Fooling Around

A distinct advantage of fooling around, instead of attempting art, is the dictates of head are completely eliminated - the big goal that has had me travelling a zillion miles, sitting in firm meditation for endless hours, doing repetitive laps in a lonely pool. Furthermore, the results of this absurd entertainment are itself interesting, to me, and maybe worthy of pondering, by others? What really is me? neon floaties in a dark sea? a sparse face? layered jungle? cultivated orchids? blue paper flowers? jagged peaks? wherein lies a me?

And A Lotus Blooms....

Five months back I brought back a lotus plant from my trip to Magadi and made a tiny water garden for myself. For a month now there has been a bud - beautiful, perfect, growing. We have all been watching it with great interest, wonder -family, friends, neighbors. Yesterday, the bud opened! A small circular peep into the heart of the lotus - hundred petals folding over a golden, deeply fragrant heart. Whoever knew that lotus carried a fragrance, deep, and enticing, completely new, rich, and mysterious.

I am a happy person today, for a lotus blooms in my garden!

Thin-Skin

As I review now the passage of time
then this is what I have to say-
that each passing moment and season
has peeled a layer of skin away,
till I am transparent and in reddish tone
pulsating blood over chalky bone
hiding from world this hideous sight
running away from their perverse delight-
to see a Thin-skin bleed in pain;
at human loss- for economic gain,
at trees plundered, forests ravaged
rivers damned, earth savaged-
a race of chemical mutants is
destroying human kind
till there will not be any
Thin-skin left to find.

Favorite Tagore Poems

Today, after impossibly long years, I yearned for Tagore songs. These two are my favorite.

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Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high

Where knowledge is free

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments

By narrow domestic walls

Where words come out from the depth of truth

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection

Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way

Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit

Where the mind is led forward by thee

Into ever-widening thought and action

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

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O my love, what gift of mine
Shall I give you this dawn?
A morning song?
But morning does not last long -
The heat of the sun
Wilts like a flower
And songs that tire
Are done.

O friend, when you come to my gate.
At dusk
What is it you ask?
What shall I bring you?
A light?

A lamp from a secret corner of my silent house?
But will you want to take it with you
Down the crowded street?
Alas,
The wind will blow it out.

Whatever gifts are in my power to give you,
Be they flowers,
Be they gems for your neck
How can they please you
If in time they must surely with,
Crack,
Lose lustre?
All that my hands can place in yours
Will slip through your fingers
And fall forgotten to the dust
To turn into dust.

Rather,
When you have leisure,
Wander idly through my garden in spring
And let an unknown, hidden flower's scent startle you
Into sudden wondering-
Let that displaced moment
Be my gift.
Or if, as you peer your way down a shady avenue,
Suddenly, spilled
From the thick gathered tresses of evening
A single shivering fleck of sunset-light stops you,
Turns your daydreams to gold,
Let that light be an innocent
Gift.

Truest treasure is fleeting;
It sparkles for a moment, then goes.
It does not tell its name; its tune
Stops us in our tracks, its dance disappears
At the toss of an anklet
I know no way to it-
No hand, nor word can reach it.
Friend, whatever you take of it,
On your own,
Without asking, without knowing, let that
Be yours.
Anything I can give you is trifling -
Be it a flower, or a song-
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The second one I discovered, in its entirety, only a few minutes back at this site. Thanks Won.
Do check out the other poetry he has on his site - really beautiful.

Parkinson's

Mangal kaka is Dad's younger brother. I know him well. Or I knew a man I called Mangal kaka well- I knew him for his songs; usually old Mukesh songs. He was the only brother who could carry a tune. I grew up in a joint family. He sang while waiting- for his morning tea to cool; for his turn at the newspaper; getting stuff for his bath; walking up and down the old narrow corridor; he sang day dreaming while watching the sky; the lines of pigeons that we fed; walking to the vegetable vendor....we knew things were wrong when he did not sing.

Mangal Kaka is dying - of Parkinson's disease-damnably slowly. He has wasted away; has to be fed, cleaned, changed-turned. His body is now covered with oozing bedsores to which there is no outwardly reaction.

I last saw him two years back-I sang to him - old Mukesh songs. My daughter also sang the songs she knew. We felt he smiled - maybe he did - or cried ? that he can sing no more?

I wish Mangal Kaka hasty death - I wish that he could be thus saved - and his song laid to rest.
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A Question:

Are victims of
Parkinson's
cognisant?
or just not aware
of bodies beyond repair?
Do they despair
for care,
and love
to come their way
their pain to share
knowing, they will
not fare
better-
but waste away
to their dying day.
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Ramblings of a wasted body:

Cankerous sores,
oozing blood
drenched in
sweat, urine,
grime-
sobbing inside
no sound
no word
no blink of an eye-
Oh Lord! Somebody!
please help me die.
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A Plea:

An injured mare
is laid to rest
old pets
put to sleep-
Fuck bloody Salvation!
World, please be
kind to me!

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Is there
no human rights
when there is
no strength to fight?
no compassion?
no bloody shame?
Give me a gun now-
and let me end
his game!

Damn Death

It was three years since Yanskit Noor took oath to office as the youngest president of Chibet. The wave of change in the region had started about four decades earlier with the successful coup by Tibetan Youth Organization against the hardliner Chinese authority - and Chibet was born - the largest democracy in the world.

The unprecedented and unexpected landslide victory of the Revolutionary Youth Democrats in the previous election was changing the structure, and even the very essence of this country at a pace faster than predictions from leading international economists, or political and social scientists. Most of these changes were directly attributed to Yanskit's unconventional, even radical, leadership. The young president rode on a wave of strong public approval and support, even though most analysts were wary of pretending comprehension or fathoming understanding of her rather abstract ways. And yet, she had their full faith - no one questioned that she meant well, and in some absurd fashion, her ways - worked!

The latest announcement, however, left her staunchest supporters aghast, wondering and fearful for her.....but, also of her. The announcements had been made personally by her, as usual, at a press briefing, on the latest in sweeping health care reforms that had started immediately after she stepped into office. She looked calm, and poised, as she said "I see no way out - just as people have a right to good life, so should the right to good death, be theirs". "Furthermore" she continued persuasively, a soft smile playing on her lips, and a stubborn glint lighting her eyes, " the society cannot and should not pay the high cost of keeping the old alive, at any cost, just because medical technology is now available to do so!" The ruling to medically aided termination of life was intended for all people over seventy, " in consultation with health care providers and financial advisers" and was effective a month from the date, giving enough time for the oldest nationals to put their affairs in order and bid farewell to their loved ones. This followed further administrative and logistic details on implementation of this 'reform', with cooperation and assistance of internal security and health officials.

The press reaction was stunned. Not the usual applause, nor even smiles or murmur of support - just a hushed silence, no questions, comments, demurs - till she finally thanked them for their presence and exited. The public saw this all - it was all televised, real time - and it was stunned. Conversations stopped at home, the televised rating system was silent, children crouched in corners watching their mute adults pick up threads of their life and move around - lifeless - and the old - they just sat there, near their TV sets, knowing their time was up. One thing everyone was clear about - having come this far, Yanskit was not joking, in fact she never joked. This was real, about to happen, and effected everyone's life - immediately.

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Yanskit Noor sat her desk looking at the vast and empty landscape outside her modest office in Lhasa – the capital of Chibet. She was glad the announcement was over- made, received, and the country was now digesting it - although uncomfortably quietly. That was alright with her – she knew that eventually the nation would come out on her side. With the greater transparency and accountability of her government, people, across board, were aware of the enormous challenges ahead. The vast base of her popular support was built on promises of equality and equity for all citizens, in resources, education, health, and opportunities - and she intended to keep these promises. However, they could not be achieved under yoke of the heavy health care burden of preserving life for an increasing population of old - and everyone realized this. Only she was bold enough to say so, mean it, and do something about it – curtail life after a respectable duration of a fully state sponsored retirement – a just reward of rest, after years of work, toil, and contribution. Furthermore, it was a more humane solution, as she was not shy from acknowledging – to live while one was still alive to life’s joys, possibilities, hopes. She had worked hard, and long with facts and figures, assisted by able colleagues, to arrive at the age for this termination.

The cabinet opposition to her proposal had been stiff, vitriolic, especially so from her loyal friends, party mates. Yet, they all agreed, that the move would significantly lighten the financial burden of the ever increasing health care that was eating away at the core of the country’s financial abilities. Also, no one had a better solution. That is why she finally got her way. She smiled in memory – clearly, fear was the root for most – fear of losing a family member, a relative, a friend. Luckily the older members had fallen silent, for the fear of appearing cowards – they were usually her most vocal opponents.

She saw that people's lives were frequently governed by and in reaction to fear – often running at a deep sub conscious level - and dominating these was their fear of death. As people grew older, they tried new, desperate ways of distraction, and attempts to cling to immortality in form of frenzied accumulation, pillaging resources, natural and human- to barricade themselves against the final eventuality. There was an ever increasing and impossible strife to regain lost time, lost youth, lost beauty - and this was turning into a mass epidemic, as the country moved towards financial stability, and social balance.

As the wealthy poured more funding into searches for defying death, medically it seemed that one was able to do, with enough resources, funds, and a pool of ‘lesser’ financially weaker, global population to keep the market supplied with human spare parts. The sum total of this entire indulgence-of-fear, was a continuance and growth of financial, and social, global disparities, and a continuance of an irresponsible and immoral class of humans, who were beyond all considerations of equity, equality, fraternity of all mankind.

Long back, Bunan wrote:

Die while you are alive
And be absolutely dead.
Then do whatever you want:
It is all good.

The only way to lead a righteous life, was to be in continuous – a moment by moment awareness of death – that with each breath one is closer to one’s end. She realized this from her readings of the great masters, Sufi saints, Zen monks – that to lose fear of death, was the greatest liberation of all.

Beyond relieving the humane, social and financial burdens, Yanskit was sure that this latest measure was a necessary step towards inventing a truly just, sustainable, and spiritual society for re-entry into the sacred and natural web of life. A society, in constant awareness of its fixed and limited time, was driven towards a search, individual and as a whole, for values beyond only personal greed.

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The old man's hand quivered as he reached for his glass of milk. His dim eyes were misted with tears. He had lived and suffered a lot, witnessed unimagined changes in his lifetime and was ready for closure. Last few years had been his happiest, seeing his young grand daughter take over the reigns of this new country – in her willful, and youthful ways, full of energy and laughter, she had infused the whole country with her hopes, her vigor. However, her announcement today had chilled even his most adoring, old heart. Only the young could think such a thing – they could be callous, courageous, bold visionaries, because in their blood they carried a surge of the immortals. All she said was true – the country could buckle under the financial burden of just the health care costs alone, if its privileges were to be shared by all. Also, by seventy, all people had probably lived enough – but wasn’t that for Buddha to decide? Was longing and suffering not a karmic inheritance? One was given this valuable human life to repay karmic debts, or enjoy its fruits as determined by the endless cycles of births. Was it a political entity to be dispensed at the will of political leaders? Just as with people, so also with worlds, they are born and die. If Buddha intended that Earth was doomed, then that was to be so- didn't some sutra already identify such a doomsday? Other worlds, were born and died continuously- who was she to presume control over eternal worlds, eternal lives? He knew what must be done – she must be stopped at all costs – by him – that was to be his karma, destiny. This is what he had lived his life by, recognizing and surrendering to the truth of right action.

Tears trickled down his face, while a little smile played around his lips, still in joyous anticipation of her approach – her youthful step, the bounce in her hair, lit eyes to share her exploits of the day, with her dearest grandpa, her best friend, her ardent supporter. He heard her call out “Jule, Jule” outside and waited for the door to open, as he reached under the pillow for the gun lying in readiness, his hand steady, his face full of love.

Zanskar: Photo Album