Pure blogging

Of course, the sky is flooded with thick clouds, threatening to open up any moment. This is a strange summer--it started earlier than expected this year, and we've already had two spells of short rains amidst thirsty dry days. Now with a cool breeze, there's the scent of a soothing downpour in the air.

It's difficult to remain hidden online and I'm realizing this slowly. Nearly four years later, my people discover that I have a blog. Younger sister stumbled upon my blog accidentally, read a few posts and announced to my parents, and of course praised. She was moved to tears by this post, probably because she was a part of that memory and now my parents seem interested. Now I have to watch out what I post, and ponder once before scribbling anything. Amazing how I kept aside this possiblity when I would post carefree, not bothering what anyone who knows me would think about what I write here.

Upheavals are occuring at an alarming pace.One moment I'm totally gung-ho, hopeful and optimistic about various things happening in my life. In no time, a wave of dejection and hopelessness clouds my awareness. I just resign to what's happening and carry on the motions. Life appears meaningless until cheer arrives unexpectedly.

New possiblities are opening up at work. I'm now a product leader, responsible for the quality assurance of one entire product, with guys working under me--and it's pure pain. Partly because I'm desperately looking to fly away from the monotony here and wouldn't like to be burdened with anything for now. And this is responsibility without rewards, a sort of thankless job. If things go wrong( as usual, they will), you're accountable, but if everything's smooth, so what? This is both a learning opportunity and a stressful occasion, so I don't know whether to celebrate or sulk.

Watched Rang de basanti, once again. Remembered what I'd written here, long back, when I first watched the movie. And you have the spectacle of the general elections, shameless politicians not even masking their lust for power, urban saviours who think that our country will be saved with everyone casting their precious vote and to top it all, the likes of Varun gandhi and a clueless media following every move of this baffoon.

This isn't depressing anymore. Because this is the last dance for all these scoundrels.

Suddenly I remember that I am a writer. A writer of short stories, as I used to answer that funny question, 'What do you do?', just a few years back. And how could I forget this? So, with this rememberance, there's a flurry of writing activities awakened. Told archana not to look into one particular notebook, because it's personal and contains something related to my creative endeavours ('Huh!' was the reply). Digging into my old diaries and writing manuals. Pursuing writing exercises. Stream of consciousness scribbles. Day dreams of published short stories and novels. Madness. With a method.

My son is in that magical phase where he finds everything, literally everything around him lively and filled with wonder. He looks up at the moon and says a word or two. Says hello to the sunlight. Falls down, gets hurt and stamps the road with anger. Saibaba isn't a long dead saint but a loving friend, who gets to share his secrets and triumphs. He holds up a glass of his favourite fruit juice to Lord Ganesha and other Gods in the photos. The toy car should listen to him when he tells it to move back. And maybe it isn't just ignorance or playfulness; maybe every child connects to the life force throbbing in every particle in creation. Only a child can see that nothing is lifeless. Expandedness is natural in innocence.

Soon he will grow up and lose this capability. We will train him to look at life through small apertures and crush everything else that doesn't fit in with that limited vision. Imagination recedes, magic fades and he will become yet another human being--efficient, wordly, mature but devoid of wonder and mystery. Of course until he wakes up once again to the mystical...

We step into Ugadhi, the Hindu Newyear day. Ugadhi means the beginning of a new Yuga--a new phase in time. You open the doors and windows and let in fresh air, allow sunshine to enter your life. Cleanse your soul of old cobwebs and dirt, awaken to new possibilities, set forth in new directions, embark on new voyages...And know in your guts that the universe is with you, all the time, like a mother.

As I begin a few voyages on this auspicious day, I wish everyone on our beautiful earth a new awakening. Let this new year bring you wonderful gifts, make you stronger against the trials of life and awaken you to your own hidden divinity.

Crossroads...

The final scene of the movie, Cast away is difficult to forget. Tom hanks plays the courier man who's marooned on an uninhabited island after his plane crashes into the pacific ocean. He lives in that piece of land for nearly 4 years, without human contact--the memory of his wife is the only thing that keeps him alive, gives him the will to finally brave the brutal waves and find his way back. By the time he returns to civilization, life has moved on. His wife, thinking him to be dead, has remarried. He resumes his job, delivers a packet to a house which is in the middle of nowhere, and on his way back, hits a crossroad. The long roads stretch on all sides and he stands there, looking here and there, pondering... and that geographical place becomes a stunning metaphor for his life at that moment. Where do you go from here? Where have you come from? Why are you here? What's your destiny?

A moment of tremendous pathos. And also a moment of sudden illumination.

Why does illumination arrive only after loss, sadness, emptiness? Why not in the midst of joy, abundance, peace? Why should our journey always be pathos-enlightenment-bliss and not bliss-enlightenment-bliss?

Why this fixation with the positives? What is it in us that makes us scared of losing, of emptiness, of sorrow? If there is something that exists beyond these positives and not so positives, what is that?

Ponder this...

'Bangoon Ophaen', shouts tejas over the phone.

'What's that?' I ask her.

'It means, I'll come to Bangalore on an aeroplane.'

* * *

I have an early morning flight to delhi tomorrow morning and a connecting flight to Jammu. Our new airport is outside the city, almost 50 kms away, which means that the taxi fares are exorbitant and people rely on public transport. Since there are no buses so early in the morning, I have to bargain with the taxi guys, so I call them up.

'750 rs,'says the guy over the phone.

'It's too much,' and the calculations begin. 'Why not go there the previous night, catching the last bus, wait in the airport and catch the early morning flight?'

'Or, why not stay at Anand's place in Taponagara, get up early and ask him to drop you to the airport. It's nearer I guess.'

'The bus service starts at 4 a.m., so why not take that bus, just take a chance, if that's okay.....'

It's hard to shell out 750 bucks on a one hour taxi ride but then I begin to wonder what's the difficulty in that. Why? Why should I start thinking about putting myself into inconvenience in order to save a few hundred rupees? I understand it if money is scarce but when that isn't the case, why do these numbers cause a flutter?

We have a couple of new guys in our team, both less experienced than I, who take up less work, lesser pressure, but take home a slightly bigger pay packet. A pang shot through me when I came to know their take-home salary. And now there's a new guy with 6 years experience whose pay packet has gone through the roof and it's a topic of discussion at times.

'You've stayed in the same place for too long,' observes Nazeer. 'Change companies, job-hop and the salary will be good.'

Cool. Numbers again. I don't deny the practical aspect of it but still, these numbers sort of dictate the course of our lives, without our conscious knowledge. They decide the quality of my work, the people I work with and the environment I work in, 9 hours a day, for years together. And I hardly notice that.

It begins to disturb when the same numbers start interfering into the relationship equations. My maternal uncle who owned a flourishing business in bangalore two decades ago, fell into bad times and had to pack everything and retire to his native village. He descended into poverty, partly by his own fault and is still struggling with an uncertain job and salary. His standing in the community and relatives circle closely followed his economic status. The same people who surrounded him, coveted his attention and paid fearful respects in his good times began ignoring him, ridiculing and even insulting him at times. And without anyone explaining the situation very clearly, it came to be accepted as a natural behaviour--you respect someone who's financially sound and don't give a shit if he's penniless. The numbers in your bank account decide your social status, decide if you're worthy of respect and affection. Absolutely no exaggeration.

Is this how the world works? Is this how society has been designed, how life operates in the modern world, everywhere? Maybe yes. Is it healthy? I have my doubts.

Dave pollard's futuristic blogpost about living a money-free, hassle-free life, full of harmony, abundance and joy makes one wonder if that's how life will gradually turn out in the coming days and years. And Ranprieur is one guy who's living such a life, right now, 'in the gift economy' as he says. His entire blog is, apart from many other things, a meditation on the 'money-economy we currently live in vs the gift economy we need to move into'.

This is a huge subject and these are my initial thoughts.

* * *

A guy who's two rungs up the ladder calls a meeting and says,'Our office time is between 9 and 6.30, with a half hour lunch. Many of us are not following it strictly, so the CEO has sent a memo. Starting today, this duration will be strictly followed. You have to be here before 9 and leave by 6.30...'

'These are signs of things to come,' says Nazeer. 'Just watch, how many terminations will happen on this account.'

Two days later, there's another meeting. 'How many in your team are arriving after 9? If anyone comes late, tell them to take half a day leave...'

The next day almost everyone's in by 9 except the rulemaker, who arrives at 9.30. The look on his face---priceless!

When you grow up....

...what do you want to become?'

Mom wanted a doctor in the family, so I was expected to say, 'doctor'. Or, as was fashionable in those days, 'engineer,' though I never knew what the hell those terms meant. Then there was this astrologer, a friend of Dad's who'd proclaimed,'professor,'--another fancy term. So the answers would revolve around these three things although I'd whisper under my breath,'I don't want to grow up, you morons.'

These must be really stubborn questions, asked around the world of every child by well-meaning(?) parents, relatives, even strangers. A guy from Poland had come to attend our meditation classes and when I was taking him around, he caught hold of a young boy of 10 and asked him the same darn question. 'Astro-physicist!!' pat came the reply. 'Not bad. Not bad,' amidst gusts of laughter. The polish guy was a seeker, who'd come to India in search of the occult and the first thing he'd asked me was, 'Is your Guru enlightened?' What I'd have loved to ask him, me a doc-engineered-professor, was 'What was your answer to the well-meaning question, in your childhood? And have you become that?' Seeker? Not by a long stretch. What are the answers given by children in different cultures? Writer? Actor? Scientist? Businessman? Politician? Are there any cultures which don't ask these questions and don't expect any answers from their youngsters? Maybe someone should conduct a survey and find out what percentage of these predictions/aspirations have come true?

My niece is a little over 15 and her answer is 'opthalmologist'. 'What's that?' I ask and she says,'eye-specialist'. 'Why? Do you like being an eye specialist?' and she has a confident,'Yes'. Until recently the answer was 'advocate,' because her grandpa is also one.

'What about your son?' and I gnarl. 'Relax,' she soothes. 'Let them have their say'. My son has an ear for music and rythme, 'so he'll become a musician.' He whacks the ball real hard...'cricketer!' He loves to dance, 'so....movie star? Yeah, why not?'

This obsession with the material success-recognition-fame and a subtle grooming we're subjected to from a very young age, is quite amusing. And disturbing also. It's as if you're bound to fall behind and lose out in the race of life if the goal is not set at a very young age. There are off-beat answers too! 'Artist,' says my friend of his three year old. 'Parents have to watch the child and find out at a young age what her interests are. And then provide opportunities ...'

No qualms about that. A quote I still remember 'If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans'. And another one: 'A seeker gets only what he seeks. His choices are limited. An explorer finds much more because he has no fixed agenda.' More seekers of pretty ordinary things, many of us seem to have become. Fearful of exploring. Scared of moving out without any agenda. Without a compass. And deciding the compass beforehand for our kids too.

Scared of living. Enough if we can just make a living.

* * *

I thought I could do a lot only if I had all the time in the world. Wrong. Throw me a large chunck of time and I'll laze. The more restricted my time is, the more productively I seem to use it.

One precious moment

So we'd gathered, more than a thousand, on a pleasant thursday
evening. There were many forgotten faces in the gathering--friends adrift, longlost acquaintances, known faces who'd vanished into the unknown to reappear suddenly. It was pure excitement, notwithstanding some of us not fully grasping the importance of the divine moment. At 7.30 p.m. we prayed as one voice out of thousands, for the light to descend and spread. In seven minutes of tremendous silence, a thousand hearts channeled light and love, along with innumerable friends who'd gathered in different cities and towns across the world. Before stepping back to the noise and hustle of the outside world, we prayed Light to bring peace, love and wisdom to every human being on this beautiful planet. We prayed Light to shine over all darkness within and without, to lead us from the depths of despair to the glory of a new day. We prayed Light to take us into the New Age awaiting at the horizons, to make us light, to make us divine.

Did you participate in this groundbreaking yet silent moment with your wish, your intent or your practice? You can do it this very moment and anytime this moment onwards. Welcome to the dawn of the Light Age!!!

* * *

Inspiration

"...One warm, sunny afternoon on the Oregon Coast, when everyone was laughing and talking and telling their truest stories, I had a wave of sadness come over me and I knew I needed to go sit on the sand for a little time away from my dear friends. Walking towards that massive sea and endless blue sky, I had never felt more solitary in some ways or more alone in this particular part of my journey. I could feel that familiar rush of despair coming to me when the beauty of the place captured my heart. I sat down right there and let the water speak to me, and that blue sky, and I realized I could never be alone really, as long as I was walking on this earth. That the earth herself was holding me, making sure I had a place to land with every step I take...."

Why does this little passage move you to tears? How do these words resonate within you, touching a wellspring of love and connectedness deep inside, making you feel that this experience is yours too? What's the magic behind these words, these emotions?

Jen lemen's blog is pure delight, fun and heartwarming. She says, she's helplessly in love with the idea that stories can change you and me forever. She's so right.


Elizabeth Gilbert is the author of the bestseller, 'Eat, pray, Love', which I haven't read yet, but there's another book of hers 'The last american man', about Eustace convay who's living a wholesome life close to nature, away from the artificiality and insanity of our modern society. I munched, gobbled and drank this book thirstily in 2 days flat and the delicous taste still lingers in memory.

By pure chance I landed up here where she speaks about creativity, genius and her own writing process. Just refreshing.

Do you watch Ted talks? I urge you to watch it. Amazing talks by amazing people.

* * *

You stop, just like that, for one brief moment and you know that this question is staring down at you. Why? Why are you here and what are you supposed to be doing with your life? What's driving you? What do you want out of this life? What...is...your...purpose?

Emptiness.... I keep aside all answers that come up immediately and wait. Wait for the answer that's lingering somewhere down there, struggling to come up, burdened under all that conditioning and ready-made theories about life.

I wait for that answer which when takes birth into your awareness, illuminates and sparkles with tremendous brilliance. And has this ring of 'aha! yes. This is it.'...I wait.

Light begins.......

Naveen is my neighbour and a longtime friend. He's the unlikeliest person to be interested in spirituality but he comes up and asks, 'What's the name of your spiritual organization? Read on the internet that you people are organizing a 7 minute meditation, this week. I'd like to attend..'

I tell him that it's not meditation, that it's light channelling which anyone can practice from anywhere. You meditate for your own growth. And you channel light for yourself and also for others.

* * *

On thursday, 26th February 2009, my spiritual organization, Manasa Foundation has arranged a Mega event to launch the Light Channels World Movement. At 7.30 p.m. IST, thousands will gather at Koramangala Indoor stadium in Bangalore and channel light for 7 minutes. And many more from around the world will join us at that time, channelling light from their places. This movement which began last year, will be publicised as widely as possible on that day.

I invite everyone of you for this event. If you're in Bangalore and can be present at the venue, nothing beats that. And you can join us from your own homes by practising the light channeling technique at 7.30 p.m. IST,(2 p.m. GMT) on 26th February.

I've written earlier about Lightchannelling. This light is not the physical light but exists at a subtler realm--we imagine an ocean of light above us, imagine that it descends and fills up our body and then spreads out into the world. This light carries Peace and Love. Practise this for seven minutes every morning and at night. This simple technique is one of the most powerful in terms of healing, self-growth and worldpeace.

I could quote the works/research of great luminaries in the field of paranormal to justify that there are things beyond our ordinary everyday perception. We're somehow cynical when it comes to spirituality--we ask 'how' and 'why' but stop there and think that it's scientific and rational to reject the paranormal. Kinda cool to say we don't believe. And we never venture, never explore, just speculate. We wait for the experts to tell us that these things are real, as real as the concrete everyday world we know. The spiritual is accessible to everyone of us. One needs to take up a practice and experience directly; like stepping out into the drizzle to connect to Nature, not just reading poems about rainfall. Maybe it's hightime we woke up to the spiritual realities that govern our lives.

* * *

Will this movement and this event catch the notice of the Media? Is it possible for this message to reach far and wide to the masses out there? Do those outside the spiritual circles understand the significance of such a movement and actually believe in it to participate?

Great movements have humble beginnings. Like mighty rivers, they gather strength slowly as more tributaries join forces. While the media and others are busy with all the sensational events and worrying news of the world, there are Masters and divine souls who work silently, gathering tremendous positive forces, laying foundations on which the future generations thrive. They work indirectly from the mystical realms and directly through the will and hearts of people like you and me.

One such soul, a lightworker from Newzealand, Soluntra king will be the chief guest for this event. My guru, Krishnananda will launch the Light Channels World Movement on that day.

If you think this is good, if you feel that we're going to be helped and benefitted by this practice, if you feel that this world needs Light now more than at any other time, I request you to spread this message, in your own way. Tell your friends and your family about this movement. If possible, please carry the above video on your websites/blogs, and write a few words about it.

Most importantly, please join this movement with your actual practice. For seven minutes every day, let us bring down the Light and pray for peace and love on this earth. Let us recieve this light and spread it around, to our homes, our cities and to this world.

Light is God. Light is our hope. Let us channel Light, channel God into our lives. And into this world of ours.

Frozen in Time...

Once upon a time, in a far-off place, a small boy used to get 10 paise a day as pocket-money. In those days, you'd get 2 peppermints for 10 paise but this boy, who was me, would swallow his temptation and keep aside the precious coin. Over a period of one month, this collection would grow to nearly 3 rupees and then, one friday evening, after the school bell rang, I'd trot to a nearby bakery, with my best friend by my side. We'd order a mango fruit drink(bejois, I think) and hand the coins over the counter. Then I'd take a sip, a very slow sip from the cool bottle, savouring every drop of the delicious drink. Pass the bottle to Harish and he'd take a sip and give it back. The bottle would pass nearly 10 times between us before getting sucked dry. Walk back home, cool all the way down below your throat, thinking about a similar treat the next month.

I'll never forget that taste, and probably may not savour that deliciousness again. And Harish! Where is he now, I wonder. In which part of the world? Our friendship was legendary. When our kannada teacher would narrate the story of Mahabharata and explain the deep friendship between Duryodhana and Karna, she'd mention 'Like vishwanath and harish', so that everyone would understand. And there were others too, hovering around--a close-knit group of friends. Yet, just over 20 years and not a soul around! Many of us have been thrown around and away by the demands of life, by separate priorities and individual callings. A few live close enough but they're far away. I'm too much absorbed in the details of my everyday living to even bother calling them up. Maybe they too have similar or different obligations. Maybe they're too busy to even look back at the past and remember.

Life amazes whenever you try to reflect back on it. How fast priorities change, how quickly we break away from close-knit groups and fritter away, going new places, making new friends, building new bonds. At any given time, you never imagine that this friendship or kinship is only temporary, that in a few years, this person could be out of sight and out of memory. Yet it happens very often. Just six years ago, there were five of us who'd meet every evening on a cricket field. Play cricket, take a walk to the nearby bakery, chat for nearly an hour in the evening, dream about the future---and now my contact is limited to only one of them--that too, maybe because he's my neighbour! We're not stone-hearted either--given half a chance, maybe we'd be too happy to meet up but it never happens, that half a chance never arrives. Life gallops along at break-neck speed, so you better keep up and keep moving!

A metaphor I came across quite sometime back illustrates this temporariness of human relations. It's as if we're driftwoods, moving along the course of a river. The currents bring us close and keep us together for sometime and as the river enters the planes, we slowly move away, towards new driftwoods, separating again, sailing along. And while we were together, the other person would've meant the world for us. We'd entrust them with our most cherished secrets and fears, envision our dreams with them and hope for a future of shared destines. Little did we know what life had in store for everyone. That it would take another quarter of a century before we'd set eyes on each other again.

An sms and a phone call from one such long lost friend prompted a rush of memories, buried deep down--amazingly fresh and not forgotten. 'Let's meet,' he said.'It's been 25 years since we all came to know each other and became friends. I'll organise.' How exciting would it be to meet them all after such a long time! Some have passed away, some are in different parts of the world. Many would've changed beyond recognition. Yet it would be a wonderful experience to meet these souls who were so close to you, spend time with them, listen to their stories and revive all those antique moments. It's like reclaiming a lost part of yourself.

Yet you know very well that you'll return to the galloping life from this meeting, back to the current friendships and acquaintances, so will these old friends return to their lives. Life will suck you back into its demands and pursuits, handing over new relations, promising everlasting bonding and love. It knows well that you'll get too busy in the details to remember this promise. Maybe that's the way things are meant to be. Maybe this temporariness itself adds beauty and depth to these relations.

Will I meet Harish again? I don't know, but If I do, I'd love to walk with him to the same bakery(which still exists behind our primary school building), order the same mango drink and sip it with him. And remind him of those jingling coins in our pockets as we hopped to this same place, 25 years ago, full of anticipation and excitement. Sentimental? You bet!

That hidden desire...

'It's raining here,' she says over the phone.'And your son's getting scared. So we're telling him that it's nothing, just that God's pissing....'

I have a hearty laugh imagining his expression over hearing this.

* * *

I turned a complete vegetarian one fine day, 18 years ago, after reading an article in a news magazine. It was sudden. Until then, I had no qualms munching fish, chicken, mutton, prawns and molluscs but what made me give up on everything is still a bit hazy for me. I said, 'No more meat for me, please,' and my parents went,'what's wrong with you?' Then followed lots of admonishes, threats(in a jovial way), cajoles, taunts, but I held fast. Only twice I lost control--once in mumbai when I said, what the hell, and went and had a chicken biriyani. And another time, it was during one of my visits to my village. The aroma of the prawn curry was so tantalizing, so mouth watering, that I kept aside all shame, went to my aunt and said, 'Well...I think, I'll have it...' and everyone roared with laughter and it was the big news of the day.

Later I took up meditations and came to understand the low vibrations of non-vegetarian food that comes in the way of spiritual growth, but by that time, I'd outgrown my desire for it. Sometimes my friends would remind me that the cake I just had was prepared out of bread and Egg and I'd say, 'fine'. Think about it a bit and ponder whether it would be a good idea to give up on cakes or go only for eggless cakes. But it wasn't a bother, though. What's still pricking is the occasional saliva that springs automatically whenever the aroma of an egg omlette wafts through the air. I mean, we used to prepare it at home--two eggs mashed thoroughly, lots of onion, coriander leaves, chillies, soft coconut layers and you pour the mixture into a flat disc shape and roast it to a golden brown colour on low flame, take it out and while it's still hot, fold it between two slices of bread and then....Difficult not to salivate imagining it...

'Eat it once, if you're so crazy,' she admonishes. Yes, no, Yes, no.......

* * *

Valentine's day is nearing, so all the lunatics of our land are getting ready for another round of terrorism. The right-wing groups here have threatened that they'll hunt for couples who're out celebrating on that day, catch hold of them, take them to the registrar's office and forcibly get them married! And the left wing groups have threatened to kick these guys who attempt such intimidation. Meanwhile our venerable government(ruled by the right wing party), which we've elected to govern us, has issued statements saying that no group will be banned, everyone has the right of expression and nobody should take law into one's hand.

It makes one wonder in which era and which country are we living in? Is this India or the taliban controlled afghanistan? And, have we, by any chance slipped out of the 21st century into the dark middle ages?

What horrifies me even more is the utter insensitivity and cluelessness of a few people I know very closely, whom I interact with everyday--who're supporting these right wing lunatics! It's bloody shocking. My colleageaus say that these groups are right, these couples have no business going around and corrupting the culture! When the same groups attacked a pub in Mangalore a few weeks ago and bashed up the partygoers in the name of upholding our sacred culture, we were watching the events on TV. My family members said that those youngsters deserved it for enjoying so much, that it's high time someone told them how to behave. I mean, what the hell, dammit. I was too numb to say anything. Is it just that something's wrong with me, when I say that nobody has any business dictating terms to others? That there's no such thing as culture or tradition and what's happening here is pure goondaism? That you can't bloody impose your beliefs on others, you idiots!

This is ridiculuos. Bloody ridiculous. Hell.

First one

A foggy morning, and before the dawn sets in I'm out of my bed. It's monday but a holiday as
today's the Indian Republic Day. Thirty minutes, I'm on the mat, meditating. All the while I'm reflecting on how long has it been since I sat for meditation at this Godly hour. That it was 23 years ago on this day that we moved into this new house. That today is the first eclipse of the year and I have a special meditation session to attend. That it has rained badly in Jammu yesterday and the temperature's freezing, hope they've kept my kid properly wrapped up in warm pullovers.

*

Death is on my mind as I drive through the early morning streets. Two days back at this hour, just a few miles across the city, a drunken car moved down four early morning joggers. The very thought sends a shudder as my grip tightens on the steering wheel. I swerve carefully across every bend, slow down at every cross, suppress my urge to press the pedal once roads become long stretches--I'm careful to the core. Yet, I jump a signal and drive straight into the arms of a waiting policeman.

'Didn't you see the redlight, sir?' he smiles. 'You know what happened two days back?'

Nausea. I want to get out of here as soon as possible.

'The fine will be rs. 400.' He's too polite for a cop.

'I'll pay 200,' I blurt out. Should I have said 100?

'Ok.'

Back in the car. Accelerate. My mind's a battlefield. Right? Wrong? You just added your precious bit to this corrupt system. No, you've to be practical. Cut the shit, you're no hero, you are this system. No, no, it's like this...

Why didn't I think twice before deciding to chuck the fine and circumvent things? Why was I lost for those 3 minutes? Why did I slip into survival mode so fast, throwing out all reasoning? Why was my focus only on saving 200 rs and nothing else? Why wasn't I thinking of light all along....

*

My body resists but gives in gradually. Sitting unmoved at a place for four hours is not a joke, but you can train yourself. Slowly at first. I manage to meditate for an hour and a half. Thoughts run wild. My first job, four years back. I'd just finished a course and was brushing up on a few things when a friend called up to say,'There's an opening.' I refused.'Give me sometime to prepare,' I said, not admitting to myself a terrible nervousness, a sense of inadequacy. 'Nothing doing,' he said.'Just attend this inteview or you'll regret it. You think it's going to wait for your preparation?' With a fluttering heart, I set out and sailed smoothly into my present job.

Lessons are seldom learnt. I'm still preparing, still equipping to move from here to something better. Stepping into the water, inch by inch, learning how to swim by testing the waters, feeling the cold...Just take the plunge. Nothing waits. You'll always be on the surface. It's as if the same friend is exhorting me. He's here no more.

Not just the job. Everywhere. In every place. At some point, you pack up the never ending preparations and just take a leap of faith. You bloody jump.

'We shall end the session.....' comes the voice. The eclipse has just ended. You're already in 2009. Look ahead, will ya?

Fathers and Sons

My room is empty again, after nearly three years. Archana and the kid are in Jammu for two months and I'm back to bangalore, back to the routine after spending a week with them. I'd secretly wished for this solitude, waited to be alone here, with my dreams, with my freedom but now....I miss them. I miss my son, I miss his laughter, his kisses, his mischiefs, his tears, his complaints...This attachment is new to me.

***

It's newyear eve and I'm leafing through a book when Dad clears his throat. 'We've brought a
bottle of whiskey,' he hesitates.'Would you like to have some?' I refuse but he insists: 'Just a
small one.' After sometime he goes upstairs, sits with my brother-in-law with the bottle and two glasses and they're on the way to welcome the newyear in high spirits.

What's amazing is the degree of openness that has developed between Dad and me over the past few years. I couldn't have imagined him offering me a drink, say five years ago but things have changed slowly. He's relaxing into a sober background and allowing things to happen, immersing himself into his favourite activity: writing short stories. He has a strong attachment towards my son, and tejas too prefers to spend more time with him whenever Dad's at home. Sometimes dad will be out for the whole day and upon returning at night, he'll walk up two storey's to our room to cuddle our son, just because he couldn't do so in the day.

At home sometimes I fly into a rage when tejas is admonished or glared at for his antics, and soon I'll be lecturing all and sundry about proper child-rearing practices. Dad watches silently, maybe amused, maybe feeling helpless because his role is limited only to offering love to his grandson and nothing more. Then he sighs. 'Our kids grew up so fast, maybe we should've spent more time with them, given them more attention...'

It could be his constant interaction with my son which opened bridges between me and Dad. Or maybe it's so with all parents--with age, you mellow and soften towards your kids, overlooking their drawbacks, understand them more. Or maybe it's the other way; becoming a parent makes one more responsive, understanding and forgiving towards his parents

Your upbringing contributes most towards making you the person you are. But sometimes you defy it, positively. Dad grew up in harsh conditions yet was far more gentle and compassionate than what his upbringing was expected to make of him. Maybe it was his reading, his creative abilities or some inner inspiration that shaped his personality, rather than the humiliations, loneliness and insults he faced growing up in a backward village. If only his Dad had been as responsive and attentive as he was, if he had met someone like my guru at a young age, if this and if that....

Nope. Life is just and fair as it is, beyond our myopic preferances. Dad's and Mom's parents shaped their lives the way my parents shaped mine and helped me become the person I am today. And when I and Archana take decisions for our kid, we're aware that every step we take will contribute hugely towards his future, towards his personality, his character.

That makes it all the more challenging amidst the fun, inspiration and exhilaration of parenthood.

***

I'm reminded of a wonderful poem from one of Tabor's life stories. A tribute to her dad: 'Salt of the earth'. How many times have I read it!