Where was I

Archana is filling up a form at the hospital and she shows an entry-- Religion! 'Skip it', I say but she writes 'Spirituality' and moves to the next one.

A story on the web--A nurse enquires with an elderly gentleman:'Religion?'. He says, 'Deals direct'.

My car breaks down and shows no sign of recovering, even after repeated cajoling. A friend says,'Take mine, no problem.' I thank him but he insists. Wondering if I would've lent him my car in a similar situation, I accept and drive back in his brand new vehicle.

We worry about how our son will cope up in our absence. Archana's in hospital for a couple of days, I've to run around and there's no option but to leave our toddler in my parent's care. Will he eat properly? Can they console him if he starts wailing? Will he sleep soundly? I call back every hour and Mom says, 'He's playing. Don't worry'. When I get back home I enquire. No, he had hardly noticed our absence and was blissfully enjoying the play and the company of other familiar faces around. 'Children are super-flexible and adaptable', says Ran prieur. No, he's super-detached, the way I hallucinate I am.

Reading 'Conversations with God'. 'Sit alone and talk to God. He'll respond and you'll notice', said Guruji once. Looking at the evening sky, I ask,'God, where are you? How can I talk to you and how do I know that it's your voice?' I wait, for a response, for a voice that is distinctly different from the usual chatter that goes on within. Out of nowhere there's an unusual clarity, a strange expansion. Before I can go deep into it, feel it, know it, experience it and come back transformed, I shrink back to the inner chatter, to the daydreams. And never think of attempting it again until now.................Why?

Standing naked in broad daylight. And those you know, you respect and you love are walking around, watching you. How does that feel?......This is the recurring theme of my dreams these days.

Why do I write? For what purpose? Maybe to get clarity within, to put my thoughts down and observe them for what they are. Maybe to understand my inner world. And something strange happens at times, when I pickup a pen and start scribbling, or begin typing. Strange connections form and new ideas start flowing--ideas that I never intended to put down in writing. After I finish writing I wonder at what has been written. They may not be earth shattering profound ideas, just simple truths, unusual perspectives, a fresh angle on an everyday issue. Was it me who penned these down? Or did these ideas find an outlet through me?

The magic of writing never ceases to amaze me. I'm glad I discovered it early and have used it to make sense of my world. And I hope this joy, this wonder never leaves me.

I want to stand alone, on my own conviction and do things by myself. A kind of non-cooperation, a kind of solitary heroism, a subtle arrogance...and soon life comes round and whacks! Situations arise where I need the other, where I have to bend down and ask, seek. Once these get over, I return to my prideful self until life reminds me yet again....Be humble, be a part of the whole, be one with everyone...!

One moment of madness is enough to destroy everything. Just one slip and I'm finished. And there were so many of those moments! What saved me? How did I remain sane?

Maybe I'm mistaken.... that's how life flows--unbothered about how we label the events....Not caring if I become a saint or end up a sinner. Who cares, anyway!

Thousand words

Down to earth

'Hold your left thumb between your fingers,' Ravi says.'Then squeeze it gently on an inhalation and release it while you exhale. Do it for five minutes and your headache will vanish.'

I'm desperate for any advice that removes this damn throb in the head. There's a long drive of 30 odd kilometers to be done and I don't know how I'll navigate the dusty, hot evening with this headache and drowsiness. Holding my thumb, I inhale and exhale, slowly. The nerves relax or it appears so. Before I start the car, I repeat the exercise for another 5 minutes. Feels better. I start off.

I've slept for most of the day, unable to tolerate the headache. I've skipped meditations, listened half-heartedly when friends were busy discussing, didn't smile even for courtesy when another friend joked---all my attention was captured by a silly throb in my temples. Maybe it's the body's way of drawing attention--'hello there, I've been here all along and you've bloody wandered off. Come back, a**h*le....'

After an hour and half of valiant effort, I reach home. Archana pours coconut oil on my scalp and pats rythemically. It's heaven! Slowly the pain subsides. Admonishes! 'Did you eat anything in the morning? I've told you not to drive on any empty stomach....' I reply something, all along watching my son play with his toys. His hair's grown and touches his shoulders--like that of the princes in ancient mythological tales.'Are you a prince?' and he nods. An hour later, after a hot bath, I'm back to normal.

'You are a body first.' The guy behind the mirror tells me. No, I tell him. I'm light, a spark of light, incarnated in this body. The body disintegrates, and with that, all that's associated with this body also goes off. This is temporary. I've been in millions of these bodies and one day, I'll leave this behind too. I'm pure consciousness..

'But first and foremost, you're physical. Ignore that and I'll screw you...' he mocks.

I ponder, a bit deeply, for sometime. I want to argue but decide against it. Maybe he has a point, maybe I need to pay attention. Take care of the body first. Be healthy to the point of becoming free of any physical concerns. Have that lightness in your body. That spring in your steps. Let the body be a tool, not a barrier, for your purpose whatever that might be.

The kid's fumbling with his shoes and making noises. He wants to go out and play with other children of the locality. 'Take him out, I'm tired,' she collapses on the chair, book in hand. The boy runs out and I follow him.

A slow walk back

Children can percieve things beyond our comprehension, they can see astral beings and even communicate with God. But once they begin speaking, these faculties are withdrawn. Then civilization begins to crush....

Going back to our innocence is the essence of Spirituality....

--The Book of Reflections---Guruji Krishnananda

When Mom worries that my son is yet to begin talking although he's already 15 months old, I doubt whether it's a good thing or not. I want to assure her that it's alright, he'll soon be speaking and blabbering--right now, maybe he's having a different kind of communication, something he'll
soon lose as he grows up, go out into an unfamiliar, ordinary life, get lost and again struggle through his way back to reach this higher state of innocence. I want to tell her that we all are again on this path towards reaching our original state, something which my son is on the verge of leaving any moment. And when he is beginning to comprehend things and naming them, I don't know whether I should feel happy for his growth or feel sad for a loss, which he himself might not be aware of. The loss of innocence.

Lose your innocence, drift into an unruly, challenging world, struggle, learn the lessons and then earn back your state of innocence. A wonderful cycle for every soul. The Parable of the prodigal son.

I was given a similar advice when I was serious about fiction writing. Create a balanced world. Disturb the balance. Let the characters struggle and restore the balance. End of story. Lesson learned. Maturity gained.

The hardest part is the struggle, though. To remember that you've to go back. Not to lose yourself in the struggle.

Updated: I've added a few more links on the right bar and removed some obsolete ones. These are the blogs and websites that I visit almost daily. India uncut is my favourite, so is Ran prieur's blog. Tim harford's writing is lucid and introduces economics to the layman. These wonderful blogs can be read end to end--and I do attempt it sometimes. Obviously, there are a multitude of blogs out there which are truly informative, engaging and enlightening. This list will surely be updated every now and then. Maybe I'll be adding another list this weekend, consisting of the best posts from across the blogworld that I've read in the past two years.

One day

Home. The five-seven minutes I get in the morning, after the shower and just before breakfast appear to be the most precious in my twentyfour hours. The kid'll be up and playing with Dad. Archana is busy in the kitchen and I'm alone in the room, getting ready to leave, racing against the clock. These few moments I snatch from the routine are entirely mine. There's a clarity as well as anxiety. All the resolutions, dreams and goals come up to the forefront. I take up a few issues and think deep on them. Decide on a few things. Scribble a bit. If time permits, grab a book and read. Contemplate on an idea. Make a few notes. And then rush out.

What makes that small patch of time so productive, is beyond me. Sometimes I get a couple of hours at night to do anything, and it's just wasted in unproductive browsing or doodling. Saturdays bring with them more free time and only after I've spent them do I realize that they're gone and nothing much has been done. When time is scarce it's intense, focused and productive. In abundance, it dilutes and dissipates.

'It's the same with everything'.

'No, only with your time. Not with everything.'

Office. Servers go down and the network collapses. We sit idle for sometime. Most of the staff are on leave today, as if they're intutively aware of the impending network crash. The technicians are trying to fix the problem and until then we've practically no work. I open a pdf of Osho's earlier talks and read. Most of osho's ideas are fascinating but they don't stick, they don't go deep, say like those of Echart tolle. I close the document and idle out. Go to a nearby bakery and order a honey cake. Just behind the curtain, a young boy is busy preparing the buns and cakes. His clothes are shabby, hands are dirty and he's the happiest man, joking with his fellow workers. The cake's tasty.

Crowds. Everywhere. I'm one among them, going forward in this unending procession. Drops of an ocean, scattered and frittered away. Going home after a busy day, going back to rest, recuperate and come back fresh, only to get tired and return home. Or, in case of BPO staff, going to work for the whole night after sleeping through the day. Come together, gather at a traffic signal and again disperse. Individual lives. Personal dreams. All are different, in the details of their lives. Yet similar, in their fears, hopes, cunningness and nobility. A city bursting with 60 lakh souls. A nation of a billion. Six billion inhalations and exhalations, simultaneously happening around the earth. I'm one of them. One inhalation and exhalation is mine too. Insignificant. Yet precious.

My absence would make no significant impact on this grand drama, just as nobody's absence would. Yet, if I'm not here, the drama makes no sense, it has no bloody value. Because if I, the beholder isn't here, who gives it a damn anyway! Music is meaningless if I'm deaf. The world exists only in subjectivity. And that gives me my significance, my importance.

Unending Impressions...

A dark mood. I push it back but it persists. In its grip I feel like dropping everything. Just give up. Stop all the struggles, all efforts....drop dead.

What's the point of it all? Why break your head when.....

A moment later I shake it off.

Drivel

I realize a bit late, maybe after 10 seconds, that I've uttered nonsense and Mom/Dad are hurt. I don't apologise. A quick resolution to watch my words next time. But again....

Friends stay on the periphery. So do relatives. I hardly think of anyone and it's just me and my little world--archana, tejas, my books, bread-butter job, movies, writing a bit here--a bit there, thinking and contemplating, meditations, planning for the future, a bit of worrying, lots of dreams....Maybe I need to step out of this self-centered existence and move around a bit, meet people, go to new places, pick up new pursuits, grow and expand. Streatch the horizons.

Or maybe not. This is fine. Bloody fine.

Misunderstandings happen at the drop of a hat. Tempers flare up. I say something and Mom takes it to an extreme. I overreact. After a while the whole drama looks silly. Sullen faces for a couple of days and then an unspoken reconciliation. Avoiding it is difficult. Never step on another's feet. Don't try to prove a point. Exit an arguement gracefully and move on, damnit.

An idea. Make a list of the best movies ever created ( 25 will do, to begin with). Watch them. Share with others. And another list of the best books ever written(fiction, travelogues, biographies, anything). Collect them. Devour. Make some time everyday (10 minutes?). Keep aside all worries, all mumbo-jumbo. Pick up your passion, something you're very much committed to. Allow your mind to dwell on it. Pay absolute attention, let your awareness be totally sucked into it. Observe what comes out. What does it take to realize your passion, to pursue it, to bring it to fruition? If you're going to do anything worthwhile with your time, it is to breathe life into this dream and make it a reality. What does it take to make this happen?

I don't like it if anyone scoffs at my son or reprimands him for his antics. It gets on my nerves when others lose patience over him. Have bared my fangs on occasions. Maybe overprotective but heh, it's natural, ain't it? If not me then who? And if he isn't naughty now, then when will he be so?

Work

...drags on at a snail's pace. I try my best to drum up enthusiasm, to get more involved but no, it doesn't happen. Within an hour or so after arriving to work, the interest dissipates. The rest of the day is spent doing the chores, a bit of browsing, some chitchat......It makes me wonder if I'm doing justice to the paycheck I receive every month. 'We appreciate your work, especially the huge number of defects you've reported in the previous product you worked on....' says my manager in the appraisal meet but it doesn't ring a note within. Projects start and end, a new project begins. We go through the motions, purge the product of most defects, get into firefighting at the end and then a period of relaxation before a new one starts. Routine.

Those who've left this company for greener pastures mail back. 'Work there was better, we got a lot to learn. In this place, there's not much to do,it's boring' they say. What motivates you? Money? How much? At least twice of what you receive here? Will that be sufficient? More than the paycheck, it's the sense of involvement, of control, of learning, of accomplishment that truly motivates one to get up everyday and come to work. You love your job if, through it, you feel you've contributed to the greater good in a significant way, to the best of your capabilities. Does my job have these qualities? Or have I found these things in my current vocation? Will merely shifting to another company give these qualities to my work? Where do I go from here? Thinking!

No...looking at the hoardes of unemployed grad students at the office gates doesn't do much to my enthusiasm. Even if I remind myself that I was like them a mere three years ago and I'm much better off now.

Kolya

A childless couple adopt a baby girl and bring her up with much affection. When she's around 8 years old, there's a visitor. A middle aged man, he says his wife gave birth to a girl before marriage and later abandoned it. Unable to forgive herself, unable to come to terms with the loss, she's gone mad and is hospitalised. And the little girl is none other than the adopted daughter of the couple. The visitor requests the parents to bring the daughter to the hospital just once, so that the real mother might somehow recognise the kid and maybe regain her sanity.

'...Mammati kutty' was a tender movie about the dillemmas faced by a couple, who're torn between their love for their daughter and the compassion for a distraught woman who's the real mother of their tiny tot. I watched it on National television, nearly 20 years ago, at an age when I could neither understand nor empathise with the feelings of a Parent. Yet it's fresh in memory, particularly the climax when the couple walk away, leaving behind a wailing kid when the mother recognises her daughter and shows signs of regaining her balance.

Kolya is different yet similar--the story of an elderly flirt in Post Russian Czech, who comes in touch with the hidden father within, by relating to his five year old step-son, Kolya, out of a fake marriage. Tender, humourous, touching. Why don't I watch such movies more often?

Confidence

'It's not what you have,' says UmaThurman in Kill bill. 'It's what you think you have.'

Mmmm.

Late evening

Reach home. He begins to jump once he sights you. Sip tea. He too wants a taste. Bring him out and take a short walk. Show him the stars, the moon, the sleeping dogs, the silent trees.Talk to him and he responds as if in a conversation. The elderly neighbour who sits in his portico all day
waves. Tejas ignores him. Rubs his eyes. Yawns once and laughs.

Reflecting

I struggle not to sleep, to keep my thoughts awake, to contemplate. Yet the drowsiness overpowers me. Days rush past in a blurring speed, leaving behind just a memory of the whizzing sound. Writing down my goals makes me uneasy. These goals remain from how long....3years, 5 or 7? They remain, so do I. Sometimes I throw out this entire goal setting mechanism and begin to live, day to day, carefree. Then a restlessness and I pick up a pen and paper, try to make sense out of scribbling some words. Set goals. Plan. Nausea. Meaningless. What next?

You need a destinatin. And a path. And time to pursue them. Where's the time? In between office, household chores, sleep, dreams, laziness, tidbits you need to carve out a chunk of time. Ponder. Contemplate. Pursue. Step out of the Uneasyness.

I want to go deep into this restlessness, into this sense of directionlessness. Need to reflect. And then there's a tiredness, as if of a lifetime. My body yeilds. Before long, I'm up, to run a race I don't know why I'm running.

A new day, a new perspective

Suddenly there's a Unity. Nothing appears separate. The work life, family life, intensly personal moments of contemplation/reading, Meditation/spiritual life, the outside world---they aren’t separate entities wherein I inhabit, one at a time. One is not better and the other isn’t passable. Suddenly they all blend and merge with one another. I’m one person who’s having these various experiences. One becomes pleasurable and the other boring, if you look at them as separate and expect something out of them. Unite them all, stop expecting anything out of a situation and go in with an open mind.

In this giant whirlpool, nothing remains as it is. Everything is changing, evolving, dying and taking birth. I'd love to stay where I am, with the same people, same job, same situations, same routine but no....that's not the way life goes. Logs and twigs drifting down the river of life--we come close or go our own ways, as the current changes and as we hit new rocks. You've travelled down this path many times, and maybe will do the same many more times. Or you'll veer off into new directions, into unknown swirls. Cry if you will about your lost tribe. Or enjoy the flow. The tribe is lost anyway. You're already dead.

Embrace the change before it grabs you.

Go out and jump into the abyss.

Now.

A small nudge will do....

Back from Chennai after a gruelling two day visit, attending the thread ceremony of my nephew. My brother-in-law is a Tamil Brahmin and hence the thread ceremony is an integral part of a young boy's life. As important(?) as marriage is. They say it's an initiation into the spiritual life wherein the initiate begins the pursuit of truth, in addition to his normal day to day matters. Then why is it not done for the daughter? And why not for people from other communities? And why does it stop with the recital of a few mantras and some rituals and doesn't go beyond into areas of meditation and silence?

Nonetheless, it was a good drama--all the rituals being played out meticulously, keeping the young boy seated on a platform for nearly 4 hours, making him recite mantras amidst spiraling smoke from the firepot, perform activities the significance of which none bothered to ask and the priests didn't bother to explain(if they new it) and ending it all in a grand meal, good social gathering and terrible exhaustion for the hosts. The aging grandpa looked happy, having witnessed his grandson's thread ceremony. His next goal is to stay alive to witness his granddaughter's wedding, once she reaches marriageable age.


It's a night ride back to Bangalore. Our seats get confirmed at the last moment and we get only upper berths. I approach a young girl and request her for an exchange. She obliges without hesitating. We put our son to sleep in the lower berth, wrap him up with the available blankets and sit huddled.

The cold wind seeping through the window slits keeps me awake throughout the night. Tejas turns and wakes up a couple of times. The girl whom we exchanged our berths with has friends at the other end of the compartment. She vanishes and returns after two hours, and heads towards the washroom. Soon a young man follows her. They emerge after an hour.

Having witnessed strict orthodoxy just a few hours ago, this strikes me as terribly funny. The priests and elders who officiated in the days ceremony would've brought the heavens down if they'd witnessed this but for the new generation, getting intimate before marriage would be a matter of personal choice and nothing to worry about. 'Do we need society's sanction to enjoy our own pleasures?' they'd say, with enough justification.

And it's interesting to note how different and divided we all are, in our attitudes towards sex and morality. This might be a normal event in a western society whereas a sure path to getting stoned to death in the Middle east. Somewhat ambivalent and confused here in our country. Maybe natural and a part of a healthy life in a tribal society.

I wonder at the predicament of that couple, wrestling inside the narrow and dirty toilet of Indian railways, fearing if some granny wakes up at night and knocks on the door.

Markets crash everywhere. Anil Ambani has supposedly incurred losses to the tune of 47000 crores(how many zeroes in there), so has every other hotshot. Other minnows closer home have big holes in their pockets. My colleague Pavan, who's a vociferous advocate of stocks, shares and investments is totally subdued today. 'Nearly a lakh gone,' he says. My sister sits at home, opens the internet and manages her shares online and earns a pot every month. All talk between she and her friends is about sensex, bear, bull, stock prices.....'Why don't you invest in shares?' and I reply, 'I don't understand the darned thing; but I will invest when I know what it is.' It's a gamble--put your money in banks or safe deposits and you get peanuts as interest. Invest in mutual funds and the share market--you swim in cash. Except that you never know when it hits you, when the flow drags you into the shithole.

What'll happen if tomorrow the banks crash? All of my earnings and savings are in safe deposits and fixed deposits. If there's a catastrope, war or collapse, then everything goes off in a whisker. The hold money has on our lives is enormous and just beyond our imagination. We never give it a second thought and just carry on with our lives as if the current utopia will continue and never degenerate. Money matters. Sometimes it defines your relationships. Crude as it may seem, many relationships are intimate because the glue is money. Remove it, Nothing remains. I know people who lost respect and value amongst their loved ones when their earning power diminished, when poverty struck.

A few days ago, I went to work with just a few rupees in my wallet, thinking that I'll withdraw money from the bank. None of the ATMs of my bank had any cash that day. The cheque book was at home and I was on the road, without a penny, wondering what to do for lunch, what to do if the tyre flattens, what to do if the traffic cop stops me and levies a fine for not carrying a particular document...You need the damned paper piece in your pocket and it makes you feel secure, feel relaxed. Remove it and you're out in the cold.

The fragility is really scary. Life in the modern world seems to revolve around flimsy concepts. An ever-widening web stretches around you, where everything is intimately connected with everything else and those things that matter most for you are beyond your control. The American economy goes into recession and life goes haywire here. The dollor rate drops and your company asks you to work on Saturdays too. A fuel price hike and auto rickshaw drivers go on strike demanding higher fares. Prices of all commodities rise sharply with the fuel price and your budget goes for a toss. You come back to counting what you've saved and what you can afford now. You build your dreams and plan your future based on these concepts. As long as you chug along, you are nothing but a cog in the wheel.

Time for a major rethink.

It's easy to anger you.

How?

Just a couple of questions and you're edgy

Mmm?

Like--when will you do your son's thread ceremony?

It doesn't anger me. I don't like to follow anything blindly.

You think these rituals are useless? That those who follow these are fools?

I don't know about the fool part. Everone has the right to stupidity. I'm only concerned with what to refuse and what to allow so that the people I care about, who still believe in these things don't get offended. Kinda striking a balance between my liberty and their belief. Not slapping anyone. And not getting slapped. Balancing.

And I thought you were a rebel.

Rebel in the making. Trying to make sense of things. Throwing out some rubbish, slowly.

You're a show off.

Yes I am. Better than being an idiot.

What did you say? Come again...

Tejas and his parents

Holding on to random thoughts

Slices of adult life
* Slight pain at the back of the head. Then a bit of drowsiness, heaviness in the eyes, maybe because of staring at the computer screen for too long....

* A blogger describes himself as '.....earns his income working as a wageslave to an American Multinational'. Reading this brings a smirk. Why?

* Early evening. I stop working, take a stroll in the warm bylanes, get a pack of groundnuts. Munch as I walk for nearly 25 minutes. Relaxing!

* I raise my voice and as if on instinct, his face contorts. He begins to sob, uncontrollably. I console him, kick myself. Within no time he's back to his usual cheerful antics. Happiness and sorrow are the most fleeting elements in his world. So are most emotions. One minute he's angry, the next, cheerful, then curious, then sad and fearful, and then bored....when he sleeps, it's a delight to watch...he flops and sprawls as if nothing else matters! A child's heart.

I want to be that intense and that much detached with my own emotions!

Childhood

Stories -they never vanish.

'There are two dogs inside everyone of us--a good dog and a bad dog---and both are fiercly fighting with each other, all the time'.

'Then, who wins?'

'The one you feed'

People from childhood--their behaviour, you never forget. An uncle of mine who was a terror, who beat us up mercilessly, who invoked such fear and anguish in us that we once plotted to drop a stone slab on his head from a tree--he's a normal guy, just like anyone else. Now growing old, forgetful, fragile, he comes visiting us once in a way. I cannot shake off that image of him, however hard I try. I can be polite with him, speak casually, joke a bit but it's an attempt to cover up the disgust and hatred that's seething underneath.

Contemplating

'Everyone wants that which they don't have.'

Mmm.... and once they get it?

Then it becomes something which they have and they don't want it anymore. So they now want something they don't have.

Madness, isn't it?

Do you realize it's madness? Really? Is there that strong realization of your own madness?

Yeah, it is.

Passing away

An old lady in our locality, well into her 90s passed away last week. Her relatives had gathered and there was much sorrow and chestbeating for quite sometime. The dust settled. Now there's no sign of that sorrow, that departure, that vaccum....it's as if she didn't exist at all. Maybe I'm wrong. Those closest to her might still be feeling the loss, the emptiness, though not expressing it.

It's not only a human body that dies. Everything dies. Everything. A moment dies. It's gone. Forever, never to return. Friendships die. So do memories. Things disintegrate. Ideas vanish. It's a carnival--things taking birth, shining and vanishing. Some do this act in a flash and some take time to disappear, and some take a hundred years. You and I can label these acts--call them birth, death, passing away. We can attach emotions to these acts. Feel ecstatic over a birth. Feel devastated over a passing away(or the reverse). Or go philosophical and say 'This too shall pass'.

'When you understand death, you know life', He said. The more I try to grasp this understanding, the more silence it brings. Soothing silence.

Future--Twenty years from now.

I'll be travelling in a space ship to a distant galaxy. I'll be able to teleport myself from bangalore to alaska and from there to japan and back to himalayas. Or divide myself into twenty different selves, go to 20 different earths and lead different lives. Living in Utopia.

No. Our earth will be a nuclear wasteland(if not ravaged by floods and famine). We'll be living in a post-apocalyptic world, living like cavemen-with no electricity, gadgets, fastfood, entertainment, employment--things that are taken for granted now. No, even a needle will not be available freely. It's back to the basics. Grow your own food. Find your own clothes and build your shelter. Group together in communities. Share. Survive first and then search for meaning.

A flowering of consciousness will occur somewhere between and within these two scenarios. And that makes the difference.

Looks crazy from here, but I bet, when 20 years pass gradually, it won't be a joke. Life is crazy sometimes.

Catch your breath and...

It's a funny feeling but real. Waking out of your slumber, you take up a task. You keep aside a hundred things, slog it out, sit late at nights, work insanely long hours, look again and again at the deadline, tell yourself not to panic and plough on. Finally you reach the finishing line and slump down.

It's one hell of a relief(similar to the one you experience in the toilet after controlling your bowels for too long). Soon the releif gives way to an emptyness. Something that filled your time, something you filled yourself into is no longer there. It's been reached, the target's achieved. And it no longer exists. You stand there alone, orphaned.

Why should you feel this loneliness, this sense of loss? What did Tensing and Hillary feel, standing on the summit of the world? Joyous. Or lost. Alone.

Tensing had no other peak to conquer. But life here has a million other battles yet to be fought, a million other raging rivers yet to be crossed. The loneliness remains as long as you look back fondly at the past. But you need to gird up your loins. Shake off the dust. A pat on the back for waking up at last. Time to learn how to walk. To run. To fly.

Time to understand this mystery called Life. To take a long and hard look at oneself. To know where you stand and where you need to be headed. To leave behind the familiar and soar into the unknown.

If you could wake up, you can soar. Just a matter of making up your mind. And a little passion. And some sweat.

Now.