Hope

Like many people I know, I was glad to let 2008 go. It had been a tough year for my family and for India... as if a grey shroud masked all but the brightest moments. I took December 31, 2008 as an opportunity to shrug off the pull of everything that had saddened me in that year and leap headlong into 2009, with nothing but hope and happiness in my mind.

I've always believed that the past is useful mostly as reference material to help us move on in life. Dwelling indefinitely in it is neither useful nor healthy. What we have is an opportunity to make something of the present and hope that the future will bring opportunities for greater progress in our journey through life.

To be able to look towards the future with hope is a great gift. It means you have strength within you to visualise what you want from life... there are many who don't have this precious ability... living only from one moment to the next, locked in a bitter struggle for survival, with no time or energy left to take stock of life before it ends. Hope is a flicker of your innate ability to shape your life with aspirations, dreams and imagination. It is your anchor in a world where change and unpredictability present you with obstacles when you may least expect them... and it give you the strength to deal with everything that comes your way.

Hope is related closely to some wonderful things - faith, awareness, courage, confidence ... the list could go on and on. We tend to use this word very lightly in phrases like "let us hope for the best", or "hope to see you soon!" totally negligent of it's power and meaning. In the process we diminish the impact it can have on our lives. I'm as guilty of this as the next person.

So, in 2009, my only resolution is to NEVER lose hope, regardless of the things/ events that come my way. My hope is a symbol of the lessons I have learnt from life... the fact that there has always been a silver lining even in the darkest moments I've had to endure. It is not just an idle expectation, but a repeatedly validated belief that life has wonderful lessons and experiences to offer and we WILL receive them sooner or later. 

In this year of our lives, I pray that you also delve deep into your storehouse of hope and use it to add meaning to your existence. Let your imagination soar as it will, and never lose the hope that your vision will be realized... because it WILL. 

The City I Love

Late on the night of November 26, 2008, I found myself going through my papers to locate the card and number of the security agency, with which all employees of my company are registered. It felt strange to be doing so, because I've been working with this company for the last two and a half years and I hadn't so much as bothered to open the envelope in which the card and its details were . I guess some could call this being careless or lazy... but really, I had never felt the need to even examine it's contents... somehow I felt like I didn't really need them... a part of me is still not convinced that I do...

The reason? I felt safe in Mumbai, the city that has been home to me for the last seven years and in which I found education, acceptance, friends, employment and so much more.

That night, however, I felt waves of uncertainty rock my notion of safety, as the TV screen flashed with updates of the terrorists' atrocities against Mumbai and her people. I watched with disbelief as images of CST, the Taj and the Oberoi appeared above messages of explosions, gunfire and lives lost... I felt anger, fear and helplessness tear at my thoughts even as my heart wept for the injured, the dead and the bereaved.

At present, the terrorists have been neutralised, hundreds injured, many lives extinguished and substantial economic damage reported... lots of emails and text messages are doing the rounds exhorting us to join candle marches, hop onto email chains and send petitions etc. Honestly, I haven't been able to bring myself to join any of those...

I'm not going to be content or feel even a bit better by lighting a candle in front of a poster on which is scrawled "We miss you, Hemant Karkare". This has happened all too often in the past. Candle lightings, marches etc. have marked the aftermath of some catastrophe... but the memory and implications of that incident have been forgotten, quite like the melted wax that dots the floor tiles on which the candles flickered for a short while. I do NOT intend to forget this incident and its meaning.

If we must light a flame, let us light it within ourselves. Not the fire of anger, which only clouds our minds, but the light of awareness, justice and vigilance. Let us remember the sacrifices made to rescue the survivors and be aware of the grief that shrouds the lives of those that survive the deceased. Let this awareness make us lift our voices in a demand for justice and open our eyes to be more vigilant. It could just be taking note of the security system in your apartment block, or the school your child goes to. How safe are those? It could be learning about the security mechanism of your city/state and making sure everyone in your household, right from your children to your domestic help know about the same. If you really get down to it, there will be a LOT to think about and get done along these lines.

It's time to examine the laws around us and not turn our eyes away in the classic "chalta hai" style that marks people all over this country. It's time to wake up and stay up! I think this is what the slain Karkare's wife wanted us to think when she refused the 'compensation' offered to her. The only compensation for such loss is for us, the nation, to awaken and help the system work... help it make sure that innocents do not suffer for the follies of a few. Even ONE life lost to these misguided terrorists is a price too steep.

I love this city, and I love my country dearly... much to dearly to ever forget this act of outrage against it. Don't forget it either. Crumbling under the weight of gloom is what many of us could go through, but the answer is to take strength from this experience. We need to turn our grief, indignation, outrage and dismay into a wave of action that will make our nation safer... starting with ourselves and our immediate environment.

We need to wake up...

Wake up!

There

LifeStrings Turns Three

I just realised that LifeStrings is now 3 years old! :)

It came as a pleasant surprise just a few moments ago, when I looked at the links on the right panel of this window and counted the number of "Novembers". 

I also realised, with no small measure of satisfaction, how much LifeStrings has come to mean to me... and how I have always returned to it, even when there were long breaks from writing. 

There is something liberating about being able to express my thoughts... to just let my fingers tap away on the keyboard and to see my ideas take shape in the form of letters that materialise on the screen. From my experience, the written word is at times much stronger and enduring that the spoken one. It lets me 'see' the thought even as I 'hear' it in my mind... and it allows me to observe patterns in my ideas, feelings, becoming a means for me to almost track my development as an individual.

There are over eighty posts on LifeStrings today... and as I look back at them I feel nothing but a sense of the utmost gratitude to life, for having taught me precious lessons in the form of everything that inspired these posts. Each narrative encloses within it a little insight that came to me (usually in quite a random, coincidental way), but added immeasurable value to my perspective. 

As I think ahead and look forward to more insights to document here, I want to thank everyone who has appreciated LifeStrings and encouraged me to write more. There are so many comments people left on my posts that made the world of a difference to me. And thank YOU for taking the time to read this. I do hope we will continue to share our insights, experiences and feelings through my blog, as the days roll by. 

God Bless! :)

The 'M'-Word

There must be something about turning 25 years of age... just about everyone you can think of starts asking you questions structured directly or indirectly to elicit information on your plans for marriage, or as I prefer to call it, Marriage...

As I walk in the penumbra of my 26th birthday, I find myself inevitably drawn into conversations, where I am required to answer questions ranging subtle queries that skirt the topic quite guardedly, to pointed inquisitions that throw discretion to the wind! When all that has to be said has been said I am left with just a few basic questions - When will it be? Who will it be with? IS there Anyone? Why not? How long will you wait? Don't you think it's time you started thinking seriously about this?

If you're thinking this is going to be a rant against marriage and all the people who are thinking about getting me married someday, don't worry, this is certainly not going in that direction. I'm the last person to denounce the institution and I accept the interest and concern shown by people who care about me, when they quiz, cajole or tease me with respect to the 'M'-Word, as I've grown to call it.

What I want to talk about is what I think a Marriage should be, and why I want to wait for as long as it takes before I find someone who shares this vision and my desire to manifest it. A perfect example of what I think about came, as it usually does, quite unexpectedly, just a week ago as a colleague was driving me around a suburb in Concord, San Fransisco. As she proved to be a delightfully engaging conversationalist and a very attentive listener, we ended up discussing a wide range of topics, which meandered over to how she and her now husband committed their lives to each other.

Her husband is an uncommonly gifted man, combining cutting edge software development skills with a natural talent for music (he has a knack for just picking up an instrument and being able to figure out how to make music with it... and not in the usual amateurish way) and several other skills. While they both fell in love at the proverbial "first sight" and spent several years in happy courtship, it was difficult for him to envision how married life would reorder his life... would he be able to pursue his various interests and continue to grow in all those directions... or would married life lead to a series of compromises, restrictions and limits to his freedom and personal development?

As she described the situation, I found myself empathising completely. The same thoughts have crossed my mind on many times, and on occasion, I've expressed them to find that many people, unwed as well as married, understand my speculations and say as much... However, my colleague told me something different. Referring to her own case, she recalled answering her husband's hesitations by saying something like - Honey, my commitment to this marriage is that you should have even more freedom to grow than you had before...

A minute rolled slowly by as I gazed out of the car window, slowly assimilating what she had just said, even as she went on explaining more... without knowing it, she had shown me what transforms a regular marriage into a Marriage... not just a given in the social life of humans, but a pledge to help each other achieve individuation... to reach their full potential as unique people and to go beyond even that.

I've often heard people express a fear of losing precious pieces of their personalities or Selves in a marriage, and I've heard married people confess that it does happen, both unwillingly and also as the result of willing sacrifices for the sake of creating and maintaining a family and preserving their togetherness. I must confess, it is the same apprehension that often made me question how happy I would be to make 'space' for someone in my life, when there are so many things that I devote time to, and would be loath to give up if that someone wanted that time from me... I often gave up on myself as being hopelessly selfish, until I heard many other voice the same concerns (an illusion of uniqueness I was delighted to dispense with!).

But now I know... marriage does not HAVE to mean this! With her simple narrative of how she and her husband lead their lives today, she showed me how loving awareness allows them to devote time to carefully nurture all things good in each other. They've worked to develop an understanding of all the things they value in themselves as individuals and now make sure that each is able to develop those aspects of themselves, even as they lead a very happy married life. They are unwilling to let each other compromise or miss out on the little things that make them special... the things that drew them closer together... and in this respect they help themselves transcend. And THAT's what I think a life partner should be... someone who agrees to join you in co-creating a life geared toward actualisation... where marriage doesn't mean losing, but Finding oneself.

This is what I want and I am unwilling to settle for less... AND I am willing to wait for as long as it takes till I find it.

I hope you find it too.

God Bless!

PS: On a lighter note, apparently, I'm not the hopeless hermit I'm often made out to be... a friend I recently caught up with after 12 years, told me (MUCH to my amusement) that I had asked her to marry me when we were both about 5 years old! We both have no memory of the incident ( it is her mother who remembers her indignant reaction - her answer to my impudent question was that we were too young to talk about such matters!) To my credit and in some small measure of my defense, I recall she was a delightful child, so I'd like to believe I had very good taste... and hope that the same will lead me to my ideal realization of the 'M'-word someday.

What's Behind the Photograph?

Sometimes, amidst the emoticons and heavily condensed phrases of an MSN chat I find an extraordinary thought. This post is about one of them....

A colleague showed me the adjacent picture of her daughter, gazing at the Unisphere, a metallic structure symbolizing peace, situated somewhere in New York, USA. While I was struck by the lovely composition of the photograph, I was affected even more by her interpretation of it, which was something like "it's such a little person in a big world... all we can hope for is peace..."

It's easy to read those words and wax eloquent on the importance of world-peace and how important it is for the future generations. All true, no doubt, and also the direction in which my thoughts first moved... but somehow I was not able to write about it... there was something more I sensed in the picture and in her explanation... something that wouldn't let me write unless I wrote about it first...

I've had this picture for a while, almost a couple of weeks now, but I only just understood consciously what my heart saw long ago. This isn't just a picture of a beautiful little girl staring at an awe-inspiring monument. It's also a picture of the parent who clicked the photograph.

When you think about it, it's obvious that a beautiful photograph is a reflection of the photographer, since it captures that person's unique perspective etc. But how often do we really think about this? In my experience it's easier to get lost in the photograph with a cursory "Nice, picture!" thrown at the photographer, who is content with the appreciation. Today, however, I want to come out of that custom and shift focus from the picture, to the one behind it... the invisible soul that leaves it's imprint on the image as surely as the ink, but so subtly that it is seldom noticed right-away.

What I now see in this picture is not just the little girl, but also the love and dreams that her mother has for her... an impossible love that only a parent can have, capturing so effortlessly the beauty of her child... youth, innocence, wonder, enthusiasm all at once. She told me it was a lucky shot, taken almost by chance, but life has taught me not to believe that coincidences are not really all that coincidental. There's an awareness in us all, enshrined deep within our beings (call it a divine spark if you will) that guides us towards such exquisite moments when everything seems to be in harmony, tailor-made for our happiness. I think it was this awareness that inspired her to observe and photograph her daughter so perfectly, speaking volumes about their bond through a single picture of a little girl under a gorgeous, sunny sky.

In a single shot, she shows us the tenderness with which she regards her daughter and the hopes she harbours for the future of her offspring - "it's such a little person in a big world... all we can hope for is peace..." Yes, indeed... it's more than a picture... to my mind it's a silent prayer that a parent's heart repeats everyday, and with special fervour at moments like this, when a child's simplicity and brilliance stands out even against the vastness of creation and anything man could ever make...

When you have a moment, spare some time to say a little prayer for all the children in this world, as I did, when I saw what this picture was all about. May they all grow up in a world of peace, where the innocence of childhood has a chance to blossom as much as it deserves... where a mother's dreams for her baby's happiness become real...

What is this Post About? Handwriting...?

"Up above the blue line, down to the red line..." I notice my mother's beautiful fingers, wrapped around my chubby little hand as she chants the familiar handwriting 'mantras' that teach me the wonder of the written word. I can smell the gentle fragrance of her perfume, as she leans over me, guiding my hand and pencil over the old four-lined handwriting books that we used for learning how to write. I'm all concentration as I strive to make myself remember these heuristics, that would serve me well for the rest of my life. In the soft morning light that tumbles in through the window, I learn how to represent the world through symbols made with a pencil...

You know, its odd that I almost never actually "write" anymore... I often use the term "writing" when I refer to these posts that I create on LifeStrings, but I haven't actually written anything, have I? I usually make it a point to carry a pen with me wherever I go, but I use it only to sign on something or scrawl a few clumsy notes during a meeting or presentation. If I'm not concentrating hard, I tend to cringe at my own handwriting...for it seems dreadful compared to the beautiful script my school notes were written in.

All through school and college, I filled entire notebooks with my writing...everything from stories to mathematics... the middle finger of my right hand still has a toughened bit of skin foremost digit - the only reminder of how hard I held my pen while furiously taking notes in my Cognitive Psychology class. Looking back on those times, its strange to observe how alien it feels when I write something now.

But then... isn't life full of such examples, the more of it you live. We tend to lose touch with so many things, as other things come to take their place. The typewriter and now the keyboard replaced the pen, the compact disc brought an end to the era of audio cassettes, cable TV replaced VCRs... the list could go on an on...! We're left with little glimmers of the past, that we tuck into cartons, drawers, albums etc. to be taken out and looked at with nostalgia someday...

It's funny how soon we can give up something we clung to so strongly only a little while ago. I transitioned from writing to typing, so smoothly, that I barely even noticed the difference until I tried writing a substantial amount one day (and gave up in dismay!). People say they find it hard to let go of things and each other...without realising that they do it all the time. How many of us are in touch with the school friends we shared so much of our childhood with? When did we last look up the teachers that most inspired us in college? When did we last take a minute to call up a favourite aunt/uncle just to say hello...NOT for a birthday or anniversary?

You see...we let go of things all the time! It's just that we're used to doing it out of a subconscious tendency to seek convenience and avoid anything we perceive as burdensome (I'm not sure if that's a word...but it sounds like it should be!). We let go of people, relationships, possessions and the attachments we have for them quite automatically, as we find other things, people etc. to attach ourselves to. We hold on to just little shreds of the past, that we never want to be without... just in case there is time and space in which to enjoy them once more. So, for instance, I will NEVER give up carrying a pen around, even though I almost never use it, just in case it comes handy sometime...and because its somewhat reassuring to know I still have it...and still know how to write. It would take a definite amount of mental effort and self-reassurance to give up this near-obsolete habit... I wonder if I will be up to it someday... I wonder if I even should...

Aren't some relationships just like this pen? Almost non-existent, but we carry them around (because we know they have value for us even though we've taken them for granted), never knowing when we might need to invoke them... careful not to confront the anxiety of anticipating whether or not they will still be there when we do?

My solution to the problem of the pen is to take the time and make the effort to WRITE...even if its just a few lines a day. It makes me feel connected and refreshes my mind with so many associations I have with the concept of this skill. When it comes to relationships you value, it's pretty much the same...MAKE the time to call someone you care about but seldom meet anymore... DO something that makes them feel you're still a part of their lives...that you WANT to be a part of their... don't make someone you care about as obsolete an an old pen...and don't become that pen for someone either!

God bless!

Transformation

Death is a curious thing... life presents us with several ways of confronting this inescapable truth, and many opportunities to prepare for it... but somehow it's near impossible to anticipate completely what effect it will have on you.


My grandmother passed away a few months ago. Her already deteriorating health suddenly plummeted faster than anyone could have predicted and she was gone in a matter of two weeks. I managed to meet her only once before she left, a strange experience in which she taught me one of life's greatest lessons while lying prone and speechless in the ICU.


I flew across the country to see her one last time, because the doctors had indicated that there was little that could be done to ease her suffering any further. While preparing to visit her, and on the flight, my mind brimmed with a thousand memories of her love and the care that she lavished on me... and throbbed with a searing regret of how many times I had lost the opportunity of spending some time with her... an opportunity that I would never get again. I clung to her image in my mind, begging anything and anyone that might be listening to keep her for me, give me a chance to meet her at least once... restore her to health etc.

She lay on the hospital bed, wired to the complicated lot of devices that ICU patients have to bear with. Her face and body were bloated with toxins that had permeated her blood, her breath came in strained gasps and her limbs lay paralysed, inert. A weak inarticulate sound escaped her lips involuntarily as she stared at me, without expression. That was when it struck me... as quick and potent as lightning...

My grandmother, the being that I love so much was not really that body. The body lying on the hospital bed was all but devoid of her consciousness and intelligence. In the absence of that, it would be just a shell... just like one of the great big kaftans she used to wear out and then exchange for another. The Being that brought me up and showered me with love and care was was much more than that body. The body was a vessel but the love that came was more - sort of like a the relationship that a tap has with water.

The Being that was  Nani wanted to be free and move onto the next leg of its great journey. It, could never be harmed, could never be ill, could not be broken. Those things happened to the body - like the wear and tear that happens to clothes we wear for a long time The body remained alive only because of the life support system that forced oxygen through it... Death, to this Being would be little more than the experience of waiting in an airport. It was time to take flight...

It was in that moment that I learnt to let go. I let go of the mental grappling hooks with which I was clinging to her image. I let go of the attachment to her physical form, because for the first time I truly understood what Nani really was (or IS)... that we are all more than the bodies that we see in the mirror. My thoughts clung to a tangible form while my real love was for an intangible spirit. And that's when it struck me again... my love had ALWAYS been for the intangible. While 'alive', my grandmother's love had been expressed/ manifested through a body, but the body itself was never the source of that love. The love came from her spirit, her consciousness that connected with mine. And that is indestructible and ever present... I feel it even as I type these words and I felt it even in the ICU, as I thought about what I've expressed so far. She never needed a body to love me... love is much much greater than the medium through which we choose to channel it.

And now, I realise... I still love my grandmother very much. While sometimes I still feel sad about her demise, I know that my grief is for the destruction of the physical form to which I had grown attached. Sooner or later, that grief will wear itself out, but my connection to Nani will endure because it does not belong in space and time...it's bigger than that...

Like A Child Again

It isn't everyday that a man can beam happily even as someone pulls his ear and administers a fairly audible smack to his cheek. Nevertheless, I have a witness to state that this is how I responded to the above mentioned pull and smack, a few days ago...

To be honest, neither of the actions was painful because they weren't really intended to hurt me... I saved this little detail for now, just to make the first paragraph a little more interesting! :D My apologies for the sauciness... and don't get me wrong...I'm hardly the type to remain passive if intentional violence is directed at my person!

The incident I'm referring to occurred in a music class that I attend. My teacher, whom I call "Didi" (Hindi for older sister) inspired this post. I don't think I will never forget the look on her face as she leaned forward to pull my ear... it is a very happy and meaningful memory for me.

Didi took me under her wing a few months ago, to teach me the nuances of semi-classical music. Not only are her classes teaching me various types of such music, they are also helping me discover my voice in its entirety. She's helping me learn how to sing without being self-conscious (which I have a tendency to be) and with complete confidence in myself. Her lessons are sprinkled liberally with trademark metaphors and admonishments, all tailored to drive home some vital points. She once told me that there was no point in trying to hide my mistakes by singing softly because she would catch them anyway and then get annoyed because she'd think I was trying to conceal them. She added quite pointedly that the reason I was in her class was for her to find my errors so she could help me correct them...so where was the sense in being 'discreet'? The lesson hit me like a flat stone in the centre of my forehead! Good heavens! There I was trying so hard to avoid making errors, while someone was willing to let me make them, sans judgement and in fact, waiting to help me overcome them!

We seldom have the luxury of returning to a situation where our environment is tolerant of the mistakes we make...when someone is waiting patiently, to pick us up each time we fall and show us where we went wrong the last time. I use the term 'returning' because to be in a situation like this, is akin to being a child again, when a caregiver is there to help a toddler learn to walk, read, write, discover the world...

Didi is helping me discover my voice in baby steps that mean the world to me. I'm hearing myself clearly for the first time, experiencing what my voice can do and understanding what I can do to improve it. In her presence, I feel like a little boy, eager to show his teacher what he has learnt to do, and to learn as much as he can from her. I remember the delight with which I learnt things from my kindergarten teachers, because I feel the same connection with her... both when she praises my efforts and when she corrects me.

It is only when we grow older that we begin to cherish how wonderful it is to be taken care of...to be called lovingly by a nickname...to be told it's alright if we don't get it right the first time... When Didi pulled my ear and smacked my cheek, she did it affectionately, playfully because I had delayed in relaying some good news to her. It felt wonderful to me, because I felt that she had asserted her right to partake of my happiness... because she thinks of herself as my caregiver.

I hope you have loads of people in you life, who make you feel this way... parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, teachers etc. The next time you give them a hug, put in a extra squeeze... :)

God Bless!

A Potter's Wheel

A few days ago, I saw the face of a senior executive beam with child-like delight as he told me about his early experiences in a weekend pottery that he joined recently. There was an earnest quality to his expression that charmed me at once. I listened to him describe how pressure has to be applied in a particular way so that the shape of the pot remains symmetrical, how one must keep one's hands steady for about ten minutes to make sure that a shapeless lump of clay spins into something beautiful. Each word was uttered with an intensity that reminded me of how my little cousins tell me about something exciting they did, their faces aglow with a heart-warming earnestness...

When we grow older, start working and shouldering what seems to be an ever-increasing number of responsibilities, it becomes very difficult for us to hold on to some simple pleasures that make life wonderfully meaningful. Some of us completely lose track of the last time that we stopped to admire a sunrise, enjoy the evening breeze, feel the world disappear in some wonderful music, spend time with a good friend...

The action of making something beautiful on the potter's wheel reminds me of life... I think of life as the clay that the potter is trying to fashion into something shapely, elegant. The potter has two hands to accomplish this. One hand symbolises the 'big' things - a job, a steady income etc. and the other symbolises the 'little' things - the sort of stuff that makes you smile when you think about it, something that you never have to worry about. If the potter doesn't make sure that both the hands are steady, chances are that the pot will be bent out of shape. The potter's mind represents consciousness. Just as the potter has to be equally aware of both his hands and their placement on the spinning clay, our minds must also be equally focussed on the 'big' and little 'things' to make sure that we mould our lives in a balanced way.

We must never forget the little things that make big differences to us...the moments and occurrences that don't cost us a penny, but make us smile freely. Our smiles are worth more than we might imagine...our happiness is beyond value...YOUR happiness is priceless. Today, I wish you all the happiness you could ever imagine.

God Bless! :)

Heroes

Most of us who have been blessed with a good childhood - nourishing, playful, innocent - have grown up with dozens of favourite stories/ legends/ myths, narrated to us by loving caregivers...shaped by our imaginations and fantasies. Many of these stories will have had a "hero". The hero has many forms, ranging from the invulnerable deity or demigod who conquers all foes, to the tragic protagonist who faces severe adversities before reaching a happy ending...and sometimes not even that.

We all grow up with our heroes. In the recesses of our mind we cling to their images and draw on them whenever we can to make comparisons between their tales and the circumstances of our own lives. Often, we try their approaches to solving problems in our lives. It's almost like we ask ourselves, "What would Superman have done?" and try to follow suit. I'm sure there are people for whom this works well and others who have yet to find the balance between myth and 'reality'.

The heroes of legend, exist largely in works of literature or in hand-me-down stories, passed along the generations by word of mouth. They exist in paintings, carvings, tapestries, sculptures etc. that people look upon with awe, as representations of the stories they play and replay in their minds. They become symbols of power, effort, and hope that people look up to, scarcely realising where the real power comes from...their own minds!

Regardless of whether or not these heroes ever walked the earth, they exist because human minds wills them into existence. Their lives persist because the human race honours them with its memory of their efforts and exploits. The human imagination gives them colour, detail, sound, meaning and much more...it is where the true power of the hero lies. Giving birth to both the demon that was slain and to the hero that destroyed it, the mind is by far more powerful that the hero it shapes. People look up to the hero and pour their faith into its symbolism. They have only to realise that they don't really depend on heroes...heroes depend on them. From Hercules to Superman, every hero that exists, exists only because there are people to validate his heroism.

There is no quality in heroes that cannot be manifested in ourselves. Heroes are but waves on the limitless ocean of human potential. Think about it...

Shrugging Off the Shackles

For some time now I've been trying, rather unsuccessfully to get a post up on this blog. I gave myself several reasons for it... no time, stifled creativity, fatigue etc. But it was only a few minutes ago that the real reason struck me, and to be honest, it quite embarrassed me, in my own eyes!

Ever since the idea grew on me, I've always maintained that it's important never to let any ideals remained unquestioned in your mind. The ones that are worth adhering to are the ones that pass the tests of your own reasoning and inspection. They are the thoughts that last you for lifetimes and mark you with a distinct individuality...

One of my ideals is to resist any sort of ideas that limit free-thinking on my part, or that stop me from progressing...and recently I allowed myself to fall unwittingly into just one such trap, which is what prevented me from posting anything on LifeStrings for such a long time!

For some reason, I convinced myself that there was a particular post that I just HAD to put up before I got down to writing anything else. I tried for weeks on end to write it, but while this post is literally spurting from my fingertips, I could not get past two paragraphs on that one... I kept telling myself that I'd get back to it sometime, that it was probably just the workload in the office or a small writer's block that was coming in my way. It was neither of the two... it was just my subconscious bonding to an idea that I never really liked in the first place! Now that I look at it, the topic that I chose for that post, was likely to merit nothing more than a mundane narrative of reality. A movement from 'then I did this', to 'then I did that'...which is so powerfully opposed to everything that LifeStrings stands for. This is a space in which I share my feelings with you...deeper thoughts, insights expressed spontaneously and almost all completed and published in the same day that I thought of them. The mundane has little scope for expression here! This is a place where I let go of all the "shoulds" that don't make me feel good about adhering to them...how ironic therefore, that a little "should" was the cause of my long hiatus from the blogosphere! lol!

I never HAD to marry myself to that regressive idea, but I did so sub-consciously, probably because I thought that I could make it fit the theme of this blog, somehow. But that's exactly where I went wrong! You see, I have never before had to "make" something fit LifeStrings...it always came naturally, quickly. It either fit or it didn't...and if it didn't, that was OK. This time, I was trying to force something to fit this blog, which is precisely what made my mind falter.

Let me take this opportunity therefore, to affirm that I never want to be in such a state again...where the movement of my mind is restricted by any kind of influence, from within or without. I never want my inner ear to be unable to hear the notes and chords in Life's music. And I want to be ever-attuned to the little things that make big differences.

I'm back and LifeStrings will soon have more on it pages! :)

God Bless!

Lunch-time!

In a white-washed room, the air is thick with the smell of food. A loud, ceaseless murmur thrums as groups of people huddle around wooden or plastic tables. The murmur is punctuated with metallic clinks as steel spoons and forks meet steel plates and bowls. An occasional burst of laughter, the sound of chairs scraping the ground as people push away from their tables...it's your typical lunch-room scene...

On one table an interesting bunch of people share their lunch-hour (sometimes it's more like 'lunch-hour-and-a-half'). The well-informed observer would spot the following individuals in that group: an interaction designer who 'moonlights' as a classic rock musician, a Dutch-woman who apart from being a competent Industrial designer is also besotted with Indian daal preparations, a quiet, mysterious multimedia specialist who is clearly unhappy with the food and a psychologist who has found his way into the software industry (yes, you read that correctly) and is enjoying his first job very much (not so much the lunch menu, though)...

Welcome to my favourite lunch table! You've just read a description of a group (myself included), that regularly shares meals during lunch-time in the office. Let me introduce you to each person in turn...


S

S is the kind of person it is difficult not to notice even though he doesn't really do anything deliberate to attract attention. Tall (make that very tall), lean (make that very lean!), pleasant faced and with a perpetually relaxed disposition, he's the quintessential nice guy. Not many people in the office would have had long conversations with him because he mostly keeps to himself. I noticed him for the first time when he played some smashing guitar pieces in an office party. Good music and a good musicians draw me like a magnet, so I had no choice, but to keep pestering him, until I started getting responses that were way beyond laconic! :)

When you're talking to S you have to be ready for anything from pointed euphemisms to blatantly frank remarks to mild facial expressions that speak volumes just because of their timing. A Wodehouse fan (like myself) cannot but appreciate these nuances, especially when delivered in S's trademark style - an unmistakable directness in even the most indirect remarks. Thanks to his detailed anecdotes, I am now magnificently educated on a variety of topics, ranging from the terminology of music bands to the bathing habits of hostelites in some premier technical institutes!


C

When I saw her for the first time, I thought C would have inspired Tolkien's image of the Elves, had they been contemporaries. Tall, calm and dignified, C has a gentle smile matched by an equally gentle nature. It couldn't have been easy for someone from the Netherlands to adapt to Mumbai's ways and conditions, but I always appreciate the way in which she conducts herself and remains composed in the face of situations that would have other expats doing a double-take! :) She apparently has a great interest in knowing about other cultures, but she obviously has an unlimited supply of patience too! There have been times when C has left me deeply impressed with her insights on life, people, religion and a host of other topics...her remarks are always laden with an intelligence that suggests that she observes a lot more than she lets on...

If you meet her at lunch-time you will be able to identify her quite easily by means of the large plastic four-lock air-tight container filled with daal that sits in front of her at the table. Somehow, the Indian pulses have captured her interest and she has probably prepared every kind of Indian lentil available. Well...the results have not always been as expected, but one must certainly appreciate the effort...or the imagination required to mix rosemary, celery or olive oil in moong daal! :) We tease her endlessly about the Netherlands, but she always takes everything good-naturedly with a characteristic smile and laugh.

A

You know, I've often noticed that someone is called a 'man-of-few-words' to cover up for the fact that in truth, he doesn't know very many words! My friend, A, is an outstanding exception to that rule. You would have read about him in the previous post, 'Vroom!'...he is the same person who gave me the bike ride that I was so delighted with. :)

I think the first time I spoke to him was when he came across to my cubicle to enquire about some work related thing. That conversation lasted for all of 90 seconds because I didn't have a clue about what he wanted! The next time I noticed him was in an office party where he burst into a spontaneous imitation of radio advertisements, between two musical performances. I was simply amazed, not only by his utterly professional performance, but also because I'd never once heard him speak so much!

A striking no-nonsense attitude, an endless supply of witticisms and a signature chuckle which is somehow both knowing and innocent are some of the facets of this character, whom most observers would probably find rather inscrutable. He recently introduced me to the joys of ordering food from a local restaurant, in order to recuperate from any lunches that wreak havoc on the palate. The result of this charming practice is that apart from meeting at lunch-time, we now regularly share an early evening snack. Some time in the future, when the little restaurant is a three-star hotel, it's owners will grow misty-eyed as they remember how our continued patronage led them to their elevated status.

Me

Well, I'm hardly about to write a detailed description of myself! If you read this blog once in a while, you will get a fair idea about it's author. I'll tell you what...if someone ever writes a third-person account of me (that I like), I will put it up in this section, with due references!Until then...Bon Appetit!

:)

Vroom!

The Universe has a tendency to send people into your life in rather uncanny ways. Usually these occasions take the form of pleasant surprises that you only become aware of when you're already accustomed to the welcome presence of the 'other'. Of course there are some instances when this is not the case...you would much rather have spent the rest of your life in blissful ignorance of the other's existence! I, however, am interested in narrating an instance of the former case.

Motorbikes are probably the last things that you would associate with me, if you had even a passing knowledge of my views and interests. I would be aghast if my close friends could so much as picture me sitting on the pillion seat, leave alone steering the bike. It's true..I haven't got a clue about the workings of those two-wheelers, I've never shared anyone's fascination for them and I've never so much as gripped the handles of anything apart from a bicycle!

So the interesting thing here, is that a few nights ago, I narrowed my eyes and prayed that my hair would not fly off my scalp, as I sped delightedly down some roads in my hometown, Mumbai. I passed through the narrow spaces between monstrous trucks and street dividers and effortlessly overtook large cars, even as the world sped past me, as swift as the wind in my face...I was on a motorbike, loving every second of it! :)

Don't get me wrong...I was not steering the bike and I probably am never going to! I was seated on the pillion seat holding on to the owner of the bike and wondering what it might feel like to actually be in control of something capable of so much speed! I've often seen the exhilarated faces of children when someone gives them even a short ride on a motor-bike. That day, I finally got to understand what puts the smile on their faces! :)

So, how did this anomaly come to pass? That's where all this banter about the Universe comes in! :)

I have a tendency to give people 'tags' when I don't know their names. Nobody every hears me refer to those people by the tags...they are strictly for personal reference and maintaining context, until I get introduced to them or remember their names. And I only do this for people I see regularly...say in a class that I attend, or in my workplace. To illustrate, some of the current tags I have for people I see in my kickboxing class, are "The-girl-who-is-NEVER-on-time", "He's-going-to-put-his-fist-through-the-punching-bag-soon!" and "Pretty-face-but-looks-so-glum-all-the-time". Not exactly the most elegant thing to do, I agree, but it happens spontaneously! I suspect we all do something like this, in our own ways an in our own contexts (I'd love to know what you do, if you'd like to tell me!).

When I started working, I found myself in a huge office filled with people I did not know...so it was but natural for me to be tagging furiously! One of the first people I tagged was a man I called "Street Hawk-meets-Lone Ranger". I would see him walk into the office with his windcheater on and helmet in his hand. I didn't often see him talking to many people...seemed the quiet type. He always exuded the self-assured air of someone who is obviously confident of himself and is good at what he does. All this, in addition to an enigmatic aura, accentuated by a very sharp and attentive gaze - the kind that takes in everything in just a sweep. Quite an interesting character overall! :) I discovered his name a few months later and discarded the tag accordingly...

Over the last couple of weeks, I've had the occasion to share my lunch-table with him pretty often and discovered that he is a delightful conversationalist with a remarkably wry sense of humour...oddly British and still somehow very Indian. Lunch time is usually punctuated with some excellent, dry remarks on whatever the subject of the conversation is, be it politics, information technology, alternative healing or what you will...and those of you who know me well, will know how much I appreciate dry wit and clever quips! :)

Apart from adding the flavour of good conversation to a meal that is otherwise lacking in flavours that appeal to one's gustation, I must also thank him for providing me with the motorbike experience mentioned above.

He found me leaving the office building one evening and offered me a ride back home...and something in me (I'm guessing the "curious-child-complex") just me just said "Yes!". More than once I pictured the disapproving face of an elder relative, who is particularly in disfavour of two-wheelers, but somehow I just could not turn down the offer...and a few minutes later, I was on a motorbike, after goodness knows how many years!

So, you see, you never know when the Universe sends you a very pleasant surprise in the most unexpected and exceedingly coincidental way...but it's always nice to pay attention to it's little ways. :)

Till my next post!

Vrooom!

The Facets of Change

There are times in life, when we want to take a decisive step, that means letting go of something or someone we are are very used to. At such times we struggle very much to achieve this transformation. In short, there is something in us that resists "change", which is what I want to write about today.

I cannot count the number of times I've heard something like "Change is the only constant", "Only change is permanent" etc. Yes, yes, I agree, but I think the reason behind the existence of these very highly redundant phrases should be discussed a little more!

Change is not always easy...it implies alteration, creation, destruction, adjustment...effort. Change is not always positive, change is not always painless. But it happens all the time, at micro and macro levels. There are microorganisms who are born, exist reproduce and die before we so much as finish drawing a deep breath. There are philosophers who believe that the very Universe is created, destroyed and recreated second upon second.

Yes, change is a constant, inalienable and in fact necessary for survival. Yet, it is not always easy to deal with change, especially when it means the alteration of well established thoughts, behaviours or relationships. Change of this kind is an emotional event that the individual has to process and work through, sometimes incurring considerable pain in the process. The difficulties are especially acute if one did not want the change in the first place and was forced to face it because of relatively external circumstances.

Today, I want to talk about possible ways in which we can look at the phenomenon on change in our lives and maybe leave this post with some thoughts on how we can facilitate positive change in our lives. An interesting, though cliched way of doing this, might be considering each letter in the word "Change" as representing of a facet of the whole process. Oh well...I think I'll just risk it...here goes!

C = Conviction (and Commitment)
Successful change requires conviction...the belief that we have taken the right step and that that we are going to achieve something fruitful by taking this step. It also implies the courage to stand by our decision and take responsibility for our actions. Our minds may falter several times even as we tread the path of change, but it is our conviction that keeps us steady and takes us closer to our goal.

When I write about conviction, I do not mean blind belief...I mean faith born out of experience, and thought that is both rational and intuitive. True conviction is born of mature thought, instinct and considerable exploration of one's emotions. I think emotions are by far the most important aspect of this situation...going through our emotions, letting them swirl within us, observing their movements, their causes and the thoughts that they lead to give us control over them and we are better able to make an informed choice.

Conviction is not enough unless we have commitment to support it. Belief is one thing...acting on it is another. Both must go hand in hand. We also have to prepare ourselves to be tested for both our conviction as well as commitment several times along the path to positive change.

H = Honesty
I don't think we can ever achieve successful change unless we are truly honest with ourselves and with others around us. What we will change, what the change will do for us and what we are prepared to accomplish or give up in the process are questions that we must answer for ourselves as well as for any others to whom we feel answerable...and these answers must be entirely truthful. Honesty gives us clarity...sometimes the clarity comes with painful revelations, but it is better to ride that pain and get it over with, rather than live with the dull ache of suppositions for the rest of one's life.

A = Acceptance
Change may sometimes lead to the loss of things that existed in our lives for a very long time. It may mean letting go of very old beliefs, ideas, habits...even people etc. We have to accept these conditions and consequences, if no other alternative presents itself. Acceptance is probably the most difficult facet of change because it is an internal phenomenon tested constantly by self-doubt and memories of what we gave up. Often it requires facing oneself very pointedly and noting some regrettable aspects of the past...it is quite difficult to acknowledge some of the things that happened to us, or some of the things that we did. Yet, acceptance is liberating and makes change more meaningful...it provides an unshakable platform on which we face the past, the present and the future and consolidate all three.

N = Norms
It is very important to define the 'limits' of change...while changes may be essential for some aspects of our lives, they might not be healthy if introduced in other areas. We have to be careful not to generalize change without deliberation. For instance, developing assertiveness skills might be a great idea for dealing with bullies in the workplace, but one must be careful not to let assertiveness creep into interactions with even relatively benign people. It is simply not required in some situations and using it inappropriately can ruin interpersonal relationships. Change can sometimes be a very heady feeling...so much so, that it's difficult to stop trying to implement it everywhere.

G = Gravity
We have to take change seriously, especially when it's impact is likely to be wide-ranging. It might be alright to make light of it once in a while, just to ease the mental burden of implementing it. However, in the long run, we have to respect ourselves for shouldering the responsibility of transforming our lives and we have to ensure that our conduct reflects the same. There may be others who fail to understand the courage required to alter one's life, no matter how small the alteration. To such people, our efforts lack meaning and it is difficult to persuade them otherwise. It is also difficult not to question one's actions when such people fail to appreciate one's efforts. The strength to counter the questions and flippant remarks of external entities, comes from regarding change as a powerful event in our lives and giving ourselves due respect for conducting it.

E = Enthusiasm
Zest is a crucial ingredient in facilitating positive change. Transformation requires great energy and and willingness. Physical, emotional, mental and spiritual resources are all required for it. The willingness to utilize these resources comes from being aware of how we are going to benefit from the change. Looking forward to the results with positive expectations and having the confidence to realise those expectations leads to enthusiasm.

************************

So those were my humble thoughts on what it takes to truly affect change in our lives...do let me know if ever they remind you of something you changed, or help you step a little closer to transforming something in your life.

God Bless! :)

The Mighty Snail

Jogging is one of my ways of unwinding these days...quite surprising for people who are aware of the particular revulsion I have for perspiration (I seem to be blessed with an amazing tendency to perspire with the most minuscule effort you can imagine...(sigh)). A dear friend is responsible for this near miraculous phenomenon which find me thudding around a nice park adjacent to my apartment block. Somehow, he managed to convince me that it's fun and that the copious sweating isn't as distressing as I imagine! :D

This evening, as the ground beneath my feet felt the repeated pounding of my new running shoes, I saw something that made me think even as I huffed along. I was a large garden snail that was inching its way across the narrow path on which people walk/jog. I marked its progress each time I came near that particular spot on the track. At the end of 25 minutes, it was not even half-way across the (approximately) 3-feet wide path.

More than once I was tempted to just pick it off the ground and deposit it in the safety of the bushes for which it was headed. Towards the end of my jogging I nearly did so...but a thought made me hold back...

I thought to myself, that no matter how small this creature's consciousness is in our estimation, it still has enough intelligence to recognise danger and possesses the instinct for self-preservation. It is in constant danger of being crushed by the next careless oaf who comes lumbering along and somewhere in its tiny snail-mind it must be aware of this; but it still moves ahead, unshakable even in its acute vulnerability.

I think we have a lot to learn from the snail...do you?

Kite-string

As I type these words, I look from time to time at the fine scar that marks one of the joints on my left index finger... an odd reminder of a very interesting afternoon that I experienced not too long ago.

Strange as it may seem, until the above mentioned afternoon, I had never experienced kite-flying (to be fair, that is technically still true...but let me come to that in a bit!). Somehow, my childhood never included the endless hours of fascination with a brightly coloured kite, that form an integral part of my father's memory of his youth. I had never regretted this absence...there were always a dozen other things to keep me occupied at any given moment.

However, I must admit, that when a good friend suggested that I try it, I welcomed the opportunity with no small measure of eagerness! There is something fascinating about flying a kite...watching it soar into the skies and guiding it's direction. I'd often watched children spend hour upon hour just running against the breeze in order to send a kite into the sky...and I'd wondered what it was like to feel the wind tug at one's kite and take it higher and higher in the direction of the heavens.

So, on the afternoon in question, I found myself on the roof of an apartment block, squinting on account of a fiercely burning sun and enjoying the droughts of wind that wafted over from the nearby lake. Two friend, both experienced kite-fliers, were there with me, busying themselves with the technicalities of whatever it is that goes into launching a kite. They discussed the various positions from which the kite would be best launched, the changing direction of the wind, the composition of the kite and even the way the string should be wound... a fascinating study for someone as inexperienced as myself.

Imagine my consternation, however, when not even one of us managed to get that kite airborne for even a minute! I realised that kite-flying might not be so easy after all, when I noticed that almost an hour had been spent in watching the poor kite crash repeatedly into just about everything on that roof (including us!). The incessant succession of failed attempts came to an end when an over zealous tug at the kite-string left me with a cut on my left forefinger.

Not the most productive afternoon, if you measure productivity by number of successes. But it was certainly one of the most enjoyable afternoons I'd spent in a while. You see, it didn't matter that I did not manage to get that kite into the sky or watch it go further and further in the direction of the clouds. What I relished each moment was the fact that I was experiencing something that I had missed for over two decades of my life. In a strange way, I felt a sense of completeness that had nothing to do with that kite...it was more about giving a treat to the child in me. I laughed at the kite as it came down again and again...and I shared the mirth of my veteran companions, who had no dearth of quips and jibes to make each time the poor kite plummeted earthward! It wasn't about achieving anything...it was about being in the moment, enjoying the time that we had together...which is something that adults lose so easily, even though it is something that comes naturally to their children. I felt my inner child laugh that afternoon. The kite may never have experienced the delight of being airborne, but my spirit flew high amongst the clouds, happier than the brightest kite you could imagine!

:)

A Fork in the Road

Sometimes, no matter how much we would wish it to be otherwise, we find ourselves moving along paths that are different from those of the ones we love. The divergence could take any form; physical, emotional, intellectual, spiritual even geographical. There are moments when we strain against ourselves and everything else we blame for this change, just so that we remain attached to our loved ones. Conflict occurs, pain well up from deep within...anxiety, fear, anger, resentment, despair, desperation...

Over the several years that I've spent in this life, I've experienced a few situations of this kind. Some of my dearest friends and relatives grew apart from me, our values and expectations becoming dramatically different. We made attempts to change this, trying to restore things to the way they used to be, but throughout those attempts we felt a curious sense of hollowness and self-deception. Sooner or later, we had to accept that things were different and we had no choice but to move on with our lives and on our different paths.

Today, I've come to realise that this was not a bad thing...I still care very much even for the ones that I moved away from and I'm quite certain that they requite my feelings as well. However, we are no longer "attached" to one another. The attachment was the cause of the pain we experienced when we found ourselves changing, because we had grown used to the energy of our interactions. We drew on each other for strength and positive feelings and when the time came to part ways, we felt afraid about whether we were anything substantial without one-another. Well, yes, we most certainly ARE beings of substance, worth and value, even by ourselves and even if there is not a soul in the world that would endorse this opinion!

The tricky thing about relationships is that we don't know when we get lost in them. It becomes increasingly difficult to tell where the individual is separate from the collective entity of the relationship...and that is where the trouble starts! You see, we change, evolve, transform, constantly over the span of our lives and so do the people we love. Experiences, insights, memories, come together to effect alterations in our perspectives...we just forget to consider that the way our perspectives change may not match the changes in our loved ones.

So, there came a time when I found myself brooding about the people that I had grown away from, feeling a little sorry for myself etc. when suddenly it struck me that I had NOTHING to really brood about! I saw life in a new light...one in which the confluence and divergence of paths is not an unfortunate but a marvellous phenomenon. I cherished each and every moment I had spent with the people who were now far from me and I appreciated the time I was spending (and continue to spend) with people who had come into my life, however recently...and it felt wonderful!

Each person who touches your life, gives you something...a part of himself or herself that you take and add to the fabric of your being. Even when they are no longer there with you, that part of them remains, and you remain a more wholesome person as a result. When one person moves away from you, it is certain that another person comes closer...it's just that you tend to be so caught up in clinging to the former that you take much longer to receive the latter. When you do open your mind and life to other people, however, the amount of love and positivity you receive is just overwhelming. You keep the happiness given to you by those who moved away and to it you add the happiness that you get from the scores of people to whom you open your heart. It's a win-win situation really! (Just for the record, I'd like to make it clear that I'm not suggesting a chain of emotionally dependent relationships here! What I'm saying is that even as we allow the flow of people in and out of our lives, we are the ones responsible for moderating the happiness we derive from them...and the best moderators are those who are happy in themselves. We are more than a fraction of our relationships...we are whole and we are full of potential. We have lived, loved and learnt from life and that in itself is something to be happy about. It is this core happiness that allows us to remain stable while we experience the ebb and flow of interpersonal relationships).

Letting go of someone you care about is easier said than done. It requires courage and the ability to care for that person unconditionally. More than anything, it requires the willingness to let go of one's resentment and other ill-feelings about the separation. But it CAN be done and above, I've outlined the way it works best for me. Maybe it'll work for you too!

God bless!

Homage to the Hand that Rocks the Cradle

A few days ago, I saw one of the simplest, yet most charming sights that I have ever seen till date. I was enjoying a brisk evening walk, in the beautiful garden that adjoins my apartment block, breathing in a delightful breeze that had the barest hint of a nip in it (just the way I like it!). I'd taken several rounds, quite oblivious of my surroundings on account of some particularly good music that I was listening to, when I saw this spectacle that just stayed with me.

Seated on one of the park's wooden benches was a lady, holding a cherubic baby girl on her lap. She was probably in her thirties and wore a loose-fitting outfit. A simple hairband kept her glossy hair from falling on her face. It was the face that caught my attention...a face that wore an expression of the most perfect contentment and happiness. More than her fair skin and radiant complexion, it was her smile that made my slow my pace, just so I could observe her and her infant for a while longer.

Her smile was the kind that lights up your soul, regardless of whether or not it is meant for you. A pure, unaffected expression that shone through her entire face, beaming down at the baby who reciprocated in kind. She was singing a little song that would sound perfectly nonsensical to "mature" ears, but in that moment, there was nothing that made more sense. Gently, she bounced her daughter on her knee, singing her funny little song, the two of them completely lost to the world. In perfect tandem, the baby's delighted gurgles rippled between the lyrics, especially when her mother gave her the gentlest of tickles.

In those few moments, there was nothing that had more meaning for me, than the sight of this little interaction that I witnessed. It sent my mind racing into the past, awakening some of my oldest memories, in which I shared similar moments with my mother. I saw myself in a bright room (in my old home in Calcutta), making my first attempts at writing. My mother stood behind me, leaning over my chair, her gentle fingers closing over my hand, showing my how to hold the pencil steady. I remember the sweet smell of her perfume and the feel of her soft curly hair against my cheek. Together, we wrote my first letters as she sang a little song that she made up to guide my learning: "Up above the red line, down to the blue line..." In this way we formed each and every member of the alphabet on those old four-lined exercise books in which children learn to write.

Today, I type more than I write, but had it not been for those moments spent with her, the alphabet would have been no more than a bunch of odd shapes and most of the world would not have made any sense!

A mother's hand is one of the first things that the infant feels and it's touch becomes an unmistakable sensation. Powerful, gentle, protective, steadying and more...she communicates all these qualities with no more than her touch. It is this touch that guides us throughout our time together, an unshakable reassurance of unconditional love that comforts us even when it is a memory.

Over the span of all the years I have spent in this life, I've observed an evolution in the relationship that I share with my mother. I began life as her eager student, soaking in all she had to teach like a dry sponge that has just been shown under a gushing tap! As the years progressed and I acknowledged the presence of different people in my life, I learnt new things, expanded my horizons in even more directions. This does not mean I abandoned my mother's paths (till today she remains my expert-of-choice on a vast range of topics)...what I'm saying is that I realised that there were many things that I could learn and share with her...things that even she did not know. I realised that we are both students in this enormous school called Life...that we are both looking for something...and that she is my senior, but she is willing to learn each time I find something that she is unaware of (and vice-versa).

We are now partners in the journey of our existence...Children of the same Universe...rivers meandering towards the same ocean. Sometimes we are hand-in-hand and at sometimes we do things a little differently, but an undying love binds as at all times. It began even before I came into existence in her womb and will remain even when we are no longer there in this world...for that is the glory of a mother and her child.

Here's to all our mothers! :)

God bless!

Darbari

Leave my side, O Kanha!
Speak to me no more...
Sweet words shall not move me
And caresses will not heal my pain.

Thus speaks the grieving Radha,
With angry tears in her eyes,
And her voice trembling with sorrow,
As she turns her face from her beloved...

Heedless, the Lord embraces her,
Even as she strains against his touch,
His breath whispers in her midnight hair,
And His fragrance fills the air she breathes...

Weakening in her pride, she struggles still...
A candle flickering in the gale of his affection,
Defying his love with all her might,
Furious at herself for seeing her own folly...

But He is as unrelenting as the wind,
His love swoops on her from all sides,
And her resolves crumbles against his smiles,
Even as he wipes the kohl from her fair cheeks...

In wonder then, Radha gazes at Him,
Krishna, revealed in his infinite form,
Space disappears, Time ceases and the Self dissolves,
Only Love remains...eternal...unchanging...
_______________________________

This poem was written to express sentiments that the Raag Darbari evoked in me, as I basked in Ustad Rais Khan's spirited rendition of the same. I witnessed the performance of the sixty-six year old maestro a few weeks ago, at Mumbai's famous Nehru Centre.

The theme of Radha and Krishna's love was used as a metaphor for something that many people experience in their lives. I have experienced it myself on many occasions...even on the day of the recital that inspired this poem...

You see, I had not made any plans to go for this programme. The passes for the show were given to me by some well-wishers all of a sudden and I quickly had to make some plans to reach the venue soon after I finished at the office. What happened however, was that a carefully constructed plan to reach the auditorium on time, collapsed most miserably and I reached a full hour late. My plight on the way there was quite pathetic. I was under the impression that I would reach too late to attend the Ustad's performance and would instead have to sit through only the second recital, which was by an artiste for whom I have no real liking! I fumed silently, until I got there, silently reprimanding the Universe for setting me in the thick of Mumbai traffic.

Imagine my surprise however when I walked into the hall and realised that the Ustad had not yet performed! Instead the stage was occupied by the other artiste, who was coming to the end of his recital (and with due respect to his knowledge of music, I was glad to have missed most of it, since I don't like his way of presenting the Raag!). I was perplexed, because even the pass had made it seem like the Ustad was performing first...I still don't know what happened, but the fact remains that I got to witness his entire performance soon after...and was left week in the knees, because of the sheer artistry to which I was exposed.

Darbari is a Raag that evokes a feeling of despondence, sorrow and reluctance in the beginning, but gradually takes the listener towards a sweet realisation and even ecstasy. Oddly, this is quite similar to what I experienced in the process of reaching the auditorium so horribly late, only to find that I had missed nothing. In fact, now that I think more about it, I think the scheme of things conspired to keep me away from the performance that I would not have liked and showed me the one that I will remember forever! :)

Similarly, the poem I wrote is woven around Radha's anger at Krishna, for some action of his that annoyed her. She is angry with him for having done something and decides to reprimand and punish him for the same. Nevertheless, she is unable to hold on to her disgruntlement and sadness for long because Krishna loves her unconditionally; in the face of his ceaseless affection and goodwill, her negative sentiments fade into nothing.

The Universe/God loves us unconditionally, even when our lack of understanding causes us to question this love. Sometimes circumstances make us question the grand scheme of things and we accuse the supreme of abandoning or neglecting us. However, we have usually only to wait a little before things happen that make us realise that despite our misgivings, there was plan and reason behind the occurrence of events in our lives. Somehow, and sometimes in a very convoluted way, each event in our lives has a meaning, shaped ever so carefully by the hand of the divine.

I know it's not necessarily easy to accept these words, especially if events in your life have led you to question the role of God in your life. Nevertheless, I hope and pray that positive change occurs in your life, driven by your hopes and prayers... and that you remember this offering of mine when the grand plan of your life unfurls before you.

God Bless!