Today,
two women entered
my home and heart-
One was tall, thin
and terribly smart.
On faculty at a
leading university
was a testimonial
to her tenacity.
From my distant youth
and memories fond,
in desperate pink
and spiky blond-
condescending,
slight swaggering step
with bulging dollars,
oh, my heart wept-
at the brittle laugh,
the hardened stare,
fake composure,
with nothing spared;
youth had faded
so had joy,
the view was jaded
all else was ploy,
to climb ladders
and get a high
on feigned successes
and wait to die.
The Other-
was round, warm,
in colorful attire
deep laugh, and
lusty desire-
to improve life,
better comfort, care,
home and hearth
with friends to share;
her kind heart
could encompass more
to strangers- an open door;
comfortable, in her
middle class sensibility,
religious, and moral
with usual responsibility;
a teacher of science
both strict and kind
respected by kids,
a gem to find-
with solid compassion
she lives her life
smiling through her
everyday strife.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Gold Grey
Today was unbearable- so oppressively hot! I spent the entire morning stretching to a very late afternoon walking amongst plants, shrubs, vines, trees, Lilly pads, in an abundance of green intermixed with brilliant neons, within short stretches of cool blue to once again exposed under blinding, scorching sky. My friend and I were visiting a large, fantastic, exuberant tropical nursery - and doing what we like best - looking at all kinds of plants for our gardens. In defiance of the light, heat, we roamed sweating, sweltering, singeing and yet greedy - to see more, smell more, buy more. Our heads were full of dreams of our transformed gardens, visions of paradise. We returned home with the car packed, spilling plants, shrubs in tiny containers.
I got to work almost immediately. The sky was getting ominously dark - the air completely still; a storm was about to break and I had a lot to do. The earth needed to be dug, pots to be emptied, saplings to be planted into the garden - before the rains hit. Barely half an hour into the project, the first thunder cracked, lightning lit a yet bright grey sky. The rains started in a rush - no gentle prelude, no light drizzle. Rains fell like big coins polka dotting the road, dark black on shiny grey. I continued working, faster, happier than I had been in a longest while. The rain pelted my back even as I was enveloped in a heady aroma of the earth smell, a feel of radiating heat from ground, and cold deluge from above. I worked silently and fast, grinning within. My son called out from inside, out of concern - I just smiled, laughed at this foolish joy of choosing to be out in this ridiculous downpour.
When I was done and showered and changed, I sat at my window. The whole world was bathed in a gold light - a late evening, dark grey light of antique gold, burnished to a dull, luminous, sheer sheen. The new greens were hung with crystal drops, in lines and rows, all tremulous, transparent, reflecting the golden light, lit also from inside. My lotus garden and the new Lilly pad danced to the rainy rhythm, throwing off sparks of water light to this beat. Far off a Koel sang as the rain slowed, the light waned, and I turned away, towards my home - all my dark dispelled, all the grey covered with gold.
I got to work almost immediately. The sky was getting ominously dark - the air completely still; a storm was about to break and I had a lot to do. The earth needed to be dug, pots to be emptied, saplings to be planted into the garden - before the rains hit. Barely half an hour into the project, the first thunder cracked, lightning lit a yet bright grey sky. The rains started in a rush - no gentle prelude, no light drizzle. Rains fell like big coins polka dotting the road, dark black on shiny grey. I continued working, faster, happier than I had been in a longest while. The rain pelted my back even as I was enveloped in a heady aroma of the earth smell, a feel of radiating heat from ground, and cold deluge from above. I worked silently and fast, grinning within. My son called out from inside, out of concern - I just smiled, laughed at this foolish joy of choosing to be out in this ridiculous downpour.
When I was done and showered and changed, I sat at my window. The whole world was bathed in a gold light - a late evening, dark grey light of antique gold, burnished to a dull, luminous, sheer sheen. The new greens were hung with crystal drops, in lines and rows, all tremulous, transparent, reflecting the golden light, lit also from inside. My lotus garden and the new Lilly pad danced to the rainy rhythm, throwing off sparks of water light to this beat. Far off a Koel sang as the rain slowed, the light waned, and I turned away, towards my home - all my dark dispelled, all the grey covered with gold.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
I Will Not Grieve
"The Earth will continue. Nature will regenerate. The planet will become green again. It's not that 'Life' will end. Life will continue. The question is whether the human species will continue."--Oren Lyons, Native American Chief.
I received this in a mail from a friend this morning. The words echo a similarly growing sentiment within -a quiet voice speaking insistently while I clamor with energy and passion to save trees, preserve forests, rights of species; while I brood at the damages by mines, large dams, highways, malls, airports; while I cry in sisterhood for all those that are forced to forfeit their basic rights to their own lands, lives, livelihoods so that the 'rest' of India may progress. The species that disappear, flora, fauna, and human have no rights, no voice, no place where they may appeal and be heard. So who is one fighting for anyway?? It seems that the voice of the environmentalists is the voice of the privileged, who usually cannot do without the urban comforts that they enjoy, which have been gained at an enormous cost (to others). Thus there appear to be two groups, a group of educated, wealthy urbanite who enjoy the fruits of all types of natural destruction in their comfortable homes, lifestyles. The others, whose lives are lived more in connection and balance with nature, who would give almost of anything to swap places with the first group. It is a subset of the privileged group that are self appointed guardians of rights - rights of humans, animals, plants, earth - as long as their own rights are not jeopardised. They can foresee the dangers of unrestrained development, progress, that will directly impinge on their lifestyles. Less trees, higher temperatures, more traffic, pollution if more people are allowed 'unrestrictedly' to swarm to their cities, drive cars like them, have enough money and comforts to consume happiness, like them. It is to this group of urban ecologists that I belong.
So are people like me mouthing environmental concerns, really fighting for their own rights to maintain 'restricted memberships' for a privileged few? What would we give up for preserving precious nature?? Would we not commute to work, take a lesser paid job, not make large houses of bricks, not enjoy weekend trips by car, not grow lawns, waste water, use power, not cave in to Ugadi sales, not accept plastics?? What would we go without so the trees may live, flowers bloom, bees drone in the warm sun? For, it is all connected. What small things would we do without, before we march with banners against widening roads, cutting trees for human rights of more people to drive more cars, windows rolled up, aircon on?
Trips to remote places around the country have taught me this much- the real guardians of environment wear this honour with burden, as shackles. They view their high mountains, unsoiled air, clear water, with a careless indifference of the familiar. They are eager to imitate people from the plains, live in large ugly congested cities with flea-infested foodstalls, cinemas, shops, the million sparkles of plastic trinkets, the multi-coloured lights of their nights. I travel to their world to view the uninterrupted band of Milky Way, the colored rocks under their crystal streams, to breathe deeply and feel the heady pleasure of the chilled mountain air; I am enthralled by their dark nights, transparent days; they only want a twenty four hour uninterrupted power supply.
Should I fight that their world remain unchanged? their nature remain pristine, their wildlife be saved from extinction? So I might take an occasional break from my comfortable life to foray into their world? Yes, I shall fight, like all others, for what is truly beautiful, rare and precious to me, my life, our generation of urban misfits. I shall cry hoarse that a tree not be axed, a lake not be filled, a forest not destroyed. I shall loudly proclaim for my right to preserve my rights.
But...I shall not grieve, when green canopies no longer shelter our world, when turquoise lakes dry, when hot air singes and lungs gasp at each filthy breath. I shall not grieve when we convert open greens into termitic colonies of crude concrete or waterways into stenchy gutters of dark murk. I shall not grieve, that more others have joined my neighborhood, my rank, my club of privileged living with flush toilets, lawns, cars, malls and lots of plastic bags - I will patiently wait for the day when they once again look towards the stars.
I received this in a mail from a friend this morning. The words echo a similarly growing sentiment within -a quiet voice speaking insistently while I clamor with energy and passion to save trees, preserve forests, rights of species; while I brood at the damages by mines, large dams, highways, malls, airports; while I cry in sisterhood for all those that are forced to forfeit their basic rights to their own lands, lives, livelihoods so that the 'rest' of India may progress. The species that disappear, flora, fauna, and human have no rights, no voice, no place where they may appeal and be heard. So who is one fighting for anyway?? It seems that the voice of the environmentalists is the voice of the privileged, who usually cannot do without the urban comforts that they enjoy, which have been gained at an enormous cost (to others). Thus there appear to be two groups, a group of educated, wealthy urbanite who enjoy the fruits of all types of natural destruction in their comfortable homes, lifestyles. The others, whose lives are lived more in connection and balance with nature, who would give almost of anything to swap places with the first group. It is a subset of the privileged group that are self appointed guardians of rights - rights of humans, animals, plants, earth - as long as their own rights are not jeopardised. They can foresee the dangers of unrestrained development, progress, that will directly impinge on their lifestyles. Less trees, higher temperatures, more traffic, pollution if more people are allowed 'unrestrictedly' to swarm to their cities, drive cars like them, have enough money and comforts to consume happiness, like them. It is to this group of urban ecologists that I belong.
So are people like me mouthing environmental concerns, really fighting for their own rights to maintain 'restricted memberships' for a privileged few? What would we give up for preserving precious nature?? Would we not commute to work, take a lesser paid job, not make large houses of bricks, not enjoy weekend trips by car, not grow lawns, waste water, use power, not cave in to Ugadi sales, not accept plastics?? What would we go without so the trees may live, flowers bloom, bees drone in the warm sun? For, it is all connected. What small things would we do without, before we march with banners against widening roads, cutting trees for human rights of more people to drive more cars, windows rolled up, aircon on?
Trips to remote places around the country have taught me this much- the real guardians of environment wear this honour with burden, as shackles. They view their high mountains, unsoiled air, clear water, with a careless indifference of the familiar. They are eager to imitate people from the plains, live in large ugly congested cities with flea-infested foodstalls, cinemas, shops, the million sparkles of plastic trinkets, the multi-coloured lights of their nights. I travel to their world to view the uninterrupted band of Milky Way, the colored rocks under their crystal streams, to breathe deeply and feel the heady pleasure of the chilled mountain air; I am enthralled by their dark nights, transparent days; they only want a twenty four hour uninterrupted power supply.
Should I fight that their world remain unchanged? their nature remain pristine, their wildlife be saved from extinction? So I might take an occasional break from my comfortable life to foray into their world? Yes, I shall fight, like all others, for what is truly beautiful, rare and precious to me, my life, our generation of urban misfits. I shall cry hoarse that a tree not be axed, a lake not be filled, a forest not destroyed. I shall loudly proclaim for my right to preserve my rights.
But...I shall not grieve, when green canopies no longer shelter our world, when turquoise lakes dry, when hot air singes and lungs gasp at each filthy breath. I shall not grieve when we convert open greens into termitic colonies of crude concrete or waterways into stenchy gutters of dark murk. I shall not grieve, that more others have joined my neighborhood, my rank, my club of privileged living with flush toilets, lawns, cars, malls and lots of plastic bags - I will patiently wait for the day when they once again look towards the stars.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Bonded Attachment
Proving I love you
Will suck me dry-
Nirvana then
Seems to be a way to try
No encumbrance,
No competition, no pain
Is definitely a path
for the sane!
---------------------
"Om Mani Padme Hum!"
Is sometimes enough for one.
Its just a matter of disposition-
to shun, imposition
of affection,
care and attachment-
just a personal temperament
to shy from bonds
or ties that are strong
So, please set me free,
let me become me.
Will suck me dry-
Nirvana then
Seems to be a way to try
No encumbrance,
No competition, no pain
Is definitely a path
for the sane!
---------------------
"Om Mani Padme Hum!"
Is sometimes enough for one.
Its just a matter of disposition-
to shun, imposition
of affection,
care and attachment-
just a personal temperament
to shy from bonds
or ties that are strong
So, please set me free,
let me become me.
Sacred Secular
I am a self proclaimed agnostic...maybe there is a God, or many Gods, a spirit that guides us, or a greater truth that beckons us. I have decided that if this whole damn life business is just a Maya, an illusion, then let me be illuded, deluded, play the part - as if its real - participate in earnestness in this great time-pass. I seek no liberation, no salvation, no enlightenment, no heaven beyond now, no hell to guide my moral force. And yet, can I really discount the religion and culture that fashioned me - that unerringly still guides my path, untangles my rights from wrongs? I dance to a background orchestra, chorus of all my ancestors that I call my conscience. My conscience is my only true mentor, a guide to what I will and I will not do, boundaries that I can never cross, at least in my imagination. My imagination itself the sheet on which I lay down my paints, my lines and its vastness is bequeathed to me by my past. This past that put me in direct play with the entire vast universe, animate, vibrant, where all roles between all its substances, are continually interchanging, a rock could one day be me, and I - a scuttering cockroach - all apparently in a blink of an eye, in seamless movement of time, backwards, forwards, across dimensions and multi-dimensional.
Yet, I get ahead of myself. The background first, since all of this has a purpose - an agenda, as do many of my blogs. A dialogue in quietness with myself to resolve inner questions, or at least phrase the questions better.
I grew up in a conservative Jain joint family. We belonged to a sect that called itself sthanakvasi and swetambar - which means that the family did not participate in idol worship and our monks wore clothes. All our living, actions, inter relationships within the family, with the outside, to the animate and the inanimate world and to the world of Gods, demi-Gods, devils and demons was played out within this backdrop, this stage of being a conservative Jain. It was a colorful world of effortlessly intermingled real and imaginary, present and mythical, spiritual and magical. It effected the way we thought, spoke and acted. There was a singy song for many things we did, like,
One sin to spill water
five to spill milk
countless sins to waste food
if intentionally willed!
and this would have its opposing counter of
One punya for gifting water
five to gift milk
countless punya for gifting food
if intentionally willed!
---
punya = a good deed credit that counts towards one's postion in next birth.
When we spilt milk, we bowed and smeared some of it on our foreheads - that we place you with respect on the top of our being, and intended no offense by our carelessness.
As Jains, we were very strictly vegetarian and staunch followers of non violence. Thus grandmother would rinse her plate after every meal and drink this water; allow ants, mosqitoes to bite her without waving them away ( because they needed to live); the louse we got in our hair as kids was gently wrapped in strips of soft cotton and taken far away to let free; no pesticides were ever used inside our home; we did not eat many vegetables during most year, and for the four monsoon months, we ate no vegetables at all. This was the time when jains of all sects performed great number of fasts, with and without water; it was a time for prayer and purification; time to work off some of the accumulated karma by self denial, and disciplined non-action, because all action involved violence,visible or otherwise.
Through out the year, grand father filled dairies with religious mantra, and these pages were torn, mixed with flour, and fed to the giant red carps in the pools - we stared at the greedy carps in wonder while grandma told us that they were greedy to improve their next rebirth by eating all the powerful mantra stuff. So the fish would become humans, and humans could become fish, ant, bird, or God (enlightened souls). We were told that we were in this endless game of enjoying rewards, or living out punishments for our actions in previous births - only when this accounting was zero (not just equating one's sins and punya) , could we become truly enlightened.
And then there were stories, stories for every evening of my childhood, sitting with a brood of another ten, twelve cousins at grandfather's feet to listen to stories of princes, monks, magic, and the glory of the highest enlightenment - liberation from the cyclical birth and deaths. I only remember asking one question often " If there is no birth after enlightenment, where do you live?" The answer was always " there is no you - so you do not need a place to live" and this completely boggled my young imagination. Could not imagine a no-me! Now I can imagine a no-me even without dying - is this a realisation or a delusion?
This background that fashioned me, I completely rejected, as an adult, in my evolution to be a superior rational being. My living world is guided by mostly rational actions, or at least logically justifiable. In fact, I place a greatest value on both rational thought and consequential actions - in that order. However, I have been denying this sneaky suspicion that often times, my actions are already identified, and then I use reason and rationale to justify them - that is, I am living my life backwards. I remember, this was often a way I approached science. I often instinctively knew the answer - that only left a minor problem of working out the math. Now, it appears that despite my great show as a modern, urban, educated, westernised woman, I am mostly faking this layer over my true self that I had little to do with crafting. My truths, boundaries, texture of my compassion, the depth of my non-violence did not come from the lengthy hours with physics texts. And by rejecting this core, I have somehow broken that thread of continuity that would have served my children well. This is after all the crux of my problem. In rejecting religion, I have somehow failed to rig signposts, shine beacons, illuminate a way with an inclusive awareness of all nature, respect for all props in their maya dance. The importance of self that imbues a modern western model does not acknowledge our minor role in the universal web, or the greater consequences of collective individual drive. It fails to speak to children in a tongue of wise ancestors, separate sacred from the profane, of magical possibility of irrationality, of compassionate responsibility that is larger than a person's singular drive to success. At their tender age, between youth and adult, world beckons them to high exam scores, shiny career options, point them towards job options that will buy them real estate, car, wine - but will they, like me, even know that they are nursing an emptiness of these accumulations, will they have a vocabulary to reach deep and listen - to a voice beyond rationale, reason, to quest for themselves when they have acquired everything and it means nothing? Is this how we have all failed? we, the next generation of parents that have substituted glitzy TV for stories, presents for personal time, logic for conscience?? Have we failed, so terribly?? How do we atone? What should I do?
Yet, I get ahead of myself. The background first, since all of this has a purpose - an agenda, as do many of my blogs. A dialogue in quietness with myself to resolve inner questions, or at least phrase the questions better.
I grew up in a conservative Jain joint family. We belonged to a sect that called itself sthanakvasi and swetambar - which means that the family did not participate in idol worship and our monks wore clothes. All our living, actions, inter relationships within the family, with the outside, to the animate and the inanimate world and to the world of Gods, demi-Gods, devils and demons was played out within this backdrop, this stage of being a conservative Jain. It was a colorful world of effortlessly intermingled real and imaginary, present and mythical, spiritual and magical. It effected the way we thought, spoke and acted. There was a singy song for many things we did, like,
One sin to spill water
five to spill milk
countless sins to waste food
if intentionally willed!
and this would have its opposing counter of
One punya for gifting water
five to gift milk
countless punya for gifting food
if intentionally willed!
---
punya = a good deed credit that counts towards one's postion in next birth.
When we spilt milk, we bowed and smeared some of it on our foreheads - that we place you with respect on the top of our being, and intended no offense by our carelessness.
As Jains, we were very strictly vegetarian and staunch followers of non violence. Thus grandmother would rinse her plate after every meal and drink this water; allow ants, mosqitoes to bite her without waving them away ( because they needed to live); the louse we got in our hair as kids was gently wrapped in strips of soft cotton and taken far away to let free; no pesticides were ever used inside our home; we did not eat many vegetables during most year, and for the four monsoon months, we ate no vegetables at all. This was the time when jains of all sects performed great number of fasts, with and without water; it was a time for prayer and purification; time to work off some of the accumulated karma by self denial, and disciplined non-action, because all action involved violence,visible or otherwise.
Through out the year, grand father filled dairies with religious mantra, and these pages were torn, mixed with flour, and fed to the giant red carps in the pools - we stared at the greedy carps in wonder while grandma told us that they were greedy to improve their next rebirth by eating all the powerful mantra stuff. So the fish would become humans, and humans could become fish, ant, bird, or God (enlightened souls). We were told that we were in this endless game of enjoying rewards, or living out punishments for our actions in previous births - only when this accounting was zero (not just equating one's sins and punya) , could we become truly enlightened.
And then there were stories, stories for every evening of my childhood, sitting with a brood of another ten, twelve cousins at grandfather's feet to listen to stories of princes, monks, magic, and the glory of the highest enlightenment - liberation from the cyclical birth and deaths. I only remember asking one question often " If there is no birth after enlightenment, where do you live?" The answer was always " there is no you - so you do not need a place to live" and this completely boggled my young imagination. Could not imagine a no-me! Now I can imagine a no-me even without dying - is this a realisation or a delusion?
This background that fashioned me, I completely rejected, as an adult, in my evolution to be a superior rational being. My living world is guided by mostly rational actions, or at least logically justifiable. In fact, I place a greatest value on both rational thought and consequential actions - in that order. However, I have been denying this sneaky suspicion that often times, my actions are already identified, and then I use reason and rationale to justify them - that is, I am living my life backwards. I remember, this was often a way I approached science. I often instinctively knew the answer - that only left a minor problem of working out the math. Now, it appears that despite my great show as a modern, urban, educated, westernised woman, I am mostly faking this layer over my true self that I had little to do with crafting. My truths, boundaries, texture of my compassion, the depth of my non-violence did not come from the lengthy hours with physics texts. And by rejecting this core, I have somehow broken that thread of continuity that would have served my children well. This is after all the crux of my problem. In rejecting religion, I have somehow failed to rig signposts, shine beacons, illuminate a way with an inclusive awareness of all nature, respect for all props in their maya dance. The importance of self that imbues a modern western model does not acknowledge our minor role in the universal web, or the greater consequences of collective individual drive. It fails to speak to children in a tongue of wise ancestors, separate sacred from the profane, of magical possibility of irrationality, of compassionate responsibility that is larger than a person's singular drive to success. At their tender age, between youth and adult, world beckons them to high exam scores, shiny career options, point them towards job options that will buy them real estate, car, wine - but will they, like me, even know that they are nursing an emptiness of these accumulations, will they have a vocabulary to reach deep and listen - to a voice beyond rationale, reason, to quest for themselves when they have acquired everything and it means nothing? Is this how we have all failed? we, the next generation of parents that have substituted glitzy TV for stories, presents for personal time, logic for conscience?? Have we failed, so terribly?? How do we atone? What should I do?
Monday, April 6, 2009
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