Essense of appreciating beauty

Let me ask you a question. Have you ever thought of what really constitutes beauty?, or more specifically, appreciation of beauty?. On its own beauty is meaningless. Its power comes from the effect it has on you. I recall once going to this wonderful garden tended by this really old man. The garden was this really huge sprawling space filled with incredible sights and smells. Orchids, carnations, roses, daisies, many tropical plants and ferns, huge trees.... it was almost too much to take in. So I walked over to the old man as he sat pruning a rose bed and asked him.

"Is there a spot from where I can really take all this in? I mean, is there some place from where I can, you know, maybe see the whole garden and , you know, maybe get the real essence of all this fantastic stuff that you have done?

He looked up, slowly, locked his rheumatic eyes with mine.

"You really want that?"

"Yeah, absolutely"

So he slowly got up on his feet, reached out for his cane and shuffled ahead.

"Follow me", he said over his shoulder.

We walked past all the beautiful flowers to an isolated corner. It had nothing but a single potted plant in the center with a chair beside it.

"Sit here on this chair and focus on this flower, admire it, see it, smell it, touch it.... and when you are done just whistle. I will take this flower away and fetch you another. The only way to get to the essence of all this beauty around you is to take it one flower at a time."

Essense of being found

There is this little Bar close to where I used to work and often in the evening I would go across with some friends and sit back and chill. It is a lovely place, relaxed, great music, great decor, but for me what made the place special was this young bartender. He was the life of the bar, always ready with a smile, always remembered what you liked to drink, knew exactly when to come over and chat and when to leave you alone. He had been there for a long long time and I often wondered what he was doing in this little place. He was clearly too good for this bar, he could choose any of those upmarket drinking holes where he would have made much much more money that he did here. But day after day, month after month he was always there. The same place, the same smile. What added to his aura was this intriguing talk that once he was just like one of the regular customers. And much like me he liked to come in the evening and unwind. It is said that he had this lovely companion most of the time, an upcoming model. Then something happened and one day he asked the manager if he could move behind the bar. Good for us, really, but still why not move on?

One day I was alone so I chose to sit at the bar nursing a drink and he came over to chat. I couldn't let the chance go so I shamelessly asked him what kept him here. He continued to polish a glass, looked around as if making up his mind, then he turned towards me and said.

"When I was a little boy my mom used to take me to the park. And she used to always tell me, listen son, if we ever lose each other don't you go around looking for me. Just stay where you are so that I can find you."

Essense of being brave

It is said that the Israelites and Philistines were head to head on opposite mountains with the valley of Elah separating them. The two great armies faced each other ready for the battle. While the Israelites had many a brave soldiers, all of them shuddered at the sight of this giant among the Philistines. The giant, Goliath, bellowed fearsomely and called upon the Israeli warriors to meet him one on one in the valley of Elah and decide the battle. Days went by but no Israelite would take up the challenge and the King was running out of options. One day a lad by the name David came to deliver the daily bread to the king and heard him despair about the giant. So David went up to the king and told him that he was willing to fight Goliath. The King was overcome by the lad's bravery and gave him his personal armour. But the armour was too big for the little lad so he left the armour behind and began climbing down to the valley. Along the way he picked up five smooth stones for his sling shot and was ready to meet the giant. Goliath saw David come down and he was enraged that they dare send him such a puny opponent. So he growled like a thousand lions and ran down to crush David. It was a fearsome sight, this huge giant trundling towards little David, eyes all bloodshot, arms spread wide itching to crush, the barrel chest heaving....

David waited, and waited, his sling ready and swinging slowly. He waited some more and just when he thought it was right he swung the sling shot and out flew the stone. The stone was aimed perfectly and hit Goliath right in the middle of the eyes. His skull split and the giant instantly fell at David's feet. Dead as a dodo.

Ofcourse all of us know this story but tell me have you ever wondered what made little David take up the challenge that all the other warriors didnt dare? The first thing he did was overcame his own fear. That must have been difficult but once he had no fear the rest was, i imagine, easy. That is how one destroys monsters in our own lives. We first overcome our own fears, we then stand our ground. And then when we meet the monster, our lack of fear allows us to think clearly, allows us to do what we have to do to overcome that monster.

Zen master and the little boy

There was a little boy in a village who lived next door to a zen master. When the little boy turned 14, his father gave him a pony. All the neighbours were delighted and said "how very wonderful". However, when the zen master heard the news all he said was "well, lets see..."

Two years later the boy was riding his pony and somehow fell from it and broke his leg. The neighbours all came together, clicked their tongues and said "how very terrible".

The zen master saw this and all he said was "well, lets see..."

A year later a war was declared and all the able bodied boys were sent off to the front. The boy was spared as he was a cripple. The neighbours were happy for him and said "how very fortunate..."

The zen master saw this too and said "well, lets see...."

So what's the point of my story????

"well, lets see....."

Being Hindu

Last few days i felt good about being a hindu... its seems a few thousand years ago some intrepid hindus travelled far east and spread the good god's word. Far east, really far east, far east like Java, Bali, Thailand and a whole lot of countries in between. The locals lapped it up and made a whole new religion for themselves.

So when a couple of millennium later I landed in Bali I saw around me all those familiar sights of beautiful hindu temples, colourful offerings, joss sticks and diyas. Even the gods were all familiar gods like Ishwara, Brahma, Vishnu & Mahesh.

We went to a traditional dance performance and they did a piece from Ramayan. A few days later we saw another performance, this time based on the Mahabharata. Our taxi driver spoke to us about Karma and how one had to be good right now so that in the next life we came back as humans and not animals. Somehow he got talking about how some religions were not tolerant of other religions but didnt they understand that all religions were mere paths leading to the same destination. Therefore why should one say that this path is better that the other, or why should one have to choose and stick with just one path?.

He spoke with difficulty, English was not his strong point but to me he neednt have spoken at all, his thought have been my thoughts for as long as I can remember, drilled and hard coded in my brain from all those spiritual lectures my devout grandma used to give us each night.

The final surprise was kept right till the end. On our way to the airport our taxi driver inserted a CD into the player. He smiled and said "you will like this" and from the speakers wafted in a melodiously sung Gayatri Mantra!!!

Feeling at home apart there was another reason why I felt good about being a hindu. Twice while haggling over the price of an artifact we were offered a special discount.... "you from India??? you Hindu??? here special special price....

Mousetrap

There was once a mouse who made himself comfortable in a farmer's house. Food was plentiful, there were simply tonnes of places to scurry about and have fun and a nice little hole on the kitchen roof to doze. Things were just fine. The farmer's wife however thought a little differently about sharing her house with a mere mouse. So one fine morning the mouse saw the farmer walk into the kitchen with a mousetrap. He was greatly alarmed and rushed out to seek some help.

He first came across a chicken and pleaded with her "Please, please dear Hen, help me get rid of the mousetrap". The hen was pecking at her morning grain and wouldn't be too bothered. She clucked "ahh hmm.. well its a mousetrap, it ain't no threat to me... you do it yourself please".

The mouse was disappointed but he rushed on and saw a pig wallowing in the mud. "Please please Mr. Pig, do help me get rid of the mousetrap" the mouse tried again. The pig loved his morning wallow and he too wouldn't be too bothered so he grunted "oink umh.. well you see god made me big so that i cant possibly fit into a puny mousetrap. Buddy I got bigger things to worry about so dont bother me with your little problems. Now if you please you are cutting my sunshine".

The mouse just sighed and rushed on. Just as he took the turn around the barn he saw a cow grazing in the fields. "Aha", he said, "now here a true friend in deed". So he rushed to her and asked for help. Now the cow was a gentle creature and knew all about helping others and all that. But you see she hadn't eaten in a while and the grass was really green and juicy. So in a way she wouldn't be not too bothered... right now atleast.

So she mooed "dear dear mouse, life is such you know. God throws us all challenges and wants us to take them on so that we can become strong. Now if one kept asking for help with all the challenges then wont that spoil God's great plan. Come on, help him out, that mousetrap is your problem, deal with it. Now run along please"

The mouse was tired of running around trying to get help and in any case everybody seemed to tell him that this was his problem. And weren't they right too. After all how can a piddly mousetrap ever be a threat to them. Mousetrap was made for trapping mice. Period. So he decided to do something about it himself. He thought and thought all day but couldn't find a way to get rid of the mousetrap. So very tried and scared he crept into his little hole and went to sleep.

Around midnight when all was dark and quite the farmer's wife suddenly heard the mousetrap spring shut and with a whoop of delight she rushed towards the kitchen to see her mouse caught. It was very dark and therefore she didn't see that it was not a mouse that was caught but a snake's tail and the snake, mad with pain, went straight for her leg and sank its fangs in. She screamed and that brought the farmer with a light and that was the end of the poor snake. Now the farmer ran to get a doctor who came rightaway and did all he could to save her.

In the morning the doctor asked the farmer to get something for her to eat as she continued to be very weak. So the farmer went out, caught hold of the chicken and made some nice chicken soup for his dear wife. That day all sorts of relatives and friends and friend's of friends kept dropping in to check on his wife. Now he was a good host and would hear nothing of not taking any trouble and so he got the pig butchered and had some nice ham and bacon and sausages for the guests to eat while he faithfully served his ailing wife. But all his efforts were in vain as the wife soon passed away. So now the farmer had more relatives, and more friends and all sorts of friend's of friends and who all not, all came to sympathise and be with him at this difficult moment. Well, he was still a good host and there were so many more people to feed so he took the butcher aside and pointed him towards the cow. And soon enough there was ample beef on the table for all to eat.

In the evening when everybody had gone and the farmer was sitting alone at the kitchen table shedding a few silent tears he saw the offending mousetrap. He was furious, "Curse the day I got this in the house" he bellowed and taking the mousetrap in his strong bare hands he crushed the contraption into a mangled heap of wires and spring. He then threw it away and went straight to bed.

The mouse saw all this from his little hole and wondered what to make of it If the mousetrap was meant only to kill a mouse and no one else could be bothered with it then how come because of it a snake was dead, a chicken was dead, a pig was dead and so was a cow.

Its because in this lovely land of ours all of us are linked to each other. Their problems are not just their problems, and just because we aren't a part of the problem, and probably would never have those problems ourselves, it doesn't mean that we don't have to try and help them.

The new age mousetraps:
Road Rage
Domestic Violence
Physical Abuse
Drug Abuse
Ozone Hole
Green house gases
Electric bulbs,
Racial discrimination,
Terrorism in the name of religion,
& tonnes of stuff like that.....

Earth Hour

March 29th saw several cities all over the world observed the Earth Hour. As part of the Earth Hour respective city administrations switched off the power in their cities and banned all traffic movement for exactly an hour from 8pm to 9 pm. It was hoped that this would generate awareness among the masses about global warming. India did not participate in this initiative but some schools encouraged students to write something to commemorate the event.


Here is what an 11 year old girl wrote:

Come March 29th as the clock strikes the 8pm hour,
some good folks expect us to shut off the power,
they want us to use the heat of the hearth
for all these electrical bulbs are overheating our earth.

We all bitch about all this pollution in the air
yet merrily buzz about in our cars without a care.
'There's way too much global warming' we all fuss,
Hey, Chill it Bro, all this is just because of us.

Astronomers cant see much of the outer space
because of all this crazy dust and haze,
our cities are at night way too bright
so we kids never get to enjoy a starry night.

Dear people, lets all work together to fight this pollution
and the Earth Hour is just a small step in that simple solution.
So please, please my fellow friends, stop all this worrying about,
lets do our bit and this pollution is gone without a doubt.

Aakanksha J.

Essense of Being.

Zen masters lived such simple lives that often it took a second glance to seperate the masters from their disciples. One such zen master, Kam-ban, dressed so simply that most of the times people mistook him for a common mendicant. They would fill his bowl with leftovers and then send him on his way. Had those people known who he really was they would have certainly invited him in and treated him like an honoured guest. Kam-ban did nothing to let those people know who he was but once alone in the forest he would often utter a word or two of such brilliance that the trees would seem to sway and stoop in admiration.

Koji was a bright student of Kam-ban. He was very protective towards his master and sometimes got into a fight with people who he thought did not accord proper respect to his master. Kam-ban would then rap Koji's knuckles with a stick and remind him of his vows.

Once Koji and Kam-ban were going through a forest and came across a waterfall. Both decided to stop and rest. Koji fell asleep for a while and when he woke up he saw his master standing at the very edge of the waterfall and much to his horror he saw his master slip and fall down the precipe. He screamed and rushed down to help his master. When he reached the bottom he saw his master calmly emerge from the pool. Koji admonished his master for stepping so close to the edge. Kam-ban calmly replied, ' the edge of the waterfall holds no fear for he who falls with the fall and flows with the flow'

What it takes to grow up

Growing old is mandatory.... Growing Up?, well that's certainly optional.

What does it take to grow up?. Truth be told, its about taking responsibilities, about beginning to own up. Growing up is therefore about situations and not about time. How we handle situations shows how grown up we are.


Being able to take responsibilities and being selfless are just two sides of a coin, they go hand in hand. The more self centered we are the less is our ability to own up to others. To be able to open up to others, to be able to walk a mile in their shoes is the pathway of growing up. As a look back, the path of the 'Grown Ups' is littered with lost opportunities for self appeasement. Its important to put oneself two steps behind and find happiness in the happiness of others.

Fatherhood is one of the greatest opportunities to grow up. It lends itself quite naturally. The moment you hold that little baby in your trembling hands, selfishness just leaps out of your life. The funny part is, that, somewhere along the way, as time passes by, the original feelings wear off and then being grown up becomes a conscious minute to minute effort. Every moment we are faced with the option to remain grown up or revert to infancy.

In all honesty, I don't think I have always done the right thing as a father. And I don't think its humanly possible to do the right thing all the time.

I just want to be able to say to myself, in all honesty, that I am constantly growing up. Just that.

Cafe Musings 401

The Thinker, my Buddhist friend, my sounding board, my conscience keeper, called earlier today and said just one word,

“Coffee?”

And that is how we ended up once again in that quaint noisy little café overlooking the market place. I, with my coffee and he, with his ice-tea. We were meeting after months and I know that he had been away in the Himalayas. As he sat there, he dipped into his pocket and presented me with a beautiful book on the interpretation of ‘om mani padme hum’ the most powerful Buddhist mantra. Tibetans believe that chanting of this mantra invokes in those that chant it a feeling of absolute compassion and a state of bliss. I asked him if this was true.

Like always, he smiled and waited while thoughts arranged themselves in his mind. He then dipped his finger into the ice tea and flicked a drop in the air, chanted the mantra and offered his drink to nature, returning a little of what had been given to him.

He then said:

“Bliss is not so much about feeling happy and satisfied; it’s more about a feeling that things can’t get any better. The moment one feels that something can’t get any better then one feels a tiny rush of bliss.

There is so much perfection all around us that we don’t have to look very far to see something that can’t get any better. Almost everything in the nature around us is perfect, there is bliss everywhere. We just need to unite with nature.

Just like the river unites with the ocean

Just like the wind unites with the fragrance of the flowers

Just like the dawn unites with the warmth of the sun

Just like the prayers written on the flags unite with the winds

Just like the shrill call of the eagles unites with the peace of the valley below

Each loses itself while trying to unite but eventually gains so much from the union. So it is with the realization of bliss. We go looking for perfection and when we find it, the discovery leaves us filled with awe. We wonder in the ability of nature to awe us with its tiniest creation and it is in that realization, my friend, where bliss hides”.

Gusts of wind

I have always been fascinated with wind and what it can do with light things like a feather, or a leaf, or an empty plastic bag. I like the way it will make these things swirl and float, make them rise or dive, twist and turn, literally make them dance to some ethereal tune I cannot hear. I don’t know why this should fascinate me or why I should see beauty in it but I do and that is how it is. Sometimes when I write I get the same feeling, as if my hand is the wind and as it writes it takes those words and swirls them, turns them, makes them float about. As the work progresses I see all those words I wrote dancing, rising and falling, happy and free.

There was once a friend who did the same with the spoken word and as he told stories he would hold us all in a spell. His eyes, his hands, his face, in fact his whole body would weave those words into complicated ‘maya-jaals’ that would capture us, binding us into tight little bundles totally at his disposal.
He loved to tell stories but he loved more the way he could cast a spell on us. Unfortunately he took things a bit too far when, a few years ago, he was in a village in Rajasthan and was as usual telling stories. Caught up in is own omnipotence he dared to make eyes with the nubile daughter of the local thakur. The thakur didn’t like that and had his tongue nipped off…. Yicks!! Now my friend is trying his hand at writing but the magic is just not there.

One of his favorite stories was about a Buddhist monk who was on his way somewhere along with his young disciple. The path was through a forest and since it had been raining for a while, the path was quite slushy. At a particularly muddy intersection the two monks came across a very attractive young woman in a beautiful kimono. Obviously the woman was pondering whether to cross the intersection and risk dirtying her kimono. The older monk sensed her dilemma so he promptly hoisted her in his arms and crossed the intersection. Then he dropped her on the other side, accepted her thanks and carried on. That evening when the two monks had reached a monastery the young monk opened his mouth to speak.
He said “My reverend master, we are monks and it is forbidden for us to touch women, let alone carry one in our arms”
The older monk gently replied, “My dear fellow, I left that woman at the other side of the intersection but it looks like you are still carrying her.”

One of the best storytellers I have ever known was my great grand mother who, even at the age of 86 years, loved to spook us with her ghost stories. Every summer all us cousins would get together at our ancestral village and come evening she would light a lamp on the terrace and we little kids would, like helpless moths, gravitate towards her. She would then commence on some spook story, her voice clacking like a witch, her misshapen teeth and her several facial warts and wattles would add to the effect and in no time we would be jumping with sheer fright at every shadow, at every squeak, at every rustle of the leaves. Come bedtime and several beddings would be rolled out for us all on the very same terrace. None of us were brave enough to shut our eyes and how we swore we would never again listen to her stories but come next evening she would light her lamp and call us in. Such helpless moths we were.

A cup of tea

There was once a university professor in Tokyo who was known for his knowledge and understanding of practical sciences. He often mocked religion and spirituality. One day he decided to go and challenge the then existing Zen master Nan-in.

Nan-in invited the professor and served him tea. He poured the visitor's cup till it was full and then kept on pouring.

The professor watched the cup overflowing until he could no longer restrain himself. "Its overfull. No more will go in!"

"Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

Zen and the art of getting your wish

Everybody advised him that she was way out of his league and he'd best stick to his own, not that any of that mattered to him. He just politely heard them and then carried right on. Somewhere deep down even he knew they all may be right, but that too had no effect on what he did. Just like with everybody else, he politely listened to his mind speak and once it had done saying what it had to, he turned around and went straight to the local grocery and paid the checkout girl to get the latest list of the stuff she had bought just a little while back. Another day he struck up a conversation with the librarian to find out what she had been reading recently and then he got all those books issued to himself. He read every word and thought over every word. He did the same with the local music shop, the video parlour, found out what she had ordered at every restaurant she had been to in the last three months. Things weren't always that easy. Sometimes his charms failed him and people didn't give him the information he wanted. Some got angry, others got wary and some even had him thrown out. He took all this in his stride and carried on just the same. He knew the names of each member of her family, her relatives and her friends, and he knew much more about those that he thought mattered to her more than the others.

He did all this for six months and during all this while he never made even the slightest attempt to catch her attention or get her to notice his presence. Then one day, when he was ready, he wrote her a story. The story was about a girl who woke up one day and realised that she had the power to live her life just as she pleased. In the story, he got the girl to express what mattered to her, what she wanted to do in her life, the places she wanted to visit, the things she wanted to eat, wear, do. The things she wanted changed.

As she read the story, she slowly saw herself emerge out of the pages in a way she had never seen herself. He ended the story by getting the girl to express her ultimate fantasy...to meet a man who knew her almost as well as she knew herself.... as she read this, tears flowed down her eyes... for that was her wish too.

Nothing happened for a few days but then one day she picked up the phone and dialed the number that came with the story to speak with this stranger who had written it.

That was the break he was waiting for.

They met and soon she had met the man who knew her almost as well as she knew herself.

Do I really need to tell you what happened thereafter?

Music of the Soul

A narrow dimly lit lane leads to the hovel where Qasim Miyan stays with his wife and children. Qasim met me at a mushaira and invited me to his home during Ramzan. Qasim was a Sufi Qawaal with a clear leaning towards ‘mausiqui’, the spiritual part of Sufism.

So on the 19th day of Ramzan, come iftar, Qasim and I partook a frugal meal of dates and milk. We later sat and discussed music and as he spoke his face transformed, a glow seemed to wipe away all his wrinkles and his eyes took a faraway look. He spoke of the nuances of shayari, how ashiqui (the ode to the beloved) transcended to mausiqui. How the great shayars through out time had a personal relationship with the almighty and how for them there was no difference between pursuing a consort or communicating with the almighty.

It was getting dark and Qasim called one of his sons to get a few lamps. In the flickering light of the lamps I saw Qasim sit in a corner, faintly clicking his fingers and nodding to some tune that was playing in his head. He signaled his sons, a mere flick of a finger, and with perfect understanding they trooped in with a set of tablas and a harmonium. They handed Qasim a sarangi and soon all three were busy tapping and tuning their instruments. I just sat back, waiting for the music to begin. As he sat tuning his sarangi, Qasim looked up and said;

“bhaijaan, hum sub toh thaireh qawaal, humare ehsaas hi hamare ruh ki jabaan hain, aur yeh ruh hi hamari sachayi hain (brother, we are just qawaals, feelings are the language of our soul and our soul is our truth). You see poverty all around me but do you not see my feelings that are overflowing straight from my soul, do you not see how my feelings are reaching out and speaking with the almighty and how that truth is the real essence of my existence, my soul…”

With these whispered words he began to sing a couplet by Khusrau. In the flickering light of the lamps his face was lit up, the tiny beads of sweat glittered like some shining jewels. His fingers flew over the strings of his sarangi and every once in a while his hands would abandon the sarangi and reach out towards the sky entreating the almighty to accept some offering, his fingers weaving in the air, sometimes beseeching, sometimes urging. His voice reverberated through out the tiny room, his words swirled around, strangely echoing as they hit the walls and returned to envelope me again and again. The flames danced as if swinging to the words…. Rumi followed Khusrau, then came Niaz, Hafiz, Hasraf Mohani, Zaheen Shah…. All words straight from the very soul, all words of absolute truth… they talked of submission, of bewilderment, of the almighty’s power and his grace, his beauty and his mercy. The tiny room seemed to expand and grow, the little flames danced till they seemed to light up the whole world, the music became a conversation between galaxies…. And I sat, unblinking and mute.

When I finally left Qasim Miyan’s little hovel I saw that hours had passed. Quite surprising really, I swear I felt I was in there for just a few moments….

Joy of Ageing

Nowadays everybody wants to be young. So much so that even the young are looking old in an effort to remain young. Its almost like a miasma, silently floating among us. Stopping every now and then to breath its foul spell into our lives, forcing us to run towards the newest thing that is on the shelf, a tall promise to shed years off our skins.

It aught to be lovely to be old,

to be full of peace that comes of deep experience,

and of wrinkled ripe fulfilment.

It aught to be lovely to smile,

that wrinkled smile of completeness,

a smile that follows a life lived undaunted,

a life lived with accepted lies.

If people live without accepting lies,

they would ripen like apples

and be tasteless and rotten in their old age.

I pray and hope and I pray again,

that a young girl would say,

"It must be wonderful to live and grow old,

look at my old mother, how beautiful she looks"

that a youthful boy would think,

"My father is wrinkled for he has faced many weathers,

what a lovely life he has lived"

It indeed aught to be lovely to be old,

to be full of peace that comes of deep experience,

and of wrinkled ripe fulfillment.