The Thug from Taponagara...

'You look a lot tired, with that beard of yours. When are you going to shave it off?'

'Not before 21st dec, 2012...'

'Why're you persisting with this look? You look different, like a ruffian...'

Yes, I do. Like a recluse. Like LCD, who after three years reappeared, with knotted, unwashed hair like a sanyasi, but with a wife and small daughter in tow. My appearance has changed in the past few months, because of my unkempt, untrimmed beard--sparse on the cheeks and lush on the chin. I have no reason not to shave, not look like a decent bummer. But I don't think ones appearance changes just because of a change of hairstyle or by the presence/lack of facial hair. When something changes within, in the attitude or way of thinking of a person, it manifests in his outward appearance in subtle and mysterious ways. So you somehow look different if your inner structures are broken or rebuilt, even if you're all trimmed up and pucca on the outer.

In my late teens I grew long hair falling on my shoulders--I didn't visit the barber for almost two years. That appearance somehow suited the introversion and angst I was going through at that time. Looking back, I think it was an act of rebellion, a kind of asserting my feeble rights that made me not cut my hair. Around that time, there was a classmate of mine in college, who had decent whiskers and was a silent guy who kept to himself all the time. In the final year of college, he did a U turn--shaved off his beard and also became notoriously outgoing. It would be wrong to associate his change in nature with the beard but somehow that connection clicked for me. Without the beard, it was as if he'd kept aside a mask, or had gotten rid of something, some block and soon the energy of life was flowing through him. It could all be mumbo jumbo or maybe there's some stupid connection.

When I see a bearded man, I wonder how he'd look if he had a clean shave. Most of the time it's impossible to imagine, it's like trying to think up someone without their ears or nose--the change in appearance could be that drastic. The beard grower also seems to sense this intutively--very few people with healthy beards shave them off; the beards are a part of their face, their personality and will persist for the entire life. If you remove it, either you're keeping aside something and exposing yourself, or you're getting rid of a past baggage and are starting a new phase. Like it happened with a friend, kitty, who shaved off his beard after years and years of his bachelor existence and entered wedlock, with a clean slate(and clean face).

Of course, all of this has no relation or significance to my small, young whiskers. I'm not growing any blocks within, nor am I putting on a mask. But if I look thuggish with this appearace, Yes! I've become a thug off late. I've become irreverant, with a go-to-hell attitude. Good for me, I guess.

New beginning...

What's the price of independence?

Responsibility! The moment you step out and break free, along with the exhilaration, you also realize that the reins of your life are now totally in your hands. That you have to attend to all the details of life--big and small--and sometimes you never knew that all these details even existed.

We three have now moved out of the city, to a small rented house in Taponagara, close to the new airport. This dream from all these years is
now actualized and with this, there are a number of undreamt challenges. All of a sudden my hitherto sufficient income appears inadequate, and I'm scrambling for more revenues, for more savings, better prospects. Expenses are now monitored; gone are the days of carefree spending. We're setting up a home almost from scratch, deciding on furniture, postponing certain purchases, planning sitting arrangement in the living room, decorations, gardening plans etc. The kitchen looks like a complex jungle, a separate universe in itself, with its own ecosystem--handling and managing it needs a different kind of intelligence. There are new people in my world now...plumbers, electricians, water suppliers, milkmen, newspaper delivery boys, telephone exhange linemen, dhobis...and one needs to be sauve enough to deal with them, get the necessary work done in time, follow up...exhausting at times. A hundred decisions need to be taken and now, it's you who have to do it and you can't deleagate or expect someone else to get it done.

Living in a village also means you're saved from the dirty air, madrush and the congested life of a city dweller. And it also means you're a tad away from the ease and comfort of the modern amenities which you're sure to take for granted in a city existence. Rains are plentiful and torrential. Last week's downpour uprooted several trees, cutting off major electrical lines, and the power was restored after three days, during which we'd to make do with our limited supply of water. Electricity plays hide and seek several times in a day. Mobile phone signals become scarce in the middle of a phone conversation. The nearest market is 2 miles away, so is the hospital. A one way drive to the office consumes a healthy 2 hours through the rush-hour traffic. My parents live at the other end of the city, so a visit to them or a visit from them means you've to keep aside one full day. Nights bring swarms of mosquitoes and packs of vicious dogs whose favourite pastime is to chase any vehicle down the road.

Yet, this is my home, my dream nest, right in the pocket of my spiritual centre. For the past 10 years, we've come to this place every sunday to learn meditations, to understand higher realities, to dream with the masters, sharing the dream with friends...and now we're here, residing in this sacred place. The place of Rishis and Rishi-like people. We're amongst people who are friends for lifetimes. Great energies are anchored here in the meditation halls and towers. Our friends have joined this place and this Work, keeping aside their careers, families and many many dreams ...we can't match their sacrifices but can only get inspired being with them.

Feel good being here. Now.

No smooth sail...

It's been a period of turmoil. I haven't gone through such a range of intense emotions in so short a period. First it was a kind of disbelief and outrage. Followed by disgust and a terribly intense rage. Boiling anger. Then, pure helplessness when I found out that I could do nothing in the situation. Now it's solid grief at the realisation that many tender buds have been quashed. Something delicate has just died within.

The summer heat blisters during the day but evening skies rain down showers to cool our city. I stare at the empty midnight streets, reflecting on a thousand things. Meditations have gone haywire--it's been ages since I could touch a few seconds of solitude and stillness, amidst the raging fire of thoughts. I've stopped thinking about my career, about my next job and have been just coasting along in my current role. We are about to shift out of this house, from this place where I spent almost all my life. We'll be moving into a separate house--I, archu and eeshu--away from my parents, from my sister's family. It's a new life which we'd been anticipating for many reasons, a bit melancholic, a bit thrilling--an independent existence. There are a few confusions, a bit of clarity and many doubts.

Of course, no journey is smooth. It shouldn't be too. I remember this quote from nick's blog: 'what makes life possible is an intolerable anxiety of an unknown tomorrow'. Why tomorrow, the next moment is unknown. I want to be certain about it, I want clarity but life has a thousand aces up its sleeve. One moment everything's fine, but the next moment, you're in the bad books of those you love, those you respect from your deepest core. You admire a friend, interact with him, only to realise that he's changed into a dumb monster. You never know whom to trust, whom to turn to, whom to confide things in. Gods turn into sub-human beings with feet of clay. A whole new world opens up before you, where you derive insights to look at many things from a fresh perspective and soon many things start to fall in place, start to make sense. People are selfish, they want to be guarded and would love to burn you just to gain a few minutes of warmth on a cold night; but before you start to condemn them, you begin to suspect if you're free of all these virtues. Then you sit up and ask....what now? What next?

The answers aren't coming but I guess, they will.

Sad Insights...

Don't be in awe of any asshole...

Recognise bullshit as bullshit...

Step back and look at the bigger picture...

Know that everything's in transition...

Do your work..count your blessings...

When thousand voices bark, listen to your common sense...

A spade is a spade and the emperor is naked.

Unfinished ones...

The 'Thin red line' joins my list of half- abandoned movies. Not that it's bad or unwatchable but I just couldn't find the initiative to continue watching it. So, after 20 minutes, I switched off the tv and drifted into a good sleep, lulled by the faint splutter of the midnight drizzle.

There are many similar movies and even more number of books which couldn't take me along upto the end. Earlier I used to feel guilty for not finishing them, for not doing justice to the contents--as if the book would feel bad for my actions or as if I'm answerable to the filmmaker. A recent realization is that not only is it wrong to stick on to a bad(?) book /movie/job but it's also a criminal act against ones own soul. Stretch beyond a point where you feel 'enough' and soon you'll begin to sense a faint nausea. Ignore it for too long and you get used to that, so, ultimately you'll be plodding amidst a lot of yucky things.

Then it becomes important to stop right there, say 'enough' and actually get out of it. And it takes a bit of balls too. When you realise that you're in wrong company, its only fair that you shut the book, switch off the movie, prepare your cv...etc

Maybe, just maybe, this applies to every other aspect of Life too. When the entire world says 'stay in the herd' but your heart says 'watchout'....what do you do? Play it safe, continue the game and ignore the nausea that keeps building up? Or gather the nerves to follow your wisdom?

From a small act of shutting down an unreadable book to many other challenges, we face innumerable dilemmas and paradoxes at every step of the journey. Do this or do that, stop here or continue for some more time, follow the herd-instinct or listen to that inner voice...? Maybe it's not easy to generalise or find simple answers to all of them. Personally, I'd say, 'keep the bull-shit detector on and when your heart yells out, be unafraid to say thank you for everything but now... fuck off'.

Because, the Universe always takes care of you, no matter what. Life has no full stops, damnit!

a stray thought...

Suddenly she looked up and asked,'Why are we discussing them over and over? Is there nothing else to talk about?'

She was right. I had become obsessed with those two scumbags from the past few days. All of our talks were revolving around them, their past deeds, their current misadventures, the future disasters they might bring about, etc. Although I didn't tell her, it was the outrage, disgust, helplessness I was feeling about many related issues that bothered me as much as the events themselves. It was as if something had hit me, penetrated and passed right through me in the heart, taking away all that I'd held dear over the years. It was like waking up one morning to realise that you weren't a human being at all but a piece of dirt which had been dreaming all along. Like the ground on which you stand didn't exist any longer and you were in a free fall into a never ending abyss. Much worse than that.

'Life isn't just this. There are a hundred other dreams with us. Let us focus on them. Let us continue our journey and leave the rest for God to take care...'

Not easy. Not easy.

State of living

Things fall apart
the center cannot hold
Mere anarchy is loosend upon the world
The blood dimm'd tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
are full of passionate intensity
......
-W B Yeats

Some thoughts...

I wonder at this act of penning down one's thoughts. What could be the motive, the intention behind this?What does a poet want to achieve when he puts his words out into empty space? Does he find salvation when these words touch other hearts and convey the meaning which he filled them with? How does he know that the words have reached the target and whispered something? Does he crave recognition, attention--is that the motive? If there wouldn't be a soul to applaud, appreciate, even criticise or ignore, would he still write, sing, dance, paint, express?

Or does he act out of a compulsion? An unstoppable urge to create, to give life? Maybe the intention behind his creativity is not to share or find glory reflected in the beholder's eyes but to just bring out what's welling up inside. Manifest the inner song. In that moment of creation he is God Himself, a spark of the divine, expressing himself without any expectations.

And maybe, just a moment later he comes down to the human realm, to share his creation with others, just for the joy of sharing. And possibly finds happiness when appreciated, or validated.

Reading Keith Johnstone, you come across a number of 'aha' moments. Then you try it out, put the book aside, reflect...maybe you experiment a bit. 'Keep you head still', 'Lock into the others' eyes', 'Keep the toes out'...you try these subtle adjustments to see if they create different conditions, within and outside as well. His suggestions begin to work, slowly, unawares. There was this book, 'The right to speak', by Patsy rodenburg, which I'd read years ago. After practicing some of those voice exercises, suddenly my voice took on an amazing texture, freshness and aliveness. Keith has a similar effect on you. It's as if a number of blocks that have accumulated inside start to melt away.

One of my biggest fears is that my son will grow up to become just like me. So I cringe everytime someone comes up and compliments with: 'He's just like you, a replica,' and I almost feel like I should stop them in mid-sentence. There are many things that I dislike in myself, that I'm struggling to unlearn, which I don't want to see reflected in him. Maybe these were perpetuated by my upbringing, with the bitterness and humiliations that refuse to fade away from memory. It gets all the more suffocating when I see him go through similar things, many times because of our own unconscious behaviour. At times when I lose patience and yell at him, when his eyes fill up, I sit up with a jolt. I have to remind myself over and over that this little plant needs all the space, air and nourishment...and I have to catch myself from tripping over, at my most exasperate moments, so that I don't trample upon his tender self-respect.

New lessons...

There's that smirk on all those faces as you continue to speak. It wasn't there when you first stood up and not when you began talking, but soon, slowly their faces light up. You can feel a sweat break down the forehead. YOur voice chokes but you continue to plod along. Soon four of them are smiling at your discomfort, one girl is looking away because she's unable to watch your agony and the last guy's sitting unmoved. You want to kick yourself for being the object of ridicule. You want to be able to talk like a pro and impress audiences. This is a small group of six people, so If you can't talk well in front of them, how the heck can you perform before huge audiences in some distant future. That future where you, along with your comrades, are spreading the word and showing people the way, sharing with them your learnings. That future where you have to appear totally convincing to others. Where you're not supposed to make a fool of yourself. Where you've to inspire others to greatness, so you better become that first.

Yet you continue to blabber, mentally telling the world to gocha hell, 'cause it matters not what other's gonna think about ya. Let them call you a fool, a fool you are. Let them call you a loser if they want to. You're here to tell something today, so let them better hear it or pay attention to your mannerisms if they want to. You'll stand here or somewhere else tomorrow too and continue to talk.

The next available opportunity and again you stand up, but are less nervous now. The quiver subsides, so do the smirks.

The demon's still lurking in the shadows--not totally vanquished. You know that it will die only when you face it. Unafraid. It'll grow in strength every time you shrink back, thinking what the next guy thinks about you. When you let go of that notion, when you detach and say, 'so what?', it's the death knell for the demon.

No, it's not just about public speaking. It's about every fear, every hesitation, every anxiety that has kept you down all the time. Worry about the endresult and you'll remain fucked. As God told the disciple on the battlefield, 'Standup, do it and let the Universe decide the outcome.'

Breaking story on newshour...

This one