Waves Upon the Shore

Unconditional Love

2011-10-14T23:03:00.000+05:30

“Don’t be so nice to them, they’ll take advantage of you.” People have often told me this. More and more, it seems to me that being considerate, talking to people with a genuine smile, and going that extra mile to help another person are traits that are rare to find. Even when a person displays them, the general perception is that there must be an ulterior motive underlying the nicety. You can’t just want to be nice to someone for the sake of being nice, can you?

In my opinion, the problem arises when we view all of our interactions as “transactions.” The idea being that if I give something to someone, there must be an equal and opposite exchange from that person to me, or it’s an unfair deal. In a world dominated by fear, where we’re always scared that there won’t be enough left over for tomorrow, where we’re made to feel like we don’t even have enough for today so that we go out and buy something new – in such a world, it becomes increasingly difficult to operate from a place of selfless love where there is no expectation of anything in return for what I give. The irony is that this kind of giving – the kind with no expectation of reward or recognition in return - tends to be the most satisfying to the soul of the giver!

“Giving” doesn’t necessarily refer to a monetary gift. We often assume that charity is all about the money, and that only when I have enough money saved up in the future can I “afford” to be charitable. That day, quite obviously, will never come. It will always be one bigger amount away. More often than not, some of the greatest deeds of philanthropy tend to be small acts of kindness that often go unnoticed by the public at large. Acts that require me to step out of my obsession with my own life and do something that might make someone else’s journey a tad smoother.

An incident that took place some hours ago got me thinking about all of this. I had just disembarked from a bus at the Kuala Lumpur airport, and had to wrestle with a luggage trolley to extract it from a train of empty trolleys that were jammed together real tight on the kerb. As I swerved away with my hard-earned trolley, I noticed a lady struggling to pull out a trolley for herself. She had a number of luggage pieces with her, delicately balanced one on top of the other on the ground. I left my own trolley and reached out to offer her a helping hand. She appreciated the gesture, and we exchanged smiles. Once she had her trolley, she was gone. I didn’t know who she was and will probably never see her again in my life. But in that moment of assistance, a vibration of kindness and gratitude was created.

There’s kindness, love, and compassion out there in the Universe. Each time we commit a selfless act, help someone in need, or even send out a genuine prayer for someone we don’t really know personally, we’re pulling forth some of that positive energy from Universal Consciousness and bringing it into our world.

It would be an act of charity to improve the quality of interactions that we have with others in our world. What can we do to bring forth more positive energy into these interactions, and convert the negative energy pockets into free flowing plumes of unconditional love?

The most powerful force in the world is love. And the purest form of love is the unconditional kind. The kind that we think only a saint or God should have. “I’m just human, you know” is the excuse I often hear. If only we would realise that it is our “human”-ness that makes us capable of transcending the boundaries of instinct and mind to love without condition. To love the kind of love that exists only because the heart overflows with compassion for the other being – and for no other reason!

I have come to realise that it is only when I allow myself to give unconditionally, that I will be able to accept unconditionally as well. When my own actions are motivated purely by the extent of what I will get in return, I begin to view another person’s niceness to me from the prism of my selfish world view and am unable to recognize that person’s love for me as genuine. Therefore, in my desperate need to quantify and measure the exchange, I start to look for the ulterior motive. And it’s always easy to come up with one!

Each one of us is capable of functioning from a place of unconditional love. Does our world really have to be “ruthless” like many describe it as? “It’s a jungle out there” is what I’ve heard as well. The truth is that the jungle functions in perfect balance – just the way nature intended it to. Perhaps we need to create the jungle in our world as well, so that we can begin to live together in perpetual harmony rather than constant discord.

Soul Free

2011-08-29T00:02:00.002+05:30

http://deviantart.com

No more can she placate
her yearning to be free.
She breaks her shackles,
casts away the heavy shroud.
In the brightness of her dazzling light
now revealed,
she sings her song,
her very own story.
The wafting notes of her melody
reach out to them
and many more
are set free.

Fritzy's World

2011-07-17T14:18:00.011+05:30

Fritzy. She wandered into our apartment complex in New Delhi some weeks ago and decided to make it her home. Many of us residents took care of her - feeding her and loving her. She was mostly white with some patches of golden brown painted across her back. A splatter of light brown gave character to her otherwise large and pointy ears that looked a little big for her narrow face. Her eyes were doe-like, beautifully shaped - the kind that could turn every gaze into a soulful plea.

I first met her was when I took Mitraa, our pet dog who we adopted off the streets a year ago, for her evening walk. Fritzy came bounding up to us, her scrawny tail wagging tentatively. Not the overbearing kind, she stopped just short of us to gauge my reaction. Like she was asking for my permission to play with Mitraa.

Mitraa is usually not one who takes very kindly to her fellow brethren on the streets. The feeling is mutual - her fellow brethren don't have a high opinion of her either. They usually dismiss her with a look of disdain and a deep throated growl, while she struggles to break free of the leash and lunge at them. When this happens, the human caught in the crossfire, which often happens to be my Dad or me, is in an unenviable position - barely managing to maintain a grip on the leash and avert an ambush in the making. Mitraa thinks she can take them on single-handedly. We have often tried breaking it to her that she is sorely mistaken on this count.

But with Fritzy, it was different. She and Mitraa took to one another like fish to water. The introductions were tentative. They sniffed each other in all the wrong places. Once that was out of the way, though, they jumped onto each other, frolicked in the mud, pawed one another, and generally made complete monkeys of themselves. Fritzy was all about gentle play. Mitraa, on the other hand, has an exuberant personality. She's more "hands on". Fritzy would begin the duel by nudging Mitraa with her nose. It was like she was saying "come on, don't be a bore - let's play!” Mitraa obviously took Fritzy's jibes very seriously. She would put her paws onto Fritzy's back and give her a little kick. That would get Fritzy all riled up and she would nudge Mitraa back. Then they'd go round and round in circles, chasing one another. Fritzy enjoyed it thoroughly. She loved instigating Mitraa and having her lead the play session.

During these play sessions, however, Mitraa always had her leash on. If that ever came off, she would go running off towards the not-so-friendly stray dogs who sit in the lane parallel to ours. An encounter like that could be dangerous for Mitraa so even though we love all the stray dogs in our complex - we even feed them - we do make sure that Mitraa stays away from them.

That evening, I watched in glee while Fritzy and Mitraa played cat and mouse. A few minutes later, I felt her leash go limp in my hand. Mitraa had wiggled out of her collar! In the next millisecond, here's what happened. I looked at Mitraa, and she looked up at me. Our eyes went big with surprise for different reasons. The glee that shone in her eyes was in stark contrast to the horror writ across mine. Mitraa was quicker than me. Before I could say or do anything, she went charging away with Fritzy. Fritzy couldn't believe her good fortune. She finally had the dog all to herself without the human in tow. I knew, though, that if Mitraa saw the other stray dogs, she would get into a fight and would probably not come out alive. I went running after Mitraa and Fritzy, screaming Mitraa's name. She saw me run towards her and thought this was a game so she began running even faster in the opposite direction. Fritzy was on a high - this was way too much excitement for her all of a sudden.

As both of them ran, they suddenly veered towards the left and were gone. When I reached the spot, I realized that they had run into the neighbor's garden. The gate was left ajar, so I quickly closed and bolted the gate from outside. Fritzy and Mitraa were all over each other in the garden.

Meanwhile, the neighbor's dog - a sausage dog - waddled out the main door, curious about the commotion in his garden. He had barely appeared on the porch, when Mitraa and Fritzy pounced on him. They had found a new, albeit unwilling, playmate. The commotion got even louder, and the neighbors - humans this time - came running out into the garden and screamed when they saw their dog being manhandled by two street dogs.

Unable to bear this anymore, I opened the gate and went dashing in. I managed to get my arms around Mitraa. You can imagine the neighbor’s horror when they saw a man run into their garden unannounced. In the ensuing melee, however, I accidentally left the garden gate open and sausage dog thought it a perfect time to take an evening stroll. With Mitraa in my arms, and Fritzy - in a state of hyper-ventilation - trotting behind me, I went running after sausage dog. I had nearly caught up with him, when he stopped in his tracks and looked back at me over his left shoulder. He gave me a disgusted look that said "I'm not a menace like your street dog. I can handle myself perfectly well in the outdoors." I did not attempt to question his conviction. By then, the human neighbors had arrived and sausage dog was in safe hands.

Mitraa slept like a log that night, and Fritzy looked dizzy with excitement even the next day.

Some days ago, we got to know that Fritzy passed away. She was hit by a speeding car when she wandered onto the road outside. She had mustered every last bit of strength to crawl back inside the gate, and that's where she breathed her last. No one was around when this happened. By the time we were alerted, it was too late.

When I heard the news, my eyes welled up with tears. I hugged Mitraa real tight - hoping that some of the extra love would somehow be sent over to Fritzy.

Just that morning, Dad had seen Fritzy galloping around the park with Blackie, another gentle stray dog who had become her constant companion.

These days, whenever I drive through the gate and park my car, I feel a heaviness come over me. I miss seeing beautiful Fritzy come bounding up to me, her tail wagging. I miss looking into her pleading eyes, giving her a rub on the head, and watching the pleading turn to pure contentment.

I look over my shoulder and see Blackie sitting beside the entrance to the park, his head resting between his front paws. It looks to me like he patiently waits for his playmate to return.

(Photograph courtesy Michelle Lohutko)

Pinings

2011-06-29T22:05:00.000+05:30

When the tumultous
storms of indecision ravage
my peace...

When the shrill drones
of envious minds
rattle my confidence,
and the vultures of deceit
threaten to tear apart
the sanctuary of
calm within...

When my cries of despair
are so loud
that I am deafened
by their intensity...

When nothing of this world
seems worth holding on to
except the memory
of communion
with you...

I close my eyes
and every pore of my being
pines
to be with you
in a place
where compassion is not alien,
and kindness
not an aberration.
I call your name
Oh Lord of Puttaparthi!
I cry out loud...
for you.

And then, when the fragrance
of Vibhuti wafts across the room,
when the memory of your smile
flashes before my eyes,
and the comfort of your words
rushes in to soothe my heart,
I know
that you're there,
whispering the sounds of eternity
to my thirsting soul.
I know
that you're there.

Set Free

2011-04-17T22:30:00.000+05:30

A moment in prayer was made beautiful

by a fleeting glimpse

of your blessed

smile.

The floodgates of my heart

burst open,

no more shackled by

fear,

nor withered by judgement.

I felt love abound

for myself.

My spirit soared

even as tears fell.

With each drop,

I was raised to wondrous heights.

I bowed down to you

and knew that

at long last,

I had set myself

free.

Loving India

2011-01-26T16:08:00.001+05:30

My heart brims over with joy and pride as I watch India's tricolor flutter high above the grandeur of New Delhi's Rajpath. India is celebrating her 62nd Republic Day, and though I stand still as the National Anthem rents the air, my heart is in a frenzy of emotion. It's that time of the year again, when the soulful notes of "Jana Gana Mana," "Vande Maataram," and "Maa Tujhe Salam" remind me about my love for this land, my adoration of the essence and spirit of this great nation that we today refer to as India. Known through the ages by names like Bhaarat and Aryavarta.

This is the land where people have converged from time immemorial in search of peace. Where the chaos of everyday living has cast an illusory veil over the oasis of peace that only the truest seeker is fortunate to discover. A land where kings and queens have lived in immaculate palaces alongside hermitages where monks revelled in the ecstasy of the palace within. Where the idea of "Aham Brahmasmi" or "I am Divinity" has defined the tradition of Sanathana Dharma, that is today known as 'Hinduism.'

Here is where the form of Ganesha adorns nearly every living room; where Krishna is incomplete without Radha; and where the Goddess is as powerful, if not more, than the Gods. Where the relationship between human and God is made personal, so that the divine is never thought to be too high up or too far away to experience. After all, Ganesha is only a glance away, and Saraswati only a song away.

The very concept of India suggests a freedom where Spirit is not shackled by name and form. I open my heart to the love of Christ as much as I do to the grace of Krishna. The Azaan from the mosque stirs my soul, very much like a soulful chant from the Vedas does. The Gurbaani sung in a Gurdwara brings tears to the eyes, even as a devotional song to Sai Baba rouses a wave of devotion within me.

This land is ironical in that it allows me to get mired in ritual, yet it also gives me the choice to rise above ritual and, thereby, unravel some of the deepest mysteries of life. I can choose to worship a river by offering flowers to it every day. Or, I can choose to embrace the idea behind this ritual. The idea that the river is a metaphor for life itself. A cyclical journey that begins and ends in the ocean. Like the soul's journey that begins from the Spirit and ultimately culminates in union with the Spirit.

The dancers performing on Rajpath are dressed in vibrant colors. Their energetic performance is followed by a serene procession of monks singing buddhist chants. So typical of India. I like to think of her as a splash of myriad colors painted on one canvas. She is calm like the waters of a placid lake, yet she can be tumultous like waves in the grip of a tempest. She showers you with the love of a mother, and molds you with the strength of a father. She is both, the beauty of the rose and the prick of its thorns.

My gaze wanders back to the tricolor. I am mesmerized by the saffron, green, and white. Each color is symbolic, each pattern laden with meaning. Just like so much else about India. A world within worlds, where every seeker finds their own path. I found mine here, and I have much to be grateful for. From the depths of my heart, I sing to her "Maa Tujhe Salaam!" (Glory to thee, O Mother!)

Communion

2010-11-13T16:10:00.003+05:30

Inside the altar

of my heart,

I knelt down before him.

My forehead touched his feet,

his hands gently rested

upon my bent back.

Waves of bliss rose,

mingled with tears

of pure joy.

I looked up at him

with misty eyes,

and immersed myself
in the shimmering

ocean

that sparkled within

his radiant eyes.

Revelation

2010-10-02T12:03:00.005+05:30

I went in search

of you,

traversed barren lands

and dense forests.

Not sure where my journey

would take me,

all I wanted

was to find you.

Weary from travel,

I stopped to ask some people

where you lived.

They told me to walk north

then climb a hill.

Your house is atop the hill,
they said.
They were so sure.

Some said you live on the other side
of the river.
Others talked of sailing across the ocean
to another land.
Far away. From here.

I sat down
on the dusty pavement
Confused. Unsure.
I was tired and hungry
so I reached for my bag
and took out my last piece of bread.

Just then a dog came running
towards me.
She wailed in pain,
her eyes pleaded
with me
for a morsel of food.

As I watched her eat
that last piece of bread,
I said a prayer for her
in your name.

I felt a surge of love.
Your love
for her.
As waves of compassion streamed
forth from my heart,
my eyes welled up with tears.

Such a love
could possibly come only
from you.
Such waves of compassion could rise
only from an ocean as large
as you.

Imagine my joy
when I realised that the ocean
is within me.
That you
are within me.

Moksha

2010-09-12T23:57:00.006+05:30

In the depths of silence

I heard a voice

that sounded like mine.

As I listened closely

I heard it as yours,

and then I knew

that we are

the same person.

You are in me

as much as

I am

within

you.

Duality

shed its earthly garb

and revelled

in ethereal

union.

Redefining Brilliance

2010-08-14T01:42:00.008+05:30

I recently attended a conference that showcased a multimedia educational program for schools and colleges. This amazing program is already running successfully in several schools in India. As more and more schools adopt it, it could be that one big thing that finally revolutionizes the way India teaches and learns in her schools.

As the event progressed, I felt like India was finally "getting it."

At long last, phrases like "different learning styles," "hands-on learning," and "making learning fun" were doing the rounds to describe educational programs that will be taught right here on Indian soil, not exported half way across the world to the highest bidder. The burden of an education system that weighs heavily on our children's shoulders as they trudge to school every morning was about to get a lot lighter. For a culture that has given undue importance to marks and ranks for decades now, where a "point one" percent can spell the difference between happiness and misery, sometimes even life and death, any approach that attempts to reduce this obsession with marks and bring the focus back onto the learning process is to be welcomed with open arms.

Just as I felt that hope for our children was right around the corner, an eager executive in the audience sprang the "I" word. "Is there any data to prove that this program will help children get into the IITs?"

Dude. The Indian Institute of Technology? Say what? We're talking school education here. We're talking English, History, Geography, Biology, Chemistry, Math, Environmental Science, Political Science. We're talking about a meaningful exposure to all kinds of knowledge, so that hopefully, children will grow up knowing that there is life outside the IITs and IIMs as well.

Back at the conference, what ensued was a tug of war between the IIT lover and those who argued that the program did not provide any such guarantee.

The "I" word. It's no great secret that India has long been obsessed with the IITs and IIMs. These are premier institutes of technology and management, respectively. Top notch, no doubt. They have always been regarded as the abode of the brilliant. Clearing their intensely competitive entrance exams is considered to be the ultimate mark of brilliance.

I only wish this country had equally prestigious institutes for the artistically inclined. Unfortunately, "brilliance" remains an adjective reserved only for the mathematically and technologically inclined.

When someone is introduced as being from an IIT or IIM, the very mention of the three letter word elicits a predictable reaction from most listeners. Enthusiastic nods, plenty of them, are accompanied by a prompt shooting up of the eyebrows. This indicates that the subject is extremely impressed. And that no further introduction would be necessary.

While I wouldn't want to read too much into the question that was asked at the conference, I must admit that I found the question quite disturbing. It seemed to view education as a means to an end. An end that is often presumed to be ideal purely for monetary reasons. Or simply for the "glory" that the achievement of such an end would bring to the family name.

I have nothing against the IITs and IIMs. In fact I think some of their graduates are making very meaningful contributions to the corporate and social sectors. However, what disturbs me is the presumption by a person that an educational program somehow gets credence purely by virtue of its ability to prepare students for a career in technology or management. And that students who cannot get into these institutes do not count as "brilliant."

I eagerly await the day when brilliance will actually be a measure of how spontaneously, how creatively, and how passionately a child is able to nurture and display their unique talent and skill. It doesn't matter what talent that is.

There is no doubt that the new program being introduced in schools is a quantum leap in the right direction! However, as we make this phenomenal shift on the outside, it needs to be accompanied by a shift in the way we think about the very purpose of education.

An education that helps children open their minds - helps them think more, observe more, analyze more, and construct more; one that gives them all the courage they need to cast away the shackles of societal burden and soar into skies of infinite possibilities; gives them the gift of a free mind; now that is an education that has fulfilled its promise.

In the Mist

2010-07-19T22:47:00.005+05:30

Surrounded by mist,
unable to see the contours
of the road
that rushes ahead,
I stand very still
upon my rocky path.

The sound of a stream
flowing in the distance
touches my ears.
A cold breeze attempts
to stir the morning air.
The leaves of a tree
rustle.

A squirrel scuttles
across my path,
vanishing into an abyss
of cloud.
Like a dream
that has neither beginning
nor end.

Locked in
the embrace of a white canvas
upon which this moment
is painted,
I close my eyes.

In the darkness
of my mind's eye,
I see the brilliance
of a thousand suns.
Upon the glistening horizon,
a little bird
makes a leap of faith
from its nest
into golden skies.

I smile, for I know
you are here.
Enchanting this moment
with your beauty,
permeating it with the serenity
of your vision,
blessing it with the silence
of your sweet soul.

The Joy of Flying

2010-06-13T01:42:00.015+05:30

“Cabin crew to your stations for takeoff.”

Even after 28 years of being a loyal patron of the airline industry, the announcement for cabin crew to take their seats never fails to evoke a thrill within me. After all, the captain’s request for the crew to be seated is usually the final announcement before the aircraft’s exhilarating rush across the runway and graceful leap into the sky.

Some days ago, on a flight from Delhi to Mumbai, I thought about my fascination for flying. What is it about flying that captures my wonder so much that no matter how many times I fly, I still look forward to the next flight? I mean, it’s not like I’m new to flying or anything. My first international flight was barely a few months after I was born, and that was the first of tons more to follow, across cities and even continents.

I’ve flown so much that I recognize all the mechanical sounds and events that now seem routine during a flight. Like the wheels wrapping up after takeoff and being lowered down when the flight is cleared to land. Or the bright beam of light that comes on below the plane shortly before it makes a final descent towards the airport at night. Or the extension flaps that miraculously grow out of the wings as the plane negotiates its landing in stormy weather. Not to miss that very slight but noticeable drop in altitude accompanied by a lowering of the engine noise about forty minutes to a half hour before we’re due to land, that tells me we’ve begun our descent even before the seat belt sign is turned on and the descent is made official.

I have a feeling that if studying Math and Physics weren't pre-requisites, I might just have become a pilot!

But back to my pondering on the reason for this fascination. What is it that still makes me pine for the window seat, as a child sitting in a plane for the first time would? I’ve begun to acknowledge that flying is a deeply spiritual experience for me. And that’s why I love it so much. That’s why I would choose a flight over a train ride, any day. It’s the whole deal of flying away from the world, up into a realm where all I can see is an expanse of “nothingness.” Where the shades of blue always make me gasp with wonder, and the multitude of pink and orange hues painted across the evening sky elicit that familiar “wow” reaction from me, every single time.

As I look out the window, I'm reminded of the greatness of this Universe. Of how much there is to it, and of how small our world really is, in the larger scheme of things. Out there in the stratosphere that we're racing through at 800 kilometres an hour, I see a realm that we humans cannot occupy with our ugly buildings, and pollute with our plastic trash. Finally, a place reserved only for the Gods. Well, and for planes too! This is a realm of the Universe that is so close to us on Earth, yet, so very still. Such a contrast to the restless lives that we lead down below.

Stillness… what I attempt to experience during my meditation sessions. Now here it is, right outside my window.

As we approach Mumbai, we’re greeted by huge monsoon clouds. At first, the clouds look like isolated clumps of cotton candy and we rush in and out of them within seconds. I look into the distance, and see a cloud float past in the shape of an angel. She’s lying on her back floating through the air, gleefully playing with fluffy lion cubs who sit by her side.

I am humbled. Reminded that I am a guest in the realm of the Gods.

As I continue to look ahead, I see a dark grey cloud hurtling towards us. I turn to Saraswati who’s sitting beside me, and announce to her with a very serious face, “We’re heading for some serious clouds.” My obsession with the goings-on outside the plane window has always baffled her, ever since we were toddlers flying on late night Emirates flights from Dubai to Mumbai way back in the 80s. While I preoccupy myself with angels floating outside the window, her meditations are with her books that she voraciously reads on flights.

Our plane leaps into the “serious” cloud cover. We’re tossed around for a bit, and then “Shoom”… the cloud is gone. Just like that. There’s sunshine again. I turn to her and clarify, “Never mind, it was just a passing cloud.” As I hear myself say that, I smile. I love the little insight that I just stumbled upon. The “passing cloud” metaphor that we freely use for life’s experiences couldn’t have made more sense than it did right now.

“Crew to your stations for landing.”

The city of Mumbai beckons to us from below. As the plane descends into this great city, I am reminded that our holiday has only just begun. Yet, as I return to the bustle of Earth below, I feel like a part of the holiday has just ended – the part that took place up in the heavens.

Destiny Revealed

2010-05-22T20:05:00.009+05:30

A raindrop
pauses at the edge of a leaf.
Perhaps it wonders
about what it would be like
to let go
of the leaf
and join the lake
that beckons to it
from below.

It glances over
the edge of the leaf
with trepidation.
Rolls back to the center
of the leaf,
cowers in fear.

A sudden clap of thunder
echoes
through the forest,
like a voice from the heavens
reminding the raindrop
of its truest
destiny.

Gently. Swiftly.
Delicately,
the raindrop releases its grip
on the leaf
and falls...
into the lake below.

A journey that began
with a rise up to the heavens
now ends with a fall
towards the earth.

The raindrop dances as it merges
with its source
in ripples of ecstasy,
celebrating the end
of its journey
towards a new heaven.

No more a drop,
it now rejoices
as a majestic lake.

News that Inspires

2010-05-21T00:06:00.002+05:30

Of late, I've stopped reading newspapers as voraciously as I used to. I've also drastically reduced the time I spend watching the news on TV. Until a couple of months ago, 9 pm was usually the time I tuned in to an hour-long program on one of India's leading news channels. The debates were interesting, no doubt, especially when they were to do with issues that I was passionate about. However, the mindless arguing and oft-repeated cliches that the speakers would throw at each other, especially if the debate was political, made me feel like walking up to them and slapping them out of their "zombiness."

More often that not, the news episodes would leave me either with a feeling of a lot of anger at someone or something, or a feeling of complete and utter hopelessness about the state of affairs in this country and the world at large.

Needless to say, I feel better ever since I turned off the news. Perhaps a little less "informed," but the happier for it.

On the one hand, I can see that we are living in times where there is a lot of "bad news" to report. Or are we? Haven't there always been murders and wars? Haven't there always been storms and floods? Haven't there always been mindless rulers who have unleashed mayhem on a particular region of the world for personal ambition? Any top story today has its share of historical counterparts, in some form or another. The "baser" level of human consciousness continues to express itself in this world as it has since the ages, only in different circumstances and over different things.

So it's not like this is the first time in history that all of this stuff is happening. It seems to me, therefore, that for the media to portray an event as though it heralds the end of all things sane is misleading, to say the least. It's the "feeling" with which the reporting leaves me that I'm talking about. If a billion people walk away from their televisions at night feeling fearful, hopeless, and let down, imagine the effect of these emotions on the world's consciousness. Quite obviously, these emotions will feed the growing fear that already clogs world consciousness.

Wherever there are floods and cyclones, there's bound to be destruction. However, alongside the gloom, there will always be plenty of stories of hope to be told as well. I have seen these stories first hand and even been a part of some of them. I have seen that the power of love is far greater then the power of fear. To see people rebuild their lives after earthquakes, to watch others risk their own lives to save complete strangers, to witness simple acts of kindness to birds and animals... these are stories that I'd rather put my attention on each day.

What you put your attention on grows. A lot of spiritual paths tell us this. The more fear I feel now, the more I'm setting myself up to feel fearful in the future. The more hope I feel in this moment, the more I'm setting myself up to feel hopeful in the future too.

Imagine starting your day with a reminder that the world is, actually, a beautiful place where good things can happen anywhere and anytime. That a miracle is just round the corner. That each human being has the power to do so much good. Imagine teaching our children that no matter who you are, or which country you come from, you are a powerful person with the ability to make a positive difference to this world.

It's not hard to find inspiration, if only we're willing to free ourselves of prejudice and make space to be inspired! As I was writing this piece, I looked down at the floor for a second and saw a little ant clumsily walking beside my chair. It nearly looked drunk, barely able to walk straight. When I looked closer, I saw that it was carrying its fallen comrade to safety. The clumsiness of its gait suddenly seemed so purposeful.

Little tales of heroism are playing out all around us. As a matter of fact, ever since I put the paper away, I can see so many.

The Promise

2010-05-09T02:18:00.003+05:30

A tear runs down her cheek
towards a memory
revisited.
She smiles
as the sun peeks out
from behind
passing clouds,
painting a shadow beside her.
Reassuring,
like his presence.
Unwavering,
like her trust. Her belief,
in his promise.

The sound of chimes
wafts across the air.
Mingles
with the
melody of her laughter,
from a memory
of him
as he knelt before her
and made her a promise
of true love.
Cherished by her for years,
revealed today
as pearls
of joyous tears
that run down her cheek.

Today laughter plays
with sorrow.
Elation flirts with anxiety.
And sunshine dances
with raindrops.

As he walks into her world
from across
a distant horizon,
a rainbow of myriad emotions
dazzles her.
He finds his way to her,
and she loses herself
in his loving embrace.

The "Charles" Effect!

2010-05-07T19:24:00.010+05:30

They're cuddly like soft toys. And they're probably the gentlest creatures on Earth. Until they move their furry heads, it's hard to tell that they're for real. Endearing, delightful, and adorable - that's how I would describe Koala bears.

On a work visit to Australia last year, I got on a bus one Saturday morning and headed to the Ballarat Wildlife Park, which is about an hours' drive from Melbourne city. When our group of about fifteen reached the park, we were greeted by a bunch of gluttonous but adorable Kangaroos who wanted to be fed treats every step of the way. The tour guide first took us to an enclosure where Charles, the Koala bear, would be brought to meet us. Everyone waited with bated breath. When Charles finally arrived, he lit up the room in an instant. There were smiles all around, everyone was beaming. Any creature that can make so many people smile in a split second has GOT to be special!

Because Koalas are such sensitive creatures, their keepers hold them in their arms along with a branch from a eucalyptus tree - the leaves comfort the Koala and make it feel closer home. Koalas get stressed very easily, which is why it's so important for them to live in their own habitat away from human activity. Sadly, their habitat is steadily shrinking and they're finding it very hard to keep up with our world.

Charles clung on to his keeper Mike's shoulders with his front paws, like a little baby, his head mostly turned sideways. Every few seconds, he would nibble on the eucalyptus leaves... chew on them for like three seconds... and then stop chewing and stare into space. And then again... nibble nibble... chew chew... stare into space.

Charles' movements were so gentle. There was nothing harsh about him. No wonder our hearts melted the instant we saw him. I believe that creatures as gentle as Koalas, and even Dolphins, are giving our planet a lot of "love" energy. They open our hearts instantly - it's hard for a person not to feel a wave of compassion wash over them when they see a Koala.

Mike gave a short speech about Koala "bears", and how there's really no "bear" in them, so goodness knows why they came to be called bears! An interesting thing about them is that their heads are very sensitive, and we were advised to touch Charles only on his back, and not at the top of his head.

By the time Mike was two sentences into his speech, everyone in the group was vying for a picture with Charles. Cameras were being handed across the room. One by one, each of us "posed" along with Charles, standing as close to him as was possible without him getting anxious. For a split second, each beaming visitor being photographed with Charles prayed to goodness that Charles wouldn't turn his head the other way until the picture was clicked. I wasn't so lucky the first time - Charles looked away for my first picture, and then the second or third time he was kind enough to look towards the camera. (Swapna had told me not to return to India without a picture of me with a Koala, so I pleaded with Charles and he graciously relented!)

I came out of there rejuvenated like never before. Charles had worked his magic on me. As a matter of fact, everyone in the group looked drunk on happiness. Each of us had come from a different part of the world - from Russia, Australia, India, the US, the UK, and South Korea - but that afternoon, all our smiles looked just the same.

A Lesson in Love

2010-05-02T18:12:00.001+05:30

A few days ago, Katherine Jenkins - author of a beautiful blog called Lessons from the Monk I Married - invited me to write a guest post for her blog. Katherine writes a new lesson each day on her blog. Each lesson is compassionate, pertinent, and a pointer in the direction of living life to its fullest. I wrote about an important lesson that I had learned in my life - and called it "a lesson in love." I'd like to share it here too:

When I was about fourteen, I experienced a moment of ‘self realization,’ if I may call it that. Mom and I were on our way home. As she drove through the pretty countryside that separated Delhi and Gurgaon in those days, I looked out the car window and watched the trees whiz past. It suddenly occurred to me that everything in my life is so temporary. My relationships, my concept of myself, my belongings, my life as I know it.

I know. Fourteen is very young to be thinking about the impermanence of my belongings. But it all came to me in a flash. I knew deep down inside that there was something far more permanent, a “constant” if you will, that was changeless. Call it God, Universe, Nature, Love. That “changeless” quality was the driving force in my life. It all made sense to me. Well, at least in that moment. Until I was shaken out of my reverie when I reached home and had to plan for school the next day.

I looked at Mom and felt the need to discuss this with her. I told her that it just occurred to me that one day she would not be here anymore. One day, I would not be here anymore. It was so important, then, to enjoy our time together as best as we could. She looked at me and smiled. It was a look of pride that told me I had just figured something out that most kids my age would probably not until they were much older. She hugged me tight. Only the Universe knew then that there was a good reason for why the insight had come to me so early on.

Five years later, tears flowed down my cheeks as I sat by her bedside, holding her hand, telling her that I loved her so very much. I was by her side as she took her last breath and passed away. As I continued to hold her hand moments after she was gone, I howled and cried and my world began to crumble around me. Somewhere in those moments of extreme grief that followed her passing on, I remembered our short conversation from all those years ago.

Today as I look back, I am grateful for each moment I spent with her in our short time that we were destined to be together as Mother and Son in this life. I would have given anything, though, to have gotten more time with her. It just wasn’t enough.

Why do we fight with our loved ones? Why do we bang doors and walk away? Why do we not talk to each other for days on end? Do we realize that time is running out? That one day, all of this will be a memory and then we’d wish we had been nicer to one another? And that ‘one day’ may be closer than we think?

It is but natural to have arguments, disagreements, and little fights over petty things. That’s what makes relationships ‘real’. But when we’re done with the fight, it’s so important to calm down, to give each other a hug, and say ‘I love you.’ My Dad and I do that these days – if we have an argument about something, within about ten minutes of the argument having ended, one of us initiates a ‘patch up’ hug. The words ‘I love you’ can melt the angriest of hearts.

If the other person doesn’t reciprocate our endeavors to reach out and patch up, what we can at least do is send them love in our hearts. Let go of any resentment and anger that we may have for them. Love them and hope that one day they will open their hearts and receive that love.

In the end, what matters… what stays… is love. Everything else whizzes past, like the trees in the countryside on a drive home.

Home

2010-04-21T23:38:00.001+05:30

I looked up at the clear blue sky,
watched a bird spread her wings
and begin to fly.
Upwards and onwards
floating ever so gently,
upon the morning breeze.

I felt the wind
carress my face,
whispering secrets of another world
into my ears
as it glided by.

I heard the gurgling laughter
of a stream
that danced its way down
the rocks
eager to touch
the river.

I closed my eyes
and felt my heart beat
to nature's rhythm.
I smiled.
And laughed.
I danced.
And cried.

At last
I was here,
and I knew
this was home.

Reading the Signs

2010-04-17T16:57:00.005+05:30

Welcome to the "One World Alliance!" This message stared out at me from the welcome kit that confirmed me as a member of the American Airlines mileage program. It felt nice being referred to as a member of "one world." Never mind that I had to endure a couple of transatlantic flights and fill out a bunch of forms to be reminded that I belong to one world.

One World.

The "One World Alliance" is a group of some of the world's biggest airlines, including American Airlines and British Airways. Currently, many of these flights stand grounded at airports, unable to make the transatlantic journey due to a cloud of ash moving across Europe. Move aside One World Alliance. A volcano in Iceland has said it loud and clear - we're all members of one world. Whether we like it or not, Nature has brought the message all the way to our airports. All things are connected! What happens in one part of the world will eventually affect the other parts.

Do we ever stop and think about how connected we are as inhabitants of one planet? The volcanic ash episode is just one more glaring reminder that the "other side" of the world isn't that far away. That no one in this world can claim to function in isolation. There is, after all, a delicate system that Nature has put in place that links one life form with another. A link that ancient spiritual cultures understood and respected. We cannot fatally damage one link, and then expect life energy to continue flowing across the rest of the web, unmindful of the breakage. Because, as this recent episode has shown us yet again, we're part of a larger web called life.

The atrocities that humankind has heaped upon itself and the planet are unprecedented in the history of the world. And it doesn't look like too much has changed over the centuries. We still fight wars, only now we have deadlier weapons. We still kill each other over petty personal disputes. We still think our faith is better than the other person's faith and are willing to kill and condemn to prove our point. We have SUCH a hard time accepting people who make choices for the larger good as opposed to personal gain. We plunder the environment for material gain. We torture animals for food and sport. There are stories throughout history that tell us that such behavior has always existed. The question remains, are we okay with continuing to be the way we have always been?

While the whole global warming debate gets hotter each year, along with the summers, there is at least some token attention being paid to the need for us to get our act together before it's too late. Some say that it already is too late, that it's not possible for us to avert the doom that awaits the Earth.

However, I do believe that we can equip ourselves to deal better with the external (environmental) and internal (spiritual) changes that have already started to take place by changing the way we behave with one another and, most importantly, behave with ourselves. Do we really respect ourselves as spiritual beings who are contributing to the planet's consciousness, or do we believe we were put here basically to grab as much out of the material pie as we can for ourselves and our immediate family? Our self image determines how we percieve events happening around us, and in turn influences the way we behave with others. When we begin to act from a place of compassion, soul strength, and truth, rather than a place of "me, myself, and myself," the collective vibe of the planet will begin to rise. More and more people, corporations, and governments will be forced to make "evolutionary" choices rather than destructive ones.

The Universe is sending us strong messages. It seems to me that the messages have now escalated from little ones on a personal level, to ones that shake up entire countries and cultures, often the entire planet in a matter of hours or days.

The ash from a volcano has the potential to bring great corporations and military powers to their knees. How misplaced then, really, is our notion of "progress"? Isn't it time we celebrated our material and technological advances in a spirit of humility rather than with a hunger for dominion? Isn't it time we didn't consider an "advancement" an advancement unless it helps the web of life regenerate and heal itself? How can something be termed as "advanced" when it contributes to the eventual destruction of life energy?

The Universe is asking us some tough questions. Are we listening as One World?

Yearning for Divinity

2010-04-11T12:44:00.003+05:30

I have laid out a carpet

of petals

for your tender feet to walk upon.

Each petal hand picked

from a valley of flowers

that bloom within my soul,

bathed in the

sunshine

of your divine grace.

Garlands of jasmine and marigold

adorn the majestic pillars

that line your path.

Each knot that I have tied

to join one garland

to another

reminds me of the eternal

bond between You and me,

and makes me

pine for a glimpse

of your radiant being.

Fragrance

from sandalwood incense

wafts across the air.

Like the scent of Vibhuti

that surrounded you

that day you placed your hands

upon my head,

in eternal

blessing.

As you walk on the petals,

should some be wet,

Know that those drops

are but tears of

joy

that flowed from my soul

as I laid the path.

The path is ready,

my Lord.

I am sitting by the petals

eagerly waiting

for you.

Encounter with Spirit

2010-03-27T23:43:00.010+05:30

I had walked down a certain path for very long. During my journey, I had traversed various landscapes, some were desert, some lush green forests, yet others were rolling meadows that made me want to gallop on them like a jubiliant horse. Then, one day, deep in the middle of a forest, I came to a fork in the path. I wasn't sure which way to go. I could go either ways, it would be my choice. In a state of confusion, I stopped and stared down both paths. From where I stood, they seemed fairly similar, but I knew that far ahead they would take me to very different places.

I felt a panic grow within me as I realised that for once, I had no idea which way to go. What if I went down the wrong path? What if I made the wrong choice?

As my confusion grew, I heard the sound of footsteps in the distance. My first reaction to the sound was one of fear. Who could that be? The "crunchy" sound of fallen leaves being walked upon is mysterious, especially when you can't see the person! I looked in the direction of the sound, and eventually saw a man walking towards me. He was old but radiant, wore a yellow robe, and walked with an air of confidence about him. With a flowing beard and a slender form, he resembled what I thought Christ must have looked like. As he came closer, I looked into his eyes and saw a light in them that warmed my heart instantly. I was not scared anymore. The forest around me began to glow as his presence drew near. He was not of this world. He was a man of the Spirit. A Holy One.

As he stood before me, I was stumped for words. I didn't know who he was, how he knew me, and why he had come to meet me. I bowed to him in reverence, my reflex reaction when I encounter a being who radiates the light of the Spirit. He put both his hands on my head, looked up at me with the pride of a parent who is seeing their child after a long time. I was taller than him, much taller. Yet his light was far brighter than my mortal eyes could bear. The extent of his aura was far beyond my reach. I closed my eyes.

"My child, you are here at last," he said. I began to cry. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I sobbed for no apparent reason. Every burden, every anxiety, every disappointment I had ever faced in my life began to melt away in those tears. I cried like a baby. He wiped away some tears from my cheeks, then embraced and held me as my tears streamed down his yellow robe. With each tear shed, my heart felt lighter. Not a word was exchanged between us. Only the sounds of the forest in the background, interrupted by my steady sniffles.

As my sobs subsided, we sat down on the stones under an oak tree. "Where have you come from, and more importantly, where are you going?" he asked me, lovingly. I felt like saying, "That's exactly what I was hoping you would tell me!" But I didn't. However, the smile on his face told me he had already read my mind. "Son, it doesn't matter which path you choose. The path you choose will take you where you must go. But first, you must love the path. Then trust it. Finally, let go, and just walk it. The more you love it, the more it will bring you to where you should be. Learn to love the path. However difficult it may seem."

"But what if I spend my whole life on the wrong path?" I retorted, anxious and fearful as usual. "Right and wrong is in your head. The path is just that... a path. Your judgement says it is right or wrong. Nothing you do can be wrong, it is only a choice you have made," he explained.

He pointed towards the fork ahead. "Each of those paths ahead is very different. The one on the left takes you across scenic valleys. The sights are lovely, I must say. There are lakes, ponds, and palaces to feast your eyes on. You can be very happy if you enjoy each moment along the way."

"And what's on the other path?" I asked, eager to make my decision.

"At first, it's forest on either side, but very soon, the path ends at the edge of a cliff."

I was relieved. "Okay, so that's settled then. I'm going with the scenic valleys."

"Before you make your decision, though, I must tell you something." He pointed towards the sky and continued, "At night, I've seen angels hovering over that cliff. One night, as I looked closer, I saw an angel holding the hands of a little boy as they both glided across the night sky. The boy squealed in happiness. She was teaching him how to fly."

My eyes were wide with wonder.

"Only when you trust the path, son. Only when you trust it. When you do, happiness awaits you at the other end. It doesn't matter which one you choose."

He arose and put both his hands on my shoulders, gave me a reassuring look, and told me to continue on my journey. As I picked up my things, I felt a pang of sadness. "Will I see you again? Where do you live? How can I find you in future?," I asked him all at once.

He laughed at my questions, shook his head, and said, "Always eager to know the future. What do your people call it? Planning! Ah, yes. You like to 'plan' for the future. My child, in Spirit terms, there is no such thing as a plan. There is no future, no past. Only this moment. So how can there be a plan for a time that does not exist? We are here now. It is beautiful. I am happy to see you."

With those words, he walked away into the forest. The crunchy sound of fallen leaves being walked upon faded away into the distance. I put my backpack on and made my choice.

My Tryst with Chanting

2010-03-18T23:25:00.006+05:30

Ever since I was little, the sounds of chants and mantras have captivated me! As a teenager, I remember seeking out audio tapes on Veda chants and listening to them over and over. Each time I heard them, I felt renewed, reconnected to the Universe. Plain and simple, I just felt happier!

As a little boy, when I learnt to chant in Sanskrit, I knew I had found a way to feel closer to God anytime, anywhere. It was the one thing that could take me to a happier place, instantly. Talking of relative degrees of happiness at that point in my life, I would say I considered chanting a means to something more delightful than my battery operated cars that, well, I totally LOVED! My sister will vouch for my unsurpassable passion for driving my cars all over the house floor, creating traffic jams that now, 20 years later, I struggle to get OUT of each morning!

All those years ago, one evening, after driving around my stately cars, clearing the traffic jams they got themselves into, and calling in my treasured police car and ambulance just for effect, I picked up the Bhagavad Gita. I chanted some verses from it, and then couldn't put it down. For the next few evenings, I had a date with this eternal "Song of the Universe."

Fifteen years later, Dr. Tom Egenes, a Professor of Sanskrit at the Maharishi University of Management in the U.S., invited me to his class to chant for his students. What followed was many hours of blissful chanting during the years I was pursuing my Art degree at the University.

Today, six years later, my chanting of the Gita is recorded on a Website that is part of the Vedic Literature curriculum at the University. Tom shared a YouTube link with me that has a few verses on it. I'd like to share the link with you too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8gRH02-Sy8

Chanting brings me peace, even if I don't know the literal meaning of what I'm chanting. That's the beauty of Sanskrit, a language in which merely the sound of every word exudes power, affirmation, and melody.

The Excel Blues... by a Word Fan

2010-03-13T16:52:00.012+05:30

Some months ago, while working on a training project, I received an Excel sheet from our client and was asked to add in some information to the sheet based on my recent work. It was a pretty regular sheet with columns extending indefinitely to the right so you had to scroll sideways to get to the ones that resided over in the eastern hemisphere. The trouble with me is that when I scroll to the right, I forget what was on the left. So then I scroll back to the left. But then what about that stuff over on the right? So then I scroll... never mind. You get the point. In all of that scrolling back and forth, I reach a point when I want to tear my hair out. Strand by strand. Why can't people just use Word? And why did there ever have to be such a thing as a sideways scroll?

I wonder if this happens to any of you too. When I open an Excel sheet that has more columns than I can see at one glance without scrolling all over the place, I start to freak out. I feel disconnected from all the information. Like my eyes need to be at too many places at once. The elasticity of my comprehension abilities is severely tested. So is my patience.

I like to be able to see all the columns of a table on ONE page, just like I would if they were printed in a book. Now's about the time that the Excel experts would give me a pitiful stare, with that look of "thou shalt never see the light" written all over their wide eyes. Sympathy. That's what I usually get from Excel whiz kids. And that's what I used to get from the Math geniuses in high school Math class when our teacher assumed that the speed of a train as it passed another was 'X,' and the speed of the other train that was passed was 'Y.' I, however, hearing the word 'train,' began to think of what the x and y trains might have looked like. "Were they like luxury 'palace on wheels' kind of trains? Or just regular, ordinary sleeper coaches? Ah! when will I next be on a train? We should go somewhere for a holiday."

"Sai Ganesh - can you tell us what the length of the second train is?"

Know that feeling of coming crashing down to earth? Yup. I felt it. I stood up to answer, totally blank. If I could, I would have said "I couldn't give a rat's a%$ what the length of the train is! Heck, that's not even a real train. Can we draw two trains instead? That'll make them more real for me. Please?"

I consider it God's benign grace that I scored over 80% in high school Math.

Back to the point on Excel sheets. Interestingly, I had just about made up my mind to write this post about my distaste for Excel, when I was assigned a task at work to scan through a humungous Excel sheet and gather data from it. Okay. So the Universe has a sense of humor. I laughed with, did the whole data gathering thing, and now I'm back to the post.

I've met some people who swear by Excel. They create Excel sheets at the drop of a hat. Hat drops - Excel sheet created. No seriously. Left to their devices, they would write an entire book in Excel, and make you scroll down to the depths of the netherworld to get to Chapter 6. Excel lovers. Take them to a courtroom to testify and you can begin proceedings by having them place their hand solemnly on... well... an Excel sheet. Soft or hard copy, either will do.

It's another matter that printing these things out is a feat in itself. To be attempted at the risk of glaring at a bunch of columns chopped across pages, with no header in sight. A blood bath unleashed upon what seemed like a decently constructed table on my computer screen like five seconds ago. As I stare at the printer helplessly, it spits out one last page that finally has the table header on it. Only the header.

Printers sometimes have a dark sense of humour.

When I was working on the sheet I referred to at the beginning, the one that my client sent me and asked me to add onto, I did what few would have dared to do. I converted the Excel sheet into a Word document. Beautified it too, with soothing header colors. I heaved a sigh of relief. Now I could finally READ what was in there. Thrilled with myself, much to the annoyance of my supervisor, I sent the Word document back to the client. When she reviewed it, she didn't have much to say except "It all looks great. I just can't imagine why you converted this into Word. Please put it back in Excel."

I meekly obeyed. I was fighting a lost cause.

In the corporate world, there's no escaping these nasty sheets. No matter how much you try and run away from them, they catch up with you. A lot like your sins, or bad karma.

To me, the Excel sheet is a symbol of a boxed world. Where everyone and everything has to be "formatted" and somehow "fit in." Well, perhaps that's stretching it. They're more like jails, where words are held captive. Rows and columns of prison cells. The words all screaming out to be rescued from their hell holes.

The Excel formatting experts will tell you to hit the Wrap Text button to stop the words from spilling over onto the next cell. What they really want to say is, "If 'em words try to peep out of 'em cells, wrap 'em into submission."

But today I say, let 'em words out of 'em cages, for God's sakes! Let them reclaim their space and take up as many lines as they want. Let them roam free on plain backgrounds and feel the exhileration of flowing over and beyond, onto the next page. Woohoo! see them go. Atta word. You were born to rejoice in Word, however did you stray into Excel?

Longing

2010-03-02T23:21:00.003+05:30

A voice echoed
across the valley of silence.
Wafted
over the lush green trees.

Climbed
the steep mountain slopes
along with the delicate beams
of the rising sun
that began their ascent
at the start of a new day.
Searching.
Calling.
Longing.

For him.

Her voice echoed
across the valley of silence.
Melodious. Like the sounds
of the gushing stream that
she splashed across.
Barefooted.
Weary. Tired.
From the journey she began
so long ago.

Yet her eyes gleamed
with the brilliance
of a hope
that only a lover would know of.

She knew he had walked among
these trees.
Knelt down and drunk
from the waters that now
bathed her feet.
He had quenched his thirst
yet his heart
pined.

For her.

He had looked across the lake
at the tresses of the willow tree.
Like her hair
that cascaded down her shoulders.
Intoxicated with the memory of her fragrance
as she surrounded herself
by his embrace,
his heart had skipped a beat
and filled a moment
with silence.

Silence.
That could only be broken
by the sound of
her voice.

Do the Happy Dance!

2010-02-23T22:57:00.005+05:30

Yesterday, I stopped to look at some flowers - little purple ones with white streaks on the petals. The white streaks made the flowers look like they were "smiling." There were tiny bees buzzing all around - not the regular honeybees, but smaller ones. I have no idea what they're called. One of them seemed happier than the others. She would sit on a petal, then fly up and do a "happy dance," as I like to call it, which involved her flapping her tiny wings at top speed and flitting from side to side, all the while hovering at one spot in the air. When she was done with her little jig, she would sit on the petal again. I'm sure there's some sort of scientific jargon that explains this behavior. However, "happy dance" works for me.

During those brief moments of looking nature in the eye, I was immediately drawn into the moment. For a few seconds, nothing else mattered - my anxieties, ambitions, concerns, thoughts, hopes, memories - ceased to exist. Life was just plain beautiful. And I didn't need to go to a forest, or a nature park to feel that way. A bunch of flowers outside the house did the trick. All I had to do was look.

When was the last time you did the happy dance? When was the last time you smiled like the purple flowers?

"Come on Sai! Get real." That's what they tell me when I talk about being happy just for the sake of being happy. Work. Career. Deadlines. Bonuses. Home loans. Big Car. Bigger Car. With goals as big as these, who wants to bother with purple flowers? Society tells us that we're "well settled," now that we have all these things, or at least that our eyes betray the hunger to someday have them at any cost. Even if it means sleepless nights and endless cups of coffee. Even if it means more trips to the doctor. Even if it means a painful marriage because one person is never around.

Society says we're well settled. I say we're well and truly lost.

We've learned to "manage" all kinds of situations and people at work. These days, everyone's being groomed to become a "manager." Countless career paths ultimately find their confluence in the ocean of "management". There's more categories of management out there than there are flavors of icecream. A visit to "Linked-In" will tell you that. But along with managing billion dollar companies, maybe it's time we paid a little more attention to "managing" ourselves. Even in the busiest of schedules, a manager takes out time to chat with her team members, to listen to what they have to say. How many times do we take out time to listen to our hearts for a bit? To be conscious of the spirit within us that guides, loves, and adores us?

As I emerge from my reverie with the flowers, I ask myself - is this how nature intended our lives to be? Chaotic, discontented, and restless? I don't think so. Perhaps Darwin did. Nature, however, intended us to live in balance. In harmony with ourselves and those around us.

At least that's what the purple flowers told me yesterday. So did the dancing bee. And I must say, I couldn't agree more!

Passing on the Joy!

2010-02-20T01:36:00.006+05:30

It’s award time again, and… borrowing McDonalds' line for a second here… I’m loving it :-)! Marcella presented Waves Upon the Shore with the “Hanging out the Wash” award. She honors the spirit of writers who put their deepest thoughts out there for all the world to see, even though it makes them vulnerable. Thank you, Marcella, for this honor, and thank you for sharing your insightful stories at Belly Up to This Moment – they’re so honest and real, and often refreshingly hilarious!

Today, I will pass on the joy.

But first - take a few moments to observe the flame of a burning candle, or the flame of a diya (traditional lamp shown in the picture below). There’s a quality of stillness about the flame that calms you down instantly. It’s no wonder that observing the flame of a diya is how some meditation techniques start out. The glow of the flame is gentle, compassionate. Nothing about the flame is harsh, loud, or ruthless, even though the fire in the flame has the potential to rage and destroy. It chooses, however, to glow instead. Creates an “ambience” that allows us to connect with our finer emotions, be they spiritual or romantic! After all, a candle light dinner wouldn’t be what it is without a steady flame to lend its glow!

I liken this quality of the flame to the quality that many writers inspire with their writing. There are so many amazing writers, artists, and musicians out there – all of them lighting diyas with their stories, songs, and artwork. I’ve been blessed to be associated with many such individuals, a number of them very recently in the blogosphere.

So today I’d like to present the “Writer of Light” award to the following blogs. These blogs are ones that I frequent, and to me, each one of them, in its own unique way, is like a glowing diya…

Saraswati’s By the Waterfall – true to its name, here’s a place to refresh and recharge. Her writings are delightful, powerful, and heartfelt. [Plus she’s my sister, and in my humble opinion, the bestest sister in the whole world ;-)]

Neha’s Tea Leaves ‘n’ Honey – Health food for the soul! Help yourself to some soul stirring concoctions, aesthetically served! :-) Beautiful pieces, simple yet so profound.

Katherine’s Lessons from the Monk I Married – Inspirational, insightful, and admirable! As if the fact that she writes a blog each day wasn’t awesome enough, it’s what she writes and how she writes it that makes it even more special! Her lessons are universally relevant. Like the steady flame, forever burning.

Marcella’s Belly Up to This Moment – Shows you how this moment, right now, is where the lessons are at. So relish the moment, live it to the fullest, and as she says, Belly Up to it :-).

Jacqui’s Uplift Antidote – If upliftment from the everyday din is what you seek, here is your solace. When you start reading what she has to say, it’s impossible to stop! Delightful.

Tony Anders’ Artisan of the Human Spirit – Tony's writings are inspiring, thought-provoking, and heartfelt. He shares profound messages through everyday experiences. There's something here for everyone!

AngelGuided Mentoring by Angel Guided – words of wisdom and light, her messages are truly empowering.

The writers at Writers Rising – If only “light” levels could be measured, this community of spirited and talented writers would top the charts. Before you venture in, keep your sunglasses handy. :-) Not just one, but many diya flames in there.

Marty's Coffee with Marty – Simple, honest, and heartfelt experiences – so refreshing! The perfect read with your cup of coffee.

Beth Chapman’s Hope’s Breath – Here is your ray of hope when you’re feeling low! Beth offers a beautiful perspective on life, with a generous helping of wisdom.

To each of you, thank you for lighting the path with your diyas. Keep following your bliss!

Adorned

2010-02-15T11:04:00.007+05:30

Look at the dewdrop

that rests upon

a leaf,

adorning it with a sparkle

on a cold winter's morning.

As the leaf sways

in the light breeze,

the dewdrop dances

and twirls

its way down

to the leaf below.

Breaking into ten dewdrops,

now a chain of pearls

on the leaf below.

A gust of wind blows

and the pearls
are tossed away
to a budding leaf that emerges
from a strong stem

as it grows.

Hopes. Believes,
in a day of sunshine.

Now greeted with a necklace
of pearls,
a glorious welcome
into this world.

No leaf is too small,

none too weak
nor a tad too yellow
to be the bearer of nature's jewels.
Each one precious enough
to be adorned
by a sparkling dewdrop,
on a cold winter's morning.

Happiness, the Hope way!

2010-02-07T22:19:00.007+05:30

Hope. That's what Swapna and I named her. She's an adorable dog adopted by the people of Heritage City (a beautiful township in Gurgaon, India).

Here's how Hope introduced herself to us. It was late evening and I was getting into my car to go home. Swapna was standing right by the car. As I was about to close the door, we heard a rustle of leaves from the general direction of the bushes ahead of us. Not knowing what to expect, we stopped and stared at the bushes. Rustle.

Rustle Rustle.

Out from the bushes jumped... a very happy dog! She bounded towards us. As if we were long lost friends and this was our promised reunion. Her tail wagged so vigorously that she had trouble keeping her balance. She was grinning away to glory, exuding pure unadulterated happiness.

She looked up at us, beaming. She's muddy brown with a black muzzle, and has droopy eyes that steal your heart away instantly.

We knelt down and began to fuss over her. How she loved it, every second of our undivided attention. We asked her where she was from, and with a decisive thump of the tail she almost seemed to say "How does it matter, silly, where I came from? I'm here now! That's what counts. Now go on, scratch my furry neck!" As I scratched her neck, she closed her eyes in bliss and began to lift her head up, towards the heavens. Every few seconds, she would return from her trance to give my hand a couple of licks. Then, it was back to the heavens again.

As Swapna and I patted her, she began to sit down ever so slowly and then, "shwick.." her fur rubbed against the concrete road as she turned turtle. Time for a tummy rub! Hope just loves tummy rubs. They make her so so happy; take her to a heaven much higher than the seventh.

After nearly fifteen minutes of pure happiness, I realised it was getting late and I had to leave. So I stood up.

Hope looked towards Swapna, hoping that at least she would have a heart and continue. After a final pat, though, Swapna stood up too and told her that this would be all for today. Hope refused to believe this. For a few moments she just stared into space. In belly-up mode. Dazed. Probably hallucinating that her tummy was still being rubbed. When she realised that we actually meant business, she gave me that look that said "You wouldn't really do this to an adorable thing like me now would you?" She was still belly-up.

"Yes sweetheart. I need to go home!" With those words to her, I reluctantly got in the car. And guess what she did. She went and plonked herself right behind the car so I couldn't reverse out! No one's going anywhere, said she. We tried to coax her into moving away. Pleaded with her too. But no. She wasn't about to let the party end. After quite a while and another tummy rub, she finally relented, with an "Ok fine, but just this once!"

I think that's perhaps one of the reasons why we called her Hope. Eternally hopeful that the good times will go on.

That was more than a year ago. Even now, when she spots us from a distance, she comes running towards us like she did that first day. The same smile, the same vigorous tail wag, the same enthusiasm. The good times continue.

Have you ever stopped to hear the sound that dogs' paws make when they run on a hard surface?

"chik chik chik chik chik chik..."

That's what it sounds like when she comes running towards us. Each time from a different direction.

Hope's capacity to love can put any philanthrophic human to shame. Unconditional love. That's what she gives us and that's what she makes us give her. When we go for walks in the evening, she always walks ten steps ahead of us, clearing the road ahead for us. Like the pilot car in a VIP convoy. Her definition of clearing the way also includes chasing away any cats that had the audacity to so much as contemplate crossing our path. As she marches ahead, charting our path, she has this unassuming air about her. Like she's just doing her own thing, isn't really with us or anything. Every ten seconds, though, she steals a quick glance back, just to make sure we're there. Sometimes, in her excitement to chase away audacious cats, she goes too far ahead and takes a turn away from the road. We continue walking, though.

"chik chik chik chik chik chik..."

She comes bounding back. Racing ahead of us to continue her "pilot car" run.

She's such a happy dog. I love how she surrounds herself with people who love her, and people who are able to accept her love in return. There's always the odd person out there who shoos her off, or scares her away. But that doesn't get her down. She sticks with the ones who make her tail wag. And the ones who give her tummy rubs!

Don't we all have a lesson or two to learn from Hope. Hope. Now that would be a good one to start with.

This Time

2010-02-04T11:25:00.001+05:30

This time I will not
sit back and wait
For the leaves to turn yellow
and another winter to dawn
So I can relegate
my dream to a new spring.

Nor cast away the swirls of
myriad feelings
That wash over my soul
and speak to me
In ways they never have
before.

This time I will not
shy away
in fear and allow
walls
to be built
around me
To protect me from
the storm that has not
and may never come.

And should the storm come
this time
I will not choose to
be fearful
and run for cover to the closest
shelter
But look the storm in the face
and continue moving forward
Until the winds relent
and the rivers part
To show me my path.

This time I will not rest
until I have tasted
The freedom
of lasting happiness.

More Joy!

2010-02-03T23:01:00.006+05:30

Today it's my turn to say "it never rains it pours." I happily accept Jacqui's "Thumbs Up" award for my blog. I'm truly touched by the outpouring of goodwill and appreciation that I've been receiving. Thank you Jacqui; the waves rushing upon the shore just got happier!

Jacqui has a blog called Uplift Antidote. I find her articles refreshing, and very thought provoking! There's always something in them that you and I can relate to. Each of her pieces is very... clear - yes, that's the word I was looking for. Clear, like crystal. Clear, also, like the pristine water in a stream that gushes down the mountain side. So pure. So honest.

To be clear, is to be empowered. Have you ever experienced that rush of clarity, when you just know inside what the answer is; when you know what you should do next? It's like muddy water going through a filter. The doubts get left behind, clarity is carried forward. I feel most empowered during such 'clarity' moments. The trouble is that they don't always last, and often give way to confusion again, this time about something else. But while they're there, I feel like nothing, no force on earth, can stop me from doing what I need to do. I wonder what it would be like to live those clarity moments ALL the time. And then I wonder if the mud is, perhaps, necessary because the process of filtering the mud out is empowering in itself. Exhausting, at times, but empowering nonetheless.

I applaud every writer, every artist, every person who, even in the smallest of ways, helps someone, somewhere feel empowered; allows someone, somewhere to live a clarity moment.

Thank you once again, Jacqui! Thank you all.

An Award for Joy

2010-02-01T18:36:00.004+05:30

Dear Readers,

Tony Anders, an inspirational writer, has honored Waves Upon the Shore with the Best Blog Award. I’d like to thank Tony for his gracious gesture, and I’d also like to thank all of you for your love and support; for your constant encouragement that means so much to me; and for enriching this space with your comments and presence.

Like I mentioned in my introductory post on Writers Rising, I created this blog as a space where I could write just the way I felt, without the fear associated with writing for a topic that will be graded by an ‘expert’. I initially didn’t think I would share the blog with anyone, thought of it more like my own little space. But then, as I began to feel the joy that came from expressing my deepest truths just the way I felt them, I couldn’t help but begin to share. After all, love is expansive… it cannot be restricted even if one tries!

There’s so much light just waiting to shine on our lives, and writing is a powerful medium to bring forth this light. I encourage all of you to visit Tony’s blog at Artisan of the Human Spirit, and experience the light that he shares through his simple yet profound messages. He calls it “dropping the spiritual pebble in the pond,” which is a very apt way to describe what we’re all trying to do on our spiritual journeys.

Thank you once again.

Love, Light, and Peace,
Sai

Lunch Meeting

2010-01-31T13:12:00.010+05:30

I distinctly remember that day's lunch at the company Food Court. We had just started eating when we heard a gentle "meaow." In the midst of the lunch hour din that often made it impossible for us to hear ourselves clearly, this plea by a little cat didn't go unnoticed. We stopped our conversation and turned around. A beautiful white cat was looking up at us with soulful eyes. She was white as the moon, nearly camoflauged by the white floor tiles that she expectantly sat on, eagerly waiting for our hearts to melt.

For those of you wondering how a cat came to be in a company Food Court, let me clarify. It isn't uncommon to see stray cats in India. A couple of them live within the sprawling campus of the company. Every once in a while, they manage to sneak into the Food Court, which is this massive and airy building on ground level, with huge glass panels as side doors that, when left open, let the cats in along with the breeze.

As a chorus of "Aww she's so sweet" emanated from our group and others sitting around, some of us broke pieces of roti (Indian bread) and put them on the ground for her, much to the chagrin of the housekeeping staff who looked at us disapprovingly. Which one would it be, housekeeping policy or the cat? Uh... not much of a choice there. The cat of course.

She trod towards the roti pieces, sniffed them suspiciously at first, and then decided they would do. One piece at a time, she munched away, looking very content after each swallow. There's something about feeding animals that is so satisfying. Interestingly, when I see their thirst quenched, or their tummies filled, I feel so content myself that my own hunger and thirst seem to vanish. If I and the animal who just ate or drank were on a sunny beach, we'd probably lie on our backs and go to sleep, drunk on sweet contentment!

"Meaow..."

Our moonlight cat wanted seconds. When she was done, she confidently strode off, leaving the last two roti pieces lying on an otherwise spotlessly clean floor. Housekeeping was not pleased. Nope.

I picked up the neglected pieces and threw them in the nearest trashcan. As I got back to my meal, a movement to my left distracted me. I turned around and saw moonlight cat walking back towards me. She came to the side of my chair, looked up at me with her soulful eyes, and let out a grateful "meaow." She then turned around and walked back, losing herself in the crowd of tables and chairs. She had come back just to say thank you! If she were a dog, I would have reached out and patted her on the back, probably given her a tummy rub too. But she's a cat. And I think cats like their space, and they like others to respect their space too!

So I smiled at her and said "You're very welcome!"

Giving Thanks

2010-01-27T10:01:00.004+05:30

As I watch India's tricolor being unfurled on a foggy Republic Day morning, I feel a rush of pride. The notes of the national anthem reverberate through my being. Tears well up in my eyes. As I watch the saffron, green, and white flutter in the mist, I feel uncontrollable waves of love, devotion, honor, and gratitude wash over me. Gratitude. To the land that I chose as mother in this lifetime. Perhaps in previous lives too.

My gratitude goes out to the soldiers who stand at the nation's borders and face bullets every day. Soldiers without whom this nation would cease to exist as we know it; without whom the fanatics across the border would have a free run. Each night, as I sink into a fluffy pillow and comfy mattress, do I give thanks to the soldier who at that very moment is standing guard in faraway Kashmir or Rajasthan, gun in position, alert and awake? Do I give thanks the next morning that I had a peaceful night, or am I too busy trying to beat the traffic jam and get to work on time? So much to be thankful for, yet so little time to thank.

I give gratitude to the rivers of this land, for quenching my thirst every day. For nourishing all life. For embodying the flowing aspect of life itself. For reminding me of the temporary nature of worldly existence.

I am grateful to the farmers of this land, who grow the grain that feeds me. Grateful to the network of people who make sure that the grain gets to me on time. So I never go hungry.

Gratitude also to the person who stands at the gas station to fill gas in my car, so I can get to work and back home, safely. To the mechanic who services my car every now and then, so it runs okay. To the gardener who waters my plants at home so that when I look out my window each morning, I feel rejuvanated. So that I begin my day with the sight of beautiful, healthy plants.

There are so many entities who make my life, as I know it, possible. Many of these persons work behind the scenes, I wouldn't ever know all of them by name or role. I remember a conversation I had with my Mom when I was only 8 or 9 years old. We were having lunch together, talking about exactly this - gratitude. She made me list out just a few of the countless number of people who had worked so hard to grow, transport, and sell the wheat that went into making the delicious bread I was munching away at. It opened my eyes to a whole new perspective. It's so common for us to complain about how the food tastes, looks, smells, feels. If we would only stop and think about what Mom asked me to that day, perhaps we wouldn't complain so much.

I believe it's about inculcating an attitude of gratitude. It's about recognising that we take so much from our surroundings, from nature, from people. Yet, when it comes to giving back, there's not much we have to show. In the movie Avatar, Neytiri tells Jake about how we're all living on borrowed energy. Someday we will have to give it all back.

As I wipe away another tear, I look up at the tricolor towering over the gathering below. All I can bring myself to say is... Thank You.

To a dear child... with love

2010-01-23T13:59:00.011+05:30

Today I saw a little girl begging at the traffic light. Just as the light turned green, she came to the window of my car and looked at me with pleading eyes. As I reached towards the car's gear to change from neutral to first, she beamed expectantly. She thought I was reaching for the dashboard to pick up the two rupee coin that lay there carelessly. Petty change for me, a treasure for her. This is a letter to that little girl, and to all little children like her.

Dearest Child,

Today I saw you standing on the road, in the freezing cold. You weren't wearing anything warm, yet you managed a smile. An angelic smile. Weren't you cold, little one?

I want to tell you how strong I think you are. I don't know where you sleep at night. I don't know where you go when you're not at the traffic light. But I know that you have what it takes to go through each day with a smile. And that makes you a hero in my eyes. Many of us who drive away in big cars can go through an entire day without smiling even once.

Our world is very strange, little one. There's so much beauty in it. And yet there's plenty of sadness too. The other day, I saw you sitting by the road. There were tears flowing down your cheeks. Did someone hurt you, dearest, or were those just tears of despair? I wanted to stop my car and get out. I wanted to hold your hand and tell you that everything is going to be okay. I wanted to tell you that it's okay to cry. But I also wanted you to know that you must never give up hope.

And then there was this other day when you were playing in the sand by the road. With your friends. When you all laughed together, it made me smile. Were they your buddies? Someday perhaps, you'll tell me their names.

I'm sure you've met all kinds of people in your life. Some may be nice to you, but then others may be very mean. If there's something I want for you, dear one, it is to believe that no one is justified in being mean to you. You will need to be strong and ask for your rights, sometimes fight to get them too. But only fight when you believe it is for a just cause. Don't ever use your power to manipulate those who are weaker than you.

There are lots of kind people in this world, my dear. I've met some and I hope you meet some too. Perhaps you already have. You must know that for every mean person, there's a kind one too. Always believe in this.

Even though I drive away from you every morning, I think about you during the day and many days after that too. That's how special you are. I want you to know, little one, that I love you very much. God bless you, always.

In Search

2010-01-18T22:22:00.003+05:30

Wandering in the crowd,
I see people. Lots of them.
Everywhere.
Each one
is going somewhere,
walking purposefully down
a path.
Or so it seems.

There are people
all around.
Yet I feel all alone
As though out at sea
with no shore in sight.

Can my destination really be that far?
Or could it be that
I have set sail
In the wrong direction?

How long will it be before I know?
How long until
I adjust my sails?
So that when
I'm wandering in the crowd
I can look towards
the horizon
And know
that my promised land
is not far.

Letting Go...

2010-01-17T17:17:00.006+05:30

It's the hardest thing to do. To let go. I realised that since the past few years, I've forgotten what it's like to let go, to just live each day in complete trust that the Universe will take care of me tomorrow. I don't need to worry.

Part of it has to do with me joining the corporate world. Before I began working in a regular job, when I was sudying in the US, I never really thought too much about my future. Not that I think about it all the time now, but there was a lot more emphasis then on just doing a whole lot of interesting things each day - studying, creating class projects, singing.. a lot of it, organizing cultural programs, having awesome conversations with people from all over the world. And of course, travelling, whenever I could afford a trip somewhere. My choices were simple; the reasons why I chose things were simple. I did things because I enjoyed doing them. Not because I felt someone or society expected them from me. I don't remember ever asking myself the question: "where will the money come from?". Money never seemed to be a motivator or de-motivator, it manifested when I required it. Where it came from was immaterial. The fact is it was there when I needed it. Enough of it for me to be comfortable.

I must admit that ever since I started getting a salary every month, my trust factor in the Universe began to erode. I began to be convinced that 'I' was the one earning the money because of 'my' hard work. Period. And that's not entirely untrue, except that at some level, I had carved out this rule in stone: the more the work (read as sleepless nights, for the most part), the more the money. That's how the equation began to pan out for me. I slowly started to forget that a benevolent Universe is constantly working through me, loving me, inspiring me, and willing me to be every bit of who I am. That if the job goes away, that if I don't get that promotion or raise, I will still be me - luminous, loved, and admired in a way that can never be matched by a salary increment. It's called unconditional love. Something that the business world knows little of.

It's only recently that I've starting working on getting my trust in the Universe back in place, bit by bit. Whoever coined the term "rat race" was genius, I must say. For that's what it truly is. The corporate world is a race no doubt, and everyone's in it pretty much for themselves. From being someone who did what I did only because I enjoyed it, I began to believe that "'I' earn money because of 'this job', and if I don't do 'this job' I won't have any 'money'." With this thought, I perpetuated the biggest myth that many of us continue to live each day. I'd like to clarify here that in no way am I implying that I should sit at home, sleep all day, and then hope that my bank account somehow fills up. I'm writing this knowing fully well that I am incapable of NOT doing anything, so the question of lazing around for extended periods of time doesn't arise. However, it's the notion of inextricability from the rat race, and the illusion that somehow that is the only way for me to make money, that I am questioning.

I am questioning the amount of importance that we place on these jobs, that we're willing to tear the others apart just to feel good about ourselves. That we're willing to back bite, manipulate, and otherwise cast apsersions on people's motives, just because they got a promotion that we didn't. That we're willing to ruin our health, our mental peace, and most importantly, our spiritual connection, just to be ahead in the race. I ask... to what avail?

I thought of this analogy the other day. Life is like a video game. Have you ever played those video games in which the player has to climb mountains, hop across valleys, do all kinds of supernatural stunts to move to the next level? And along the way, the player must grab little pieces of treasure to gain points?

The more the treasure, the more the points. The player acrobats across topographies with cartloads of treasure in hand and crosses the finish line, beaming. End of game. Life is a lot like that, and very different too. The difference is that in life, just before crossing the finish line, you need to dump all that treasure into a big pit. Relieved of all the baggage, you can then proceed past the finish line. Your treasure may have earned you numerical points, but guess what - the counter gets reset to zero just before you cross the finish line. Those points were for the fun of the journey. Just intended to spice things up a bit while you were at it. Nope, the points ain't going along.

What's fascinating is that in life's video game, every time you stopped along the journey to admire a sunset, every time you stopped to help an injured animal, every time you stopped doing the acrobats and just stayed put for a few seconds, every time you felt really really happy even while doing the acrobats... each of these times, your inner light got a little brighter. And the beauty is that the more light you have inside, the more light you've also been able to leave behind. You've left behind a trail of light, and yet it's all there in you. It's going with you, finish line and beyond. End of this game. Beginning of a new one! That's life. As I have understood it so far.

So instead of getting obsessed with the treasures along the way, I'm going to focus more on the light within. But you know what, I love living the good life. So yes, I'll pick up the treasures along the way. I'll enjoy them too. But my happiness will not be because of them, it'll be inspite of them.

Here's to life! Here's to the trail of light we're going to leave behind!

I am the wind...

2010-01-17T10:07:00.009+05:30

Today I'll go where the wind blows

I want to be a breeze.

Let me flow

Let me glide

Let me spread my wings

and fly.

I can be the gentle wind

on a sunny spring morning

Or charge ahead

as a mighty strong gale.

Today fierce
tomorrow calm.
One or the other

or both at once.

Today the weatherman

called me nasty.

Someone walking down the road

said I was too strong.
But I knew
that today
was for a gale.
Tomorrow, I'll be a breeze again.

I slowed down a tad

to help

a little bird fly.

Spread my wings

and let her hold on tight.

When she was safely home

I did the waltz

and then the salsa
with a polybag
I met
just down the street.

I whistled by a window,

happy tunes,

but inside the house

they didn't hear.
The windows were shut
real tight.
They were warned
of a storm that night.

The Great Indian Dichotomy

2009-11-28T23:53:00.002+05:30

As my autorickshaw meanders through Pune's chaotic traffic, the disorder around me doesn't cease to amaze me. What is it with India and traffic? We create chaos where none needs to exist. It's like we were given two choices, order and disorder, and we deliberately and knowingly chose the latter. How else would you explain my wonder and amazement when I actually see a straight line of cars driving one behind the other? It's so rare and it lasts for about five seconds, before some smart alec breaks the line to butt in without so much as the blink of an indicator. Why is it so hard for us to drive in lanes, and wait for our turn? This is a question that has bothered me every day that I've driven on Indian roads since returning to India some years ago.

A typical traffic jam on the road to Infosys every morning goes something like this. There's technically only one lane on either side of the road, one for incoming and the other for outgoing traffic. However, every morning, one lane miraculously expands into three to accomodate buses, cars, autos, cycles, pedestrians, tempo trucks, actual trucks, and not to mention those ghastly monstrosities called "shared autos" that spew out freshly vaporised diesel as they chug along, noisy as hell. Every vehicle and/or being on that road is jostling for the right to move ahead of the other. Somehow, this crazy mass of steel, humans, dogs, and sometimes even cattle, moves forward in the general direction of the destination.

Then there's the "law of assured interjection." Just when the road seems like it's going to implode under all the traffic piled onto it, an ambitious vehicle (two, three, or four wheeler - it doesnt matter) will begin to cut through the traffic from the left shoulder all the way to the right, to attempt a u-turn! Of course, not a cycle will stop to let this intruder pass. So the intruder nudges forward inch by inch, literally, until it now blocks half the road. However, the traffic is unrelenting. People are furious that half their road has been usurped. So what do they do about it? Common sense would say - stop and let the intruder take the damned u-turn so we can all be rid of 'em once and for all. But no. We will continue to forge ahead. The only difference is that now, we'll squeeze through the little bit of space that the intruder has not yet occupied. But move ahead we will. After all, we are 'forward looking' people, no?

What intrigues me the most is that contrary to the anarchy that we unleash on our roads, when it comes to societal rules, we're sticklers for order and structure. Do your family proud by studying only science or commerce in grades 11 and 12, (arts and humanities are for dumbos), study something "technical" in college, do an MBA (until you do, you're only half human), get a job in an MNC, get a promotion or two, work "hard" (forget that you have a life outside work), get married (the "good news" that everyone's just waiting to hear), and then have kids (the only event that qualifies as "good news" after the wedding). Then, get the kids into a "good" school, make them study something technical, force them to do an MBA. The cycle goes on. But at least it's all structured and laid out, right? No questions need to be asked. The path must be followed. At all costs. Even it if means that an entire generation is deprived of thinking about what they really want out of their lives, or choosing a career that is meaningful to them as individuals and not as heirs to their families.

Ah, the signal has finally turned green! The mass of traffic has started to rumble and roar. Horns blare. Lanes dissolve. But come on now. Don't you know where we're all going? To an MNC, yaar. We're hard working, career minded, you know! We're "becoming something."

I'd say, yes. We're "becoming something." For starters, we're turning into asthma patients, inhaling all that diesel every morning.

But at least we work in an MNC, no?

To Sai... with love

2009-11-23T21:44:00.007+05:30

I remember sitting on the sands of Prashanthi Nilayam, all of five years old, looking towards your mandir and seeing you emerge from the ornate door. Like one who is not of this world, you gently strode towards the crowd. Gliding across the sands, barely leaving footprints. As the orange speck in the distance came closer, my heart beat really fast, until you were standing in front of me, looking towards me, your eyes filled with the love of a thousand mothers. How can I forget that blaze of compassion, as you gazed into my soul and recognized me from many lifetimes ago?

How can I forget the tears of devotion that flowed as I looked at you, intoxicated with your aura, and recognized you as the One from the beginning of time? Not a word was spoken; but so much was said.

When I look back, I see that so much has changed, but you... have always been there. When I felt low and dejected, I closed my eyes and thought of you. You were there. When I was happy and elated, I looked at you, and you seemed just as happy, if not more. There were those who told me that life is serious and that loving God is not child's play. But your gurgling laughter and hilarious quips that day as we sat in your room, told me otherwise. You showed me that life is, after all, just a laugh. And the happier we are, the closer we are to God. How effortless it would all be, if only we'd let go.

When Mom passed away and it seemed like life was not worth living anymore, you reminded me that life is eternal, and the body only temporary. When I feared about the future, you showed me that where there is love, there is no place for fear.

The most precious gift that you have given me, dear Sai, is the gift of my inner voice. The gift of Sai within. When you told me that day that "you are also Sai, I am also Sai", I knew then that there was no difference. That happiness, love, compassion, fortitude... all of these are within me. Just as they are within you. Today, I don't have to see you in Prashanthi to feel close to you. Wherever there is love, there I see you. There I see the Universe. There I see God. You have taken me to greener pastures, yet I feel closer home. What a beautiful journey it has been, from Sai to Sai.

(Today is Sri Sathya Sai Baba's birthday)

Communion

2009-11-04T23:07:00.007+05:30

In those moments of silence

you seemed infinite.
Every moment
was like eternity
And there was love,
only love...

Your love.

I saw it in everything,
In everyone.
No one seemed apart from it
Some were just unaware of it.

Creation was bathed
in the sounds and sights
of your glory.

I opened my eyes and saw a sparrow
chirping at my window.

I felt your love for the sparrow,
As I did for the spider weaving its web
in a corner of the room.

I felt your love for the wind,
as it blew across the house.
For the sunlight
streaming through the windows.

Nothing and no one seemed
out of your love's reach.

I felt your love.

Why
must I ever cross a river
Or fly over the ocean
to reach your doorstep?

When the footprints of your grace
are instead leading me
towards me.

Away...

2009-10-11T02:14:00.001+05:30

Sitting on the rocks
My feet immersed in the stream
The water gushes. She flows.
She prances. She roars.

I feel a little stone get swept away
from under my feet.
Away
From all the other little stones.
Gone with the stream now
To touch the ocean some day.

An orange butterfly dances past me
Like a brushstroke
made in the air
She whispers to the white flower
Then to the yellow.
Not stopping. Never looking back.

Purposeful.
Joyful.

Like the water in the stream
And the stone that broke away.

Rendezvous with Nature

2009-10-07T20:49:00.010+05:30

"If you go under the water, you will drink lots of water." Our group of 12 rafters managed a giggle or two as our River Rafting Guide ended his security demonstration with that amusing statement. Plain and simple, what he meant to say was "Keep your heads above the water, no matter what!" We buckled ourselves into lifejackets, strapped on our helmets, and readied ourselves for one of the most exhilerating experiences ever - rafting on the River Ganga.

There were six of us in each raft. Not all known to each other. Swapna and I were on one raft with a group of four others. Saraswati was on the other raft with a group of five Americans. Each raft had a Guide who sat at the rear end of the raft, shouting instructions for us to "paddle forward," "paddle backward," or "relax."

Most of us in our raft (except for Swapna) didn't know how to swim, and even before we could board the raft, the Guide had heard all about it. When one of the girls looked at him anxiously and declared "We don't know how to swim," he looked at her with a straight face and replied "I don't know how to swim either." It didn't help that his response freaked her out even more than she already was, and it took many assurances from all of us to convince her that he was only kidding.

All aboard the raft, the six of us looked clumsy as hell, holding the paddles as though they were weapons that would somehow save us from the treachery that lay ahead. Saraswati and the Americans fared much better. Well, atleast from where we were, it looked like they were going places! They had already completed their practice runs on the water. While we, over here, desperately tried to get our act together, which included convincing certain members that we would not be rowing out to our doom.

When we were finally ready to head out, we pushed away from the river beach. All of a sudden, without so much as a warning, our Guide jumped into the water. He was gone. Just like that. We looked on in bewilderment. I'm pretty sure our horror stemmed less from a deep sense of care for the Guide's well-being, and more from a haunting question that we began asking ourselves: "Is this part of some sort of a practice drill that requires us to follow suit?" A member of our group decided to verbalize the concern. To which we all vigorously shook our heads indicating our extreme unwillingness to ever be party to such a practice drill. We gaped at the point on the water where he had gone under, half expecting him to pop right up. And he did! He popped up and clambered onto the raft, with not so much as an apology for having caused us this unnecessary anxiety. I asked him "Why did you do that?" Pat came his jolly reply "To cool down!" Well, I don't blame him. The anxiety on this raft certainly had temperatures soaring.

And then we were finally off. We did our practice runs, memorized the paddle commands with an alacrity that would be the envy of History teachers trying to make their students memorize the dates of the Russian Revolution and such.

Saraswati and the Americans looked relieved. The party had finally begun! But the relief was short lived. A few minutes into the ride, another member from our raft decided she wanted to "get down." "Get down" didn't mean she wanted to get in the water. She wanted to abandon ship and get her feet firmly on safe land. Putting aside our own trepidations about what lay ahead, the rest of us played pacifier and tried to convince her to "look around and focus on the beauty." The Guide had another response. "You're most welcome to get down right here." I don't recall hearing her plea to "get down" anymore after that.

As we approached the first rapid, I remember my heart starting to beat faster as the Guide instructed us to "paddle forward." The water got choppier and the waves began to swirl around us. Will we make it? We shouted to each other in panicky tones, the excitement was palpable. However, the rhythm with which we were supposed to "paddle forward" went to pieces and the panicked members of our group began to crash their paddles into the paddles of those sitting ahead of them. See that's the thing with paddling. You HAVE to be in sync with those ahead of you. Otherwise it's pointless! But "sync" was not to be. So instead of moving ahead, our raft began to head left towards the rocks. I screamed to the Guide "How do we turn right!!?" Mercifully, we stopped just short of the rocks and floated to safety.

After this close shave, the Guide finally decided that it was time for some tough talk. "When you approach the rapids, you must be quiet and focus on paddling. You can talk later, after we pass the rapid!" We nodded sheepishly and promised to be good children from here on.

The girl behind me, however, took his commandment a little too seriously. As we approached the next rapid, she began to shout "Keep quiet, paddle faster, Faster, FASTER!". As if on que, I began to paddle faster. And then, whilst in the middle of swirling foam and turbulent waves, I asked myself, why on earth is she telling us to paddle faster?? And wait, weren't we supposed to be quiet?

As we paddled against the waves, the river took charge of us. Our clumsy paddles seemed so powerless compared to the might of the river as the raft was tossed up in the air, came crashing down, and then began to rise again on a huge wave. The raft rode the wave and we screamed and yelled and paddled harder, only to realise that it was futile because we were paddling in the air. Never mind the paddling; we were in Mother Ganga's hands now.

For me, this was one of the biggest lessons in "letting go". We were tossed about, drenched with waves, and I nearly tipped over the side into the water. Miraculously, though, it felt like we were dancing with Mother Ganga. She gurgled with laughter, with a joy that can only come from the heavens. The roar was tremendous, and musical at the same time. Adrenalin turned to exhilaration. At each rapid, her arms rose up to meet us in a jubiliant embrace. Water has always been my greatest fear, but all I could do at this moment was love it. After all, my life depended on it right now.

"If you want to go into the water, you can!" Now that kind of statement is bound to make a group like ours jump out of our wits! Our Guide made this declaration after we crossed the rapids and were in clear water. I must admit that all this talk of "getting down" and "getting into the water" was starting to make me a wee bit uncomfy.

Jump into the water? But how? With our shoes on? How deep was the water? Like a volley of arrows. Our questions. He patiently answered each one. Including the one about shoes. We could get in the water with our shoes on. The only catch was that we had to hold on to the rope that ran around the raft, for dear life. Or else, the current would carry us with.

The guys sitting ahead of me decided to take the lead and went over. Swapna was next. I knew she would be. She loves water and she had this gleam in her eyes the moment the Guide so much as mentioned the possibility of getting into the water. I don't know how she puts up with my dread of water! When I saw the gleam in her eyes, I was happy for her, but I thought "Oh Crap!" because I knew then that I would have to go over too. How could I not? I mean, come on. There's something known as peer pressure, people!

So here's what I did. I held on to the rope for dear life, jumped over, and with a huge thud that shook everyone out of their wits, including the raft, landed in the water. Freezing water. Deep water. Flowing water. My fear began to kick in, but I pushed it away. I held on to the rope with every ounce of strength as the current began pulling me under the raft. That's when I realised that it would be impossible for us to get back up on the raft on our own. The Guide would need to haul us up.

My fearlessness lasted all of forty seconds.

I soon began to plead with the Guide to pull me back. He nonchalantly stated "you decided to go in, now stay there." I was like, you have got to be kidding me! After many a plea, he finally relented and hauled me up. It's a good thing he didn't relent to our fears so soon. Allowed us to push our boundaries a little. Heck. Forty seconds in deep freezing flowing water is major boundary pushing for me!

Back on board, as we struggled to get back our balance and take our seats, the Guide mentioned that our adventure would be ending soon. I looked around, at the mountains on either side of the river. Forests clung to them like babies to their mother. A dreamy mist had begun to descend on the river in the distance. The river herself flowed on purposefully, rejuvanated from those bouts of dancing that we had enjoyed with her a few moments ago. So beautiful, so fierce, and so gentle.
All at once.

Today I ceased to be separate from her. It was like a grand reunion. Like the kind between the creator and the created, between the lover and the loved.

My Melbourne Diary - An Excerpt

2009-08-25T14:05:00.002+05:30

Saturday

Today I had lunch at the Hare Krishna restaurant here in downtown Melbourne, Australia. It’s just two blocks down the street from my hotel. I couldn’t help but notice the sign: “Vegetarian. All you can eat!” Now that kind of sign is guaranteed to catch my eye.

As I walked up the stairs that led to the restaurant, I was greeted by the aroma of incense. Soft chants of “Radhe Radhe Krishna” wafted down. Inside, there were pictures of Krishna all around. The lovely ISKCON ones. I later found out that the lunch they serve is actually Prasad that’s offered to the deity at the Hare Krishna temple in Melbourne in the mornings. Prasad is always delicious. It has that extra something to it that makes it so much tastier than regular food.

I remember by maternal grandmother – Nani. At home, she used to offer a little portion of lunch to the deity every day. She called it bhog. Lunch would only be served after bhog was offered, and then all of us would be given a little bit of the bhog to eat. Believe me, that one morsel of bhog tasted yummier than all of lunch. Even though they were both the same food, technically at least!

“Eating up the World.” A pamphlet with that heading stares out at me on the restaurant table. It’s about the impact of meat eating on the world’s environment. The ISKCON (Hare Krishna) group is spreading the message about how meat-eating is causing an enormous burden to the world’s natural resources. It reiterates what I had read first when I was only thirteen. I’m happy to see that the message is very much out there, and gaining momentum. I quote from the pamphlet:
“The Food and Agricultural Organization of the United Nations recently released a report called Livestock’s Long Shadow. This report states that animal industries are one of the ‘most significant contributors to the most serious environmental problems, at every scale from local to global.’”

I was horrified to learn a couple of days ago that some people eat Kangaroo meat in this country, even though the natural habitat for the Kangaroo has greatly shrunk and they’re finding it hard to survive the drought over the last few years. How can we justify so much violence for the sake of tasty food? A question that has bothered me for many years now.

After lunch, I decided to go the St Kilda beach, which is about 15 minutes away by tram. It’s not really “beach” season or anything, but there’s something about the sea that always seems to draw me to it. It heals me, comforts me, and reminds me of Me! The sheer expanse and enormity of it reminds me of my own inner Self. That I’m so much more than I fool myself into believing I am. The sea lifts the veil, even though for a few minutes. The irony is that while the sea speaks to me and comforts me, I’m scared of her at the same time. I have a dreaded fear of water that makes me want to keep some distance. And water in the dark... oh that’s something I cannot deal with. I cannot look at a water body in the dark, like after sunset. Perhaps it’s a past birth experience I went through. I don’t know. Or is it that at some level, I’m scared to face my own Self?

Today my heart hurts. And watching the sea at St. Kilda is like a balm that soothes me. I even saw a Seagull hover above me and that brought me joy. I have this thing with Seagulls – I love them. I have always adored those creatures since my school days in Dubai when I would gladly give away my day’s tiffin to feed them.

I’m standing on the beach looking out towards Port Phillip Bay that opens into the Tasman Sea. I’m facing the south east corner of the world, far far away from Home India. Like a flood of memories, I am reminded of what it was like standing on the shores of Lake Michigan in Chicago, marveling at the varying hues of blue painted across the lake’s surface. I remember standing at the edge of a cliff in the Pacific Palisades in San Diego California, looking towards the Pacific Ocean as its waves crashed onto the rocks way below me. I remember standing on the desert shores of the Arabian Gulf in Dubai. Each of those times, I faced a different direction; I embraced the winds from a different sea. But each time, when I looked out there, I saw… Me.

Paradise

2009-07-12T18:19:00.002+05:30

About a half hour into the flight, I looked out the window. What I saw dazzled me, I felt like I was inside an artist's depiction of what 'heaven' would look like. It was late evening. The sun was setting to our left amidst delicate hues of orange, peach, and yellow, into a carpet of monsoon clouds that raced and gushed across the sky. This was no ordinary carpet - intricately woven, soft and delicate on the feet. I'm quite sure I noticed a footprint or two. Ah! perhaps this was where angels trod. And far into the distance, a cloud rose up from the carpet, silhoutted by the golden rays of the setting sun. And that would be where the angels convened at the end of this glorious day. To either side of the peach-colored sun, rising up into the clear blue sky above, completely still in sharp contrast to the rushing carpet below, were two enormous clouds. The clouds assumed the shape of two people with folded hands, bent forward towards the sun. Paying obeisance to the Sun God. There was a stillness all around. Except for the rushing carpet below.

As if in blessing, the rays of the sun filtered through the clouds, forming four distinct shafts of light. I call them the Fingers of God. I watched them, as they flowed down through the clouds onto the earth below.

"Wow...!"
That was all I could say.

I felt closer to God than ever before. No wonder we look up when we talk to God. And it's no coincidence that we sing "...the Lord up above.."

From the Devotee's Heart

2009-06-10T19:25:00.001+05:30

Why hast thou forsaken me?
O Lord! At this time, when I need thee

Thy name is on my lips, thy feet I worship
In the temple of my heart

But yet, when I hold out my hands in prayer
When I call thy name
With the pain that emergeth from my soul
Why then, dost thou not cometh?

Do I prayeth not enough?
Or can it be that my tears that falleth to the ground
art not worthy of washing thy divine feet?

Have I strayed so far away from thee
That I cannot behold thy brilliant form
And look into thine eyes
That blesseth me with the love
of a thousand mothers?

I wanteth not more than to feel
Thy presence
I needeth not more than to know
That thou art with me

O Lord! They sayeth that a blade of grass
Doth not moveth without thy will
Today my soul moveth in love for thee
How can it be that thou knowest not?

And if thou should hearest my prayer
And knoweth my pain
Then surely thou standeth beside me
Holding my hand
Willing me to love thee
And it is I, who seeth not.

Between the Extremes

2009-05-08T15:27:00.000+05:30

Rain. On a hot summer day in Delhi. After two weeks of relentless heat, soaring temperatures, and many an anguished lament that went something like this... "Oh it's so hot!!!," the skies finally relented. And what a downpour it was. Not just rain, but hailstones too. Icy rocks dropping down from the heavens in May. The weather man called it a "Western Disturbance." I called it a miracle.

You could almost see the trees smile, as the dust washed off their leaves. Every few seconds, a bird broke out into song. And then it was silent as it gazed towards the skies, its parched beak wide open, raindrops trickling in.

Instantly, the temperature dropped. Like a raging fever... broken. Finally. Much to everyone's relief. Just when we thought we couldnt bear the heat anymore.

Life thrives in between the extremes, at the point where "balance" is achieved. It's almost like there's this awesome equalizer at work, in nature, and within us too, that's constantly trying to set the balance right. When it's too hot, we crave for rain. But not too much of it . Just the right amount. When it's too rainy, we crave for sunshine. But only until it gets too hot. Then we start praying for rain once again.

It's not just the weather. Take chocolate, for instance. When I eat too many pieces at once, nature does the great "equalizing act" and makes me sick, so that next time, I would know better. It's another matter that, more often than not, I choose not to know any better the next time too.

Whether we acknowledge it or not, the life force within us... nature... the Universe, call it what you may, is constantly pulling us back to center. When we're out of tune with nature, we wander off into the extremes, where life does not thrive. And then she reminds us to "return to base."

Like with hailstones in the month of May.

Beckonings

2009-04-06T22:21:00.000+05:30

Far away, in the distance,
a light shines.
It beckons to me.
It calls my name.
I must go.
Towards the light. I must.

How should I get there?
And when I do, how shall I know
that I have found the same light that shone
and guided my rocky path?

Can I ever say
that my search has ended?
Or shall it be that the end of one search
will begin a search anew?

And if that should happen,
what would it be?
But that I would go from one light towards another.

Consider the changeless horizon upon which
a sunset is painted each evening.

For who could tell that in truth,
it is the Sun who is changeless. Unwavering.
And the horizon ever-changing?

Shrouded in the mist of my doubt
I cannot fathom the distance
to the light.
I know not the means that I must choose
to get there.
All I know is that I must go.

Towards the light. I must.

Happiness

2009-02-19T00:25:00.000+05:30

Moments of happiness. Unadulterated happiness. Not the kind of happiness that has some rider attached to it. Real happiness - like when there's this surge of positive energy from my soul - it's like a wave that emanates from deep within. Not for any particular reason, just "because."

Like this morning. Our neighbors have a dog named Kishmish. She's a furry little thing with the most adorable, soulful eyes through which she gazes into people's eyes as if it's love at first sight for her! But the eyes are where the love ends. She won't let anyone touch her. She just won't. And I have no idea why.

This morning, she was locked out of her house because she had sneaked out and gone for a nice jaunt in the park by herself. Now she wanted to get back in the house. I happened to come home right then, and our eyes met. As always. Only this time, she wagged her tail. She actually wagged her tail! A tentative, stop-start kind of wag. But it was a wag nonetheless. She came bounding up to me. I knelt down to pet her, she immediately scampered back a step. When I retreated, she bounded back to me again, tail wagging. I knelt down, she scampered back. Tentative tail wags indicating she was enjoying this little game. This went on for a few minutes, until her family opened the door, and she bounded back in her house.

But that's all it took. For me to be happy again.

In those few minutes, through this little game of "catch," she lifted my spirits and I was laughing. I felt a surge of positive energy from my soul. I felt connected to life. I felt alive again.

Getting Our House In Order

2008-12-16T17:55:00.005+05:30

"Enough is Enough!." This slogan sums up the emotion in India after 26/11. The citizens of India have had enough. Or so it seems. The Mumbai terror attacks last month pushed an already edgy population over the brink. People were out on the streets demanding all kinds of things ranging from war to new politicians to army rule... it was perhaps the biggest such demonstration conducted in free India, in which people from every community, every walk of life, came out on the street in protest.

The politicians became the favored scapegoat - the masses called for their heads.

Each one of us Indians is quick to pass the buck. It's become sort of a habit - there's always someone or something else to blame - the system, the politicians, the corruption, the pollution, and when all else fails, there's always that final death blow to any constructive argument in favor of individual change - over-population!

I don't deny that mass displays of unity in the form of processions are necessary to convey strong messages of solidarity. However, I don't think that it's wise to let out all our steam in processions and think we've done our bit by going out there and lighting candles. My point is that processions should not be the end, but the beginning of a process of serious inidvidual change!

We blame politicians for "repeating the same lines" each time a terrorist attack happens, yet we are guilty of the same crime. We display our usual cynicism with the system in fits and starts and then go back to living our own lives just the way we used to.

We like to think that the onus of maintaining a mature, responsible state lies with the politicians. How convenient for us. I say that we're all responsible for the chaos, anarchy, and inefficiency that have become a part of 'the system' in India. And I'm not going to harp on that cliched message of 'Vote for the right people' to change the system. That's a whole debate in itself about who is right and who is not. And voting happens once in five years. I refuse to accept that my responsibilty as a citizen begins and ends once every five years. But there are many other ways in which each of us impacts the system. Each of us has a theatre of impact - we're constantly interacting with the system: on the roads, at toll plazas, at shops (where we consider an evasion of VAT as a personal victory). No one can claim isolation from the system.

It's ironical. This whole situation. We eloquently bemoan the corruption that has 'eaten into the political system.' Yet, when a policeman pulls us over for violating a traffic law, we're quick to pull out a hundred rupee note and bribe the officer. (It's a question of saving that extra hundred rupees, you know. Why spend more when I can get away with less?)

We bash the system for not having adequate laws to punish terrorists. Yet, we cannot spend those extra two minutes waiting for the traffic light to turn from red to green. It is below our dignity, of course, to obey the existing laws. (Laws are for terrorists and criminals, not for us.)

We call our politicians uncivilized, yet we don't have the decency to stop at a pedestrian crossing to let a mother and her little child cross the road.

When a VIP convoy disrupts traffic, we blurt out the choiciest of abuses. In one instant, all our other worries are forgotten and the suffering mass of humanity languishing in that traffic jam now has one common enemy - the VIP. The political activist in us takes instant birth - it wouldn't take much for us to begin a protest march right there, maybe pelt some stones, wave some flags, and generally create a whole lot of commotion. (It's a democracy, you know. Why should we tolerate the injustice meted out to us by these VIPS?)

We abuse VIPs when they disrupt traffic, yet, when the traffic on one side of the road is blocked up, we don't even blink an eyelid before zooming our cars into the lane meant for oncoming traffic. (If I can just get two cars ahead, you know, at least I would be..well...two cars ahead!)

I must say, we put chamaleons to shame.

We lament that India is so dirty. We write off this country as unhygeinic and revel in the cleanliness of foreign countries the moment we step out of an airport in a foreign land. (Oh India...there's so much dirt everywhere. Don't even talk about India. It's the politicians, you know. They just don't care. The whole system is messed up.)

Even war torn Sri Lanka struck me as squeaky clean when compared with India! So did Vietnam. In Delhi, I have seen plastic bags hurled out of the fanciest of cars. Uh...did i hear someone say that the dirt in India is because of illiteracy? The other day, a marketing group from Cadburys was offering free chocolates in our company cafeteria, as a part of their promotional campaign. Needless to say, within minutes, the floor of the cafeteria was littered with chocolate wrappers. A big dustbin stood in the corner - neglected.

I say to each fellow Indian: in order to protest against the system, we need to have earned a right to protest. When we blatantly flout the system and use it to our advantage, I say we have lost the moral right to criticize it. Before we go hurling abuses at politicians and Pakistan, let's show some decency and civility to each other on the streets of our own cities.

After Diwali night, the streets of our cities look like we've just about survived an overnight bombing raid. The place is littered with remnants of crackers. And then we say that Goddess Lakshmi visited our homes last night. I personally think she ran a million miles away from our homes. It's most likely she was nowhere close to India that night.

It doesn't take government resources for us to exercise self control and not throw that paper out the window onto the street. It doesn't take government resources for us to be patient and wait at the traffic light until our turn comes. It doesn't take government resources for us to desist from blaring our car horns at the drop of a hat. It doesn't take government resources for us to learn to wait in line, even if it means spending the extra few minutes. It doesn't take government resources for us to decide that we're going to stop taking the easy way out all the time.

It's this 'shortcut' culture at the micro level that is reflected in the 'shortcut' culture at the macro level. The collective consciousness of this country is but a manifestation of inidvidual consciousness multiplied by one billion. The country as a whole gives out a vibe of 'chalta hai.' No amount of bombing a neighbouring country is going to help us until we bomb our minds and evict the 'chalta hai' terrorist from within us!

I join the chorus to say 'Enough is Enough!' But I say that we've had enough of ourselves. It's time for us to change. Let's truly "be the change that we want to see." But first, we have to want that change.

Keeping the Faith

2008-12-12T16:17:00.000+05:30

I have always believed that people are innately good. There’s a “nice” person in everyone. When I mention this to people, I often get a strange look that almost seems to say “yeah right!”

I’m not surprised at this reaction. In a day and age when bad news makes great headlines and good news isn’t so interesting anymore, it is easy for even the greatest optimist to turn cynical.

I am reminded of an incident that took place nearly four years ago when I was attending a week-long residential training session at a company farmhouse in New Delhi. After a hectic day of workshop sessions, I played a game of volleyball in the lawn along with my colleagues. It was an invigorating game. As I was walking back to my room, I noticed that my ring was missing. It was a gold ring with a beautiful red ruby stone, a gift from my grandmother before she passed away some years ago.

Without a second thought, I ran back to the lawn and began frantically searching in the grass. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack. And to make matters worse, the sun was setting; it would be pitch dark very soon. My colleagues joined the search too but it was in vain. Before I went to bed that night, I knew I had lost a precious heirloom that grandma had entrusted me with.

The next morning, I was up early and searched the grounds once more. Not a trace of the ring. Having given up all hope, I casually mentioned to the maintenance staff about the ring and to let me know if it turned up. My colleagues laughed at me, chiding my naiveté. Saurabh confidently proclaimed, “If they find it, they’ll keep it for themselves. What makes you think they’ll return a piece of gold with a real ruby?”

I didn’t respond. I thought to myself, “Miracles do happen.” My mind drifted back to the day that grandma had given me the ring, a sparkle in her eye as she passed on a ring that was once worn by my grandfather.

“Sir! Sir! Is this yours?” I was shaken out of my reverie by an eager voice. I saw Ravi bhai, the gardener, running towards me, his hand outstretched. In his palm, sparkling brighter than ever, was my ring. Ravi bhai looked happier than me. “I was trimming the bush when I found it, Sir!”

I knew, right then, that I would never give up on the power of goodness. I thanked Ravi bhai profusely and put in a good word for him with the staff management.

O Mother!

2008-11-30T16:00:00.002+05:30

Why is there so much hatred against you,
When you are the symbol of love?
Why is there bloodshed on your sacred land,
When your land has always nourished
the soul of the world?

You have brave sons and daughters,
Who died that night so I could sleep in peace...
I salute them today, O Mother...
I salute them...a thousand times!

My tears that fall incessantly,
Are for your plight, as I watch those who have betrayed you.
O Mother, today, the custodians of your well being,
The rulers who rule in your name,
Have forsaken their pledge
To serve you and only you.

Today I watch the saffron, white, and green
The blue wheel of time,
as it flutters above the carnage
Crying for help...

Waiting for your sons and daughters
To fight for truth and goodness...in your name!

Maa Tujhe Salaam...Vande Mataram...!

In Gratitude

2008-11-22T21:45:00.001+05:30

23rd November, 2008: A heartfelt prayer on the birthday of Bhagavan Sri Sathya Sai Baba...

"Make me a channel of your peace,
Where there is hatred let me show your love,
Where there is injury your pardon Lord,
And where there's doubt, true faith in you...
True faith in You..."

Thank you for being my guiding light. For your shower of blessings, for your promise of eternal happiness, here and now. Dear Sathya Sai, a heart full of gratitude for you...today, and always.

Soulmate

2008-10-26T20:13:00.000+05:30

Where do I search for you?
Beloved of my heart...
When I feel not your presence by my side?

Should I sit by the oceans
and listen to the waves
that remind me of the music
in your voice?

Or should I roam the forests
where leaves fall from the branches
...like the hair that falls across your face?

Perhaps I can find you in a song
Its melody, gentle yet powerful
enough to pierce my soul

Or the promise of sweetness
in a drop of honey
Like the promise of return in your eyes

Wherever I look
I see you
And I wonder if you ever left

How can I look for light
When light is what I look by?

How can I live away from you
When you are what I live by.

Diwali...

2008-10-26T19:35:00.000+05:30

Lighting that first diya on Diwali. There's something about it that warms the heart instantly. Something about that little flame that kindles hope. Hope ... in a time when it doesn't take much to despair. A cursory glance at the morning paper will do.

And hope is my theme for this Diwali. I want to hope. I want to believe that it is possible for happiness to be closer than I think; not an entire MBA degree away. Not a bigger car away.

Of late, I keep getting the feeling that the Universe is testing my willingness to hope. A series of events, carrots waved in the air, and then...nothing. Everything back to square 1. Well, maybe square 1.5, but nothing much more than that. And the more I get provoked, the more I feel I must continue to hope.

Like the flame in the diya. Even when a wind blows over it, it still wants to burn. It flickers, against all odds, sometimes reducing to a little spark that continues to burn a bright orange, long after the flame is gone. In the hope that it will regain its lost glory... and be a flame once again.

Thoughts...

2008-10-06T15:29:00.000+05:30

Today is one of those rare days when I don't have a ton of things to do at work. I am 'relatively' free. This word 'relative.' I really think the 'relative' nature of our experiences is what drives our perception of these experiences. And perception in turn drives action. In other words, I am driven by the demands of an often overactive mind that is continuosly making new perceptions and updating (or refusing to update!) its old ones.

The human mind exists between two extremes. The difference between the two extremes is the point at which perception is formed. A judgement is passed. I categorize an experience or event as "good" or "bad," "exciting" or "boring."

These extremes are essential to the human experience, so I'm not saying they're all bad (oops, a judgement again!). After all, it is my experience of darkness that allows me to appreciate the light. And vice-versa. When I'm tired and ready to hit the sack at the end of a long day, I turn off the light, and that moment of darkness is so welcome! This is the same darkness that I would probably curse when I want a glass of water at 3 am and can't find the light switch.

I ask myself, has the darkness changed? No, it is my need that has changed. And therefore, my perception of the darkness has now taken a complete u-turn.

The moment I detach myself from my mind, which is usually self-obsessed and in cahoots with my ego, I open myself up to a more compassionate reality. One in which I am able to observe the vagaries of my perceptions and not allow myself to become their victim.

The 'relative' nature of it all really hit home as I was driving to work today. I always end up waiting at the Ber Sarai crossing each morning, in front of a tottering and half-broken traffic signal. I seriously think that signal is going to fall down one of these days.

Anyways, as i sat in the car, I watched a group of street children run around, some going up to cars ahead of mine, begging for money. For me, it's heartbreaking to watch these children sit around in rags, nearly get run over by cars, and beg for money that they will surrender to whoever 'owns' them when they go back 'home' at night. As I watch them each morning, my thoughts race to all the possible people responsibile for them being on the road: the government, the police, society, criminals...

One of the boys must be only 6 or 7 years old. And he's carrying a little baby in his scrawny arms. He runs around trying to get to as many cars as possible before the signal turns green. And when he runs, the baby is jerked around in his arms. I shudder to think what would happen if...

I choose not to think. I have to learn to shut these thoughts out, it's the only way to survive this traffic signal every morning. I must admit, though, I'm not very successful at shutting things out.

I continue to curse. "This bloody government... how can they allow this!! Bastards, sitting in their swanky houses, and turning a blind eye towards these poor children..."

The boy is now standing beside the car to the left of mine, hand stretched out. Begging. Almost mechanically.

Sensing that he's not going to get anything here and needs to move on to another car, the boy starts to walk away (more like gallop away) from the car. In that split second, the baby in his arms makes eye contact with the person in the car. The baby flashes a brilliant smile. There it was, an innocent, heartwarming, "I'm enjoying my day" kind of smile.

It shattered my perception of the conditions that I would ordinarily associate a smile with. The smile I just saw came with tattered clothes, skin caked with dust, sweltering heat, the absence of a mother's comforting hold, and life on the edge (literally!).

I bet not one of us in our airconditioned cars would be able to muster up a smile like that.

And I said to myself, in amazement, ... it's all relative!

The Hindu "Identity Crisis"

2008-09-21T21:41:00.000+05:30

Terror. Fundamentalism. Politics. These are big issues. Certainly not ones that should be brushed away under the carpet. After all, it's a matter of life and death. It's a question of existence versus obliteration.

As India comes face to face yet again with the gory ideologies of fundamentalist groups, the debate is thrown open on TV shows; the newspapers are all about it. It's a free for all. From Arundhati Roy advocating secession of Kashmir from the Indian Union, to Singhvi (the Congress mouthpiece, literally!) almost "justifying" the occurrence of terror strikes today because "they happened when the BJP was in power too," everyone is throwing in their two cents worth.

As I try to make sense out of all the din, I desperately look for a voice in the political leadership of this country to echo the nationalist sentiments that are raging within me. All I hear is a string of emotionally bankrupt statements that refuse to call a spade a spade. With the exception, of course, of Narendra Modi. I admire the man for his ability and courage to speak strong, to speak clear. He comes across as a man of substance. Not like the Congress leadership that scurries to protect their minority votebank even before anyone has been accused of a crime! But wait - there never was any need to accuse, because the ones to be accused did that job for us - they accused themselves of the crime even before they committed it, and proudly strutted their accusations about while the country watched on helplessly.

But what to talk of the political leadership? Let's talk of our very own people. The SIMI ( a known Islamic fundamentalist organization with tentacles spread all over India) lashes out at the Hindus in its emails, calls us infidels, and openly taunts us before unleashing mindless terror on the streets of our cities. But what do so many of our educated middle class Hindus do? Start playing the self-righteous tune. "Why just the SIMI, even Hindu "fundamentalist" groups must be banned!" Like all of a sudden, the SIMI is such a dear precious friend of ours and we just cant see the poor thing being victimized. I even heard some Hindus go to the extent of suggesting that the bombs were planted by Hindu extremist groups. To them, I say: Gosh, people, get a life, before it's snatched away from you by these devious rascals who want to establish Islamic rule all over our country.

I am appalled at the logic which seems to go something like this for some of our philanthrophic Hindu brethren: the fact that most terrorists caught happen to be muslim is a problem. Never mind that the terrorists were motivated by an ideology that quotes the "misinterpreted" Islamic texts in and out.

It looks like our self-righteous Hindus would only be happy when for every muslim arrested, one Hindu is arrested too. Wow. Now that's taking the "Hindu Muslim Sikh Isai bhai bhai" thingy a little too far. I call it the "school assembly syndrome". Remember those school assembly songs, in which Hindu-Muslim-Sikh-Isai were conjoined together in the lyrics, almost deliberately? Well certainly to the point of making the whole unity thing so cliche.

But seriously, we Hindus have the unique quality of "catching our own tails" whenever the situation demands that we get our act together and face the enemy. I know a cute little pomeranian who does just that. Every time she's angry with someone, she won't bite the person she's angry with. Instead, she'll start going round and round in circles trying to catch her own tail, growling at it all the while, as if her tail is the reason for her current troubled state.

I say to her, leave the tail alone. It's the least of your problems. At least for now.

It doesnt surprise me anymore, the knowledge that throughout history, the Hindu civilization was manipulated, raped, and plundered so often. And almost so easily.

We turn against ourselves at the drop of a hat. And this is because we lack a common identity. We fail to see the common thread of "Aham Brahmasmi" and "Tat tvam Asi" that binds our beliefs from North to South, East to West. We peck at each other, like hens in a coup; fight over the petty details of who eats rice and who eats chappati, and who worhsips Vishnu and who worships Shiva. Countless times, I have heard North Indians snootily state that "we don't eat so much rice, like those South Indians." I mean, come on! When you cant get over these inane differences, how in God's name are you going to tackle the big issues? The ones that really matter?

Unfortunately, when under stress, we Hindus tend to distance ourselves from our Hindu identity. Just the opposite of what other communities generally do. In the process, we make ourselves extremely vulnerable to external forces, such as the SIMI.

And the sad truth is that we are prepared to watch our people be maimed on the streets but we cannot seem to muster up the guts or the will to embrace our inherent commonalities and come together under one Hindu identity.

A Moment...

2008-09-21T21:06:00.001+05:30

A moment of tranquility. Standing on the soft sands of the shore, looking out to sea. The breeze dancing around me. The rhythmic roar of a wave, as it rushes toward me. The wave is as mighty as it is gentle. One moment it leaps into the air, falling over itself in it's eagerness to reach the shore; the next, it gently caresses my feet as if holding them in its tender embrace.

I am one with the Universe. In that fleeting moment, somewhere deep within, a memory stirs. As old as time itself, perhaps. It reminds me of me.

A moment of revelation. I am the soft sand. I am the dancing breeze. I am the roaring wave. I am the beauty of all three, and more. I am movement, I am touch, I am sound. I am thought. I am feeling. I am spirit. I am the confluence of the Universe's best. I am... life itself.