I am Lucky...

When life gets too much...and yes, it gets too much for the most sane of us, then I retreat to my farm. I am lucky I have a farm outside Bangalore, a farm that yields little - not much grain, little fruit, sometimes vegetables.

Bangalore has been lashed by heavy rains - late this year, too late to save my crop of lentils and millets - the well has been dry all summer long, the earth crumbly and brown.

However, when I approached my farm this time, I saw that the earth was green and blue! The land wore a surreal sheen and clouds floated across the once barren land. Giving a whoopee I ran down the path and plunged into moving, shaky, splashy earth - my slippers got caught in the grime under - had to plunge elbow deep to tear them out - ouch, ouch, ouch, the vile touch me nots were jabbing my feet under water - but no matter! what did I care! Muniamma, my farm help, laughed at my enthusiasm for water and followed me at a more modest step.

The earth at the upper levels was also soggy wet and the water tank that collected rainwater was full to its lip...the barren well was two thirds filled with reddish-brown water - not fit to drink yet - but a happy enough sight..roses bloomed in a hundred shades of pink and the vines were dotted with periwinkle blue flowers. It was time for some serious work - soft earth would make the clearing easy, digging a delight.

While the sun blazed down scorching our backs, we worked, Muniamma and I, clearing, chopping and replanting - adding to sections of the green fencing, mulching with tall grasses, burying seeds, bulbs. I harvested one single tiny brinjal for sambhar, and a few star fruits. We worked till it seemed that layers of skin would peel off in chocolate wafers and sweat trickled down our backs.

And then - sudden dark - clouds rolling in fast - at a touchable height, greay, dark and inviting threatening...we stretched up to gaze even as huge polka dots splashed our faces - no point seeking shelter - we grinned and stuck our tongues out to catch pristine drops straight in our mouths.

I am lucky to have my farm...

Story of a Lilly

A few years back I acquired a Lilly bulb and buried it in soil in my front yard. It took a couple of years for it to grow, mature, and flower..clumps of white flowers, fragrant, burst forth at ends of light green proud stalks.

A few years later the plant had multiplied and transformed into a gigantic clump of many joint Lillies, holding each other tight - like a family. They took over my tiny space, blocked sunlight for plants growing under, and squeezed out root space for other plants - they proliferated, profusely, mindlessly, uncaring of the others that I was also trying to raise. So, one fine day, this monsoon, I decided it was time for change, and deliberately pulled the giant Lilly clump out...then I chucked it hard and far to the end of the yard. It lay there on its side, a sad, sorry family of a once proud Lilly family. I would encounter it every day as I walked out with my bucket of washed clothes to dry them on the clothesline. Initially, I was very sorry, and decided that I would gather up the bulbs and replant them, so they could again live and make their own, new families. But somehow, the leisure for this act, that I sincerely wished, never came. I was callous, careless, and forgot in every moment of free time. Soon, I even stopped noticing this clump, lying pitifully on its side.

Then one day, I noticed that the clump was no longer lying on the side. It had, with great energy, pushed itself, upright, and towards light. I thought " Good - but maybe I should move it to a better spot.." - that also never happened. Yesterday, I discovered, it had shot forth a light green fleshy stalk and there was a bud at the end of it. I rejoiced and blogged about it.

Subordinated Subconscious

A few days back, we had very interesting friends for dinner. After the kids got to bed, the conversation turned to the subconscious...mind that is. I claimed no experience/knowledge of possessing a subconscious - my husband, on the other hand, claimed he was unsure of the mind itself! Our friends, all four of them, on the other hand, strongly believed in the existence of a subconscious both via cumulations of personal experiences and supported by readings, works of neuro-scientists, psychoanalysts. I turned to wikipedia and found this, greatly supporting my skepticism towards the necessity of a subconscious mind. Despite that, I felt I should ponder a bit, reflect somewhat, whether I perceive within me layers of the consciousness - super, and sub- to un-conscious. Have I subordinated a subconscious to favor either the conscious or the utterly unconscious? Have I gone perceptively binary, into a B&W mode, without giving myself a chance to experience the richness of colors, shades, rainbows of perceptiveness and intermingles in between? Or, have I just never looked into the nature of my own perception?

What further intrigued me about the conversation was an unanimous agreement that an 'enlightened' mind, or a mind capable of living completely and constantly in the present, this moment, would be the only, exempt from possessing the subconscious - immediately stopping my claim of a 'no subconscious'. So, if unconscious mind, or actions led by it represent habits with clear separation between mind and actions - i.e. automatic responses, and conscious actions imply a complete awareness with which the action is carried out, then subconscious probably implies a whole gamut of experiences guided by an in-between mind - a partly there mind - a part of mind that is guided by a fuzzy-logic of personal history, uncatalogued influences, memories of peripheral experiences, which, without clear conscious directives, guide action.

Defined in this manner, I can immediately list an enormous sensory bank of transitory, non useful experiences associated with clearly delineated conscious memory. My mom wore a red and black saree in checks that day, when I was little, and we went on a family picnic - she looked like a filmstar! I remember the feel of hot rocks as I ran up the hill of Pakshiteertham, I can recall the smell of the cheap fragrance that I bought when young - my first one, without a name, or what the bottle looked like; and I can still see the setting of that sweet shop where I saw, in a tiny, dark, black room, finest silky threads of mouth watering Sonpapadi being wrought...are all these parts of my conscious, or subconscious memory?

And...now that I am getting more 'aware' of my subconscious, will I subsume it??get enlightened?!! Help! Is there a way to avoid this??

Blue Megh

The clouds oppressed, lightening split the skies, thunder rolled, the damp earthy fragrance arose even as rain dropped in big globs on my upturned face.. blue surrounded everywhere, all blue, indescribable blue of ink, prussian, royal, navy merging into raven blacks...the regal Megh blue of Indian miniatures, of peacock dance, of crashing waves - as the alaap unfolding with excruciating expectancy of long drawn awaitings, no rhythms yet, no beat of a steady pour....and then, all longing removed, rain drum down to a pakhawaj beat, soon to a dizzying, torrential unbearable speed, the voice and the drum merge with colors, each challenging and challenged....I sat in an auditorium, exposed and drenched in rain cascading over me, streaming all around, elated, drunk on this evening's Dhrupad in Raag Megh.

On Songs and Serenadings...Twice Over

Lately, I am serenaded at night. By my two most loved ones...my son and my daughter. I go to hug and cuddle them in bed at bedtime and they are each awaiting in their darkened rooms, with their favorite songs for me, ready on their iPods.

We lie sharing one earphone each, cuddled under one blankie, listening to their favorite songs for me. If I cant understand the words, they recite it in soft voices to me, even as the song clangs, bangs, ferociously overpowers my senses, rubs out all, except this feeling of warmth, closeness with my once very-little-ones that are bigger-than-me now.

I lie in this incomprehensible world of the new generation, their different vocabulary, different songs, different way of expressing feelings, but the same way of showing it - under a blankie, cuddled in bed, warmly loved and sharing that love - my two young loved ones and I.

Michami Dukhadam - I Seek Forgiveness

Today is a day I value most - amongst all days - as a day when we, as Jains, seek forgiveness, of all. It is a day of Savantsari Pratikaman with which our Pajosan - the yearly days of Jain festival end.

I seek forgiveness of all - man, bird, beast, insect, life forms seen, or unseen, whom I harmed, by my actions, while sitting, standing,in speech or in thought, knowing, or unknowingly, in any way at all - I seek heart felt forgiveness.

May I be forgiven.

Language Evolution and Politics

I recently read with keen interest the contents and discussions following a question 'lack of an audience for poetry?' examined in kufr. As an outsider to language studies, I was intrigued, intellectually challenged,and enlightened by the variety of points made especially in the long discussions that followed the two posts. But mostly, as a mainly English speaking Indian, I was oppressed by a sense of guilt at how distanced I had become from the language of my roots, my forefathers. It is this sense guilt that led me to examine the history of how my language evolved over this generation, originating from a family of mainly Gujarati speaking to my children who speak comfortably only in English. I hope this introspection will help shed light, at least from my perspective, on the question of whether or not political manipulation or ruling class subjugation had any role to play in the course of my mostly unconscious language evolution. Granted, I am no dalit, and cannot know the angst of the class experience. Yet I have wondered, whether the largess of the ruling class trickles down on the basis of pre-selecting their own kind, or just towards those who can supply their demands. These are usually met by a qualified lot already within a financially favored strata. It appears that wealth and benefits trickle down systematically from the wealthiest, to lesser wealthy, middle class, and finally the needy and poor. Similarly each successive tier from the bottom upwards attempts to climb up to the next rung towards higher wealth, comfort, and a better standard of living - and, just maybe, these processes happen without a strong caste/class biases, but more supply/demand basis. Accessibility to wealth creation mechanisms, traditionally have been ill favored towards those with least wealth.

Coming to the question of languages, Kuffir in his blog's discussion summarises:
"my aim in this series of posts, is to examine why and how language is used by the ruling classes i)as a tool of segregation and ii) and as a means of patronage.

in my view, it's irrelevant whether india adopted english or german or sanskrit or mandarin after 1947- all the ruling classes wanted to ensure was to make the best education and jobs available only to a select few, and foster a feeling of inadequacy among the rest. they seemed to have succeeded consistently until now."

My position, as a well off, English speaking Indian on the upper rungs of the financial and comfort ladder, is this: I am part of the privileged class Kuffir is talking about, and so I need to search my soul and face some home truths. My introspection has led me to believe that while what Kuffir states, undoubtedly happens, the generality of his statements might be misplaced.

Taking matters post 1947, for instance, except for those with inherited wealth, the surest way to improve one's lot was via education and getting a government job. Most aspiring sections in our society still feel education is the key out of hard life - it is mostly the wealthy or the poorest that do not directly pursue wealth via education. But the rest of the highly mobile, upwardly moving class is focusing on education, especially English education, to improve their lot in life. In my life at the farm, when I offered to help local village children with their studies, the only subject they were interested in was English - even though they did not need this for their academic performance.

I remember growing up in fairly strained financial circumstances and my parents saying they could not give us wealth, but had instead given us education - by this they meant English education. It is interesting that our wealthier cousins went through limited years in vernacular schools.

Even while we were, within a single generation, shifting to English as a mother tongue, so were countless others, following the same path in making the same choices for their children. It had very little to do with the lot of the poorer sections. We were just being prepared to get a somewhat bigger section of the pie - trained to move upwards. It just so happened that we were in the correct financial bracket to afford the luxury of a language, which undoubtedly, has been a single most obvious reason behind the financial mobility of my family. Now, we speak English at home, not to 'foster inadequacy' amongst others, but as a common language between my husband and I. Our losses have been many, a divorcing from our 'native' language, songs of its bards, the stories and festivals, the belonging has disappeared. Would I have consciously made the same choice? I am not sure...

I am at this point reminded of the very interesting blog that I read almost a year back. Here, Ram argued that "choices of individual agents make a system. There is no overall design as such" i.e. no conspiration, no intentional victimization, no intellectual ruling class consciously subjugating the rest.
Like I say " we are most like insatiable termites, we consume, consume, and the biggest termite consumes the most".