Some Hampi Photos

...and I will let them do my talking.

Walking In Zanskar

This time I
left no footprint
nor scattered any
song to the wind.

I walked in silence
with a quiet mind,
in watchful attendance-
my breath aligned.

My steps tread
in soundless pace
aware of my place
in this time and space.

Walk to Zangla from Pishu

I walk bent over like a mule. I am weighed down by stones collected since Karsha; stones of many colors, shapes, sizes - irresistibly attractive and impossible not to pick. There are zen stones of quiet and sombre gravity in deep browns, ochres, olive, black and ivory. And then there are those that dance in jewel shades, reminiscent of Persian miniatures in gold, orange, red, maroon, turquoise, jade and emeralds. Loaded, I still bend over to pick up one more gem from this endless quarry, marveling at my good fortune, joyous in my finds.

And so it has been all my life. I have been collecting and gathering gems - of experiences, relationships, possessions - joyous and grateful for my blessedness. I have been collecting and gathering a treasure trove of my many carings and attachments. Each of them speak to me in their own unique way - each with a precious beauty and joy.My life brims with gems of parents, sisters, husband, children and many friends. I love my home, my music, my books and the many artifacts gathered from decades of wanderings - buckets of stones, shells tucked in corners, under my bed, a glass full of feathers and quills, a box of precious bugs and butterflies on the shelf. These gatherings in my life usually keep me so rapt and engrossed, that I am usually unmindful of my weariness and my bent back.

In all these cases, the burden is in making it mine - in the ownership - in the Me. Stones of Zanskar will continue their jewel dance or instill a zen quiet - as is their nature. It is in their possession that I start loading my back. And so also in my life - the burden comes only from the ego of my possessing - bringing expectations and pain. Love continues even without burden of ownership.

It is to seek this lightness and grace that I came to Zanskar.

(from my notes while trekking, in solitude, through Zanskar - one month back)

Till Zanskar Became Blue

Journeys begin in quests. As a city dweller my quests usually take me to wild still spaces, star-drenched skies, sounds of uninterrupted winds and songs of rivers. I seek out those rare haunts where man becomes firmly aware of his insignificance in the vastness of natural world.

The vast and wild areas of Ladakh that beckoned me, are now discovered. Leh, with a population of about twenty thousand, saw ten times more visitors during this season. The quiet and narrow lanes of my memories now teem with hotels, restaurants, bars, shops, and endless line of vendors selling cheap souvenirs along the sidewalks - even at the fag end of the tourist season - when I arrived. The profane overwhelmed the profound. In seeking a stillness and a connection with my insignificance, I hurried towards the vast and open heart of Ladakh - to Zanskar.

Here, the mountains echo waves, tossed by an young and tumultuous earth, mighty glaciers remain unebbed by the August heat, brooks and streams crisscross many grassy valleys, and an occasional herder in his wine colored goncho ambles after his goats and sheep. In this quiet and stillness, gongs sound from a distant gompa and fluttering prayer flags remind "Om Mani Padme Hum" [Oh the Jewel in the Lotus, resides Within].

I arrived to Zanskar with a muddy heart and a soiled spirit only to find the unbearably blue Zanskar river of my memories and dreams - also a muddy brown. I asked a Lama about it and he said that this was all the water of the rains; only when the river flows with water of the purest ice from the highest mountains would the river become blue. I realised then that a similar river, fed by many streams, and from many pounding rains coursed within me; I would have to wait in patience, stillness, and solitude to have my river be fed by crystals of purest ice from the highest reaches within me. I would have to wait out in Zanskar till the I that Am - became the I that Am Not - for it is only in this disappearance of I, that I could become one with the Universe - a clear, transparent, Zanskari turquoise Blue.

Small Wonders

Against a backdrop of many and shameful tragedies like the senseless violence in Assam, the impending, and totally unnecessary, loading of the nuclear fuel  at the Koodankulam Nuclear Power Plant, the violent moral policing by the Hindutva forces in Karnataka, all of which darken my days, there are small moments of startled glowing wonders that remind me to smile.

1.At the maddening and mad Mekhri circle which is a traffic nightmare at the best of times, the Rajasthani banjaras have started weaving between the clogged vehicles - blowing soap bubbles! Women with light skin, light eyes, dry, matted brown hair wearing men shirts, extravagantly billowing skirts and floral long head scarves smile peering into autos, gazing through rolled up air conditioned car windows, seeking upwards towards bus passengers, selling little plastic jumbos in pinks and oranges and reds that blow endless streams of perfect, rainbow soap bubbles that float way into skies. Their kids twist, jump, cart-wheel in a continuous movement of acrobatic wonders; while the men, with sleek hair, polished twirled mustache and gold studs sell everything from eyeglasses, to tinted shades for car windscreens. I stare mesmerised. Now on all my ways home, I tend to pass Mekhri circle, and hope for long traffic halts.

2. Last few evenings its been raining in Bangalore. Atul and I still go for our walks; we set off as soon as the rain eases. The other day, we were walking fairly late into the evening, on IISc campus, with a mildest, slivery, silver drizzle that goose-bumped us and made us smile. Suddenly all street lights went off. Pitch dark.
A little startled, we stopped on our tracks, peering into darkness...and slowly we saw that we were walking through a zillion fireflies; seemed like all the stars had descended right around us. Lights came on in a few moments; fireflies faded, and we continued our walk, magic wrapping our hearts.

Kolkatta Vignettes

Dilapidated building of ornate grace,
wrought iron trellis and stained glass face.


Ancient trees climb tumbling walls,
cobble streets clamor and swanky malls.


Wide sidewalks where the  homeless rest,
here, an infant suckles on a child's breast.

Unsuspecting lambs nibble sugary stalks,
while butchers mop blood off grimy walks.

Azaan soars high with temple bells,
clashing in heavens as hatred swells.

Fakirs and beggars in beads, bowls and rags,
fat marwaris, betel stained, on shop fronts sag.

Crackling skies and suffocated evening air
torn open by rains, ending a nightmare.


Mangoes flavor the kerosene haze,
while sheltered, I sip my tea and gaze.

Ghosts on a Tamarind Tree

Ghosts love tamarind. That is why they live on tamarind trees. This is the first thing to know about ghosts. People have known this all along. That is why tamarind trees are found outside villages - and no one leaves their village after dark.

I have a home outside a village and there is a huge tamarind tree in my garden. So, I know of this - first hand. One hot and late afternoon, I was sitting under this tamarind tree - just time passing. Occasionally I would pick up a fallen tamarind pod and suck on its intense, dark flesh, face scrunching up at its tartness. Suddenly I heard and saw tamarind seeds raining down - not pods, only just seeds. I looked up, only to get pock marked by these shiny black seeds, showering from above - and nothing else - I swear! No monkeys, no rascal village kids. Only seeds dropping from above. Had never been a great believer in ghosts, but what to do? This was real proof. I figure seeing me suck on those tamarind pods had made the ghosts hungry.

And so we lived, the ghosts and I, as neighbors. They did not bother me and I let them alone - while continuing to visit the tamarind tree. I often heard the tamarind tree rustle in no-breeze, heard the long howls of a family quarrel. Mostly they were quiet and I was comfortable.

Problems started when some visitor from the city discovered my tamarind tree and said I was sitting on a pot of gold. Apparently, the price of tamarind had sky rocketed to more than Rs100/kg. This was real news. My big tamarind tree would fetch me a solid five to ten thousand rupees - for sure. Wonder what Rani would say? Did I not mention that Rani- the young and luscious - would often come to share the shade of my tamarind tree? I was considered a lazy bone (not that Rani ever complained) and Rani a good match. What would her parents say if I wore my white veshti and visited them with a box of sweets, and a saree for Rani?  So, without a second thought, I let my slick city friend find me a tamarind contractor and counted my money. After much haggling we settled for rupees six thousand three hundred, although he walked off with more than a hundred kilos of tamarind. Not once did I think of my ghost neighbors, how they would feel, what they would eat - not until much later.

My money and generosity worked its charm on Rani's amma and appa. Rani and I wed, and she accompanied me back home. That night, Rani shed her wedding clothes and joined me under the cover. She was beautiful and I was young. I turned and took her in my arms and kissed her lips deeply - an intense sour taste of tamarind filled my mouth. I pulled back, looked at her in horror and with a scream jumped out of the  bed and ran out in darkness - till I reached the tamarind tree. There I collapsed.

Guilt, Freedom, Resolutions

Lets Itemize:

To shed four Degrees of Guilt:
1. Children
2.Parents
3.Lesser privileged
4.Disappearing nature

To attain Three Degrees of Freedom from:
1.Attachment
2.Greed
3.Fear

To live in Five Resolution of
1. Attention
2. Righteous Action
3. Ahimsa
4. Compassion
5. Grace

More - Me

Sharing With a Friend for her 50th Birthday:


Each decade causes me to reflect and realise that I am a better me than before. 


I know more, understand more, realise more, have more sympathy, more compassion, more shared laughter with people and with a I, that only I know of, inside. 

I am stronger inside, have more clarity and am more inclusive. Sometimes I worry that I do not love my family sufficiently, only to realise that others are becoming my own - so I love more and many more. 

I love being where I am in life, doing what I have chosen to - for now. I have less anger, but more pain. I have shed most fears - or so I think, because, what are fears but imaginations set to restrict you to a comfortable path?

 Till about a year, I also felt better physically, stronger and more flexible - could do more swimming, more yoga, walk more, talk more, drink more. Since I was sick last summer, my body has had a hard time recovering its strength and resilience. I accept this, even while I fight this.

My face is more wrinkled and more drawn, my hair is very grey - yet with long stares at my mirror I see that I have lived so far - not just preserved, and each moment of this life has been precious. I have chosen to laugh and weep rather than choose a comfortable path - my face shows my half a century of this laughter  and crying. I have thought my thoughts and decided to become what is deliberately - me.

I know that I am nothing, and there is no grand purpose to life - and I accept this; and yet in this nothingness - I am also everything. I am a piece that makes the whole, Whole. 

Arati @ 52

Kashmir Dreams

Memories and nightmares my days sustain
Kashmir re-surges in my blood, thick with pain

Torture cells around the crystal lake abound,
while dead disappear below without a sound.

Snow capped hills bear a silent testimony
to firings, rapes, and repressive hegemony

rolls of barbed wires cut every street in two
dicing minds, people, cultures and memories too

Young hands pick up stones and throw
at soldiers, police, and every Indian foe

Mothers beat their chest and wail
at dead sons, bruised, bloodied, cold and pale

Lands shrouded in deep, merciless snow
silent, as the dead pile un-named below

no spring will melt heart's winter ice
where Azadi is claiming a lover's price

Oppressors, that is the name for you and I
a sentence, I will shamefully bear, till I die.

I Became a Tree

" The Living live by living off the Dead - all, except the trees"

I confess I had never thought of it like that before. But it sounded right; it sounded true. And so, I decided to become a tree.

I went out into the garden and dug a hole - a circle two feet wide and two feet deep.Then I mixed the soil with enough sand and compost - sieved it and prepared a pile. I was now ready. I stepped into the hole and packed  in the rich soil all around till I was firmly planted - knee deep. With great excitement, I settled down to wait, and watch.

The gardner watered me - not noticing any difference. I woke with the sun and slept soon after dark - like the rest of plants and trees in my garden. In a few days, the birds started landing on me and the squirrel running around. I shook with mirth and happiness.

It took about a week; I started feeling a tickling in my soles, feet and legs. I could feel my roots sprouting and tunneling into the earth - holding it tight and sucking from it. Green leaves and tiny branches emerged - reaching out for the skies. The Sun shone on me, and stars sang when I slept. Rains rained me clean and the winds played around with me. Without drinking, I was drunk with life - energised, refreshed, and fully  awake. I was warm with the fires burning in my hearth and dizzy with my dance around the sun; and together, we danced our dance in the heavens.

I am happy I became a Tree.

Balding Ego

The other day I got fed up of hair...actually I got fed up of life for some reason and the only think I could think of shedding was hair. So I went to the campus barber. I sat comfortable in a chair, blind as a bat, enjoying the sensation of a machine mowing my mop...that is till he announced "DONE". I put on my glasses and let out a horrified scream. In a matter of ten minutes, I had transformed from a middle aged homo sapien of the female sex, to a gender less ET in human clothes. With a glazed look and a pasted strained smile I stumbled out into the world.

Its been a week since the episode. I have somewhat recovered my equanimity but the world has yet to pretend poise. The kinder religious ones usually ask " Coming from Where??" They usually suspect that I went to gift a mop of grey hair to Gods, in exchange for some favor. I could say easily say " Tirupati" but don't..I just mumble  "Barbers" with a weak smile. I suspect I have lost many potential friends in the last week...but what can I do. .The kinder ones usually sympathise " It will grow back".

I have, since last week, taken to staring at the mirror and saying calmly " Its not so bad ...that's what you really look like" And really its not so..bad. I have also learnt with astonishment that despite not being particularly vain, how much I set in store by how-I-look, particularly the froth that framed me - just so. The exercise in balding has confronted me with my ego; I am right now happier with a balder alter-ego.

Suma's Garden