Kahlil Gibran...

On Children


Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

at the end of it all...

My friend Baba has asked me time and again to write a post on what I want out of this life. What I want to do and where I want to be, and what my plan is. I have always avoided this due to the fear of having to sort through my many dreams and decide what I actually want to do. But maybe the time has come now...

I think a good place to start would be at the end. The end of it all - Death.

Death is inevitable, it has to be done. There is no escape. The question that occurs to me is how to die. I don't mean the exact manner, as that is not in my hands, but how to be within myself during the last moments of this life. The obvious answer that comes to me is happy. As countless other people, how I want to be within myself when I die is – Happy. Other words that come to my mind are satisfied, peaceful and without any regrets.

Now the question that arises is what if I die now. What if I die this very instant, or in the next? Or sometime in the near future? Would all the feelings I described in those words above be going on within me? Would I be able to die without regrets, at absolute peace? Somehow, I doubt that.

Sometimes, a thought crosses my mind. And that is, do I really need to have a plan? Is ambition really necessary? Let me explain why.

When I sit down to practice Yoga, my mind is full of thoughts, feelings and emotions. I’m very entangled with them, as though they were an interesting movie being played in my head. After all, these thoughts are mine and form the basis of my identity. However, on certain rare occasions, I find that I am successful at un-entangling myself from the web of thoughts. It’s like they are a cloud at the bottom of my mind and I’m floating somewhere above them, silent and observing. I am able to separate myself from these thoughts and become a mere spectator. At moments like these, I sometimes experience blackouts. No, I don’t pass out, but these are very tiny fleeting moments where everything becomes black and in that instant there are no thoughts at all whatsoever. It’s like a blank mind. As I said, however, these are very, very tiny microseconds during which the mind seems to stop and everything is blank.

What also happens during these micro-seconds is something else very amazing. I like to think of it as touching some part of the inner core of my being. Something else seems to take control, something that I would probably never be able to explain in words. As this ‘inner core’ is being touched, a sense of total bliss and happiness washes over my mind and body. A small smile begins to play on my lips and soon makes its way to a full-fledged grin. Sometimes, I even laugh out loud, the kind of laugh that comes out of relief and absolute blissfulness. Like someone told me that I never have to worry about anything ever again. All these reactions are completely involuntary. There is something very natural about this state of happiness. There is no effort involved. Sometimes I think this is the state I should be in when I die.

Coming back to the plan. The reason for me to make a plan would be to do all the things that matter to me in life, so that when I die, I can be happy.

Well this is my thought: If I can right now, right here, be sitting in one place doing nothing at all and be the happiest I have ever been, in a state of absolute bliss, then what in the world do I need a plan for?

Something for me to think about…

Having said all this, what would I want to do with my life assuming that I have a long one ahead?

Maybe I would like to work on those fleeting microseconds and try to turn them into something that lasts a few minutes, and then a few hours, and then days, and then something that’s there all the time. It makes sense, really. It’s all within. So I begin from within.

Responsibilities? No, there is no need to shirk away from them at all. That will all go on, and so will this. The only difference would be that instead of me thinking so and so needs to be accomplished for happiness, it would be that happiness is there in everything that is done, no matter what is done.

My guru says that when we stop planning, calculating, deciding and recalculating, when we just stop and let everything go, when we say it doesn’t matter, rich or poor, life or death, comfort or not... when we don’t think any more about how to live life well, when we give up our life to something higher... .. when there is no sense of want or wish...when we simply live and go on with a sense of awareness... Then life unfolds something beautiful for us, and we are taken care of... by life itself.

I don’t know if this is true or not since I haven’t really experienced this. I don’t know if this is a teaching, a philosophy, or a truth. I don’t even know if it is possible to really live this way. But I certainly feel that if life is a blank slate given to me where I am free to experiment as I please, it makes sense for me to at least try and see if this is really true. What do have I got to lose? I’m going to die someday, anyway…

a woman's dilemma...

As I sit awake in bed, pen at a piece of paper and trying to write down a schedule, my gaze wanders over to my partner. He’s sleeping like a baby, breathing peacefully. Yet, it’s only been 10 minutes since we got to bed. It’s quite a story how I got him to come here in the first place. Around a half hour ago I told him that I had some ‘feedback’ to give him about something he did. Since then, he had been avoiding coming to bed and was dozing off on the sofa. I finally figured out what was going on and promised not to say a word. He then gleefully came in and went off to never land in no time at all…

Yelling and nagging never worked with men. Apparently, honest communication doesn’t go very well with them either. Hopefully, a few hints and reminders later he’ll come around and we’ll get to talk about my feedback tomorrow. Oh, and I really don’t expect him to remember it by himself and come asking for it. I suppose it’s like a goat asking to go visit the lion’s den.

I have given up nagging now. My experience of 2.5 years in a relationship with a man tells me that no good can ever come of it, unless me getting super-upset and eventually stressed-out can be seen as a benefit. No use asking him about it though. My guess is that no man will ever naturally admit that his wife does not nag him. Men have to complain about their wives to their mates even if they have perfect ones. I have no idea why.

My Guru talks about relationships. In a nutshell, he says that all we ever do is try to extract happiness from the person we are in a relationship with. We expect the other person to do something special to make us happy. Of course, the other person isn’t exactly a happiness-giving cow, really. So obviously we are unhappy when we’re all ready with a cup to milk away some happiness all this cow can do is kick us hard in the back-side.

Well, my Guru didn’t really talk about all this cow business, that’s just my bizarre imagination at work. So, as I was trying to say in a nutshell and didn’t quite manage to, we try to extract happiness from the other person. When what we could do is learn to be happy within ourselves without the aid of anybody and simply share this joy with the person/people in our lives.

I mean, who would you rather be with anyway? The Happiness-generating-cow or the person with the empty cup.. or with the backside-kicking cow? Ok that sounds confusing. What I’m trying to say is that we would be better off generating happiness and sharing it rather than trying to extract it from others. Well, that’s what my Guru says anyway..

I’m trying to apply this to my present situation. On the one hand, this might be the only night we would get to spend together this entire week. That’s because he works by night and sleeps by day. No he’s not a superhero. Well he is MY superhero. OK that’s beside the point. The point is that it is kind of upsetting that on our only night together, he’s gone off to sleep. No goodnight kiss, no hug, not even a wink. I did get a hint of a flying-kiss though, or that’s what I imagined it to be. Sometimes men can just tune out. They cuddle when they want to, they have sex when they want to, and they go off into that mysterious ‘men-only’ land of silence where nothing you say gets through to them, when they want to. Somehow I’m getting the feeling that it’s all about him. I’m wondering what would happen if I stop communicating any of my needs to him. If I just stop asking him things or letting him know about my feelings. Would he remember anything? Would he remember that I love going out for drives, or would he remember to take me out for a movie or dinner? What would happen to our relationship if I stopped my practice of honest communication? Would he be in ‘man-heaven’? Would we be having a relationship at all…?

A little voice now tells me that I’m over reacting. So he fell asleep one night. He must be tired... does it always have to be about me? Is this what that extracting joy thing is all about? Am I the one with the empty cup here? It does look like it. As I look into my sad little cup, I feel torn. Between the easy way of just blaming it all on him and feeling sorry for myself, and the extremely tough way of accepting the situation and filling my cup by myself. It’s a very difficult decision to make. On the one hand I want to give him my silent treatment tomorrow and torture him for ignoring me tonight. On the other hand I think, would it be so bad if I just took it easy and let it go. Just give the guy a break. How happy would he feel if I just let him have his sleep without making such a big fuss over it.. After all it’s not like it’s our last night together ever. Is it really so important? Will it be so important 25 years later when we’re old and together and look back at our times as a couple? After all, that is where I want to go with this relationship. And I’m sure that he does too.

Look at him, sleeping like a baby. As a happy, smiling person, I’m able to appreciate it and feel happy for him that he’s getting some good rest. He does work so hard. And I do care about him so much…

My Looney childhood...

As a child, I was widely hated and unpopular. At the time I remember feeling bad about it quite often. But when I look back at times, I don’t quite blame the people who made life tough for me. If I knew me, I probably wouldn’t have liked me either. Reason? I was a rather loony kid.

Do I regret it now? Not really. I look back at it with fondness. Being a tad demented was actually fun. Even though most of the fun I had was by myself. I was kind of a mellow version of Calvin (from Calvin and Hobbes). Yes, unbelievable but true. Who could hate Calvin?! Unfortunately, a real life Calvin is a lot less acceptable than the one in the strip. And a lot less adorable as well.

I had a wild imagination with no limit whatsoever. Most of it has unfortunately been lost over the years in an endeavor to ‘improve’ myself to socially acceptable standards.

My strongest memory is that of my imaginary friend. His name was Tommy (sometimes just Tom) and he was the size of my palm. Yeah, something like a Lilliput. He was not always with me though. I remember that he appeared only when I wanted him to and I never really poured my heart out to him or anything. I also remember how we had met. I was actually his savior. It was during one of the summers I spent at my Grandma’s. I was looking out the window at the building opposite ours. Someone had tied a thick piece of cloth to the railing of their balcony. It immediately caught my fancy and I wondered why anyone would possibly do that. All that my 6 year old mind could fathom at the time was that it was done to hold someone captive in there. And obviously that someone couldn’t be bigger than the size of my palm. I cannot recollect how I actually got him out of there, but that’s how I got to know Tommy. He was extremely grateful to me for setting him free and agreed to never leave my side. I however, allowed him to have a life of his own, with the only request that he appear when I needed him. I vaguely recall him taking a wife at some later point in time.

The thing about Tommy was that I always had these bets going on with him. He would pop up at times when I was just about to do something and we would have a bet about what I was going to do. Like what dress I was about to wear or which homework I would do first or if I was going to sharpen my pencil or use a new one. Needless to say I always won. And he would owe me a ‘hundred-thousand-million-billion’ whatever (there was no currency attached) in cash. And he would miraculously produce these in tiny little sacks that I would stash away somewhere. Crazy stuff!

I don’t really recall when Tom stopped making his appearances. Just faded away... just like that.

I also imagined that my home was filled with ghosts, room-wise. There were the kitchen ghosts, the bathroom ghosts and ghosts for each bedroom. They never mingled much with each other and mostly stayed in their respective rooms. And they each had their characteristics. The bathroom ghosts were always having a party in there until I came in. The moment the light was on and I stepped in, the party would stop and they would all rush off and stand in corners. That’s because they didn’t want me to see them and get frightened. They were rather fond of me, you see. So no matter how much I tried, I could never see them party. The bedroom ghosts were a bit meaner. I had to take their permission before I entered, and there was a specific manner in which it was to be done. I had to stand with my toes in line with the carpet lining and switch on the light. At no point was i to step in before this was done. And in the few seconds that the tube light was flickering on, I had to quickly ask for permission to enter. If all was done right, I could enter safely and no harm would be done to me. I don’t remember much about the kitchen ghosts though. They didn’t make many appearances I’m guessing.

I remember hating most of my early childhood teachers with a passion. And I’m pretty sure the feeling was mutual. I just never saw the point of copying stuff from the blackboard to my notebook. It was the dullest work ever. Invariably I would start daydreaming or talking to people around me and never completed my work. The ‘stand-up-on-the-bench-with-your-arms-raised’ punishment was a regular feature with me and I would routinely find myself up there at least two to three times a day. A teacher once got so fed up of me that she made all the kids stand on their benches and they couldn’t sit again until I finished writing. I don’t remember much of how that ended but I seriously doubt if that made me speed up at all. Distractions were ever-so-common with me. I once sat at an exam, read the questions, realized I knew the answers, started writing, but never got around to completing it. Why? Well, I think I was so bored I started dreaming about making a mud house as high as me in the playground after the exam.

Oh, and for some reason my stuff would always turn up in the lost-and-found cupboard at school. I was quite well known with the school janitors for that and they would routinely take me there to check if any of the stuff was mine. Precious or not, I never seemed to have a value for things and if in my possession, they were almost always as good as lost.

There was a time when I was severely dehydrated due to playing all alone in the playground one summer afternoon. This is the desert sun I’m talking about and therefore unimaginably hot. My mother went ballistic when she realized I had been swinging in the park all day. Little did she know that it wasn’t any ordinary swinging. I was actually trying to decipher secret messages from the sun. There would be funny shapes every time I started into the sun light and then shut my eyes. All my wonder and curiosity was aroused in what these strange symbols could possibly mean. Was I meant to discover my life’s purpose in those messages? He he, well the only purpose they did serve was to have me puking and in bed the next two days!

And then there was my experiment with the paracetemol tablet. No, I didn’t swallow it. That would be another story all together. This perfectly round, white little object to me looked extremely promising and I was certain that I would make some great discoveries out of it. I started out with a stolen tablet from the medicine box, a pencil and notepad. No way was I going to let my amazing findings go undocumented! I remember trying to crush, powder, pound and dissolve it, make a paste of it, feed it to dolls and many other carefully noted pointless experiments before concluding that it was, well, nothing but a boring tablet.

The mirror was an object of great fascination for me. On holidays I would lock myself up in my room and stare into the mirror for a very long time. Not at myself but the things around my reflection. I was always so sure that there was another duplicate world on the other side, just waiting to spring to life the moment I looked away. So I would wait and wait and then pretend to turn away and quickly turn back to catch something. But, of course, I never did. As I got a bit older this activity evolved into role-play before the mirror. I would stage elaborate plays with me being the script-writer, director and the actor playing all the characters. My favourite one (also the one I enacted the most, invariably) was the lost-princess story. I would wrap my towel around my face and make it look all scrunched up. I was the lost princess who was cursed into the towel-face and wandering alone in the woods. Only true love’s hands could untie the towel to unravel my hidden, ethereal beauty. One day, I chance upon a handsome, thirsty young man to whom I offer some water and then, predictably, the towel is eventually undone!

And so the stories go on and on. There are ever so many that I can only remember shreds of, like stuffing onion skins up my nose, gulping down a bottle of nasal drops so I could be done with them once and for all (both these events landed me in the emergency room), giving all the kids in my kindergarten class real haircuts at break-time (that made me very unpopular with the parents)… I’m sure there are several more that I have totally forgotten. All I can honestly say is that I truly, truly feel very sorry for all the kids and adults (the adults, mostly) who had to put up with the crack-pot that was me.

Having said that, someday I’ll have kids of my own, and I sincerely hope that they turn out to be just as loony as i was, if not even more.

finally the will to blog has returned to me. yay!

i've been down with a very high temperature for 3 days now.. severe headache and a sneezing fit as i type. no, i don't have swine flu, as i feared. doc confirms its just a virus that's been going around.. and the low immunity gal that i am, i guess my body welcomed it like an old, long-lost friend. 'ah, yes.. Virus, old pal! how have you been? do come in... make yourself comfortable and please, you must stay atleast a week now...' :-p

and yes, i guess this is what it takes to get me to blog again. extreme boredom and a malfunctioning nose. :D to come to think of it, i dun think my brain's functioning very well either. oh well, when did it anyway..

so, what else has been goin on with me? .. hmm lets see.. i shifted into my new apartment.. its a nice place, but a lot of carpentry work going on, so i'm at my mom's place right now to escape the noise and dust all..

oh, and kirthi, in case you're reading this, i know u've been trying to ping me for a while and i always miss ur pings.. hope you're doing fine, i've just been really busy lately. but aren't we all? hehe..

nice.. im using my blog to keep in touch with ppl.. perhaps i could just start writing letters to ppl and post them here.. hehe. oh well, im just rambling now..

im just running out of thing's to write.. seems like i'm turning more and more private as i get older. one of these days i think i'm gonna start a secret blog and spill my guts out there like never before.. that should feel good.

i desparately feel like shopping for some reason.. and that's new coz i hate shopping. and i need a shopping partner. i usually shop alone coz alone is when i make the best decisions.. but now i find it boring. and all said and done, guys do not make good shopping partners no matter how much they love you. they just get bored and phase out after a while... oh, well.

i'm in the middle of reading The Lord of the Rings for the first time. I havent watched the movies but i kind of know the basic story line. The book is an awesome piece of work, but every one knows that. for some reason though, it fails to keep me glued. or rather, i fail to get glued to it. the amount of detail and intricacy amazes me, but also bores me. i find myself skimming through a couple of pages at a time (that are filled with descriptions) and getting to the parts with a little action. and i also have a lack of appreciation for poetry between prose. it's an amazing book, and Harry Potter is no where near it creativity-wise. yet, in a moment of desperate boredom, i would find myself reaching out to a Potter book and not LOTR.. how childish, i know :D

tea time! cya..