Farewell notes...

We jump up at every opportunity to teach Tejas a new word; it's mighty fun to listen him gurgle out the word in his baby language. At night before he falls asleep, I take him to the puja corner, address each deity over there and ask them to bless him. So it'll be, 'Goddess saraswathi, give tejas knowledge and wisdom, Swami Vivekananda, give him strength, Hanuman, give him devotion...etc' and Tejas sports a broad grin all along. 'Do namaste', and he folds his palms, closes his eyes, pretends to mutter something and lifts one eye towards me to see if I'm watching. 'Say Jesus Christ', and he mumbles, 'Jeej chaish'.

Mom is aghast. 'Why Jesus Christ?' She doesn't seem to appreciate her hindu grandson utter a christian god's name. I suppress my urge to give an explanation, to correct her. No arguements. No convincing anymore.

***

A project ends and I apply for a 10 day leave, to accompany archana and tejas to Jammu. On the last working day, when I shut down the system, I feel as if a burden has been lifted off me. There's a sudden sense of relief, something I used to strongly feel and enjoy on the last day of school before the summer vacations began. We used to come home and just throw the books everywhere and flop down on the bed. That gesture remains as a reminder of how we hated school from our guts and how relieved we would feel to escape its clutches. And strangely, the workplace seems to have morphed into an advanced school, something I've come to hate and resist strongly although unable to shake off and bound away. You can never be at ease amidst the helplessness and boredom that are typical in a classroom setting, the unqualified authority of the elders and the inescapable chore of studies-homework-exams. And the repetitive drill at work reminds me of the grind of those years. Inspite of the economic freedom and superficial respect this job has given me, I look for and savour every opportunity where I can be far off from anything called Work.

No, I don't like hating this everyday chore, spending the best part of the day in these activities that help me 'make a living'. I would love to involve myself in work that nourishes my spirit, makes me lose sense of time when I'm at it, gives me a keen sense of achievement and satisfaction irrespective of the endresult and is tremendous fun to do however taxing the details might be. And of course, has at least an ounce of positive benefit to anyone but me, beyond the economic calculations.

Either I find such work or lift my current work to that level.

But.... How?

***

An overwhelming need... to be alone. And I realise how difficult it is, how precious those moments of solitude are.

If I'm not in the office, I'll be at home, with my kid, with archana, in front of the TV, with a book in hand. Switch off the tv, keep aside that book and my son swings on my neck, demanding to be taken out for a walk. I rationalize that I'll find my solitude late in the night when everyone's asleep or early in the morning. But my body refuses me this previlege.

Maybe there's a quota of aloneness allotted to every individual for a lifetime, and I've bloody exhausted mine in those long years between graduation and job, where hours and days just passed away in rich solitude.

Or maybe it isn't the case. I'll soon snatch huge chunks of time from the daily grind and sit blissfully alone, staring into a vaccum, pondering, scribbling,....just being.

***

Where does this fear arise from? Why do I get anxious? I try hard to pin it down but in vain. A very relaxed and jovial meeting with friends is underway when suddenly he says,' Okay, what were your good and not so good experiences of 2008?' Each one begins to narrate. Then he tells another person to share his experience. And another.

Suddenly I'm in the grip of an unreasonable panic. I don't want to speak! This is my family, these people are my own and I'd love to interact with them, any given day, on the subjects we all love to discuss. Yet, in a group setting, my throat runs dry and I have a mild shiver. I'm praying that nobody points out to me and says, 'What about you.....?'

This fear of embarassment has tormented me over the past many years. I remember giving no shit and rattling my guts out, not so long ago. When and where did my nerves run cold, I know not. I've shied away innumerable times from confronting this fear, from voicing my opinion in a group. Many of my decisions have been influenced by this fear. Many twists of life have been shaped because of this anxiety. This remains a dark shadow, something I'm unable to and unwilling to shrug off.

Maybe it hasn't grown huge enough where I have no choice but to root it out. And it isn't mild enough to allow me to cope with it. It remains in that delicate tense equilibirium where you can neither spit it nor gulp it. A perfect thorn up your nail.

***

'How fast the year ended,' I tell her, as if it's a routine to utter this by every december end. But it's true. I remember finishing a translation and sending out a mail late in the night, just last december and it appears as if it was done yesterday. And a whole year has passed after that... as if an entire river flowed under the bridge by the time you finished that sweet little conversation.

This year will be remembered most for the worldwide economic recession among many other things. Although pundits may point out that the recession had already started out years ago, this was the year it hit many in the face. Our jobs are still secure uptill now, but the future is uncertain, the present a bit shaky. Personally I realised that this cubicle will not be my permanent money spinning corner forever, that there are skills to be learnt, risks to be taken and ventures to be answered very soon--before the rug is pulled from under the feet. And it isn't scary afterall, it can also be a thrilling adventure, if you choose it.

When I look back at the year, I realize that many dreams still remain dreams, many resolutions are still in cold storage. And I remember Dave pollard's advice,--that unless something becomes a 'must', it ain't gonna materialize. That drive, that hunger, that urgency is required to make something happen---whether it's experiencing Light/God, moving on to a new job, penning that short story or just waking up early for a round of exercises.

Many dark emotions came to the forefront where I could see and recognize them for what they were. I realized that I'm not the saint I thought I was. And also I found out that being a no-saint wasn't such a bad thing afterall, as long as you know where you stand. There was a broadening of horizons, an increase in awareness however slight. I watched my son grow up from a sweet little baby to a sweet little monster. Joy of fatherhood, agreements-disagreements in family, boredom-disappointment at work, small personal victories, loss of discipline, a feeling of alienation-spiritually, new knowledge about existence, lost friends, gained insight....2008 will be a special year which I'll look back at from the future...

My biggest inspiration of the year was Obama's victory. When the light channels movement was started sometime back, we were told that this collective effort would bring forth a world leader. Yes it has. We rightly think that only thugs and scoundrels are fit for politics, that nothing worthwhile will transpire out of that bunch of humanity. The way Indian leaders behaved after the Mumbai carnage is ample proof for this. Perhaps Obama is one of the few leaders to kindle the hope that maybe this isn't always the case, that sane, sensible people can aspire to lead from the front, that even in hopeless times you can make things happen at every level by beginning with the attitude, 'Yes, we can.' After Gandhi, if there's a leader whom people all over the world looked up to with hope, it is Obama.

How different or similar will our lives be by this time next year? How would the world have changed by another 12 months? Will there be drastic changes--either desirable or miserable? After Nov 2009, when the effects of the proximity to the Photon belt start taking effect, how seriously will our lives be touched? It remains to be seen.

As I sit typing out these words, wishing to be amongst friends in Taponagara who're channelling light to our world, I wish everyone a very happy new year. And pray that we all find light and align with the light in the days ahead......

Raining blood

It's raining incessantly. The gloomy weather and biting cold is matched only by the horrible reality Mumbai is facing right now, played out in our living rooms through the television sets. The greatest instinct a human being has is that of survival. As you want to survive under any circumstance, you also shrink back from snuffing the life out of another being. So it makes one wonder what drives ordinary human beings to defy this instinct and run around, firing indiscriminately and killing unknown people? Who are these animals and what on earth has our life come to in today's world? Hell!

Amit verma who was near the site of the terror attack blogs about the events as he witnessed it. The worrying fact is that, after nearly 2 days since these attacks began, nearly a dozen heavily armed madmen are still roaming free in the city. How could've they carried out this operation
without the support of some locals? The media, though doing a commendable job of reporting the situation braving great odds, still continues to warm itself in the fire that burns mumbai ( 'those pictures you see are exclusive to 'times now', 'the terrorists spoke over the phone exclusively to 'Indiatv'...scum ). Politicians continue their same old job of blame game and posturing, with an eye on the upcoming elections. Most of us who are far removed from the reality but participate vicariously through the television and newspapers, return our normal lives and wait for the next big story. The noises that are being made now in the media about starting a movement against terror will soon abate as another issue explodes and our attention diverts. Violence and death are so prevalent that they don't move us anymore.

Meanwhile the madness continues unabated. Is there a solution for this bloodthirstyness? Who will rein in these horrible instincts in these people-- this hatred, perversion and apathy?

Reality

The disadvantage of waking up late is that I miss the chance to meditate early in the morning. And as if to compensate for my laziness and also to bait me to sleep longer, there are dreams and dreams. Most are nothing but fantasies or horror stories but some are truly fascinating. In one, I am shot dead and then I move around as a spirit. Many dreams are plain embarassing, like I'm shitting in public and people who know me are moving around, casting horrified looks at me. And then there are a few that makes one start jumping, after realising that these are not just dreams.

Then there's this dream in which I meet Barack Obama, two days after he won the elections. I ask him, 'how do you manage to maintain your cool under extreme pressure?' He replies something like, 'I'm not in a hurry to go somewhere or do something else. Wherever I am, I remain there totally.' He sounds like Eckhart tolle, maybe he picked up these lines from 'The New Earth' which I was reading last night before drifting into sleep.

These words arrive when I'm in the shower, hurrying up, and without much effort I slow down. I take time to observe the drops of water as they trickle down onto the floor and lose their individuality. I feel the warmth this hot water gives my body-- I feel it totally. There's a new vigour that's building up from within and all the tiredness seems to escape with the vapours. Every drop transfers its freshness and aliveness to my body, my mind, my soul. I stop thinking beyond the door of the bathroom and stand in the shower for another 5 minutes.

Apart from any message or inspiration a dream may provide, it also makes you ponder over what you percieve as reality. What's the reality of someone who's blind and how does it alter once he regains his eyesight? How are the boundaries of reality pushed further once a deaf man opens up to sounds and music? You learn something new( a new skill, computers, another language..) and notice how your perceptions get enhanced. Visit places, talk to a stranger, learn to look from someones viewpoint and the same happens. So reality is never static but in a state of fluid dynamism. You can take your reality to any level. Meditate, still your system and allow the awareness to expand. Even at the thought/emotional level, the more expanded and broad you are, the greater are the chances of richness and happiness in your life and in the lives of those around you(The contrary is also true). Then how would it be if you can take your awareness beyond the physical level and pop into the unknown dimensions? Are there worlds beyond what we see, hear, feel? What other realities can we perceive once we break free of all our limitations?

And when you know that you're moving towards the epicenter of this turbulence, that a great explosion of awareness awaits humanity....you can't help but wonder--is it possible for the sleeping masses to actually wake up to the bigger truths? Speak about it now and you get sneers and astonished looks, as if you've just lost it. Will they still sneer then when they encounter the truth directly?

Back home

Sometimes Tejas flies into a rage over some issue. Very soon his eyes become small bowls filled to the brim and his face contorts. He raises his hands, makes a gesture of hitting, yells in a weak voice and we know that he's inches away from breaking down and wailing. He stands there, helpless, unable to articulate his anger against an adult world which doesn't understand his viewpoint and just wants to beat his rebellion into submission. Anyone would want to cuddle him, wipe away his tears, console him but that would only fuel his rage. So we stay silent, allow him to express himself, allow him to shout, to wail, to throw things in rage, let his feelings out....

Soon there are disagreeing voices around. Others in the family enter the scene and try to sort things out the way they're usually done. They try to admonish him. Or try to cajole him which pushes him further. And with the admonish, his helpless anger gives way to sorrow and he breaks down. We pick him up, soothe him and divert his attention. The others who'd entered the scene now go back to their worlds.

I remember moments in my childhood wherein I'd feel such anger that I wanted to rip the world apart. And then I'd feel terribly helpless, impotent, subdued. Now I see the same pattern repeating with my son. I hate to see him face the frustration of going through the same loop. I hate to see him encounter the same people whom I'd wanted to beat into a pulp, decades ago.

His helplessness is mine too. How can I explain to others around here that a two year old kid has a very subtle self-respect and it's not okay to trample on it? That it's not okay to put him down in any way, make him feel small, humiliated? How I wish I could always give him all the space he needs. And how I wish the others who matter also think the way I do.

Slow blog

'Thoughts are real'--I remind myself over and over. And then lose my way amidst another heap of rubbish that builds up on my mental landscape. I enjoy the orgy knowing well that this is suicidal.

Then I resolve to reject this flurry of negativity in its roots, just reject the first thought, dammit. I console myself with thoughts like, 'only if my meditations were strong enough' but that is a lie. 'You're full of shit,' is the truth.


My pen(or is it my keyboard!) goes into deep freeze and it takes quite a while for any writing to come forth! And on other rare occasions, the words pour out in a torrent, as if moved by an unbearable urge. Although many argue that this so called 'writing block' is another excuse for plain laziness, that you can write if you really have something to write, I think it's real for sure. You have your ideas. You know how to put it forth and you really would want to do it. But begin writing and pop! the muse dies. Words just evaporate and you look at the pen in your hand not knowing why it's there. That's the time to ponder a bit-- about your motivation to write, what you want to achieve by pouring your ideas out, what's the purpose of it all.

Cassandra writes that she considers blogging as a way to articulate her thoughts to herself. This looks good. And when you're articulating these thoughts with an intention of sharing with others, the clarity increases. Vague ideas begin to take shape into something tangible, something you can make sense of. Maybe all writing is nothing more than an attempt to bring order to an inner chaos, whether we know it or not.

So my already slow rate of blogging becomes much slower, thanks to slow blogging. Instead of regularly dashing off half seasoned posts about nothingness, I'd like to allow some ideas to ferment, get enriched with similar streams of thought and evolve into something of value, at least for me.

A sudden flash. I'm here to experience this pure love, pouring forth from the heart of this beautiful soul! That's the reason I was brought back from the brink, back from the edge of annihilation. To feel and experience this love. To know that one can love and be happy, without reason, without judgement, without any expectation. To know that one can be aware of such purity amidst a never ending dance with hatred and self-obsession. And one can manifest this love with anyone, under any circumstance, no matter what.

You are capable of feeling this emotion and also expressing it very silently, very subtly. Yes you can.

Last Impressions...

....are everlasting, many times. You think of someone and the first thing that comes to mind is how he'd appeared for the last time you'd seen him. He could've been a totally amazing person but if he'd screwed up in the final instance, that's what you're most likely to remember about him. Or if he'd been kind and loving all his life but finally turned bitter, you remember him as someone who's rude/depressed. This could be a top of the head reaction, and one may have to dig deep to get to the real character of that person, but how often do we dig deep is the question.

I remember my granny sitting alone in her bed, looking nowhere while we kids played around in the courtyard. She was more than 75, brittle, physically unwell and psychologically bruised. Whenever I think of her, it's this lonely, suffering image that comes up from memory. That she was a loving granny and sometimes strict too is a bit hard to conjure up, but that was a fact. She would pamper and spoil us for the two months of summer vacation every year, when we visited our native. She'd admonish us for the devils we were and also shower us with love. A mother of 6 and a grandmother to more than a dozen and a half, she must've witnessed a largely peaceful life in a sleepy hamlet for most of her years. All these would gradually pave way to a lonely existence after my grandpa's death and after the return of her rebellious son. In her last years she went through severe psychological abuse at the hands of her son, who'd unfailingly get drunk every evening and create a scene for the most trivial reason. Ignored by grandchildren who were growing up in their own individual worlds, taunted by unsympathetic daughters-in-law, and largely unwanted by anyone, it appeared as though she was wishing for death many times instead of living through the hell that her home had become. So when we were playing around and once in a while when I looked at her, I could in a way sense her desperation and cluelessness. I'd think that it would be better to die when you were needed than live upto such a ripe age and become a burden on others. It's this image of her that has stayed in me eversince.

Similarly When I think of O, I see a selfish schemer although that's the image that came to the forefront in the last 1 hour of our interaction. Throughout our 4 years of friendship he came across as a multi-talented, dynamic, warm person but how's it that I don't associate these qualities with him? How do I retain only the negatives about him? The same happened with a couple of friends, who were dignified, gentle, witty but now I've to try hard to link these qualities to them because of their not so glorious final acts. How is it that we carry back only the surface attibutes of a person that are most glaring instead of his subtle characteristics? Are we biologically hardwired to process and store information in this way--keeping stock of only the recent, more useful(?) information and relegating the rest to the dustbin of memory?

And what image do others retain about me is also worth pondering. An unforgettable character from my childhood is Satyajit, a dear friend with unusually large ears, who'd happily call our teacher as 'aunty' when the rest of the class sheepishly referred to her as Miss. Although we were the best of friends, he must be recalling memories of a nasty fellow whenever he thinks of me. Long long back, on the final day when we parted ways, I was at my worst, harassing him for no reason and thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. He was sad but uncomplaining. I came to my senses within minutes after he left and fervently wished that I'd make amends if only I could meet him again. A swathing sense of guilt and sadness stayed in me for a long time after that final farewell but I guess, if I were him, I'd always carry that last impression of a nagging bully instead of a dear friend whenever I'd think of myself.

Maybe it's unfair to judge people, for better or for worse, but definetly not right to push aside all their characterisitics and weigh them only by their most recent behaviour. And given the lengths to which we go, consciously or not, to gain approval, to belong to a group/community, to look good in others' eyes, it's amazing to think how randomly we judge others or get judged by them. It takes a lot of detachment to be impervious of others' opinion of us. Maybe the evolved souls strike the right balance between developing strong interpersonal relationships and giving no shit to what others might think of one. But for the rest of us, who're on the highway of evolution it's a bitter-sweet struggle between appeasement and indifference.

Mmmm....Uh!

So the crash has officially started, right! Nowhere is it more evident than in the in-between-work gossip that fills up our cubicle air. No more talks of quitting and job-hopping. No fancy info about huge pay-checks in the adjoining MNC. Nazeer, who till recently wanted to smash the manager's jaws before throwing the towel, is silent nowadays. Will our jobs be secure? Will there be a pay-cut? And if you dare change jobs, will you last in the next company till the probation period ends? No bloody idea! Back home there's an invisible air of apprehension, barely tangible. The stock market afficionados of our layout have gone underground. What's your bank balance? A few lakhs. Or a few thousands! Is there any difference? We're probably staring at the gradual unfolding of a once in a millenium situation where everyone-- rich/self sufficient, educated/worldly wise, civilized/natural, rebel/applause craver, young/defeated...everyone's brought down to the same level of bare existence. Now you're an authentic human being, not the masks you've acquired or been handed down. Exciting? Boring? Heart-stopping?

In this dazed atmosphere, you don't know what's really happening inspite of all the facts and 12 digit numbers you can rattle off, straight from the experts. Should you continue your daily job and normal humdrum until something else happens, someone comes from nowhere and fixes/screws things further so that your life gets shattered/redefined? Is there anything else we can do at the individual level, to sail our boats through this turbulence? And though this question can be asked in any situation, recession or not, it's worthy to ask oneself loud and clear----who the hell am I and what in all heavens am I supposed to be doing here? Where do I go from this point onwards and What's to be done now? What are the real things of value and what can be dispensed off? How will my level of awareness, Open mindedness, adaptability and detachment determine the suffering or enlightenment I'm going to experience further down at the bend?

Pondering...Finding...

It's a bit amusing and interesting to observe patterns--wherever they emerge. Two patterns I've observed in my son; One, he picks up an activity slightly late for his age, making us a bit apprehensive. Once he starts, there's no stopping him--it's as if he's on a race. He walked a bit late for his age but once started, we'd to run behind him, scared lest he bump around and hurt himself. Now the same thing's happening with his speech. After a spell of reticence and incoherent words, he's found the spirit, broken the dam so to say; the words seem to be flowing effortlessly.

Secondly, he seems to sense out the friendly people from the not so friendly ones. With the former, he's most comfortable --when my cousin came visiting for the first time, tejas responded with a smile and shook hands with him, inspite of his natural waryness of strangers. My cousin has a warm demeanour and assuring sense of humour and Tejas seemed to sense this instinctively. With the latter, he's either stubborn or shy. I've noticed his lack of rapport with a few people inspite of repeated cajoling; no matter how much anyone tries, he keeps away from a few people. Maybe his intuition tells him more about them than his limited intellect can.

Maybe all kids make sense of the world around intuitively, naturally, until civilization kicks in.


Driving back home from Manasa on a Sunday evening, Kavi asks, 'Where would we have been now, if it weren't for Meditations and this path?' No idea! This is one track which many of us chose independently at some point in the past and bingo! here we are, cruising together along this road -- happy, intrigued, and awakening in degrees. If I hadn't chosen this.... if I had proposed to that girl in college, if I had completed my studies, if I had not read a particular interview in a particular magazine in which someone narrated the benefits of Yogic practices, if I hadn't taken the trouble to find out about meditations and put an application, if I hadn't faced humiliation and acutely felt a sense of worthlessness.....if this and if that....maybe I'd have ended up in some gutter or made it to the heavens. But if you'd followed some other track, you'd have stopped at some point and pondered, 'if it weren't for that, where would've I ended up?'

So you have your questions no matter what track you follow and you can always ask, if not for this, where would've I been? You have reached where you were supposed to reach. Period. I am supposed to be here, at this point in time, doing these things, living with these people, going through these experiences, nurturing these dreams....pondering about all of this and writing it in my blog...Nothing else!

Most mornings begin with a drizzle. When I drive to office, I'll be breathing through an almost invisible veil of soft mist that seems to descend slowly from the overhead trees. The day passes in a cloudy gloom. Then before the skies break open, a short spell of rain lashes early in the evening and stops.

Taking a walk in this weather is nothing short of heaven. The whole world looks spotlessly clean, fresh, innocent....like a baby that's just had a refreshing bath. Smiling faces around. Receptive minds.

Afterthought...

Now let's dream a bit. Maybe I and you haven't left home at all. Only a part of my being has descended into this life-track and is going through these times. Maybe I have descended into different tracks, in different worlds, experiencing different lives, unaware of each other but knowing at the source and being aware of all these various lives... and what I know as suffering is being totally unaware of my source and being totally sucked into this individual life....and what I'll experience as Enlightenment is to know deeply, experientially that I'm the Source whose partial awareness has descended into this life-track and is asking all these questions,....that I'm only a part here, but basically I'm nothing but the source.

Okay, let's experience this!

The Pleasure of Reading...

...surpasses every other pleasure--for me. Put me in a room full of books that get automatically renewed/replaced periodically and I'll stay there for all eternity, unbothered about anything else. We picked up this dirty habit in early childhood when Dad would bring home all periodicals, magazines, books of the day(He still does it nowadays, with more vigour) and we'd fight over each other to read the latest installment of Champak, Amar chitrakatha, chandamama....the habit got reinforced in late school and early college years when I had more friends in fictional characters than in real life, the fictional world being more authentic and fascinating than the drudgery of everyday existence.

Circa 2005. I discovered blogs. And also discovered that I had sufficient cash flow by which I could indulge myself by purchasing every other delicious book I could smell. Three years of software testing and I can say, I've read more during office hours than tested code(of course, by squeezing all work into my available 'work' hours and getting three headaches every month). I wake up early sometimes and read. Or sit late at night. Carry a book to the railway reservation queue. Or at the doctors. I read two books in between attending the marriage rituals of my sister-in-law. And sometimes during breakfast, I'll be eating more words than bread crumbs. Yet there are more unread books in my shelf than those which I've read. And my must-read list goes on and on making me wonder if I'll ever get to the end of it in this life-time.

But what's the point? Why read at all? Spend so much time-money -attention...for what purpose? The primary purpose is ...pure orgasm. Nothing else. And sometimes, a bit of illumination(eckart tolle, khalil gibran), inspiration(ran prieur, reality sandwich, Dave pollard) and new thought(last american man,flow). But most of the time, it's the simple intellectual and emotional kick/satisfaction that's derived by looking and wondering at life through eyes not your own. I bet, the pleasure center in the brain for sex, fruit-salad and reading must be the same!

And just as a new project starts at work, I come across this series of blogposts--a rendition of the Epic Mahabharata through Bhima's eyes. And a book on Ramayana by Kamala subramaniam which a friend has promised to deliver this weekend. And another set of translations of Marathi mythological novels in English (Mruthyunjaya and Yayati), which I'll get my hands on very soon.

If I were a gladiator I would've shouted, 'Felice di essere vivo e cazzo!' Yeah!!

Dawn..still far away

You think that you're super detached. You think you're not sentimental. You pride yourself in your aloofness, in your stoicness. No, you aren't. You are very much human even if you have difficulty in accepting it.

A colleague leaves for another company after 4 years and you have a lump in the throat. He isn't a best friend, infact he's a pain sometimes, but this long association ends in a snap. And with this, something in you dies too. Where did this tenderness arrive from? You had become hard and opaque; you'd deliberately killed all soft feelings and turned rigid over many years. What was it that mellowed you? Made you responsive! Sensitive!

I know hunger. I've felt its pangs, an immense burning sensation that clouds everything--your judgement, your reasoning, the very awareness that you're a human being. Long back, when I was travelling a long distance with very little money and even little inner strength, I spent nearly two days eating two packets of biscuits and an apple. By the time I reached half the journey, I was mad with hunger and could barely walk. So when I hear the adage, 'The greatest God is the food God,' I agree wholeheartedly. You can speak lofty ideals only after your stomach is full. When hunger strikes everything else goes out of the window and what's left is a pure animal who's intent on surviving, nothing else. If there's anyone who's an exception to this, I haven't met him/her yet and would definetly like to know them.

There are reports of food riots breaking out in flood ravaged bihar. The administration has failed to cope up with the devastation there and much of the relief sent by the government is eaten up by the middle men, with only a trickle reaching the needy. What follows is pure survivalism. Hungry villagers armed with sticks and sickels have attacked the food godowns, grabbing sacks of rice and wheat, carrying them back to the waiting stomachs at home. It takes only a river to flood and a pathetic administration to fail and you have authentic human nature coming out.

Maybe you don't need such extreme situations too-- a small push will do. A funny thing happens every afternoon at the restuarant near my workplace. The crowd that collects at the food counter is a healthy mix of officials, executives, technicians and people from all walks of life. We buy the tickets at the entrance, hand it over to the servers at the food counter and wait patiently for the food to arrive. If there are 10 people who've ordered Masala dosa and the server brings 4 at a time, it's a sight to watch people jump over one another to grab these dishes. At that moment you aren't a manager or an executive from a Multi national, drawing a six figure income every month. You're a bloody stomach. And sometimes the cook comes out and peeks at us with a wry smile. He's no longer a poor cook ekeing out a living preparing dishes in a modest restuarant. For one moment, he's God.

'Everyone does everything for his stomach and for a peice of cloth,' sang a saint. How cool would it be if one could bypass the need to eat in order to survive! Maybe we could draw nourishment from the sun directly, the way plants do. And have no need to work, earn, struggle. Wishful thinking. Why not?

Amidst a never ending effort for a secure base, for stability, beating your hands frantically attempting not to drown, there are sudden flashes. That everything is just fine as it is. That you're better off swimming in the current and there's no need to panic, to reach the shore or find any destination. You're at home right now, here, in this very place and moment. Such moments arrive unheralded, at unlikely places--say, when I'm in the middle of the busy traffic, or under the shower, or while surfing the channels or observing my son at play....

And these moments are so fleeting that in an instant, you're back to your anxious self. You're again in the flux, in the struggle, fighting, seeking, hoping. But you know that the moment comes again. That it's not a freak occurance. That the relaxedness is your default state of living to which you'll go back soon. That you need to find ways to set up roots in that stillness, in that carefreeness.

'To utter the truth you need a simple courage,' he said. 'To accept something as true itself requires great courage. I hate to hurt others but is it because I'm scared that once hurt, they may pounce on me? Or do I have a genuine concern for their well being?'

'You might have a real concern for them...'

'Mmm. I think not. I'm scared that they'll attack me. Or maybe stay away from me and I'll become alone. Or even, if someone's hurt, it makes me feel wretched and I don't like feeling that way...'

I thought for a while and said, 'What do you want to do then?'

'Just speak the truth. And live quietly after that. No f pretense. I'm tired.'

I sit alone in the dead of the night, listening to crickets, barking dogs from another universe and the thud of my fingers on the keyboard. For one moment, I wonder what I'm doing here, putting my thoughts down, for what purpose. I have work to do, a waiting headache in the office tomorrow, followed by a possible dinner with friends in the evening and a relaxing weekend after that. I have several journeys to traverse, new lessons to learn and, inspite of bitterness and anxiety, a rewarding life to explore and celebrate. I stand on the threshold of new discoveries and an exciting tomorrow. When I'm truly tired of thinking and feeling for myself, I stand up and try to expand a bit, try to look ahead and around. No, I can't empathise with others. Expandedness is an empty word for me; I can only feel for a select few around me.

I'd love to expand, to feel the oneness with others, other beings, other things. I'd love to feel this Love--pure and pristine. Taste it. What's it like?

I'll find this Love. When I cease, it shall be found....

Immediate thoughts

'Lust Caution' is disturbingly pleasant. Not just for the explicit scenes but because of the conclusion, in which the protagonist fails in the carefully thoughtout mission for which she has devoted her life. I expected an ending in which she finishes off the villian after another intense lovemaking session and either breaks down in regret or flies off into the sunset with the hero who's waiting in the sidewings. What happens is totally unexpected and so true to life--like, you search for some bloody conclusions and neatly tied-up endings here and you draw a blank. Life isn't a fucking holly/bollywood drama where the white triumphs over the black and you get pampered and mollycoddled by existence. It's a kaleidoscope of gray shades--you don't know what's right or what's wrong in this dreamlike reality and by the time you figure it out, you're near the end of the goddamned journey and you're still not sure.

A fascinating peek into what might exist beyond our perceptions, beyond death, on the other side. Here. Reminds me of what this guy says 'The occult isn't hidden. It's ignored.'

Nowadays it's frequent... a sinking feeling... that I'm wasting my youth, my time, my energy in the pursuit of horse shit. That I'm missing the most precious years of my kid, staring at a blinking box and typing like insane in a cold cubicle, doing what, I'm not sure. That I watch the days, weeks, months passby without knowing or trying to know my purpose, why the hell I'm here or what'm I supposed to be doing.

Do I flow with the world around--living like a robot just like everybody else because everything around's so screwed up, and then waking up only when everything falls apart in the near future? Or do I take charge of my life and decide what to do with it--Now--without waiting for something to happen or someone to come around and rescue me?