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Banality

Give me one experience – dazzling golden

Give me something beyond the jargon.

Something concrete, something tangible

Rejuvenating and entirely plausible.

Spacious interiors!  Scintillating performance!

Climate control, GPS, Reverse Assist, and Bluetooth,

Genuine leather, Auto-Driver, and Bose surround sound

Of cosseting material comforts; a preponderance.

WAP, GPRS, streaming videos, e-mail on demand,

Will the dulcet charms budding in the heart never cease to enthrall?

Tantalizing luring thy sting be, Lucre.

Devouring gluttonous thou mak’st man.

Wheedling, voracious, and utterly capricious.

Of the stainless existence,

Of ethics, integrity, and abstinence,

Dignity and love for labor,

Are swamped by thy insistent clamor

For wanton satisfaction,

Corrupt usurping titillation!

Is there a total transcending

A complete U-turning,

A liberation from the vice of hoarding?

Are we destined to spineless shepherding?

Give me a stringed fiddle,

Let the soul flow

With alternate foot tapping,

With accompanying drone notes,

And heavy accents of “Shuffle.”

Sing with me, clap, jig, and weep a tear

At the gentle ballad reminiscent of the yester year.

Rise my soul,

Above menial mentality

Purge thyself of trivia and banality.

Make way,

Here I come Posterity!!

Persona Non-grata

Across the flickering mirage,

The tempestuous gyrations of the nymphs,

Beyond the azure skyline

And beyond the sandy dunes; the sweltering heat

Lies the wondrous wood

Tinkling streams, humming bees

Green – a byword.

Lush vegetation supports and nourishes life

Birds, insects, pisces – a rife!

At once, soothing and ethereal

An abode of angels

Next overpowering and overwhelming

In its sheer ambience; a realm of a ruthless creator-destroyer.

Soft music wafts over the scent

Of mildew, thrush, and pine.

The lumbering brooding oak

Hymns with the wind’s rhyme.

I floated in this haven

And buffeted my soul with

The sight, sound, and feel.

Time trod noiselessly by

Leaving me on uneven keel.

The lyrical environs and dark foreboding

Led me inexorably to the Temple of Doom

And the priest with a skull garland

Approached me with slow menacing.

I could see blood and gore

Of human soul offered to the monstrosity

And the mutilated bodies at the altar of the deity.

The axe swung heavily over my head

I woke up with a start and sat perspiring

On my bed!

Ostracism

This is the story of Dhamni, a tribal woman living in the Deccan plateau of India’s South somewhere in the decade of the 40’s.  Dhamni was married to a pot-bellied good for nothing, who reveled in gambling the night away. They were a childless couple.

On the pond, the women taunted Dhamni. “Keep your distance Vanzoti (Infertile).  Let not your shadow fall on us.  It made her sick and extremely irritable.  “Who do you think you are calling Vanzoti?” She rushed at them in furious rage, throwing down her own pot of water.  Frothing at the mouth and shrieking with blind rage, she hit out at one of the acrid younger one.  But they were all off and in the distance; she heard their mad raucous laughter.  Angry, hurt, and suddenly drained, Dhamni walked to her hut. Her husband was waiting for dinner.  Immediately thereafter, he was going to the ruins behind the temple, where there were four from the adjoining village coming today.  He was salivating at the thought of turning lucky tonight, so he could drink himself silly this weekend and gorge on succulent goat mutton!

Dhamni entered the hut fuming and enraged.  He was about to ask for lunch, but one look at Dhamni, and he started to put on his shirt and leave the hut.

“Where is the dog for Chris-sake??” Dhamni’s tone rang warning bells in his mind.

“The municipal workers were poisoning all strays today. Quite a few have turned turkey at the corner of the street.”

“Oh is it so?  Why don’t you poison me and finish off once and for all?” “I told you to look for that dog and all you can tell me is some cock-and-bull story?” yelled Dhamni.

She entered the sleeping place in the hut and shut its door with a loud bang.

Her husband made good his escape while there still was time!

Dhamni lay on the rug tears welling up in her eyes.  Why did the village women always behave like this?  Even when sifting grain in the lazy afternoons, the women cringed as she walked along and sat at the edge of the room to help them sift.  A pall of gloom would hang in the air in their otherwise animated conversation.  Dhamni could not take the insults anymore. Today, even the stray dog that she had petted, left her.

“Why me?  Why me?”

Her mother was a Devdasi – one whose life is offered to the temple god and one who lives on the alms offered by devotees in the temple. Her hair was rough, matted and extremely smelly. Custom decried that she not wash her hair. Her features were coarse and she was very dark.  But the whites of her eyes were pure and in the eyes was a fondness, reserved for Dhamni, when Dhamni lay with her head on her lap.  People in distress came to her mother and asked her questions regarding many things. She applied kohl to grains.  Within the blackened grains, her mother saw figures which talked to her of the unknown and unmanifested.

During one of her predictions, Dhamni heard her mother tell a prosperous fat lady with loads of gold on her, “Go to the temple on the No-moon night and bury a large fruit in the soil in front of the temple.  But take care, you must go alone.”  Dhamni heard the woman draw her breath in sharply at the very thought. “Follow it word-to-word and you will obtain your desire. A bonny baby will visit your womb.”

And in the blackness of that lonely and ululating night, Dhamni decided to test what she remembered of her mother’s words.  She decided to take the trial by fire.

Is there a Deja-Vu?

An eternal thrall for the human imagination

What do the stars foretell?

Glory, mediocrity, misery,

Facts or bagatelle?

Juggling with celestial idiosyncrasy

Resorting to piffle and prophecy.

While submitting to profilgacy

Delving in to the circumstances of yore

And beyond the nonce.

Reading in to ordain,

Bracing against the relentless callusing rigor

On the destiny domain.

Man’s eternal desire for reassurance and complacence

Leads him to rake the heap of memories and association

And the causality of events and phenomena becomes his indulgence.

Mired in theory of probability

Talk of coincidence and culpability

Reincarnation and Karmic belief.

What does actually reincarnate?

Can the pot which was mud, is mud, and will be mud

Ever reincarnate?

Can the deluge of emotions and feelings experienced in a lifetime

And the actions based on these strong undercurrents

Be ever attributed to a grand conductor sublime?

Beyond the realm of thought

And the power of the mind’s verisimilitude  machinations.

Is this a shibboleth?

Or Janus-faced duplicity

Masquerading as a modern waywardness?

Lost on No-Man Island

The sea was a vast sheet of grey

Gentle, lapping in conjugal sway

Watching its immense expanse

With its ripples and rumble,

Its optical wizardry and overpowering ambience

He felt every sense being assailed

And it’s Benevolence

                Savagery

                Omniscience

Became a part of his self.

He lay on the white sand

And watched the incandescent ball of fire

Slowly rise from the water.

His hands were tied, his face was bloody

The pirates looted and made away with his ferry.

What is with this island?

A silent stalking presence

Engulfing the psyche and squeezing out

every defense.

Rue the day when search set sail

Destiny now the sole wherewithal.

The sea though wore a welcoming visage

A promise of spirit salvage.

The sea rushed forward  thro’

His eyes, ears, and nostrils

And every layer of dermis.

He was filled with a vast felicity

at this resurrection;

A rehabilitated sense of organicity.

Assuming the persona

The artist has to detail the character in his mind first. This is absolutely an act of giving birth to something totally new. This is creation. Nobody but nobody has seen this before, not even the author who must have surmised his plot and the inner makeup of his character totally on his own inputs. So now, what the artist is going to present, has to be fleshed out by the artist himself. But the artist is a living person with his distinct persona. So how does he portray the character with such conviction that the viewers would never thereafter associate that character with anybody other than that artist and his powerful depiction?

The artist essentially lives out the character. And subtly adds mannerisms, lisps, twitches, physical mutilation, voiceover etc. to flesh out the character that he is portraying. A case in point is the absolutely masterful act of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, the psychiatrist and a cannibal played by Anthony Hopkins. It left an indelible mark on the viewers. That chilling reality of a cannibal and a brilliant mind gone astray cannot be ever associated with any other artist.

I gave birth to a nine-pound baby, you asshole. I think I can handle it.

The inky black sky was overcast with the light of a flare fired in the air.

A hooded figure appeared on the edge of the bunker with his weapon

She lifted her weapon to him, but was shot by one of her own.

Her stomach was on fire,

The bullet had ripped through the skin and the intestine.

The pain was burning, searing through the body and the mind

She watched aghast her own organs and the blood intertwine.

The others around her were unsure of their reactions to the calamity

Some horrified; some amazed at her sagacity.

The staccato gunfire was incessant all around

And the unmistakable sound and stench of enmity did abound.

But her clasp on the weapon was firm and her focus deadly

Her eyes had the glint of steel and her resolve became her physical self

All torn asunder and bloodied, but with the thread

Authority and righteousness strung together virtuously.

“I gave birth to a nine-pound baby, you asshole. I think I can handle it.”

The pain and the angst in those words, for once, became the epitome

Of what a woman can take and still not be undone.

Scintillating sport - Hockey

His will was broken but not his resolve! After being branded a traitor for succumbing to a goal by arch rivals Pakistan, the viewers and the media led a malicious whisper campaign against Mir Ranjan Negi, India’s National field hockey team goalkeeper . It very nearly wiped out his productive years in international hockey. He was heartbroken and led a life of obscurity for a few years. The scourge of the vilification, however, did not stop pursuing him even when he retreated to his hometown. People eyed him suspiciously and their attitude was distinctly chilly.

However, the rise of Mir Ranjan Negi is veritably the rise of the Phoenix. He decided to mentor a team of woman hockey players. He built a national team out of a contentious lot of 16 players coming from all parts of India. He coached with them painstakingly for long hours, causing a lot of heartburn amongst the teammates. But they never questioned his resolve. The result was that the woman’s hockey team won the Gold at the Commonwealth Games in 2002. This epic saga was captured on the silver screen by director Shimit Amin and Negi’s character was immortalized by the Indian superstar ShahRukh Khan in the movie “ Chak De India”

Catch the wave of euphoria in the stands as capacity crowds at the Dhyan Chand Stadium in Delhi egg on teams – and particularly host India – at the World Cup Hockey being played out between February 28 to March 13 2010!

Life has no design

One cannot fathom how whims arise - what dictates behavior, what guides actions. Again and again, one becomes a witness to the destruction of mind constructs. Then somewhere down the line, one begins to suspect a grand theme, a cosmic orchestration in the unfolding events. But is this suspicion again, nothing more than one’s need to confirm the belief that one can discern a pattern; that one’s intellect can, in fact, decipher a grand jigsaw puzzle? Is there no life insurance then?

Artists and poets have long held the view that life itself has no meaning per se. It is only the human mind’s innate need to make sense of events that leads man to formulate theories to explain phenomenon. They postulate that inherently life and the sequence of events in life have no logical basis and are not interdependent or inter-alia a cause as such. Even the apparent witnessing consciousness is transient and has only a presence in relation to the object of witnessing.

So theoretically, a professor in a college and a convict, a surgeon and a drug addict, a police officer and a murderer - all seem to be the product of whims or desires over which they essentially have no control over their actions and are guided by the immanent situations which they face in life. If that is so, then what about morality? What is to stop a wrong doer from harming the innocent?

The point is why doesn’t he do so in the first place? Why can’t he muster the strength to overcome his basal urges? Probably, he is not the doer in the first place, but a puppet dancing to the tune of the omnipresent intelligence which drives nature – of which he is a part.

Nick and Darcy discover Love

He was tempted outright.

She was warm and willing – and slightly stoned.

He had a jagged edge to himself

And wanted to bruise and chafe and play rough tonight.

She flirted and cooed and talked naughty.

He had driven her home from the party.

And now they were on the street beside her block

The street weary lamppost livened up as he sensed action from the jock.

She was out of the car and curled up to him; her finger running

Over his face and chin

He was smiling, edgy, raspy breathed

The street was empty; the night careened as if shot with gin.

“ Come to my parlour”

“Oh dear do”

He pulled her closer and was about to…

When all of a sudden, his embers cooled

“I can read her mind, and of all womankind”

A nameless weight bowed his heart

“ Just not right, Just not right”

He bundled her off in to her room

And swerved off the porch, his mind a-gloom.

The face in the window

Last but not the least, there was an insane woman who lived in the exactly opposite apartment in our block. She was not really your out-of-sorts woman. Mostly she was quite composed and level-headed. She seldom ventured out of her place. She lived with her husband and two children. The unusual thing was that on a full-moon day, she would let her hair loose, smear her forehead with red vermilion, roll her eyes on and on, and let out an air-rending wail. And she would continue screaming and wailing and rolling her eyes and rotating her neck as if something wanted to be unbound from her being. Her teeth would clamp and her lips would be drawn apart to display her clamped jaw and gums. As children, we were mortified by the apparition and usually watched the drama play out peeping through our windows. Nobody ventured near her on such occasions.

One weekend evening I was alone in my apartment as the others had gone out. I was working over some mathematical assignments and was engrossed in it. From the study room, the door led to the dining area. One wall of the dining room was latticed for ventilation. This was covered with a wooden partition except for a small window the size of a hand-held camera. This was just above the wash basin.

After deliberating unsuccessfully over the math, I walked to the dining room towards the wash basin for a face wash. I ran the water and amply washed my face with the running water hunched over the basin. As I straightened up to towel my face, I could feel the hair on my arms and spine stand up on their roots. For framed against the wooden partition, exactly in the window over the lattice, was the face of the woman watching me!!

Numb stupor of not-knowingness

I have moved away from celebrations that are a derivative of the inheritance of a particular religion or race. I do not associate merry-making with the cyclical flow of days or events on the calendar. My moments of indulging myself occur extempore, unguided and unchanelled by any specific motive, and are very private occasions, not specifically following a social idiom. But I watch joy as it arises and spreads through the consciousness realm. And I like being drowned once a while by the numb stupor of not-knowingness. I celebrate when I read a good book, when the earth is hot and the trees have blossomed in to lush leafage, when the first clouds gather after long months of heat and dust and the first sprinkle on the roasted earth below releases a lingering – almost edible – scent in the air, and when I am happy for the spirits are high for no particular reason. I cannot share my joy with everybody or identify with the joys of the events that surround my sphere of existence. I live in the world of ideas and the world beyond all ideas. I would feel incomplete if I had to derive my living from either with the exclusion of the other.

The world is what we make of it

Holistic drug rehabilitation, financial crises, conservation, military spending … these are some of the burning topics facing the world today. How do we hold a healthy debate on these issues? When you state something, you take up a position. As in for and against an argument. Whatever our premise, as we develop on the theme, we become mentally involved in justifying our statement. It is this peculiar facility of the mind to justify whatever we have imagined and vocalized. Why does it occur? Well, mostly it is because we assume that those are our innermost thoughts; we assign them the highest priority because they become – to us – the manifestation of something sacred, innocent, and vulnerable in us! Something that is untouched by guile, by deceit, by commerce, and by consideration. Any guesses what such a being within us would be? Yes, the words become to us a solidification of the eternal within us. That is why unknowingly, but surely, we are ready to defend our position if it is countered. The contrary views of our debate partners towards our stated position subtly becomes an affront to our selves!

Nevertheless, only a dialogue can bring out a modicum of meaning and an understanding in to our as well as our partner’s mental make-up. The idiosyncrasies and the adamant posturing of each become quite obvious now. Oh, how could the other be so dogmatic! There emerge layers of meaning when conversation within a select group is kept open – with no judging, regulation, censoring, or even – this is the difficult part – an agenda!

The conversation should be an invitation for exploration. Concerned with the most intimate of thoughts and feelings. There would emerge definite realization of how thought is structured within others as well as within ourselves if conversation were to thus become an instrument of inquiry. Of course in an real setting it would require a moderator, only if to protect the members from perfidy. It would be an manifestation of the intelligence of creation.

For a society with empathy towards the multifarious issues that face the world today and a better understanding of their effects visit

http://www.globalissues.org/

Travel travails

You arrive at the railway station about half an hour earlier than the scheduled departure time of the train. You are all flustered and worried. Are the number of bags right? Did we pay the cab driver right or did he fleece us as usual! You realize, “What the heck! He did!” That adds to the fluster. The kids don’t walk the straight and narrow path to the place where your passenger bogie would normally arrive on the platform. That leads to some full throated yelling! At last you divest all your (four?) bags on your person and are ready to flop down on the bench and catch your breath. But no – not so fast buddy – your wife has other ideas! With all the anxiety in the world, she will pester you to go and read the reservation chart put up on the notice board and actually crosscheck your names, seat/berth numbers, and age if they appear correctly on the chart!

Amidst a lot of hullabaloo on the platform, which makes your blood pressure do the pole vault, the train finally arrives. At once, there is a mad rush to the entrance of the passenger compartment. Those alighting have to stave off the marauding crowds with a vengeance that would make the ancient warriors proud. After a lot of heaving and groaning, you finally manage to occupy your seat – hot and flustered, but triumphant nevertheless!

The old order changeth, yielding place for the new

Death is a spontaneously occurring phenomenon in nature. Dried leaves fall of the branches they once blossomed on. Watch a leopard hunt a deer on a deer hunt video. After an intense and long sprint, the deer which was ahead and more nimble than the leopard, at one point becomes exhausted. He just stops in his tracks panting due to the exhaustion. The leopard is close by; he knows the deer is his now. He leaps forward and grabs the deer by its neck and sinks its incisors in his windpipe. He is going to choke him to death. Watch the deer – he is hardly struggling now. Except for the sharp physical pain when the leopard’s incisors rupture his windpipe, his eyes show a complete acceptance of his fate and conversely death. It is all very quick and matter-of-fact. There is no dithering on either side.

There are scores of instances in the animal, plant, and the insect world which confirm the matter-of-factness of life. Display of joy, affection, anger, hatred, life, and death is all in-your-face. No sycophancy or hypocrisy. In fact, the wholehearted acceptance of life and death is an indelible mark of pure consciousness itself. To that extent, one must be prepared to die the very next instant if that is what is ordained – or conversely one must be prepared to live passionately this very moment if that acceptance is of death is to come naturally whenever the moment of bidding a goodbye to all the credit comes!

On the lighter side though, one can set out a marker of one’s brief sojourn in this beautiful world at www. deathclock.com - for all it is worth – and debit the corresponding years you have already enjoyed!

Zen Meditation - A personal experience

The retreat was in the hills a little beyond the village. At the entrance was an imposing arch, shaped like a shaolin temple manned by security guards. You went in after you showed your papers. A long winding road took you up an elevation until you were on flat grounds again. This area was walled by tall trees and there was a small cottage with abundant space around it. There were benches so that the visitors could sit and rest till the administrative paper work was completed. There was a cold water tower and many glasses provided. At the office, you had to declare all your belongings and hand them over to the staff. You went in with only your clothes on and nothing else!

In the afternoon, there was an introductory session where you were free to ask questions. A solemn looking man in a flowing robe sat with his legs tucked under him, seated on pedestal. You sat before him. “This is going to be like a deep surgery” he said, and “You will surprise yourself at the end of the session”. For the entire period of 10 days you were to not utter a single word! This already had started to look challenging.

Each person was allotted a bare spartan room with only a bed and a small table. The rooms were arranged in a forward-facing row. The lounge in between led to toilets and restrooms at the end of the corridor. There two large airy halls a little away. The area was landscaped with gardens, lawns, motifs and terracotta. But the premises were dominated by the giant golden-domed pagoda.

The next day we gathered in a meditation hall and we sat cross-legged. The hall was spacious, airy and clean – no bugs or mosquitoes. Ahead, on an upraised platform, sat our mentor. He wore white clothes. We started the session by concentrating on our breathing. Just watching how the breath comes in and goes out. Even if one were tired with the repetition, one kept doing that. This lasted about an hour. There was a break for about 10 minutes. You could refresh yourself, go to the toilet, and take a short walk in the verdant green surroundings – all in silence. No talking to each other. Then we congregated again and the practice continued. We had a lunch break between 12.00 to 2.00 p.m. We all walked in silence to the dining hall. There were about 200 people in the dining hall, but not one was talking! Again, the one-hourly sessions started and continued till 4.00 p.m. after which we had a tea/milk break of about 20 minutes. We started the session again and continued till 8.00 p.m. After that, it was time to move towards a different hall with audiovisual facilities. On a large screen the speaker spoke about the basic tenets of Vipassana, its origins, his own personal experience and the timeless quality of this ancient practice, which bestowed peace, tranquility, and self acceptance on its followers.

It was retiring time by 9.00 p.m. You entered your room locked it, shut off the light, and went to sleep. Early morning by 4.30 a.m. you were to wake up, clean up, and wash up. There were the volunteers of the facility who tinkled tiny bells in front of your room, if you did not get up! No admonishing, just reminders (gentle but firm!). Then you walked to the dining hall and had a glass of tea or milk with some wheat bread - all in total silence.

A cool breeze wafted in those early hours of the morning. Birds were not yet up and singing, but one could hear the morning approach from a distance. The signs were unmistakable. Walking from the dining hall to the meditation hall, one could see sky turn mauve from the pitch blackness. There were several meditation halls and students ascribed to their individual halls went there and even took up seats only meant for them. Then the sonorous and solemn chanting in ancient Pali resounded in the hall over the audio system. Everybody shut their eyes and took in the deep import and the effect.

The meditation schedule, after the first two days of observing the breath, turned more focused and demanding. Now you could no longer shift your legs for the one-hour session or bend your spine. You sat erect and cross-legged. The meditation grew deeper and more fulsome. You turned your attention to your body - slowly but comprehensively going over every square inch of your body from the toes to the scalp registering every sensation. Tightened muscles, stickiness, wetness, scratching sensation, twitching – any sensation that arose in the field of consciousness. Then you calmly observed the sensation through its manifestation i.e. till the time it arose, lasted, and disappeared. And you noted that it was “Anitya” or impermanent. You saw to it that it became your experience that it was “Anitya”.

The hour now seemed to pass quickly and comfortably without breaking your posture or your breath pattern. An equipoise arose in you and a sense of benevolence became your nature as you went through the entire day – hour by hour – practicing the ancient art of “Dukka Nivarana” – elimination of misery through the seeing that desire and fear were “Anitya” and making it your own personal experience.

At the end of the ten-day period, the modern-day mendicants had performed a ritual practiced by ancient Bhikkus or Buddhist monks. It was indeed like a deep and complete surgery of the entire mental apparatus.

Destiny transcends Time and Space

He was a normal child on all counts – normal in all his playful activities – with a naughty streak of mischief in his behavior. He was excellent in his studies; he was amongst the toppers in class. He was competitive too. Early on, he learnt Karate, swimming, table-tennis and was good at each of these. He had a large group of friends and playfulness and laughter were his constant companions. He completed his high school with outstanding grades and secured admission in one the most prestigious engineering schools to study Engineering.

At college too, he always scored above-average grades and finished his graduation standing second at the University exams. He had very engaging sophomore days, participating in a lot of college activities, treks, picnics, cultural meets, and excursions. He was offered the best jobs in the Engineering Industry on completion of his graduation. After a couple of years designing Quality Control Systems for an Oil Engine Major, he turned his attention to Programming. He obtained a qualification in Advanced Programming and Computing - topping the class amongst 150 Computer Analysts! He worked as a software consultant in various cities along the West Coast of the USA.

Life sailed on along predictable waters; the success and glory resulting out of accurate and precise responses to various social, psychological, and economic stimuli. He seemed a harbinger of good tidings; whatever he touched turned to gold. And then, suddenly one day, he announced his decision to renounce all his material achievements to his family. He would remain celibate and he would henceforth not participate in any social occasion – celebration, initiation, communion, or absolution of life. He would follow the ancient path of self realization. They were dumbstruck. He was considerate and patient with his explanation, but resolute in his decision. The well-wishers had to accept that he would not relent.

His life now is the scent of the blossoming flower, the aroma of the earth on the first showers after a sweltering summer, color of the springtime, and the melancholy of the sunset. It is an intensely personal journey and a soul-searching sketch, which nevertheless assumes a larger dimension given that the primordial yearning in mankind transcends time and space.

.

The Hound is Me

Far goes that path – long, forlorn, dusty. It is really a narrow alley beyond that picket. Those who have trudged its expanse tell fantastic stories. It traverses through dense forested patches, grasslands, streams, and arid wastelands over many miles. Over its entire length, the path is partnered by the river. Its bed is vast – between its banks, it is almost a mile at some stretches – and its waters are gushing. The current is swift. There is scarce habitation along its banks.

At sunset, there pervades an atmosphere of deep melancholy. The setting sun creates mesmerizing pictures across the sky. The waters are solemn. The trees do not sway now. The wind though blows like it is possessed. Inkiness slowly steals in. The atmosphere has potency, as if something or some event is imminent. But mostly, it is the melancholy which tugs at the heart.

From the housetop on this lonely house on the hill, all this sight is laid out in its full imminence. The inkiness is slowly turning a darker shade of grey. As the darkness pours in the trees turn in to deathly skeletons. The vast empty grasslands are filled in with the blackness of the night and they lose their presence. The heart tugging solemnity filled in the atmosphere now is filled with sounds of the dark. It feels nice here on the terrace. There is nobody around. One can stand at the sill and spread out one’s hands and breathe deeply. But, the “hound” will be back now. He relishes warm blood!

Thou shall rise again

Flesh bears the sin.

Rooted in the excesses of carnality

and satiation of the skin.

The primordial yearn tempts and taunts

into gratification via venal founts.

The ogre’s redemption- belied by his colic gumption –

n’eer comes to pass.

Vice embraces the being and fills within

and without. And virtue is expelled

Till the cup of sin brims and is inundated.

For t’was n’eer meant to be abused

in wanton travesty

The holy shrine of restrain and chastity.

Heathen! thou that digress’t

And littereth the sanctorum with scum and waste

Art cursed

Banished in to vitriolic Holocaust

Apocalypsed and sintered.

Until his will prevails

as it did at birth and at death

And at both; and neither.

And thou shall rise

And bade through every experience

Even if it be one

And propriocept the nonbeing that walks along

thy footsteps.

Until the absolute beyond claim thee

and heaven open its soothing gates and

welcome eternity.

The Journey is the Destination

Deep in the jungles and wastelands off an island off Kamchatka, a new mountain broke away with a thunderous cracking noise from a great parent mountain and a large crack ran through the earth. It shook itself, looked around and immediately began to gloat. It was really an impressive happening, this breaking away, but he had probably not felt real fear because his parent - the great parent mountain - had prepared him thoroughly for what awaited him here.

'Soon, dear lad', the wise parent mountain had said, 'you will go into the mountain society and begin the fight for existence. There you will have to stand up for yourself say your say and win your place in the sun. So pay attention, do your best but especially... remember that the minute you have broken free and are standing right again you begin to grow immediately and that you don't stop under any circumstances, until the end, because if you don't do that you won't be able to remain a proud mountain. Well, just look once under yourself into the immeasurable dark depths with molten lava flowing, that no mountain has ever come back from. If you stop growing for even an instant you fall into that and you are lost for good!

The new mountain understood all that very well so he began to rise vehemently. He rose with all his power... and indeed; he did not fall into the dark abyss beneath him, where he could vaguely make out the intensely hot lava that could surely swallow him in one go if he stopped growing for even one instant as his father had predicted.

And so he bragged with the other mountains around him to secure his place. He tried to get one or more of the nice, round mountains to remain in the neighborhood. He was careful that he didn't fall over when the quake was raging around him and soon he was rising self assuredly towards a rocky coast where the Wise Old Mountain gave lessons to beginners.

But then a small timid little voice asked suddenly: 'Old Wise One, would you please tell us a bit more about the earth? The mountains all became very quiet and the Old Wise One looked very stern and solemn - The Earth- oh yes, that is one of the things that you don't just talk about, that was a Holy thing, and very secretive.

'The Earth', said the Old Wise One seriously, 'is the greatest mystery that we know, but I will pass on to you as has happened from generation to generation what we know about it.'

Our old books state that somewhere, very far away is a place where mountains no longer need to stand tall with all their might and nevertheless still do not crumble. That is a place where peace, rest, and happiness reign and where we can exist forever.

But especially, and that is very important you may not commit any sins.'

'What are those, sins, Old Wise One?

'Well, it's like this: as you know, once in a while something falls out of the sky on us mountains. We call that Rainwater. Well, Rainwater is very sinful and bad; you have to shake that off yourself as quickly as possible. Remember that as much as you can, because whoever has the most Rainwater is the first to become Earth!

The young mountain thought furiously, because he wanted to become Earth and not crumble into the abyss below.

Then one day, a groundhog walked over and burrowed some earth out of his trunk. 'Hey, go away, I don’t take away from me for then I will never become Earth!' complained the mountain. But the groundhog looked straight at him with his sharp, dark eyes and said: 'Earth builds upon Earth. What are you afraid of?' and then disappeared in a burrow.

The mountain was struck dumb. The groundhog’s question didn't make any sense...

But he couldn't forget the question. He thought furiously and in his desperation, he grew aloof from the others and was besotted night and day with the question: 'Earth builds on Earth, then what are you afraid of?'

And then like a bolt of lightning all his questions, vexation and fear fell away from him and he knew with complete certainty: 'Earth builds on Earth; where is the fear?' A deep relaxation took hold of him - all the effort to remain tall and erect fell away and he fell into total silence.

Almost no one noticed anything special about. But for him, everything had changed. After a while it occurred to one mountain that their neighbor just let Rainwater flow over him, as if it didn't matter or as if there was no difference between him and the mud. Some of them asked him questions about that; mostly he just smiled and gave an answer that pleased him and they could understand. For those few who persisted, he took them step by step through his experience.

Only the groundhog noticed that he lived among the other mountains as if he were one of them – but that he made no effort at all anymore to keep up the pretences, but that he relaxed on the bed of the Earth, the only really Free Mountain.

Touching the Afterlife

The night was bare. There was no moonlight as the moon hid behind a large looming cloud. Neither did the stars shine to provide any relief from the pitch black darkness. He was alone in the room on the first floor. The window beside his bed was partially open and a draft of cold air entered the room and made him shiver slightly. The entire compound housed about twenty rooms in this inn atop the hillock. And neither had any occupants today nor was the janitor around. As the midnight approached, the lights in the adjoining village went out. The compound sank in to darkness. Lying in the bed in his room, he could hear the deep bass of flowing water. The river was just a few yards away. The wind blew hard. He felt lonely and a shiver ran down his spine.

Just across the block a few days ago, two women had stayed in the inn. He remembered that the two women stayed closeted in the room day and night. He was sure they practiced witchcraft in that room. He could not sleep. He tried to force his mind to brighter thoughts, but it was a vain effort.

In the thick shroud of inky blackness, he imagined the older woman with her craggy features, silently shuffling about the corridor in that empty building as if searching for something. She seemed too engrossed in something –almost in a reverie. The slow deliberate shuffle, distant at first, now grew clearer- and nearer. The shuffling seemed to pass his room and move ahead. The moon emerged from behind the clouds now and he could see it from his bed. He stared at the full moon, hypnotized. And suddenly he froze as the shuffling ceased. Eyes round with fear, he looked at the window. Framed against the moon, was the craggy-featured face with only the whites of the eyes visible, staring intently at him. He could feel the sweat on his palms and the soles of his feet. A few more minutes and my heart will stop, he felt! He clamped shut his eyes as convulsions ran through his frame. He felt the onset of a charley horse in his left calf. It was excruciatingly painful. Even in the pain, he wondered what would happen if the heart muscle went in to a cramp!

A while later, there was no face in the window. The wind still blew hard. The deep baritone of the flowing water was clear and loud. He found himself drenched with cold sweat. This was to be a night of the rendezvous! He would meet the afterlife and be claimed as one of their own!

Indenture

Her face was sallow, gaunt

Her eyes – pathetic - oozing want,

The shriveled frame slaved in concrete and dust

The unrelenting sun,

Sweat – an odorous miasma

Stickiness and discomfort in its pale

No respite to the brow and the glowing entrails.

Stunted aspirations, frustrated urges,

Tiredness and trepidation

Unsatiated yearning, unslaked thirst,

Of hopes, an obfuscation!

The work is back breaking, gut wrenching, spirit searing

The surrounding are asphyxiating,

tone deafening and soul corroding!

There is so much gaiety across that wall

Happy frolicking children one and all.

Blessings and bounty seem to be their birthright

But just across the wall, remorse, pain, woe betide.

Who has sentenced her to remorseless strife?

Suddenly the heart is moist.

The inner eye wept in shamefaced, inconsolable profusion.

But drudgery, habit, and tedium

Indifference and sloth – his idiom

Features set in inscrutability,

He turned his sight

And marched away with the procession!

We are scared of acknowledging our nonentity

You will find peace in the heart of the storm. Or rather in the acceptance of hurt, lies its dissolution. If we wholeheartedly accept that our stratagem was defeated – it did not work as we had imagined it would – we see that the acceptance opens up layers within our consciousness which we had hitherto not noticed. It is the living through the apparent pain, remorse, guilt, and humiliation with equanimity that bring about a change in our outlook. And as our outlook changes, so does our destiny. As we become more forgiving, kind, and compassionate after weathering the storm with fortitude; our destiny quietly changes the course of our life events so that we experience gratification, peace, and satisfaction.

“Oh, but we do understand!” you would say. “It is the implementation that is the difficult part.” This kind of reasoning means that there is a time lag between the understanding and the living of what is seen as the truth. In order to reduce and eliminate this time lag, we need to live whatever little we have understood as being truthful, real, and eternal.

Quite often, the understanding flashes across one’s consciousness like a lighting in the sky, but this event which occurs beyond the realm of the phenomenal reality often conveys us a meaning that is really very hard to digest by most of us. It is the realization that we, as a timeless and dimensionless point of awareness, are really not us! That is there is really no me, as it was at birth – and as it will be at death!

And even in between, for what passes as life, there never really is any me. For living – the intensely personal feelings, reactions, and responses to various stimuli – can essentially not be shared with anyone. In that sense, one is always alone. That is the scariest part, which we can not digest.

That Beseeching Look

Bessie and Lee are in a room together and Bessie is arranging her paralyzed father’s medicine in a tray. Lee grudgingly acknowledges (mentally) that Bessie has given much of her lifetime to their father’s care. But now if Bessie dies of leukemia, the responsibility will be thrust on her. She is in a tizzy. At the same time, Bessie has endeared Lee and her son Hank. So much so that Lee feels she is able to reach out to him now (he was in a mental asylum for burning down her house). Bessie has had an episode when they are out at Disneyland.

As Bessie lifts the tray and is moving out, she suddenly loses balance and falls to the floor beneath. The contents of the tray are all splattered around. Lee instinctively lunches forward to help her up. It is then that Bessie looks at Lee with the most poignant eyes.

A look that speaks volumes! At once she is appealing to her elder sister for empathy. Those years of neglect. Her unswerving attention to her paralyzed father, which even took away her small pleasures. The unspoken beseeching look which is imploring Lee to take stock. The manifest insurmountable vagaries of life unfolding at the moment. And the fact that Love is the answer. All this is conveyed by that single look. Truly, it is Diane Keaton at her absolute best. In fact, it is no longer about Bessie communicating with Lee, but the situation and the superb playacting, which is taking you to your real self. You discover that all those thoughts and the resultant emotions and feelings are actually within you waiting to unfold. The pictures become a medium, but the realization is already within.

Fast and accurate editing

When you receive a document to edit, first check for the validity of the template. Then go over the demographics to see if the patient name and social security number match as per the e-fax. Check for the date formats as specified by the respective clinic in the client specification sheet. Check for other formatting details. Once that has been authenticated, go over the audio and the text simultaneously and thoroughly edit the document for typos, grammar, spelling mistakes, and sound-alike’s, etc. This is the part where your skill comes in to picture.

Fast and accurate editing requires a finely tuned ear for the nuances in accent, the commonly used abbreviations, good knowledge of the names of drugs and their usage, medical acronyms, medical terms used commonly in the medical fraternity, and the ability to decipher the exact meaning of what the physician dictates even under trying situations.

The transcripts are dictated in to the dictaphone usually at the end of the day; sometimes even while commuting back home. You could have sounds of yawning, chewing, coughing, sounds on the underground, etc. You need to extract content from what sometimes sounds like a virtual cacophony!

The bell tolls

As the sun goes down today,

That soulful voice is heard again

It warms the cockles of the heart.

The exquisite agony contained in those words

As they speak of the cows coming home to milk

and paint quaint word pictures of the homecoming.

The eyes are misted over now and they see a faint contour of the hills beyond

Or is it a dark trajectory of the homing birds?

What does it matter what the eyes see?

and what the mind makes of what the eye sees?

The large brass bell below the spire tolls a solemn toll,

its beat resounding amongst those hills.

The shadows cloud over as the night draws closer

And the heart grows fonder and is touched

By the unbearable lightness of being

And the mind is quivering with an interminable aching

A longing - an unfathomable pit of yearning whorls in the gut.

Omniscience making its presence - a sure thing!

Long time no see

I had a call from Mohan yesterday evening. It has been almost two decades since we talked. After he moved to Bangalore, we had lost touch. We got in touch thanks to Orkut!

"Hello, is it Mohan?" I asked.

"Hello, is it Mohan"?, he mimed. "Boy, after 2 decades of silence!".

"Yeah, it has been really long. And all thanks to the net, huh?".

"I got in to an NGO, moved to Africa for some time and France then. Now I am back in B' lore. Staying with my parents.

" Oh ok. All in good health, I presume'.

" Yeah, some old age problems though!".

" It is really funny though, isn't it?. That stint of yours at Shirdi. The many "firsts" you had there. I mean it is something only we could reminisce. It is locked from public scrutiny, I mean.

That is a phase, which is sort of shut in a time capsule for which only a few have access!".

" Oh absolutely. You know Uday, hardly a day goes when I do not think of those formative days".

"Well it is absolutely magical, I think. 2010 has started with a good note".

" I would like to visit there sometime".

"Yeah, absolutely. Anytime you plan to come down, just give a call".

We talked for about 45 minutes on the cell. It was time for grub. So well hung up at about 9.00 p.m.

Transfixed

The night had enveloped our log huts in an inky black shroud of darkness. I shivered slightly in my bed and pulled the blanket closer. The night was alive with sounds. So many different sounds! The sky was rent in between with the shrill shrieks of the langur. Slowly, the inky blackness of the sky turned mauve and the first inkling of light on the horizon was visible. It was beginning to dawn. I came out of our log hut and stood on the wooden veranda, a shawl pulled over my shoulders. The entire stretch of forest and grassland between our log hut and the large pond ahead was filled with dozens of grazing deer. There were young calves, just months old - with their soft feet and dewy black noses - sniffing and nibbling at the grass below. There were also large stag horn deer – the group leaders – grazing away to their heart’s content. The gentle rays of the sun glided through the tree leaves on to their golden yellow skin, making it glow and shine. All was quiet. There were no man-made sounds. In the distance, the water in the pond glistened as if molten gold were sprinkled on its surface. What a sight it was!

We were at “Kanha,” the largest wildlife sanctuary in Central India. Kanha is spread over 1068 sq. kms. The core area is 903 sq. kms. It has a rich wildlife and abundant diverse natural foliage. It has grasslands, tropical evergreen forests, lakes, waterfalls, and gurgling streams. Dense jungles, totally untouched by human presence are preserved and safeguarded for the benefit of wildlife.

After we were ready, we began our jungle safari in an open-top Gypsy. The safari moves along mud trails, which crisscross Kanha. We were all very excited at the possibility of spotting a tiger, that magnificent and ferocious beast in its own heartland! As we moved in to the wildlife park, we saw a large number of deer and monkeys around our vehicle. Occasionally, we spotted a Chital or the stag horn deer. The Gypsy moved ahead at steady pace along a long-winding trail, moving upward towards hilltops. From there, we could see a breathtaking spread of the jungle. There were so many shades of green that I saw for the first time. Then we trundled downhill on to tall grasslands with large watering holes where we saw deer taking in their quota of water. They turned and watched us as if surprised at the intrusion.

Deep in the jungle, the driver slowed the vehicle. There was a herd of bison grazing there at some distance ahead. What a magnificent beast. The male bison looked as if he could easily tumble over our vehicle with just a slight effort! He looked enormous. We quietly and slowly moved to a different direction. The driver told us that a tiger or leopard sighting is most rare. The landscape changed in hue and color now that the sun was up. We moved from dense jungle to tall grasslands to rivers, streams, ponds and hilltops.

And suddenly again, we were down deep in the valley. As we crossed a large tree whose branch overhung our path, I spotted a large python sinuously curled on that branch! It was almost the size of scooter tire at its center. High up in the treetops, we saw a variety of monkeys, easily swaying from branch to branch with the help of their arms and tail. There was also the very rarely seen lion-tailed macaque. On a large boulder over a hilltop, we saw a silver crested eagle.

The Gypsy now entered a dense patch of jungle. The trees were huge and formidable. They were also very close- some branches almost intertwining with each other. Between two such trees, we saw a giant spider web with a large spider at the center. How craftily the spider traps its prey- the flies and small insects!

The guide told us that a wild boar or a hyena was difficult to spot. Foxes quickly hid in their foxholes. But the high point of the jungle safari, undoubtedly, is the spotting of a tiger!

And I almost overwhelmed to say that on that beautiful day, as our Gypsy turned a corner on the mud trail – from the thick bushes – out jumped a large male tiger right in front of out Gypsy!! It was almost 10-15 feet away. It was crossing the mud trail and moving towards the bushes on the other side of the mud trail. We stared at it transfixed and in utter silence! The driver shut off the engine.

For a moment, the tiger turned towards our vehicle. His golden skin shone with dark black stripes. The stomach moved rhythmically as he breathed. The large tiger opened its jaws and moved a long red tongue over its incisors as if licking away the remains of a recent kill. Its eyes were like ignited coal. It watched the Gypsy intently. We all froze! One woman could barely contain herself and cried out in fright. The tiger suddenly turned away its head disinterestedly and in a flash, he disappeared in the thick vegetation ahead.

Everybody, including the driver could hear the rapid pounding in their hearts! It took a while to realize that it was all over. The driver started the engine and everybody in the vehicle suddenly started talking to one another as if talking itself was now a release from the tension we all felt a little while ago!

My father though, managed to take a few snaps of the Lord of the Jungle up ahead of us. I still cherish those photos as a fond and exciting memory of that day spent in the jungle!

Redemption

Flesh bears the sin.

Rooted in the excesses of carnality

and satiation of the skin.

The primordial yearn tempts and taunts

into gratification via venal founts.

The ogre’s redemption- belied by his colic gumption –

n’eer comes to pass.

Vice embraces the being and fills within

and without. And virtue is expelled

Till the cup of sin brims and is inundated.

For t’was n’eer meant to be abused

in wanton travesty

The holy shrine of restrain and chastity.

Heathen! thou that digress’t

And littereth the sanctorum with scum and waste

Art cursed

Banished in to vitriolic Hell

Apocalypsed and sintered.

Until his will prevails

as it did at birth and at death

And at both; and neither.

And thou shall rise

And bade through every experience

Even if it be one

And propriocept the nonbeing that walks along

thy footsteps.

Until the absolute beyond claim thee

and heaven open its soothing gates and

welcome eternity.

Restless meander

The harried mind lay inert on the couch like a slathering dog. Like the flying maneuver of a bird (a slight pressure to his legs, and off he goes) the night was skyborne. A few feathers broke loose and swayed downwards, but these melted out in the sky with shimmering brilliance. The lake was placid. The wind played out a lilting soprano as it brushed the grass-blade keys. A seamless music filled the air as if a poultice throbbing with pain. The owls scratched their talons on the windowpanes. The mirror in the room cracked.

The mind filled with nameless dread and twinged with horrific doubting. Having forsaken the oceanic outer, the mind scraped the scar over the centered existence and let out hundreds of malicious daemons – baying and sniffing for blood. The unbearable stink made the wall crumble and it started laughing hysterically with a thousand faces!

A black feline being moved through the rug and brushed against the legs. Two thorny branches danced with doleful glee and created sparks of dazzling blue light against the dark. There was no sense of independent time for the mind was the time within which it perceived.

Late in the night, footsteps were heard. The hydra-headed night wearing a flowing black gown, walked in and lullabied the tired mind and held it close to heart.