On labels

One fine morning, I catch myself in the usual process of labelling things. Work sucks! Being free of the obligation to work is cool. Mondays are tension filled while Fridays are fantastic. Writing is tough. Reading interesting fiction is a waste of time. People who don’t meditate are unconscious morons. Those who blabber in English with an artificial accent are pathetic show-offs, craving for attention. Those who shout at their kids are fucked up bastards…….My boss is a know-all corporate hunk. His boss is a superman(and at times, both are clueless dumbledores). The guy in the next cubicle is the emerging whiz-kid of Information technology. That particular blogger is none other than God…..

When and where did this habit of labeling began, I’m unsure. Maybe in childhood. The guy who always stood first was the one who knew everything under the sun. The guy who was academically worst but who excelled in sports was an invincible Achilles. Mom and Dad had all the answers. That movie star who danced wet in the rains(though farting noiselessly all along) was overflowing with beauty, romance and lust, 24/7, all through the year until eternity. Public speaking was worse than eternal torture so those who did it effortlessly, and gave an appearance as if they were having an orgasm, were divine personalities. The smart guy who captured the attention of the bombshell of our class was….mmmm…

Calling this art of labeling as bad is another label. So when I decide to be free of these tags and allow things to be as they are, suddenly there’s a simplicity. Things appear different. The tension relaxes. Job sucks no more. Nor is joblessness an irresponsible situation or liberation. These are situations I’m experiencing and have experienced. Nothing is absolute. You look at things and they exist, for you. If you don’t, it doesn’t matter whether they exist or not, whether they’re favourable or not. It’s a subjective world out there and if you’re screwed up, that’s what you get.

The world existed before you came here and will go on after you quit as if nothing happened. You are important yet you’re a nobody.

On the road to sainthood you first get rid of headaches.

Those wings are mine....

'Your recurring headaches must be because of your irregular eating pattern. Also you need to change your diet.'

I nod. He's wafer thin and pale--- looks like a patient himself--take him out of this setting and you'll have a hard time believing that he's an alleged expert in ayurveda.

He asks questions, matter of factly, in a cold-blooded way, as if he's a crime investigator. Long after, I wonder how frankly I spoke, how I trusted this stranger, just because he was a doctor we'd chosen to visit. If it were someone else, would I have spoken about myself, unhesitatingly?

From where does this trust arise, towards complete strangers....

I follow his suggestions and the headaches reduce. 'When you sense one, check if you're hungry. Eat something.'

Yeah, it works.

'And, eat only when you're really hungry,' he says.

Plenty to chew on three decades of irregular eating patters. Or an irregular living pattern!


Our little hero has an indigestion and he throws up, the whole night, every hour or so. We wake up everytime he vomits, clean him, pat him to sleep and then fall asleep, only to be jolted after an hour when he cries. A never ending night.

He looks weak, exhausted, sleepy--unable to respond. Then somewhere towards dawn he breakes into a gentle smile and begins to babble. Sleeps well for another two hours.

Reminds you of one night when you too threw up every hour, the whole night, shivering, waking up with a jolt, falling back into a never ending drowsiness, not knowing whether you wanted to die or survive.


'When you meditate, you grow so strong that the problems remain, but you'll laugh at them....' She reminds. Mmmm. I want to grow to that level--have that strength. I want to be that, in the face of any problem. That's the ideal, or the first ideal....

No, the first ideal is to meditate and find a few moments of stillness. Experience silence. Stand up first before thinking of running a marathon.

Watched 'Samsaara'. Good movie. But I watched it more so because friends whispered that there were a couple of intimate scenes. Frankly they weren't as steamy as expected. A slight let down.

No, I don't want to think deep about these fantasies and obsessions--when, how and whether these need to be overcome. Some other day......

What occupies my thoughts now is this.

Seriously.

One year later...

'He's the centre of attraction, wherever he goes,' She observes. Yes he is. We go out on weekends, to the nearby mall, or to the temple and quite a few people stare at our kid. Someone smiles at him, someone else caress his cheeks, a young couple gesture at him. The man at the counter hands over a small chocolate bar and Tejas has a big, big smile--his face lights up. He tosses and turns the bar with a grin, looking at his gift with much awe and wonder.

A year has flown past. The wailing - sleeping - smiling tot we'd held carefully last year is now an armful-- babbling, bursting to jump out and run around. He falls, bumps into things, rolls down the cot, gets his fingers in the car door, bangs his head against walls--inspite of us being careful to the point of getting admonished, he gets hurt. And then breaks into a wail. We fret, worry, make a fuss, glare at one another but before long he's smiling again.

'It's natural--all this falling and hurting oneself. They're a part of his growing up....'.

Yet his pain shakes us.

And then...

'No birthday cake? No party........!'

'No, We want a quiet birthday for him. Visit the temple on that day, offer prayers. And a dinner party for you all', I blurt out, a bit timidly.

'That's all? You're a silent person. Not your son. Don't make him so,' they don't say it but the expression says.
'What if he wants one, tomorrow? What if he asks about his first birthday?'.

'When he wants one he'll get it. First birthdays are for parents and we want it non-fussy. No circus.'

Dad insists. He wants a celebration for his darling grandson. Invite all the kids of the locality. Decorate the house. Cut a cake. All that drama which I find nauseaus and funny. 'We'll do everything. You just stand and watch,' he says as if I'm a stranger. He doesn't want his grandson to be left out when every other kid gets a bumper first year birthday celebration, these days.

'Now you don't start fighting again,' she's apprehensive. 'Respect their feelings. If you don't like this parade, reject it---mentally. But let them do it the way they want it. They're a part of us. Should we hurt anyone?'

No, we don't intend to hurt anyone. Nor do we allow others to take our decisions. We know that this is the beginning-- if you don't confirm, you face resentment, hostility. Be a black sheep and you face ridicule.

I take a day off on his birthday. Wake up early, get him dressed up. Birthday wishes from friends and family. A small puja. Prayers. He's a bundle of energy, jumping around, as if he senses that it's his first birthday and people around are happy for him. We go out in the evening, to a nearby hotel and eat contentedly, while he watches, bewildered, clamaouring for the spicy food which he can't eat.

What if your son disagrees with you, once he grows up? 'You think he'll remain obedient and sweet?'

'Let him rebel. I'd rather he be independent, decisive and strong, even if he incurs my or anyone's disapproval. Let him carve out his own path'.

'He will be dignified and silent--strong.' she remembers an interesting dream she'd had, before he was born. 'I know it. He's a Leo.'

And he's dynamic, exploding--full of laughter. His initial shyness with strangers seems to have abated. Every morning he stands near the gate, waves and chats with anyone who passes down the road.

When he was born, Jen wrote,'Tejas means, those who are friends.'

He is.

Trying.....to make sense

Nazeer rushes upstairs to the cafeteria, whispering 'Got a message from a friend. There's been a bomb blast in Majestic area.' He returns in 10 minutes. 'Nothing's on tv. Must be a rumour'.

She looks worried as I tell this to her after she puts Tejas to sleep. 'Never trust him. Not any muslims. He might be a good friend of yours but Muslims are Muslims. Tomorrow he'll give you a bag and tell you to keep it in the office.....be careful'.

She has a terrible mistrust of that community. Maybe If I'd been a kashmiri pundit who was driven out of the homeland by islamic terrorism, like her, I too would've developed that rage.

Reading through Annie zaidi's post about her experiences of growing up as a Muslim, I reflect on my views..... and there's a blur--a greyness. I'm not sure--whether to trust or dump the whole community.'Urban, middle-class double-standards' said a friend, long ago. Maybe. I've had muslim friends who were just everyday people--untouched by the stupidity of their religious fanaticism. 'That's on the surface. Deep down they're brought up as jehadis'

Mom hesitates once before asserting, 'When will you get your son's ears pierced?'

I've already told her but still.... 'No Mom. I have no faith in those rituals.'

'Are you not a hindu?'

'No,' I feel sick with this argument.

'You're a member of this family, this community. You need to follow these, just as you observe festivals and pujas...'

'I follow a spiritual path, but have I ever insisted that you too follow it, or Meditate? You shouldn't impose your faith in rituals on others. I want to stay away from dogma, as much as possible...'

Mom argues. I counter-argue. Tejas looks up at both of us briefly before returning to his toys.

'What's the issue?' says archana. 'What'll go wrong if you allow your mom to follow a simple ritual, for her satisfaction?'


You never escape religion. Or maybe religion is a facade. The issue is more about deeper, hidden insecurities, fears and barbarism--finding an outlet through religion. If not religion, it comes out through language, gender, race, caste, social status.....

Day to day life...I forget that I was born in a particular religion, in a particular caste, speaking one language, belonging to one community--my struggles, fears and triumphs have nothing to do with any of these. Yet these shadows are there, always lurking behind the back, ready to pounce upon you and remind you where you belong to.

Like, 'When will Archana learn our language?'

She doesn't need to. She can manage with Hindi and English. No communication problems.

'No. She must learn and speak Kannada...'

Bull shit!!!

Not over...Not yet.

Butterflies flutter within. I shiver-- although it's an irrational fear, it doesn't allow me to breathe easy. There were similar situations long back when, unable to face my own fears, I caved in. I escaped them, thinking that they'd go away. In the absence of my attention, they've grown strong but I remain where I was then.

I pray, ashamed to ask, knowing that it's selfish to pray in danger and forget once the storm passes over ('You never pray' she says).There's no difference between me and the devotee who pledges money to the temple if he gets a better business deal--we both are bribing God--he, with the money and I with a promise of devotion and dedication to the journey if the storm passes. In silence, I meditate and ask for strength, not sure if my faith is real.

When the storm arrives, it's a whimper. I'm still alive, I've saved face and feel truimphant. Did my prayers work? Did the higher forces pull me out of my fears or did they instill strength and focus in me? Or was I just imagining horrible possibilities and shivering silly? What happens to my faith now? Does this incident wake me out of my slumber and set me again on my journey towards light? Or will I go back to my sleep, only to be shaken up by another storm?

And does it makes a difference to the 'Whole', whether or not, a small speck wakes up from its dream? Does the Universe bother if a tiny grain of sand on a beach starts moving?

Maybe it makes a difference to that grain of sand--that speck--which is I.

Today

What's the most important day in the year? Your birthday!

Suddenly you wake up and realize that, many years ago, on this very day, you brought joy to your parents just by becoming present. They held your tender hands and taught you many things, cuddled you in your fears, celebrated your truimphs, wept over your falls, assured you in darkness. Over many years, they silently watched you grow up, stronger, wiser, more mature, responsible and capable. You went out into the world with their wishes and came back truimphant. When humiliation came your way, they stood by you. When you returned with a burden of failure, they let you be, without a word. When you dreamed of reaching impossible heights, they advised but never stopped you. When you realised your folly and made amends, they overlooked without the didn't-I-tell-you-so look. When you shouted at them in impatience, they accepted and absorbed your outbursts. When you set up house with another soul, they rejoiced. And when you brought another soul here, they celebrated.

Birthdays belong to the parents. I feel good having turned 32 today but more so because I'm alive, healthy and hopeful-- filled with dreams, energy, enthusiasm and love. I wish the same for my son and know well that this is what Mom and Dad always wish for me, in silence. I feel happy to be with them.

Reflecting, Watching, Just staying alive........

We sit by the window and watch the rains lash through the night sky. There are occasional lightening and thunders-- Tejas turns to me with
wonder whenever the entire landscape lights up.

'He responds to Music, you know,' she says.

Put on some rythmic beats and he starts swaying, moving, nodding. 'Maybe because you listened to a lot of good music from WorldSpace radio, while carrying him. You remember, many times we went to sleep listening to soft music on Moksha and the music played the whole night!'.

'And he's beginning to understand things--he communicates in his own way.'

There's a book on the Desk--'The toddler years'. It's a guide to parenting a toddler and there are benchmarks--what most kids are supposed to do in their 10th month, 11th month etc.

'At 10 months he's doing what a kid is supposed to do in his 14th month-according to that book.'

'He isn't a prodigy. Let him not be one. He's sharp, probably like all kids his age, maybe a bit more, who knows. Let him enjoy his childhood like anyone else. Ask any parent and he'll feel his child is special.'

Soon he falls asleep in my arms. I place him down on the mattress carefully lest he wakes up. The downpour continues unabated. I watch it for hours before falling asleep. First time in recent years.

It rains. All through the morning. I want to sit back at home and read 'Lost horizon' by James hilton. I want to play with my son. Watch him blabber. Go up, open the internet and read again this fantastic article by Seth Godin. See if I can make use of it, apply it in any way. Or just sit motionless, as the protogonist of a french movie I saw long ago does--he stops suddenly, drops everything and becomes motionless, not even moving his eyelids--he calls this 'witnessing'. I'd like to do that. Or read the translation of the world's best stories on Magic realism. Keeping aside the wishlist, I step out in the drizzle.

'Ramzan's from today.' Pavan says, sipping lemon tea. He's a mix of cynicism and jovialness. And he's always at odds with Fayaz, the team-leader.

'Fayaz is on fast. He's crazy for tea, he'll have atleast 10-15 cups in a day. I wonder how he can stay without tea. I think he'll go mad by the end of this month.'

Fayaz is out of hearing distance. A year ago he was a team member before being elevated to the team lead position. Once you become a leader, the dynamics change. I remember the casual friendly exchanges I'd have with him then. Now he's different. Like all uninspiring leaders, he's an asshole.

'He'll hold his life until evening. At sharp six, he'll be near the pantry door, asking for tea. And know what, the pantry guy tells me that he'll save at least 5 litres of milk everyday, because Fayaz is fasting.'

I remember my fasting episodes long back, when I was seriously pursuing Yoga practices. By evening, there'd be a fire burning my insides.

'Practice anything for 40 days. Anything. And it becomes your nature.' says Nazeer. He too is fasting.

'Does every Muslim fast during the Ramzan month?'

'Yeah. Each and every muslim, young or old, male or female, they observe roza.'

'Because they're devils,' says archana, once I'm home.'That's where the dedication comes from. All devils are highly motivated.'

I stumble across amazing literature on the web. And whenever I find something worthwhile I mail it to all friends. I bookmark all of them on my Stumbleupon site to read them sometime later. Some, I keep aside to read fully and understand before sending it out. Like this one.

And this article on Creativity.

Long back. 'Anyone can take you for a ride, you fool.'

I get disturbed although I know, that person is just frustrated at things not going his way. Words that evoke sorrow in me also make way for rage. Iwant to hit back with tremendous force, with all my strength.

Today morning another guy says, 'It's been very gentlemanly of you. You came all the way while I was thinking that you wouldn't.'

I know that it's not entirely true, he's just flattering me because he got compensated, and I had no intention of obliging him. Or maybe he means it genuinely.Yet I can't stop smiling as I ride to the office, even in the downpour.

Words affect us. They decide our mood and subsequently our action, behaviour and attitude. A single word or gesture has spoiled my mood and made me act irrationally. And a nod of appreciation makes me do something else, changes my posture and outlook, gives me unbridled confidence.......

Is it possible to be totally unaffected by words--whether they come from outside or even from within us? Can I be cheerful even if someone attacks me with the choicest words? And can I remain calm even when my manager howls at us for missing a deadline? How?

'Why do you blog?'

'Because writing makes me feel good about myself, expressing myself gives me clarity. I love to write and read what I've scribbled. And I've learnt from other bloggers, been inspired by what they've written--I've enjoyed reading about their lives, their perceptions. Maybe others will find my scribbles enjoyable, informative. So I share it here.

'You think it's worthwhile'.

'I give no shit.'

Stop amidst the flux....

Death is on my mind for a while but it isn't depressing. I'm pondering over the fact that Death is inevitable yet how we carry on with our lives as if it didn't exist. I know that I'll be no more some day--that day may not necessarily come after another 50 years, but it could be this very day. And I also know that all those around me will be no more--that I may actually be alive to face their absence. Yet I live, oblivious of the existence of Death.

I don't want to talk about it nor give it a serious thought. I'm not
interested in finding out where I was before I came here. I don't care where I'll reach once my heart stops beating. I know very well that I'm on borrowed time, but am totally unaware how much of it is still left. Yet I spend this precious time in pursuing mundane things, in cherishing silly ambitions. Much of my energy dries up in the desert of short lived pleasures/successes or in escaping equally silly anxieties. I don't want to know why I'm here, for what purpose, and whether I'm pursuing it or not!

And I carry on my daily life as if the whole eternity stretches ahead of me, waiting like a loyal servant, ready for-ever to pamper me!

The phone rings as I rush to the class. It's an old friend. I cut the line. After a while there's a message. 'Call me up when you're free.' I don't call up.

I'm reminded of this whenever I watch a latest commercial(I don't recall the product), which goes something like--'Age goes, children go, home goes, hope goes...........only friends stay.' No, friends don't stay. Even friends go away, friendship goes away. And it doesn't take much to lose friendships, to lose people...... Nothing remains as it is in this world where everything is in a flux. And that's the beauty of it all.

Evening. I walk over to the roadside vendor of bhajjis, hand him a five rupee coin and point to the heap of golden coloured, roasted, fuming onion bhajjis. He pulls out a piece of paper, plucks five from the mound, wraps them carefully. I cross the road, walk through the park towards my office, munching through the delicacies, observing the slowly descending mist around me. The cool breeze that laps up against me gives an added flavour and punch to the hot bhajji that melts in my mouth before descending into my belly, carrying a warmth with it. One of the things that makes my day is this short walk to this vendor every evening and the half-dozen bhajjis that I gobble up on my way back. And yeah, work sucks horribly. Period.

He opens his heavy eyes slowly, looks up from where he's sleeping, rolls over abruptly and sits back. Then looks around bewildered. If neither I or Archana pay any attention, he grunts once and slowly breaks into a wail. Usually one of us get up and greet him. He smiles and cackles. Beats his hands and mumbles something incoherently. Crawls towards me and lifts his arms. I gather him--at nine months, he's chubby and has a healthy weight. Kiss him--soft cheeks with a buscuit aroma--- and hold him tight. There's still some sleep left in his eyes. He rests his head against my shoulder and soon dozes off as I slowly pat his back.

Everything that happens, happens Here. Everything that happens, happens Now. I can do something, think something else, feel or grumble, hate or love....only Now, only Here. Not somewhere else, Not at any other time. Now!

Tea on a lazy saturday morning. Some work's pending so I've to go to the office for over two-three hours. All tv channels carry the breaking news of the five-year jail term for actor Salman khan and his preparations to surrender to the police. There's a swarm of media personnel outside his house, waiting for him to come out, eager to capture his depressed face, waiting for a sound-byte or two from him.... He looks lost, totally lost, as if he's staring into the eyes of death and there's still a great hunger for life left in him. Is he guilty? Not guilty? Is the verdict harsh? Will this serve as an example for the rich and famous that they aren't above the law? Is the judicial system going to save our country from going to the dogs? Tv anchors bark hungrily and commoners on the streets mouth stupid responses.

Amidst all of this, Salman sits huched up on a chair, staring into vaccum. Rich, famous, successful, role-model, spoilt, arrogant...and human.

After thought

'He's a 4-door, brass-plated, air-conditoned, 5-speed, 12-cylnder, turbocharged asshole!"

Scott adams has a post on Cuss phrases. The 700 odd comments that I browsed through had me rolling in fits, trying hard not to roar laughing and attract unwanted attention from busy-pretending colleagues.

Humour can be decent and civil but the punch felt in a non-veg, profane joke is beyond parellel. Like this one, to end a crappy week:

I worked at a gas station when I was 14 years old, and one old fart once asked why we were closed on a certain day. He told me he came by and "the place was locked up tighter than a bull's ass".

A short prayer........

It's a special friday. We're worshipping Goddess Mahalaxmi, the wife of Lord Vishnu who's the caretaker of the entire creation. Mahalaxmi is usually associated with wealth, with material prosperity. Or in New age terms(maybe borrowing a quote from Peale), she represents all the positivity and affirmative energy of the Universe.

Indian households worship her as a giver of bounty, of wealth, of a long fulfilling life. In worshipping her, we also recognise the positive intent present within all of us, and make a resolution to strengthen and nurture this aspect in us. And also express our gratitude for the grace bestowed by Mother nature, for the sunshine, the rains, dew, every breath we inhale, the trees and flowers, the mountains and rivers...And at an individual level, for all the unqualified and undemanding love we receive everyday from those around us and all the lessons and wisdom life imparts us every moment.

And we also pray...that we may rise above merely noticing this positive intent and ritualistically worshipping it through a form. That we may go to the next level of probing this deep mystery called life and experience the field of energy behind all forms, in all its splendour and vastness. Let us seek and know the 'truth' directly, the way one knows the rains when it splutters on an upturned cheek. And let's live this truth, this positivity without the burden of dogma, without the shackles of rituals, the way one inhales and exhales, without following a breathing religion.

Let the primordial intelligence of this positive energy field(call it Goddess Mahalaxmi) guide all humanity to the realization of its true nature.

Let there be Light!

Between here and there!

'It's like this', He said. 'I wanted to just travel north. Stay at a place. Teach those around me something that I know, something I've learnt. Then after a while move again. Stay at another place and teach. Again move ahead. This was the ideal. We were thinking of this possibility....'

Somehow we're excited. I jump up, almost interrupting him,'It happens in a movie sir, Japanese I think. There's a govt. official--honest and incorruptible. The higher ups cannot put up with him and his sincerity, so he's frequently transferred. What he does is--wherever he goes, he educates the simple folk around him, spreads a kind of awareness to resist corruption and to stand up to one's rights, so on. He's shunted from place to place but with that, he goes on spreading a movement....'

'We used to do small experiments,' He continued after listening to me keenly. 'We'd set out, without any money. Just board a bus or something like that, and with a firm faith that God would somehow take care. And actually it would happen. Someone would help us, give us something, take us to the place where we wanted to reach, etc. The thing was, we were experimenting with our faith....'

I have a distant relative who set out like this from my native village, travelling all over the country by foot, visiting the sacred sites of piligrimage. One morning he woke up and said that he had a divine inspiration to do so. When the news came of his impending departure, my dad rushed to persuade him to stay back. I was a kid then and I remember wondering why anyone should stop him. What was wrong in going away like that? The fact that he was in the thick of a family life, with grown up daughters never occured to me as a cause of worry. After all it was his life and if he felt it right to live it like this, why should anyone bother?

Eventually that guy went away, paying no heed to anyone's advice, threats or pleading. He left without a penny, travelled on foot far and wide, and returned nearly after a couple of years--probably much mature, wiser....Or maybe he was just escaping the drudgery of family life, we never knew. But whenever he came to our place, he'd narrate stories of his travels, all the fascinating stuff he encountered, the dangers he had to face etc. That was also the period of my growing aloofness and Dad worried that I too would follow suit someday. To top that, an astrologer had warned Dad that I'd leave home and go away; and Dad would've to travel north to find me....

The urge to do what pleases you against the obligations-responsibilities you've agreed to shoulder-- and balancing this in a short span of life--this theme fascinates and haunts me. How we crave for security, for the status quo! How we fear change or any upheavals! Not even daring to think beyond our boundaries, worried about opinions, secretly hankering for validation even
in our daydreams!

All these disjointed thoughts come flooding after reading this in Sun Magazine.

* * *

Many thanks to Val for passing on this hat. The kind words and enthusiasm shown by friends like her have made these two years of blogging worthwhile, enriching and more enjoyable! A lesson from childhood--food that's shared tastes better than when eaten alone! Isn't that true always?