Shoes and Saraswati

The other day, I went into my son's room to find him reading, leaning back on his chair, his feet - with boots - propped on his desk. And - I freaked out. Totally lost it. I raved and ranted about disrespect shown to learning, knowledge, to Saraswati herself. Now, this is not very usual behaviour for me. My son went quiet and followed my instructions to touch the table with his right hand, and then to his forehead in an act of repentance, seeking forgiveness. I behaved as my Mom would - and thought I was teaching my son lessons in value systems, cultural and traditional.

This was about a month back. I have since carried the incident in my head and wondered about respecting - learning, feet, hands, everything. Usually the learning that we are all taught to respect is done with our heads and via the medium of books. Saraswati - the goddess of learning is represented by the written word, and her Veena. And of course, it is good to respect these. My wondering has however led to a series of questions.

Are things learnt with head, better than things learnt with one's hands? I remember a New Year's message years back from a friend " Dream with your Hands" .It was a beautiful and unusual wish that I have kept with me since.

Why is touching anything with one's feet considered an offense that can be undone by seeking forgiveness by touching with our forehead. Is the head considered better than the feet, or legs? And why? Again, I remember my great discomfiture when reading Vivekananda. In one section Vivekananda talks of the caste system with the Brahmin represented by the head and the lower castes representing lower parts of our bodies. Is that the origin? Is this the brahmical system of hierarchical categorising that I am propounding, unwittingly, in the name of tradition, culture, and teaching respect.

I now understand that I cannot mechanically ground my kids in the habits of my ancestors. It is ok to not root them in tradition and culture, as long as I root them in their own questioning. What I can teach them, via example,  is a respect for all - all living, all myths, all cultures, all songs, all that sprung from the infinite wealth of natural wonders or from truth and beauty of human creation. I can teach them love, respect and silence.

Impartial Immorality

An absurd conversation with my fourteen year old took a turn when she declared, “ I want to be Immortal” –

I said “that’s not possible”

She said “then I rather be reborn again and again and again – I hate the thought of my body rotting with the soil”

I said “that it will anyway”

She said “then I prefer my brain not to rot”

I said “that too will”

She said with an irritated look “ you know what I mean – I don’t want my mind to disappear!”

I said “Since I do not believe in any particular religious model, it is probably true that we all just disappear into nothing – this could serve a purpose; if people were conscious of their mortality then they would lead better lives”

And then she said “ If there is no afterlife, or promise of a better after life, why should people prefer to be good. There needs to be a reward – that is why religion is good. People are bad for the expected reward like wealth, power – whereas there is no reward to being good except the satisfaction of being good – the only thing is if they are not caught then they can enjoy being bad!”

That stumped me!

I asked “ Do you think if a person is dying they would not want to be good”

A cheeky smile and “why should they??”

Lines and Circles

Yesterday, after a very long time, I got my paints out. Scraps of paper, Chinese ink and brushes. My mind needed a break from myself. More than meditating on a swara with my tanpura, more than sitting under a tree practicing no mind, more than the rigour of hatha yoga, a session with Chinese ink and brush immediately reveals a churning mind, stressed hasty breaths, turbulent turmoil raging inside in wavery lines, imperfect strokes, incomplete circles - circles of life gone haywire, broken, out of shape.

So I sit with my array of charcoal ink, some bamboo brushes, and a thick sheaf of papers. I know I must remember to slow down my breath, untie knots in my head, clear away thoughts - troubling monkeys jumping around. I focus within, center myself and prepare to let go. I wait for the right moment, like a diver poised high above water's surface. Eyes closed, mind blank, I know I am ready to make take up a most difficult challenge - no scope for errors here - I am ready to paint a circle - a Zen circle. With a single flourish, a twirl of a wrist, and a perfect circle, large, bold, clear, ends joining seamlessly. Hurrah! I achieved, in that instant, a short space of no mind, No Mind, NO MIND! I am joyous. I pick up the brush - another empty paper, another flourish -
no circle, no no-mind. I get irritated, I have done this before - again, with the imagined flourish of a Zen master - again no circle, wavery, weird oblong shapes. Two more attempts -disastrous!
I have become conscious of my self again, the hugely dominating me....I give up! I practice, doodle, play, enjoy shapes, lines, bamboos, orchids, grass, and when I have played enough, I return to the circle. In my absorbed playfulness, in my no-me state, I again attempt the circle -perfect. Yet again - perfect again. By now, the mind is calm, the heart happy - all the playtime has been good for me. I get up to make lunch.
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My daughter arrives from school. She is a happy child these days. After lunch, she finds my papers, paints spread about on the floor. She asks if she could also do some painting, could she also do circles. I smile, and agree, and watch, mildly indulgent, mildly superior.

She picks up the brush, with a flourish, a circle -Perfect! Another, and another, gorgeous, perfect beauties of calm head and attentive mind, one after another, churning out perfections of her mind - or no mind. She is a child, she is playing, she is perfect. I watch, thunderstruck, stunned, amazed. Is my child a genius? Are all children genius? For that is what I am witnessing - uncluttered mind, unburdened heart, just manifestation of innocence, of attentive play. So what is difficult for an adult, is precisely because they have lost touch with their childhood, the innocence of one mindedness. All children are Zen - no reading books, manuals, no search for a guru, teacher, just to be, is easy - as a child.

I have learnt a lot today. Will knowing help? Maybe! I just have to remember to be at ease and to play.

Warrior Princess

Long ago, I remember arguing with a male colleague when I declared that I wanted a daughter-and a fighter! Gods were listening in on the sly that day, winked at each other, and made my wish come true!

I remember watching the little ones grow up-my son, quiet, engrossed, my daughter - rebellious, a fighter. One day, my son was bullied by an older kid into giving up his favorite toy-I resisted interfering, knowing that he had to learn to fight his own battles. However, my little, chubby two year old ran to the rescue of her older brother, grabbing the much bigger boy by his shirt and lisping "give it back..."; the older child tried to shake her off, run away, all to no avail..she got dragged around, still hanging on to his shirt, till he finally gave up the toy and escaped.

Recently, my daughter has entered her teens...and I have started thinking of her as my warrior princess. Not that anyone would suspect so...she looks young, sweet, innocent, her hair in two pigtails, teeth in braces, her beautiful eyes behind nerdish glasses. Yet, this veneer hides a determined will, a resolve strong, a single mindedness of purpose and focus that has both my surprise and a hidden, deep admiration.

I am an observer now to a transformation that she has determined for herself-from the privileged, protected, non-formal education and environment that we had chosen for her, she has chosen to break away and be a part of what a friend recently called warehouse schooling for the masses...large classes, tons of books, heavy load of homework-little time for either creativity, or play! My husband and I watch her with concern-did we do wrong by her, before? are we watching her make a big mistake now? Yet...what must be, will be...or so we say to comfort ourselves. She is mostly amused and sometimes aghast at this assembly line approach to education, at the rascally behavior of her class mates-coming back home with umpteen stories to tell. It is her approach to her work that reveals her warrior self - she takes her new academic load as a challenge, a battle .We watch our young princess surrounded by her army of books, pressured and yet confident-she shall not surrender!