Walking by...

Streets are heavy with dust, passing traffic. A cluster of women walks past, the edge of saree covers three fourth of their faces. It is December and I am back in this small town-Ghaziabad. The streets are congested, people, traffic, animals all seek space. As a kid I would visit the vegetable market with parents, learning to choose fresh vegetables from the piles, pressing the turgid lemons, smelling fingers to take in the lemon's fragrance. There are so many fragments of memories, like scraps of worn cloth. Some times when I try to conjure them the images sulk and then I sense that maybe when I am dying all these images, moments will come flooding. They say it happens when a human is gasping for the last breath. Time that carries quiet, pale noons, time that cradles first rush of hormones. Sometimes the time leaps from such spaces, a smell, a touch, a wandering breeze, dragging the mind to a long forgotten space. Copper rays on the faded bedspread, as the blood pulsates to a primitive beat of life, I sit wondering how a human life is entwined with time...

This picture is of my Grand mother with my only maternal aunt (mausi) and uncle( mausaji). I don't know how to express but words are my saviour. Yesterday evening I came to know she is no more. Feel a stifling knot inside that I hope shall release after I am done with writing. My first memories are of her sitting in kitchen near the log fire and cooking the tastiest meals. The slow fire would permeate the kitchen with aroma of cooking bhat and daal, even the simplest of things became magical in her hands and I at five or six years of age would slowly try to get as close to her as possible. Now, in Kumaon there are these practices that while cooking no one is supposed to touch the cook. Perhaps this has to do with the fact that earlier days to maintain the hygiene of the cooking area the woman who cooked bathed in the wee hours and started the fire, concentrating the attention of preparing the meal without any disturbance and contaminations through oter people touching the food without the needed precautions. My nani ( gandmother) cooked like this, I would inch forward asking her " why?, why should I not touch you while you cook? If you don't give me an explaination, I shall touch you". She would laugh and scare me with a stick although never using it. After this she would patiently feed my Nana ji ( grandfather). And then there were days when she would clean the kitchen and the coackroaches would be removed from the wooden beams of the mountain house. I would piously threten her," see you are killing these creatuures, mind you, you may suffer the ' paap' ( sin) of killing these. She would laugh at this,yes so be it! She was a woman of rare strength and perhaps we get that in our genes from her. I saw her very courageously stand by the right thing and I pray that God give me the same strength in my life. I would often hang around her, she draped in simple cotton sari and me asking her a thousand questions as she took out the stones from the rice she was cleaning in a thali. For years that I was at her house I saw peace and patience. There was a fun episode when there was marriage of my Devendra Mama ( maternal uncle), she was a good manager and had kept things in orderly manner in the store, the keys would be with her. I got to know that there were sweets, really rich ones that had been brought by some guest. I asked her if some one had got sweets, she said no, and then I kept a tab on where she hid the key, when there was a chance I took kids to plunder the store and we ate the sweets and carried the rest in our pockets. Then I placed the key where she had hid it. Later when she visited the store she saw the sweets were gone and the other things were in a disarray, but true to her word she did not speak a word of it, she smiled and smiled! Such was my nani! I remember visiting a quaint temple with her, the fresh flowers in pots all around the temple and the tiny brass bell strung all around are still fresh in my memory and there too I would incessantly question her, many time asking her not to believe in the priests. She would never discourage my questioning. Earlier this year I had a chance to visit her but I did not gather enough courage to let go of responsibilities here and simply visit her, wish I had done so. May Shrimataji take you in her fold Nani, I know you are watching over as tears finally make way. Although I could not visit you often neither bring a gift to you I love you, you shall always stay in my heart.

Just passing by...

Been a long time since I last wrote here. When you keep writing words rush to you like an eager torrent otherwise one has to seek them. Was looking at my blog statistics and was surprised to see a lot of traffic from Germany. Jayani, my daughter has wrapped some seeds in wet cotton, a delicate bean sprout has emerged and she is observing it elongating shoot. Since morning cotyledons have shriveled up and fine veined leaves are emerging. Children bring to us the magic of every-day miracles, within two days the seed has grown into a beautiful plant. When one observes all the ego that one can identify with, dissolves. When all that is truly difficult happens spontaneously, then who are we to mark each deed as ours. Any thing and every thing that a human is capable of doing is insignificant compared to all constant miracles that keep emerging around us, delicate patterns on smallest of insects. Shelter for tiniest of creature, this breath flowing in and out, all...As evening gathers, dust settles and birds chirp perched on branches, sky darkens and stars emerge one-by-one. What beauty surrounds us each moment and we have damaged our senses enough to be oblivious of such divine grace, how and why? They say we emulate the creator when we love as the longing is similar to seeking the source of all, long time back tried to figure out how while interacting with a friend who was hopelessly in love and this friend came to me weeping, there is no sense in love, all it gives us is heart ache, she wailed. We discussed and this friend counted the expectations, I could not be judgmental as I too was equally at loss as to how this friend would be consoled. In the end we faced the facts that since she was seeking, love happened and as it grew so did the expectations, here was the deal breaker: now there was love but unfulfilled expectations that caused this breakdown. So along with her I discovered that expectations killed what she had come to know as love. There was no sense in hating or grieving, she had to let go and move on as whatever it was, it hurt more than it healed. When one just observes in a detached manner, it makes sense when spiritual giants like Ramana Maharshi, here's a gem: One who renounces desires actually merges in the world and expands his love to the whole universe. Expansion of love and affection would be a far better term for a true devotee of God than renunciation, for one who renounces the immediate ties actually extends the bonds of affection and love to a wider world beyond the borders of caste, creed and race.

Winter Schooldays

Down with cold, think it will take while before the immune system stabilizes. Remembering Winter school days in junior classes when a hardy rickshaw wala used to seat us with ruthless discipline. He had developed a strong dislike for some kids, I was one of the kids who were commanded to push the rickshaw when it was slow or got stuck in a ditch. Kids used to indulge into heavy politics of reserving the center stuffed raxine seat. A younger brother would spread a towel and fiercely guard it against kids who forced their bottoms against the hands threatening to pinch. Used to be major brawl, next came name calling when kids used imagination wildly to distort names. My maiden name was usual target as Pathak was quiet like phatak, that is the railway crossing barrier but I dreaded worse discoveries. Puruthi became parantha, major harassment went on throughout the ride to school sometimes escalating to throwing of bags that hung precariously on the edges of wooden bench opposite the prized raxine seat. I still remember our rickshaw wala's rugged handsome face vividly. He would makes us run after the rickshaw as a few smarter kids lorded over the stuffed seat and we pushed or hung at the back with feet jammed on the single steel rod just above the back wheels. Extreme frustration led to my sneaking to the school by cycle, was in third grade. He used to wipe off the moisture beads with a rag that he kept under the seat. Children on the wooden bench kicked children on the stuffed seat as there was heavy jealousy. A kid who stayed in the next block, his name was Rajiv Sharma, he would tell us stories where he kicked and tortured lions and tigers and they ran for life, the most amazing part was he made us believe that he rode the Lions when he went back for summer holidays to his grandparents. He would not accept any doubts. The campus where we lived was beautiful, a UNDP aided training center. Vast stretches of wilderness were favourite haunts, often the tearing hurry of escaping after stealing vegetables or climbing across the wall to steal peas from the village nearby led to scraping of knees and wounds. To bypass the scolding and anger from parents, I had befriended the Doctor at the dispensary in hostels. All the kids in the campus had a fierce completion on who would fleece more stamps and coins from the foreigner trainees or instructors in the hostel. The hostel was far from the residential area so a friend of mine Tintu and I latched on to a leaving rickshw for a free ride to the main gate. This guy was funny he said to us now that I have you in my rickshw I will kidnap you and he started paddling furiously. I jumped as the rickshaw hurled towards the main gate scraping knees and elbows against the road, the rickshawala, got scared and my friend was dropped quickly. Going home with these wounds would mean lots of anger and then furious first aid so I headed to the friendly Doctor ad he bandaged the wounds. At home I would cover up with long frocks till an aunt who had seen the whole episode asked my mother about how I was healing. Then she discovered the few scabs. Writing after long but the blog is my space since 2006. Is sometimes good to read the things that came across at times.

Has been on my mind, it was raining outside, I was sixteen and visiting a temple in Ghorakhal. This family had four grown up children, the youngest was elder to me by a few years. She was fond of photography and shared an album with her dressed as Mira, queen, goddess and what ever she fancied. There was this elder sister with her two young girls. We were four I think wandering in the woods when the people I had visited left without me, somewhere I wished this as I was loving the company. The eldest boy was in college and was like a living sculpture, chiseled nose, perfect features. Younger boy was my age and kind of smitten. When we returned after that deliberate wandering I was a bit scared, this was a strange house. I remember we peeled steaming potatoes and the simple lady of the house liked my presence. There was a strange energy there, I could not sleep the entire night. Around midnight I sensed the young girl, younger sister was whispering something to someone, it was her sister's husband and she was fending off his advances saying I would wake up. God that was absolute terror as I stayed wide awake and alert to run, I cursed the moment I had stayed back with these people. Moments crept towards dawn, when I left for home the next morning it was like the biggest relief. I wonder if the family was blind to what was brewing, dunno why but this just surfaced.

First there were just the cat and the kittens! Then arrived the mamma dog with her litter! Since mamma cat shifted to the home where she gave birth, she has been visiting home. She almost bullies me into following her to the room where her litter were kept, there she shows me the places where they were kept,she avoids the main entrance as the bitch is there with her litter. This routine went on for a few days. Yesterday, the kind Christian lady 'nana' as her grand daughter calls her, shared with me how the black cat reacted to this dog. When nana, was trying to feed some bones to this dog the black cat ran towards the door where the dog was chewing on a bone and slapped the dog. Dog scurried home, I thought some one had hit her but it was the ferocious cat who seems to be really jealous of this dog. Nana told me about her grand daughter overfeeding the cat and yet the cat was trying to maintain her territory in our home! Nana was furious with the roguish cat "this cat is a getting too bold, look she hit the big dog and what's her size, I hit her head lightly after she slapped the dog!" I doubled up laughing. So much politics in these territorial war fares. Most amazing thing is holding there tiny perfect creations in my hand and how they trustingly sleep nestled between fingers. Am stirred as their tiny hearts beat against my hand. Nature creates such perfection in humblest of life forms. It is innocence that opens our hearts and then the love flows, puppies and kittens don't pay us for all the work we do but we are so overwhelmed with love and protective feelings that we do things that we would not do for humans for these little animals. Nana was telling me yesterday that these animals pray with their little minds to God for us when we love them, maybe it's true but for the moment just to hold fresh life in my arms I swab, clean and cook for these little babies. It seems as humans we have this condition-we evolve when we learn to love and keep the love flowing...

I had a strange dream yesterday, a white tiger pounced on me through a window and that was unnerving, later I was sharing my meditation experiences with a saint and questioning what they mean. There are days when there is absolute clarity and then there are days when mind wanders to the past. It makes me think that imbalance and sadness have their roots in past. The moment you step into this trap of asking 'why', there is absolute chaos. Later it snowballs into frustrations, self pity and deep sadness. It is a fact that joy is condensed in this present moment, slipping into the past is painful. Meditation keeps you balanced and in complete joy. There is deep wisdom is leaving everything to divine.