Aham Brahmasmi

Early this morning I wandered down to the shore, cloud clad & sunlit in gild and blue. Kites circled my crown at invisible heights. Whales sang in ocean depths at my feet & dolphins frolicked in breaking waves; giant rays glid in silent dark power in the whirlpools of my navel

Reflections On A Retreat in Ladakh

I returned on Sept 1, after 11 months of retreat in Ladakh. I was mostly silent and alone during this period. This was hand written on 29/8/2017:

My period of retreat is coming to an end in Ladakh. I sit in the cold of the early morning light looking at the magnificent Stok range, blue and gold with still a little on the icy caps, in sharp focus, and spreading across the horizon. The Indus valley in foreground is dry, barren and dusty brown with splotches of village greens. I sit amidst such dense greens of poplars and willows, dancing to the slightest breeze, and I reflect, on days, weeks, months flown by - most of it already in haze, some lit up like crystal moments, bright and illuminated like gems, in my treasury of memories.

I realise now that I am a collector, of all things bright and beautiful. This is neither a conscious decision, nor a deliberate choice - only a recent recognition. It allows me to face the ahead with an eager anticipation for discoveries yet to be made, moments yet to be captured and savoured. I therefore gaze in attention, and sharp focus, that precious details not escape my Now, the Present. My time in Ladakh has harvested a small bounty that will colour my days and flavour my experiences with who I have now become.

I wandered the bustling market places, alive, boisterous, spilling - with produce from the land - fertile, green and abundantly bountiful in the brief of transparent summer days. Land and soil, rich and fertile from generations of tilling, turning, seeding, harvesting and returning it all - back to the soil - in balance and harmony between man and his natural world. Apricots, milk, greens in all shades, crisp and fresh off the earth. Also, there are jewellers with turquoise and corals, gold and silver; carpenters, ironsmiths, tailors making Gonchas of thick wool and brass buttons, dyers with dye vats in shades of deep maroons and finally Kashmiris - with their beautiful faces and alluring invitation to just step inside " to Look - not Buy"- into shops fragrant with saffron and spice, finest Pashminas, silk carpets fit for royalty, old silver and gemstones unearthed from lost worlds and always stories. One knows that to pause, is to be lost, and yet, one halts outside, entranced, and beguiled, to descend hypnotised to wafts of Kahwa into their mysterious Alladin's caves.

I have wandered amongst many lives, and listened - for each has had a story to tell. And my treasury of stories has grown, feeding and nourishing my life with a connectedness by a common human thread, coloured with dreams, aspirations, a need for loving and to be loved. And I have learnt of their myths - that source spring that connects us to the Divine, that mysterious, unknown, omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient to whom we reach out, by closing our eyes.

I have wandered through seasons amongst hills and valleys on such gigantic scale that one is physically hit with one's insignificance - constantly; where rivers flow serenely turquoise, jade, in winters but become deep, thick earth brown, powerful and swirling-enraged in late summer. I have walked days along shores of mystical lakes that change their colour and hue in an eye blink and under lapis starlit skies that guided my steps. And all this colour, light and immense grandeur is imprinted upon my spirit - to be recalled later - when heart gets parched. The immense cobalt sky has cracked me open and seeped within into a pool that is growing deeper in silence and stillness - for me to carry back - wherever I go, whatever I do.

And finally I have learnt to turn my gaze inwards - face the turbulent dark currents of cares that had me drowned, blocking off all light. I realised that all my answers lie within and I would be led by this inner gaze. Slowly and gently my spirit revived, nurtured in nature by silence and beauty, till I was healed and whole, transparent and light. I was insignificant, yet became indispensable and integral to the cosmic vastness that surrounded me with mystery which opened my days and filled my nights with star songs.

And, I learnt, to let-go; that human caring need not only be a burden, and to walk a solitary path is never in vain. My wavering faith in myself grew strong - like the mountains; and like them I shrugged off accumulated scree till my slopes were cleared - for pristine snows to clad it in silence, for grass to grow, flowers to bloom and streams to meander their laughing course. I am now these mountains - strong, resolute, poised and uplifted; balanced between earth and sky. I am now - me.

Packing

I am headed out to the Andamans...and I am packing all the things I should not forget. Turquoise blue for the ocean,  jade at the shore, white froths, and cerulean blue for the immense sky dome. On a whim, I add in a scarlet for the flamboyant sunsets, a deep carmine for the pre-dawns. I add in emerald for the snorkelling depths, a leaf green for the giant trees, a hooker's green for the rest. I add in gold and silver for the sands to walk on and the sun and the moon - and finally lapis for the inky star sprayed nights.

I pack in a hammock and I am done. 

Dancing Dhrupad

Its been fifteen years of failed struggle - this attempt to know and understand and produce a note - a correct Sa, in correct swara. Or to produce a sargam, a melody, a composition - in tune...I am not even fathoming an approach to the tala or beats - yet.

And then, recently it hit me - by watching, listening to Dhrupad; it needs to be done with all the senses - Dhrupad has to be danced to be sung. One sings Dhrupad with its taste inside one's mouth; with a heady aroma of a basant or a cool night breeze with frangipani notes; a visual feast of imageries dancing behind closed eyes, and the body swaying in melody - moving already to notes still at threshold of creation. Is one ready to do this? Then, one is ready to Dhrupad.

Dewdrop

Been in despair...
stuck and sucked
in life's quicksand
of weary care.

Groped for help
here and there,
on internet, books,
with strangers to share.

Sat wretched at a door
when my gaze spied,
a dewdrop on a leaf
was in sight.

Tiny, ephemeral,
suspended and slight,
contained, complete
and lit from inside.

Wings unfolded,
my heart took to flight,
soared far and high
till I was out of sight.

Sitting in Silence

Today I wandered through my garden and sat in a corner, in silence.

I heard:
A chorus of the morning birds
A distant cry of peacock
A faint rustle of cool breeze again the coconut fronds.

I heard:
The rhythm of my breath, against
the percussion of pulsing blood, and
a deep silence singing in my ears.

I heard:
Flap of butterfly wings
Sunbird alighting on a passion vine
morning dew rolling off lotus pads
gutteral calls of a hundred micro-frogs.

I heard:
wind scatter rose pollen in golden dust
jasmine nectar intertwine with wafts from yang-ylang
guppies frolicking in the ponds
dragonflies alighting on grass tips
crickets rubbing their wings in glee.

I heard:
Sun waves lap warm against my face
a waning moon come tumbling down
invisible crystal stars swirl heavens in an eternal sufi dance
and... the stillness of ether.

Today I sat in my garden in silence and I became alive.

Fresh Canvas

I have a bunch of fresh canvas sitting in my loft/landing - a space upstairs that I like to think of as my art studio. Their presence there fills me with a sense of hardly contained excitement - an endless joy of possibilities - awaiting me. I move about my life, my duties, my daily chores in awareness of the fresh canvas - which are mine.

I also have an empty garden - that I have started filling up. Very much like the fresh canvas upstairs, an empty piece of land beckons, filling me with Gauguin gardens - tropical, wild, exuberant gardens of flowers, fruits, birds, bees. In sheer delight I cave in, digging, planting, playing in mud - drenched in fragrances of jasmine, neroli, damask rose already blossoming in my head.

And so it is with life. I am busy erasing history, past, habits - wiping my slate clean. This act of erasing, of walking away, of starting with a fresh canvas is already reviving, renewing, life-affirming, filled full with the joy of possibilities of 'what next?' How shall I paint my life, my day, this moment? The choice is endless. For the moment, I just hold my breath, waiting, before I choose.

Big Sky

Today I burrowed myself out to walk in search of a big sky. I walked till I found a sky soaked in silence and girdled by a circle of  distant trees.  On this cold february evening, spring already swelled within a still winter. Old gnarled branches gleamed in brass and copper, steel buds swelled in velvets on charcoal, new grass shone in dew and carpets of tiny white daisies with mauve backs. My winter heart unfurled and and my pores swelled with new buds. My voice rang clear to touch this big sky  - the brook then gurgled and the birds also chorused - all in raga basant.

Symphony of Swallows

It was evening. The sun was low on the horizon, the sky tinged with gold and pink. Suddenly my eyes caught a movement in the skies. There were a few swallows swooping around, gliding, darting, playing. A few more joined them, and a few more, till they all painted the skies in silent symphony of a thousand choreographed songs - broad brush strokes of tiny dancing dots. I stood and danced to this chorus.

Watching Films

I am a film buff. Love movies - especially one that tell a good tale, make me think, heighten awareness about a wider world - inner as well as external. In India I usually watch foreign films, downloaded from the net. So, it is strange that now, in France, I have unconsciously turned to watching hindi films, on youtube…and they all blow me away. Here is a list of what I have watched over the last few days - all of them powerful in their myriad different ways.

Khamosh Pani
Ek Doctor Ki Maut
Gaman
Lunch Box
Sooraj ka Satwa Ghoda
Manthan

The one waiting next in my queue is Dance of the Wind.

PS::Just finished watching the last one…can't recommend it like the previous list..beautifully shot, but the point was lost to me.

Sisters

We are four, and I am the eldest - of all girls.  My parents were trying to have a boy.

I am told that I was once asked how many sisters I had, and I had responded " Many".

Recently however I have come to realise that this "many" is just exactly right; each has played a distinct and an important role in nurturing different facets of my human growth - by teaching me grace and compassion; by deepening and widening my reverence for art and beauty; and in challenging the frontiers of my intellect - respectively and combinedly.

I have always appreciated my sisters, and love them dearly. Now, I also know I owe them.  Even one less would have left me - less.

Centered on a Horizon

I journey to seek horizons - and this has been so for a very long time.

I climb hills to see fading arcs of dusty distance cup an infinite sky; I wander lonely valleys encircled by distant purple peaks; but most of all I return to the ocean - where a never ending deep sapphire reaches to consummate a vast azure stillness, of lit diurnal clarity, or sequinned sparks.

I journey to the horizon to anchor my within on its limitless silence, even while my days lap in gentle waves or lash out with ferocity obscuring and obliterating both the inner and the distant eternal. I journey to realize, again, that it is the unreachable, which makes my seeking worthwhile,  the unattainable that captures my imagination, and the virtual which anchors my concrete, and real - hopes, dreams and strife.

I center on the distant horizon, in poise and in balance, even as my days dance in melody, with the waves.

Cosmos in my Garden

When I returned from my trip, Cosmos were blooming in my garden...and so were many other flowers. I lie on my diwan and stare in wonder. I wander around, peer closely, and let the silence of the cosmos suffuse within. I share my garden now, with you.

I am Free

When I was young, I had romantic notions of freedom. I aspired for personal freedom - to be me - whatever that be - a current fad or a specific choice. I did not realize then that this was a very privileged kind of aspiration for one who already enjoyed many freedoms and was guilty of many others.

Today I realize that I am already free in a variety of ways. Let me list these:
I am free from hunger, free to have a shelter, free from ill health. I am free to travel, free (more or less) to protest, free also to know my rights. I am free from self doubt, and free to a large extent from individual fear. I am free to be greedy (in so many many ways), and free enough for intense self criticism. I have an independent conscience and am free to express, especially moral outrage at all wrongs and perceived wrongs - within or without.

I wrote all this as I traveled on a bus to the site of Ejipura demolitions and realised that no society was truly free where basic rights of all were still not secure. Today, I realise that I no longer aspire for freedom - but I strive intensely instead for justice - for All.

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)

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.

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