MsPhilosopher

In Short

2012-02-01T21:21:00.000+05:30

Cherry blossom canopy
Wooden bench
You and me
What more is poetry?

Unfinished

2011-12-19T19:51:00.008+05:30

My silence, my alone-ness
A mess
You helped make
In the heart of me.
That weighs down
Every part of me.

It started with a tire
Around the middle,
Possibly one to fit a bicycle.
Another tire,
Maybe two,
And so on it changed,
Bigger I grew.

Pile upon rubber pile
People look, point fingers, smile
At times, a nick, a cut
To shape this rubber monster
With an indelicate touch,
The more they take away
The more I find.

Some dump yard
That's what all our doings would mean
If a fire did not burn
Quietly.

And forge a new metal
Of my mind.

That knows hurt
Without hurting.
And believes in pain
Without writhing
In significant squiggles
Across your indifferent horizon.

P.S. Can't think of an appropriate title.

Market evening

2011-12-04T11:10:00.002+05:30

The bizarre bazaar lights, jagged waves of music
Wares masked in fluorescence,
Unsmiling models , props of everywhere,
In these remarkably global days.
Smells tuck streets away.
Couples mirror poses in a technicolour daze.

Each one walks in a swallowing crowd,
Somnambulists all.

Nothing Philosophical About it?

2011-12-02T21:23:00.003+05:30

It's too bad.

In what inexcusable fit of Icarian ambition, or enforced quest for uniqueness have I labelled the blog "MsPhilosopher?" Humbug! That, I now see, is the reason I'm bobbing in cold seas.

Because right now, all I want to tell you is... in spite of myself, I went down to run an errand for the folks, on this foggy winter evening. And while returning , in the dusty excuse of a park we have here, I saw what seemed like a bulging heap of woolens. Intrigued, I drew closer and what I saw was this:

Six I think. Mamma won't let me keep one. She's smarter with her arguments now, says," serve them all, adopting one will deprive the rest...etc." Speciousness Special Awards anyone? I did try to give them a blanket. In their universe, both blankets and biscuits are undecipherable mysteries, not so milk, which they disposed off as seen fit. All this was undertaken under the patronising supervision of their compeer in age, albeit of the human kind - in other words, a toddler. (His majesty, the baby! someone said - what paragons of insight epigrammatists are!)

So you see there was very little philosophical about this evening and yet.... what does philosophy mean? This is good enough for me and the many!

Updated to add: 6 Dec 2011:
Went out morning to take their photos, none of them were in the park. Returned disappointed. Again in the evening the park was empty. Saddened I roamed about a bit and saw one sleeping under a car on the road. Not wanting to wake it up from its beauty sleep, returned home. Again, around 9 PM, searching the park thoroughly, saw two curled up in shallow holes. Relieved that they were here finally, and charmed at their irresistible sweetness from a distance, I approached them but .... something was wrong. Made the usual friendly noises which is intelligible only to them, there was no response. Their little faces seemed frozen in sleep. Hesitating, reached out my hand to touch one . . cold. . . stiff. . .as I rolled it over.
Dead.

Both of them.

A Would-be Poem , or the Literary Cramp

2011-11-30T21:42:00.000+05:30

Ages since I last wrote here. Shall I tell you why? I shall, and what is more I shall tell you the reason in the words of the master poet W.B. Yeats: "There is no wisdom without indolence. Nobody running at full speed has either a head or a heart."
So, that naturally implies I have been effectively head and heartless, leaving therefore no resources to devote to the more gentle-womanly pleasures of contemplation, rumination, fabrication, versification, and such other intellectual peregrinations.

However, there is a most needed lull in the proceedings which begins to remind me again of who I am - with relevant quirks and aspirations. And therefore, none can stop me, just as all are warned.. I shall foist my scribblings on all and sundry and take all comers as well. Lets see how long this spurt lasts. I give it two months? Even that is too long.

So here's the first sample of my literary exercise, I call it a Would-be Poem. You can be uncharitable enough to call it a Literary Cramp, since that is what comes of animating near forgotten faculties. 'Nuf said.

A Would-be Poem , or the Literary Cramp

Sunshine, my eyes flicker open
The rest of me rises in one fluid motion
Levitating above my haven of a bed.

I am pressed down.
"Late riser" they say (of feet muddy brown and grey),
With neatly timed pirouettes,
I keep dodging
Not half as amused,
As found amusing.

Within is a fond nurse
the balm of a shyly-glowing lotus.
And left alone, I bob along the ceiling
Its only gravity
Which with great alacrity
Clasps on to my feet.

Without is a solitary road
Where only the sheerest cloak
Flutters against my breezy toes.

Sundaram

2009-11-24T09:21:00.001+05:30

This is about Sundaram. Not just the soap though!
All the information (as luscious as the soap) is available on the internet.

But a short recap for those who are too lazy to go and comb the world wide web. The source of Sundaram (soap) is the Arya Vihar Ashram in Uttarkashi, which is a known haven for spiritual seekers. The spiritual guide is Swami Giridhar Aditya. From what I was told, he was earlier in the merchant navy and one day on board a ship he had a sudden epiphany! That was it! He renounced everything and travelled to the Himalayas so that the epiphany would become a continuous flow of consciousness rather than a drop! After many years he met a few who wanted to learn from him and they became his friends and disciples. It is a small but dedicated band. With their own effort they have built the ashrama in Maneri, and every day they elect a leader who divides their daily tasks such as cooking, or washing etc. This they do throughout the summer months and then during winter travel across the country. You can see some interesting snippets here. Its rather inspiring, is Pravrajya!
Their produce, sold under the label of Sundaram (Sanskrit for beautiful), consists mainly of soaps and facewashes, and now detergents. All of these are 100% natural. And whats more beautiful is that the sadhaks living in the ashram make it themselves!
They have a regular outlet at Dilli Haat, which is where I first learnt of them. Then at the Blind School Diwali mela (which was another of my expeditions) I came across their stall. I also brought a few things and learnt about their way of life. This made me curious to know more so I did some research and found out that they were to be at the Dastkar Nature Bazaar too!

Mamma and me were ambling along slowly, looking (like the king's maternal aunt, I'm afraid) at the wares on display. I could smell a wonderful fragrance from a distance. Immediately I was on high alert waiting to see nice incense somewhere... but here's what I stumbled upon!

Chunky slabs of handmade soaps!

And this wonderful, warm and pretty young lady- Christine. I told her about my previous interaction with the inmates of the ashram. And asked her about her life. She told me she was married to a sailor who was away for the major part of the year, and that was the time she spent at the Ashram. Also, it was her husband who introduced her to her Master. I asked her," how do you feel now, after living this life?" And her reply was an emphatic,"Better!" Asked to elucidate, she continued,"I feel more centred. I can face situations more calmly, with greater strength." It was so nice to hear her speak. I also bought a few things and then went on with the exploration of the bazaar.

Later, I was drawn back again (to make the best of the opportunity) and then I met Monica.
Here are their pictures:

Christine (seated), Monica (standing)

Monica, I believe, was in the Ashram clothes. And when I said I wanted to ask them more questions she told Christine to take over! Christine was pointing out the Rhododendron soap and telling me," It's aromatic and masculine - Italians love them!" At this, Monica who had been occupied elsewhere quipped,"I'm Italian, I hate it." That was really funny! I asked them what they thought of as they made the products. Christine answered that she had a best friendat the ashram and they would work silently repeating their mantra. This is in keeping with their practice of Karma Yoga as preached in the Bhagavad Gita. I then asked them about the goat's milk soap. Monica replied it was a barter system with the goatherds, and they would get goat's milk in return for fruits or vegetables from the ashram which they gave the goatherds. This time there had been a delay in the seasonal descent of the goatherds or gujjars as we call them.
So the soap was fresh and still getting ready in the ashram. Isn't it wonderful to hear?
I also wanted to know how they hit upon making soap as a means to fund the ashram activities. Christine replied that their Guru was tired of purchasing soap, and wondering how to raise money so he asked,"Why not make our own soap?" And that was how all this started. Ain't I glad that it did? :)

They were probably two of the best people I ever bought anything from! Best of luck with everything guys!

Posing with the product.

To the IGNCA!

2009-11-23T11:42:00.000+05:30

On 6 November. Mamma and I decided to set forth on one of our great exploring adventures (which includes shopping if I'm lucky :) !). This was to IGNCA at Janpath.

I have never before been to the IGNCA which is a regular ground for fairs and exhibitions!. But since this was the Dastkar Nature Bazaar, I was interested!

It was quite an interesting place! The theme for this year's exhibition was "Monkeys and Bananas!" So, not only did stalls have their themed merchandise out but there were live mascots only too pleased to pose for photos:

As you can see, these were a colourful and emotive species!

Which tried to scare some pretty babies just for the camera by leaping and making monkey talk with them!

Here are the babies from Orissa. A troupe ready for performance:

Aren't they charming?

There was also a pottery workshop for school children only (or I would have gladly participated!) It was worth it just to see the glow on their intent faces as they gave shape to a lump of clay. It was meditation in motion. Also reminded me of Sri Ramakrishna of whom devotees said:"He could take a man's mind and mould it as easily as though it were a lump of clay!" Truly fascinating!

Works In progress: Child and clay

We met Sindu from Bhutan. She was so soft spoken, gentle and graceful - characteristic of her people! I asked her what her name means.. And she paused to think, then replied,"Its just a name." What's in a name as someone asked? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

Sindu

The pretty Bhutanese dresses (very expensive too!)

Also there were bubble heads with hilarious expressions. I don't have space to put them up in my room and also they would be a serious distraction to me, nodding their heads constantly with a knowing smile (making me wonder what I've done), so I didn't buy them! However they were covered by some T.V. channel. Anyone saw it?

The Anchor in action! Talk about framed narratives!

I also met the Sundaram people. And had a lovely time interacting with them. But that is for a separate post.

It was a joy to see such diverse arts and crafts under one roof. Especially because today the mall culture is eating into the cottage industries and handicrafts. These are living traditions of India, history made tangible. And beautifully, purposefully so. If you read Nine Lives, the poignant story of the Stpathy is bound to make a deep impression.

I also had a good time at the food stalls. We sat on the green lawns for lunch. It was sunny but cool and very lively. I had a chuski (ice ball) which set my teeth on edge for the next few hours! (Age is catching up with me...!) All the gaiety of the fair had filled faces with smiles, and emptied shops of their goods! We were also glad with our purses somewhat lighter... I saw a beautiful baby boy sitting cross legged near me taking bird like bites from his grandparents' plates. His granny was clean shaven. It did not seem remarkable to me. Till I heard her telling an acquaintance about her chemotherapy sessions. That changed everything. I could still appreciate what was before me, because everything has its place in life. But I wasn't as carried away as before.

It was a nice, one for the memory album!
Cheers!

Shubh Deepawali!

2009-10-20T20:11:00.000+05:30

Happy Diwali! (Belated)
My favourite festival of the year and my favourite season!
This year diwali was unique, although I had fun last year as well.
I knew from the Delhi ashram's programme list that there was to be an all night Kali puja in image but I was determined to abstain. Wishing to dedicate it to the return of Bhagawan Ram and celebrations. But, as John Lennon said "life is what happens when you're making other plans."
And I was very curious about an all night puja!! (At Sivaratri this year I couldn't stay).
It would stretch my endurance and devotion besides being a spectacle.
And it answered to expectations . . .
So here are a few photos from my Diwali!

The Swastika (Swastika- su asti- well being) on the occasion of Narak Chaturdashi
(I made it :) )

Rev Swami Shantatmananda, Secretary-Ramakrishna Mission Delhi, worshipping the
Divine Mother. The closed doors are of the main shrine. Photo taken by Amrita who had a better view.

Time:12:10 AM
Amrita, a devotee with her acquaintances. So it is not all dry detached discipline for the aged!

Time: 1:52 AM
Warrior of light! And what fine weaponry. The most gorgeous aratrikam lamp ever I saw! And waved to the traditional sounds of conch, bell and 'dhak' it became an ecstasy inducing aratrikam.

Time:3:36 AM
At around 3:30 AM the doors to the shrine opened, and Mangal aarati was performed. Simultaneously, the homa was completed. Here you see Rev Maharaj cooling the sacrificial fire,as arati is being performed. Isn't the decor beautiful?

Time:3:55 AM
The sweetest sight. A baby fast asleep in his mother's arms, and the mother asleep resting her head on the baby's! A pity I did not get a better shot.

Time: 4:15 AM
A better view of the Divine Mother in idol. Apologise for the photo's quality. It had very low battery, and I had not expected to be able to take photos at all. But I am still mighty pleased with the result. I hope you are too?

Zoomed in, apologies for the blur.

Sri Ramakrishna.

We then went out of the temple after making pranams where a sumptuous prasad awaited us.
Khichuri, vegetables and sweets and fruits. I was in no condition to eat anything except a sweet or two. The very air was exhilarating! Our revered monks must have had it tough, they stayed up all night and then had to proceed like clockwork on their duties (for the rest of us it was a Sunday!).
So this was my unexpected and amazing Diwali! I had stayed up till 5, a rarest of the rare occurring! So glad. Quoting Ovid entirely out of context again: May Jove send me many more days (or nights) like this!"

त्वं वैष्णवी शक्तिः अनंत वीर्या विश्वस्य बीजं परमासि माया ।
सम्मोहितं देवी समस्तं एतत त्वं वयि प्रसन्ना भुवि मुक्ति हेतु । ।
(Thou art the Power that preserves the world, infinite, dauntless
The seed of creation,
Thou art the Supreme veil of illusion, enchanting all
Be pleased O Divinity,
Bless us with freedom! )

On Age and Wisdom

2009-10-19T19:23:00.000+05:30

What has inspired this article is an incident that took place on 10th Oct.
The Spicmacay recital at Nehru Park in New Delhi by Gaana Saraswati
Smt Kishori Amonkar.
She has been my favourite female classical vocalist for about a decade. And continues to be so along with Smt Ashwini Bhide.
Her rendition of bhajans seem to bring the listener face to face with the
Deity invoked. Therefore to listen to her in a live recital was a gladdening
prospect. I imagined I was going to listen to a devotee not only of the
art of music but also of God. Not knowing anything of classical techniques
I cannot judge her performance. To my ears it was not up to expectation.
However her behavior was disappointing. On learning that someone
was recording her performance without permission she peremptorily summoned the organiser (a very dignified lady) and shouted at her with the mic on.And when one of the persons with the recording threw the memory card on the stage, she got up and refused to continue.
Not entirely without justification but hardly the manner one expected from a 78 year old Padma Vibhushan awardee, who sings such soul stirring bhajans. It made me think deeply. . .

One of the first shlokas I ever read in Sanskrit extolled the virtue
of the matured ones- vriddhas, those who have grown (if we see literally).
It said:
Those are not matured that are matured in body itself
But the shining ones admire him who is so in mind be he a mere child in form.

The couplet was read when I was around 10-12 yrs old and I have
not come across it again therefore I can not offer an exact translation.
The gist however has been deeply imprinted on my mind.
Then belonging to a culture where age is revered, where gray hair
are brandished as an obvious manifestation of wisdom.
Then the saying of Sri Ma Sarada Devi implying old age is meant for enjoying the pension of all material and spiritual effort, and you can understand why I see old age as quite a golden ideal.

Now, practically- we know old age comes with debilities, with the burden(?)
of memories of an entire life, perhaps with seeing all that one gave one's life to (chiefly, children and career) move away, and the achievement or lack of goals, leaving a vacuum one have no energy to fill. One might find oneself in a rut - of bitterness/inertia/ listlessness.

I feel it boils down to the dichotomy of body and mind. If, as Indians, for us everything begins to flow from inside out "निः श्वसितं वेदाः " as our scriptures sang, we may reconcile the abstract with the practical.

After all we see living shining examples of the same, but I'm afraid, they are more or less spiritual beacons. It doesn't mean they're clad in ochre and shod in wooden sandals. It means they have learned to prize the spirit of things above self - physical self. It may be an Ustad Bismillah Khan who lived an entirely middle class life saying he was a son of Saraswati so why should he hanker for Lakshmi? It may be a Smt M.S. Subbulakshmi or the kind grandmother on the street whose face is aglow with wisdom and warmth such as mine was- full of grace, patience and devotion. Known for her virtue and the family she came from, she was approached by even young girls as a confidante. It can be the Peace Pilgrim. And many other such.

So it is an option that remains open for one. A conscious decision to be.
Wisdom is not concomitant to old age. Literature is full of justified references to old dotards!
A maturing(completed, perfected, or elaborated in full)is the culmination of a lifelong of struggle, of sculpting with hammer and chisel.

In what image am I building myself as I walk towards the sunset?

Jiva

2009-10-12T09:45:00.000+05:30

I'm alone
Utterly
Entirely
Alone.

Alone is
The world of my mind.
With choking swamps of desire
Cooling mirages of love.

Alone I fight
These shadows,
These lights
Fight me,
To whom do I belong?
What land's native am I ?

In half,
and half.
Man | Woman
Beauty | Terror
Lust | Filth
I dwell.
Held captive
(Willingly?)
What mother's child am I ?

Is there a God?
Whose deep frown lines
Form my unforgiving path?
To whom tears and sweat are oblations?
Let my life's blood then be His anointment.

As I live in half,
and half.
Promises | Despair
Worship | World
Love | Longing
...

I will to be whole
An End
in myself
All soul, or,
All flesh

One Element.
In frightening finality.

To none I belong
I seek to claim no one
No land's native
I

Let it burst forth thundering
From my chest,
The infinite sky.
As Wind and Water
Earth and Fire
Reconcile
unto
I

तपाम्यहम वर्षं निग्रिह्नाम्युत्सृजामी च ।
अमृतं चैव मृत्युश्च सदसच्चाहमर्जुन । ।

ॐ तत् सत् । ।

_______________________________________________

P.S. This poem was composed in many days, in a moment. The feelings had been swirling in my mind for many days, weeks maybe and then events clouded up the horizon and at the opportune moment the skies burst forth and brought rain upon the parched earth.

The actual writing was a first for me. It was on my cellphone,during a concert by Vidushi Kishori Amonkar in an open park, under a cloudy night sky. Listening to the raag Baageshree the words came pouring out.

I felt it as grace.

Through the memory album

2009-10-04T19:55:00.000+05:30

This post is about memories. About the time when life is moving so fast, it gets blurred! And you step out of the mad rush, take a deep breath and take a measure of yourself. Then move on with a spring in your step and clearer vision.
So this is essentially 2006-2007.
Since it has been ages. Lets flip through the pages of time. One picture would merit a hundred words at least (but I'll make it a few). A clip of a panel of a book of a series of the Pictorial Stories(!!!) for children which my blessed parents bought for me from Holy Dakshineshwar. This photo means to me the sunlit courtyard,the towering temples, all the stories of Krishna that made life sweet and golden as a child. From the days of grace gone by...to the days that will come. This was one of the first, taken from my (then brand new) camera phone. Even entered it in a competition online! For me its a visual metaphor for life as I would like to live it- simple, beautiful, natural, full of colours!

Where I graduated from- Maitreyi. An auspicious name for an all girls college. So far the best year of my life! Cheers!
With Rev Sw Satyadharmananda (Shubhashish Maharaj) in the Delhi Ashram bookshop. Rev Maharaj is now in Jayarambati but his exceptional warmth, affection and concern for ,and faith in, me shall stay in my heart forever. ( I do not have a photo of Most Rev Swami Gokulananda, the first monk of the Order I met and whose impression on my heart is everlasting, something I have never ceased to regret).

Early morning breakfasts (which we told noone about) at Sarvana Bhawan! Cloudy days and steaming mugs of coffee, with yummy dosas or idiyappams...And then off to discovering new places with such joy!
God bless you guys wherever you are!

Ramakrishna Ashram- New Delhi. 2007. Golden Jubilee celebrations. I was there. On one day from 9 AM
to 9 PM. Without any tiredness etc.... It was awesome fun! Haminasto Haminasto Haminast....!

Hope you enjoyed seeing and reading this post as much as I enjoyed reliving it!

P.S. To be continued!

On the banks of the Yamuna

2007-08-07T22:00:00.000+05:30

Translation of "Yamuna Tatt", a composition of Surdas.

By the banks of Yamuna, beheld the son of Nanda;
Comely crest of peacock feather,
Earrings like blossoms of Kadamba,
Form draped in dress like molten gold
And the fragrance of chandana.

A glimpse of Him, bliss to the eyes,
Has quenched the thirst of the burning heart.
The milkmaid forgot herself in the love divine.

The lotus-eyed One remained by the bank
Shyly, there the maiden went
Beloved of Sur, Thou dwell'st in the soul
And assume a form to fulfill all vows.

Bride of Ram (Ramaiyya ki Dulhan)

2007-02-22T19:05:00.000+05:30

Another translation from a medieval Bhakti Saint (I love them) this time
Kabir. A saint who was always frank in his speech. The original is titled
"Ramaiyya Ki Dulhan" He means Maya/Illusion. Ram is the Supreme,
Impersonal God.

That Bride of Ram's!
O Brother, She has merrily swindled the market
Entirely,
Swindled the heavenly cities,
Swindled the snakes in their holes
The three worlds are run amok in alarm,
There can be no peace
With this Bride of Ram's.

Bramha Himself,
She swindled
And swindled Mahadev
And the ever celibate monk Narada too
She chased.
Of Shringi, a Bhringi She will make
And tease Parashar till he remains no sage!
That Bride of Ram's, how merrily She has swindled the
Entire Market-place.

All are her disciples,
All She initiates,
With a cunning whisper
She
Breathes off realisation of eternity.
That Bride of Ram
Did not leave Yogeshwar and he
Was left thunderstruck,
Swindled of his peace.

My Master's compassion rescued me from this cheat,
And His Name had me safely ferried,
Across the endless, turbulent seas.

Listen, O Good Brother, Kabira thus speaks
Beware this Great Lady Cheat!
Look how She has swindled the three worlds entirely.

Epic of Ram: The Season of Rains

2007-02-22T18:26:00.000+05:30

Translated from Goswami Tulasidas' SriRamCharitMaanas.

Lakshman behold the peacocks !
Dancing for the darkened skies;
Rejoicing as the devotee who
Discovers a Vaishnava monk in sight.

The rolling thunder of stormy clouds strains against the shadowy skies,
And in the absence of My precious Sita, bereft of all peace am I;
The lightning bolt tearing the clouds wilfully whirls across the horizon,
Darting and flitting as do the sentiments of a rake, loyal to no one.

The raining clouds are strung over the earth, bowed with their burden,
Humble as him who, toiling for years attains to divine wisdom;
How these great mountains do face the onslaught of pitiless torrents,
With calm fortitude as the saints, who endure the fool's comments.

The sated streams blossoming into rivers, frolic along their shores
Glorying in their noveau riches, just as the knave who must make a show.
The embrace of the earth stains the fair, bright showers from heaven,
Muddied, as if they were the soul of man tarnished by dark illusions.

The streams rush on, and filling the lustrous lake are lost in it's bosom,
Drawn unerringly as the divine qualities are towards a holy one;
The wild course of the heedless rivers ends in the placid expanse of the seas;
Sojourning like the soul which, merging with Hari, attains eternal peace.

Four quarters of this forest are dripping with croaks, chirps, many songs,
Blissful as when the bramhacharins, chant the Vedas, to herald the dawn.
The wet branches of dark brown trees which bring forth leaves of glossy green,
Are beautified as the mind of a seeker which, blessed by intellect, becomes serene.

Oh look Brother! how the stars are challenged by this brave battalion of fireflies!
Ill-advised as the gathering of cheats who make a hollow show for all eyes.
And here and there lie weary travellers, broken down and pining for rest,
Ravaged as the senses of a man, in whom discrimination has made a conquest.

Lo! it is day as Divakar smiles,
But He is hidden again and lo! it is night.
As the cloud-bank, so is company, My Son,
It fires or smothers our Eternal Light.

Religion, Love, Duty : A Fascinating Drama

2007-02-11T18:34:00.000+05:30

Recently I happened upon a young man,
Well known to me, cultured and moral,
Although perhaps a little too impressionable.

He told me, as we sat and waited for the bus,
About how his life had become a royal fuss!
Perhaps he told me all his story
Because he fancied that I would have an indifferent memory.

Well,to start with he had fallen for a girl,
(As most young men do, as well as some old)
On a saturday evening in a temple of Lord Hanuman,
Where his mother had taken him, to avail blessings for an exam.
He said that he had been told that for seven and a half years,
His results would constantly leave his parents in tears.
The kind Brahmin who told him so smiling from ear to ear,
Had pocketed a humble sum, the boy's pocket money for a year.

Well, that said, he had been dragged into the temple,
Where he saw this girl dressed in black, and so simple.
The thought of her sharing his agony did touch his heart,
And he gave her a commiserating smile which made her start!
She offered a garland, folded her palms and again prayed
This boy was moved,at her tragedy,her culture, her ways.
Well such had been the story of a few saturdays,
Made so very pleasant by the Lord's grace.

His mother was happy, although not on the score
Of his marks for they scarcely were more than before.
But ah! how pious, how religious ,how earnest was her child!
Praying,not studying, for his exam, not like Pushpa'sRunning so wild!!
(This I have learnt from another source,
To be precise,from Pushpa, who bore his mother's boasts.)

Well, the boy told me he scarcely ever heard the Hanuman Chaalisa,
He was more curious about the girl's problem
(Her name,thanks be to God,Was Manisha.
Nice name, and so much nicer because it rhymes)
He pondered,whether hers too was a "Saade-saat" or a "Dhaai"
Or,God forbid, he shuddered, was it for nineteen
That this demanding planet would boss her destiny?
For her, he neglected his studies
And started to read astrology intensively,
It is Saturn and the sixth house, sitting in his enemy's sign
He decided, he must convey this to her the remedy in time.
And so one fine saturday, perched carefully, like a bomb
He carried his scroll of calculations,beneath his arm.

He approached her and earnestly told her all he thought:
"You are unlucky, your luck now is facing a drought,
Every saturday, donate some black cloth,
some black pulses,some black ,some black, some black..... " "THWACK!"
The girl was out of the door, and the priests attacked him,
How dare you eve tease, in this temple of bramhachaarins!!!

His kind neighbour, (Mrs.Pushpa), who had been a witness to the scene,
Led him back home, and enacted it with surprising virtuosity,without any
spleen;
(Ofcourse! Lord bless our saintly ladies!)
And as a principle of drama, actors improvise,
She did too, like a drama queen.

His mother registered a variety of emotions,
As the news swept in, like tidal waves of the ocean
(You must allow me some poetic similes,
After all this is also a somewhat tragic history)
Her son was a tantric, impious, a road side romeo,
This boy's role meanwhile had changed from hero to cameo.
I have before compared the news to the wave of an ocean,
But what to say of the mother's outpourings, I haven't a notion.

All this the boy had told me before his coaching bus came,
And I have shared with you, in a stylish manner, the same.
I must say I am sorry for him, and for his mother,
But "This too will pass" as someone once said to another.
Whether it be nineteen years, or two and a half of hardship,
Perhaps he should change the temple but continue the worship,
Life is serious business, our Mahavir Hanuman bless us!
If worshipping on saturday doesn't then tuesday should help us.

Note:
Saturn, generally feared planet, transits for 2 and a half years
or seven years, and also nineteen. The last may not be true for
everybody. Lord Hanuman is generally prayed to so that he
may mitigate the punsihments that have been set.

Diwali

2006-10-28T11:37:00.000+05:30

Time has flown...the neighbours have already taken off their elaborate,made-in-china light garlands-the new age substitutes for oil lamps.Following that thought,I wonder..the festival actually takes its name from these oil lamps(everyone knows that!) so now with these lamps givin way,what are we going to call it in a few years? Electricitywali? No that sounds like a bai's name.Well whatever.
The interesting thing is,we are still moving onto another important festival. The hindus call it "Prabodhini Ekadashi."Its when the angels and deities awake-to celebrate the wedding of Sri and Narayan i.e; Glory and God. Beautiful right?

Diwali itself is beautiful. I love the lights. I would almost say that I wish it was Diwali everyday but! the brilliance of a light is always more profound when it comes after darkness. The deeper sorrow carves into your being,the more joy you can contain as Khalil Gibran said.

Does that make sense? Anyway, moving from the thoughts to matter,here are some photos I clicked ( especially inspired by my fellow aquarian-and ex classmate-sushmita) Sharing my diwali with everyone online!

From Dussehra the streets are all decked up:

And so are the temples: (my mom's the lady in the yellow salwar,looking back at me!)

And there is the Ramlila,in small grounds between dussehra and diwali. For the initiated its the tradition of mystery plays still alive and robust!

And ofcourse,you welcome guests into your homes,with traditional sweets or the new cadbury packs,which are more than welcome! I had to make a great effort to wrench one from my mother's iron clasp!

Let me end with the familiar wishes:

From illusion to truth,O Lord lead me,

From enervating darkness to eternal light,O Lord lead me,

From mortality to That which is immortal,O Lord lead me.

Peace from heavenly wraths,from natural calamities and bodily obstacles!

God bless us all!

Hunt for Immortality

2006-09-12T13:06:00.000+05:30

Note: The following cluster of words happens to be a poem.Well,as far as I know,it should pass for one. The legend of Valmiki is quite as well known as the Ramayan is (in basic detail).
Sufficiently long ago there lived a dacoit/hunter Ratnakar.He lead the sort of life most of us do. And if he had continued the same, his legacy would have been nothing more than a contribution to someone's DNA structure. However,that changed.
He accosted seven sages in the forest with his usual intent of robbing them. They asked him who, or what, was inspiring him to such sinning. And he said it was for his wife and child...He had to feed them,and thus resorted to such means. They then asked him if he was confident his family would partake of the sins he was incurring for their sake.He confidently affirmed they would. The sages knew better. They challenged him to actually investigate their perspective on the issue, and suggested that he could leave them thus trussed up and come back to them with an answer.

Ratnakar ran back home, perhaps the question haunted him?
Perhaps it was an aspect of life he had never dealt with?
But then,was Ratnakar till then even a man?

His family refused him outright. Why would anyone bear another's bag of errors?

The remarkable thing here is that it crushes him COMPLETELY,and absolutely. That is, the animal in him. Dispassion arises. He returns to the sages who are waiting for him patiently, and surrenders.
They direct him to chant "Ma-Raa" (I die or,to see it philosophically, this carnal consciousness dies) and the direct result is "Raa-Ma"(Supreme Pleasure emerges),the Name of God. And then ant hills form around him as he communes with bliss.
A great many years pass till the sages in their travels happen upon this ant hill covered man. And they invoke him-Valmiki (the one who came forth from an ant hill- symbolising the one who transcended this body,which will after all will be dust).
And this Valmiki becomes Aadi Kavi,he becomes-
"The Nightingale which sings the sweet notes of the Divine Name perched on the branch of poetry." As Goswami Tulasidas writes," Valmiki became as the Supreme Bramhan"

This is the ambitious and intriguing arc the poem seeks to trace.

__________________________________________________________

Hunt For Immortality

I, a hunter, feasting on animals
Smaller than I.
I, a sojourner, treading weary foot
Wild thorn shod
Which I draw on my bow and let fly.
I, your ancient, leaving a legacy
Inscribed on your meat digesting intestines.
I, a creature,
A puppet blind.
Contrived hunger forces a cry:
I die! I die! I die!
(Ma-Raa,Ma-Raa,Ma-Raa)

I, fathered and wived,
Begotten, begetting
Run down others and kill
Others out hunting.
Across the horizon chick feeding bird
In death throes cries.
Across the hearth a smiling wife
Is my prize.
I, impregnating, impregnated with Time
Life is a short while and then
I die! I die! I die!
(Ma-Raa,Ma-Raa,Ma-Raa)

I, unwashed,unweary,animal eyed
Hearing the directions of the night sky
Big bear growls deep tonight
I, a hunter no more
I am the hunted.
(Ma-Raa,Ma-Raa,Ma-Raa)
Seven prey of my own size
Hunt me down with my own prize
I,husband in flesh
I, father in food
I,make food of my flesh
For the time after time.
I die! I die! I die!
(Ma-Raa,Ma-Raa,Ma-Raa)
(Ma-Raa,Ma-Raa,Ma-Raa)
(Ma-Raa,Ma-Raa,Ma-Raa)
(. . . . . .

"Venerable Father!
O! Great old sage!
O! eternal bestower of elixir divine
We invoke thee!
Valmiki"

I,eternal servitor of the Truth
(Raa-Ma)
I,spark of fire Divine,
(Raa-Ma)
I,wave of blissful ocean
(Raa-Ma)
I step forth from the I
---Mountain of biting ants
Made of dust
Crumbling into nothingness.
I, repository of the Sacred Name.
Valmiki am I.

(Raa-Ma,Raa-Ma,Raa-Ma)
(Raa-Ma,Raa-Ma,Raa-Ma)
(Raa-Ma,Raa-Ma,Raa-Ma)
(Raa-Ma,Raa-Ma,Raa-Ma. . .

Janmashtami on the streets

2006-08-27T15:08:00.000+05:30

Its probably a little late for posting on janmashtami but! I thought this was very interesting.
In the evening I was moping around and suddenly I heard my mother shout for me. I went to the balcony and saw the Lord was come!
Ok not literally,but well isn't that cute?
There was a loud symphony of drum beats, children shrieks and what not,and everybody was out on their balconies,terraces,gardens and even onto the roads. The atmosphere was not really charged with religious fervour but with joy and laughter and this common thread of celebration.
Which helps one understand how logical it was for Tilak to get the Ganesh Chaturthi celebrated in order to get people together.But that's another long discussion which I won't go into here.

Anyway thats Krishna-Rukmini whispering to each other on the chariots...

Children were the most besotted of all...

By this time the chariot was almost under my balcony and I was behaving in a way which would earn the paprazzi kudos for their not neglgible zeal.What that means is I was freaking out with the cam.And the obvious result being the subjects got very shy... Krishna was sombre and Rukmini ,far too coy..To tell you the truth it was a tremendous ego boost to be embarassing someone for a change..

And then they went away,you see the charioteer was rather more flamboyant,looking back repeatedly to give me the privilege of taking his snap but to no avail..

P.S. I know the pictures are really bad quality.Three reasons:

Lack of skill

Lack of cooperation

Lack of proper lighting

So,please excuse me all.. :)

Where do I go?

2006-08-04T22:37:00.000+05:30

So,where do I go?
Sans the philosophical undertones,to the Deptt of arts at DU.
See it through my eyes on a rainy day.

First,my hero who I nervously say hello to before sauntering in.
Shower some "vivek" on me Swamiji!

And the hallowed portals...the corridoor where my classes are held. You'll generally find people sitting in odd positions reading

or listening to music from their phones or i-pods. It's all negligently

free! Find alot of time to spend here,ruing about the way life is,

and so on..

The beautiful inner square of the building..looks like St.Andrews to me!

Beautiful right...

The best thing on campus though? Bicycling Buddhist monks!

Thank God!

A Beautiful Memory

2006-07-30T13:22:00.000+05:30

Falling In Love-poem

his voice next morning was very rustled leaves,
very walk around red gold autumn trees,
just falling in love.
his crinkled eyes,
barely could I see them,
like a glimpse of a favourite dress in piles of clothes being stacked;
his hair was just how it dosen't suit him-
all this way and that way like windswept hedges down a country road.
there's something about thoughtlessness when it comes after thinking too much,
when you are absurd because you are so profound,
and you leave it all for a vacation.

I look out my glass windows
and see in veils of grey,the golden lady
wish I could word that painter's dream
that mists over the trees,all the green
and we,inside,fondling warm chocolate mugs it seemed
so wonderful,
it seemed;
there's something in someone,
makes us stop ;
someone holds us back from always trying to understand
in terms of distance and speed,the measure of a journey
and takes us on for a long long drive.

he takes my hand,
we dance,
impromptu prince and princess
in striped pyjamas and shorts coloured white
he whirls me around,
and early morning ballgowns fly
sashes rustle,cynosure of all eyes!
in a one bedroom palace...
were there chocolate mugs and crystals filled with wine?
now,
We walk over the dry autumn leaves,
in love.
I wear my favourite dress and then will pack
Piles of clothes and we will drive down the road
And let the wind roar through our hair till they are
Like those windbent hedges
This way and that way...

Beginning

2006-07-13T13:15:00.000+05:30

To be honest,
This isn't really the beginning
"I have been here before"
As Rossetti said.
But as you know every once in a while
Time stands on its head.
And now I'm starting again
Bard with a patched coat
Poet in tatters
Artist with a broken brush
Praying,"let this matter."