—

It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.

Edgar Lee Masters

Travel Guide : Malana – a Village Lost in Time
Tucked in the enchanting Himalayas, a sleepy little village lies buried in time. Malana in Kullu, Himachal Pradesh, India is a unique hamlet steeped in ancient history and home for the world’s finest Hash. Come take a trip ..
http://www.associatedcontent.comarticle/2089153/travel_guide_malana_a_village_lost.html

Travel Guide: The Valley of Flowers National Park, a Himalayan Treasure
Come along with me to the enchanting Valley of Flowers National Park in Western Himalayas. It is one of a kind place to view millions of flowers, birds, butterflies and animals. A gift from nature to us. Enjoy.
http://www.associatedcontent.comarticle/2124789/travel_guide_the_valley_of_flowers.html

Night of the Scorpion by Nissim Ezekiel

This is one of my favorites among many of the Ezeliel poems. For some reason It stayed with me since I read it as a teenager. For a Jew poet in post independent India, he was a lonsome figure. I love his tight rhymed quatrians and the Indianness in his poetry written in English. Something about his work captivates the reader for a long time. I also love his poem, ‘Poet, Lover and Birdwatcher’.

Night of the Scorpion

“I remember the night my mother was stung by a scorpion.
Ten hours of steady rain had driven him to crawl beneath a sack of rice.
Parting with his poison — flash of diabolic tail in the dark room — he risked the rain again.
The peasants came like swarms of flies and buzzed the Name of God a hundred times to paralyse the Evil One.
With candles and with lanterns throwing giant scorpion shadows
on the sun-baked walls they searched for him; he was not found.
They clicked their tongues. With every movement the scorpion made his poison moved in Mother’s blood, they said.
May he sit still, they said.
May the sins of your previous birth
be burned away tonight, they said.
May your suffering decrease
the misfortunes of your next birth, they said.
May the sum of evil balanced in this unreal world against the sum of good become diminished by your pain.
May the poison purify your flesh of desire, and your spirit of ambition, they said, and they sat around on the floor with my mother in the centre.
The peace of understanding on each face.
More candles, more lanterns, more neighbours, more insects and the endless rain.
My mother twisted through and through groaning on a mat.
My father, sceptic, rationalist, trying every curse and blessing, powder, mixture, herb, and hybrid. He even poured a little paraffin upon the bitten toes and put a match to it.
I watched the flame feeding on my mother.
I watched the holy man perform his rites to tame the poison with incantation.
After twenty hours it lost its sting.”
“My mother only said:
Thank God the scorpion picked on me and spared my children.”

Nissim Ezekiel
(1924-2004)