Friday, April 30, 2010
HAZEL: I knew that mother would never use even a single paisa (old paise those days) of the money that was not our honest earning
IN MY DIARY FROM MY COLLEGE DAYS, I FIND THE FOLLOWING ENTRY ABOUT MY MOTHER. I HAVE EXPANDED THIS INTO THE NOTE ON SOLDIERING FOR LOVE AND PEACE WHICH I AHVE SEPARATELY POSTED ON FACEBOOK. AND SINCE, LIKE EVERYONE ELSE, I FOUND MY MOTHER TO BE AN ICONIC SAINT, I HAVE RESCRIPTED THE TEXT OF THIS ENTRY TO TALK ABOUT THE QUALITIES OF A SAINT. BUT ALL THAT I WROTE AND WRITE ABOUT SAINTS IS IN FACT ABOUT MY MOTHER. SHE HAD NEVER HAD ANY AMBITIONS ABOUT PROFESSIONAL CAREER OR MONETARY AMBITIONS. SHE WAS WHAT ISOMEONE HAS CALLED "A GOD INTOXICATED LADY." SHE TALKED TO ME ONLY ONCE ABOUT WHAT SHE WOULD LIKE ME TO BECOME IN LIFE, AND THIS IS WHAT SHE HAD SAID:" .........."IT IS YOUR CALL. I WILL BE AS HAPPY AND PROUD IF YOU LABOUR WITH HONESTY ON OTHER PEOPLE'S FIELDS AS I WOULD BE IF YOU BECOME AN HONESTY PRIME MINSITER OF THE COUNTRY.NO WORK --WHETHER THAT OF A SCAVENGER OR LABOURER OR A CLERK OR ANY OTHER -- IS TOO PETTY FOR YOU AND THERE IS NO DISGRACE ATTACHED TO ANY TYPE OF WORK. THERE IS ONLY HONOUR AND THERE IS ONLY PRIDE IN WHATEVER WORK YOU TAKE UP WITH HONESTY. I WILL ALWAYS BE PROUD OF YOU WHEN YOU COME HOME TIRED BUT NOT DISGRACED BY DISHONESTY. IF YOU WANT TO SEE THIS PRIDE INTACT IN MY HEART, JUST STAY HONEST TO WHATEVER YOU DO. THERE IS PRIDE ONLY IN HONESTY AND TRUTH AND HARD WORK. GREED, VANITY LUST AND FALSEHOOD ARE THE ONLY DISGRACE TO OUR SOUL. AND ABOVE ALL, NEVER ALLOW LOVE IN YOUR HEART TO VANISH. THIS IS OUR ONLY CONNECT TO THE UNIVERSE AND THEREFORE TO GOD. " THE REST OF MY LIFE HAS BEEN A STRUGGLE TO BE WORTHY OF MY MOTHER. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE NOT ALWAYS SUCCEEDED."Here is the entry from diary which I talked about.(Slightly vetted and retouched for linguistic clarity) The background to the note was incident in our family that had a profound influence on my psyche for the rest of my lfie. We had fallen on bad days and my father had been cheated of what would today be an estate for a prince to be proud of. We faced days when we didn't know where our next meal was coming from. I never saw any frowns or anxiety on my mother's forehead during these days of extreme poverty and helpless, because of which we lost one of our sisters to an illness we didn't ahve the money to buy a cure for. But Mother, who sobbed secretly at this grievous loss, calmly piloted us through the rough weather as my father fretted and almost lost his sanity because of the shock of the loss.But she loved him back to sound physical and mental health. Those days, one of the persons who had cheated my father and was very proud of having done that had decided to rub salt into the wounds of our family and had come to our house ( Mother India's bania fashion) to offer help. My father nearly shot him. But my mother had intervened and even said she would accept a token help ( Rs 50 ) from him since, as she said, " he had come with pious intentions. We do not turn away anyone from our door." This was heart-rending, especially as I knew that mother would never use even a single paisa (old paise those days) of the money that did not come our way through our honest work.I wrote this late that night: (The language has been suitably refined to give it greater clarirty.) "She has not made her identity a slave to vanity, nor has she allowed her vision to be so blurred as to lose the distinction between true moral dignity and false ego. What she is achieving is a success in bringing to human form all the values and feelings and ideas that the thought of God inspires in me (us) -- she is a saint and therefore not after personal gain anyway ; what she is truly expressing is the courage to help her detractors have a shot at greatness. She is actually allowing her detractor to rise in his own esteem. In doing so, she is sacrificing her temprorary sense of what others call "self-esteem" but what she views merely as "vanity". She would not allow that vanity to come in the way of her providing her opponent a platform to exercise and exhibit his greatness , his generosity. She is in fact making it possible for the good in him to come forth, even at the expense of her own perceived dignity. Quite often our ability to accept the enemy's grace is a more true measure of the magnitude of our character than our courage to fight him."A few more lines were added to it the next morning. I ahve expanded those into a facebook note. I have taken the liberty of altering its context to make it more generally applicable. But the substance, the facts and the meaning remain untouched.
# Soldiering for peace and for love calls for courage much greater and nobler than that required for battle.
Only a saint can rise to the stature where she can accept offers of help from those who hate her, and she can do so without having her self esteem compromised in any way. That is because she has not made her identity a slave to vanity, nor has she allowed her vision to be so blurred as to lose the distinction between true moral dignity and false ego. What she is achieving by accepting the help from the enmy is not so much a personal gain -- she is a saint and therefore not after personal gain anyway ; what she is truly expressing is the courage to help her detractor have a shot at greatness. She is actually allowing her detractor to rise in his own esteem. In doing so, she is sacrificing her temprorary sense of what others call "self-esteem" but what she views merely as "vanity". She would not allow that vanity to come in the way of her providing her opponent a platform to exercise and exhibit his gretness , his generosity. She is in fact making it possible for the good in him to come forth, even at the expense of her own perceived dignity. Quite often our ability to accept the enemy's grace is a more true measure of the magnitude of our character than our courage to fight him. It is easy to fight the enemy -- everybody would do it -- because in doing so one has got a whole universe of jsutifications . And also a chance to show off one"bravery" or the "courage to be martyr." Said Guru Nanak, " A true martyr is one who has the courage to live as if he were dead." Only saints have that courage. Only Guru Gobind Singh can sing songs of love after an embattled life in which he lost his father and his four sons, apart from making numerous other sacrifices. Only Guru Gobind Singh could extend a hand of friendship to his tormentors without any fears of being dubbed a coward. He knew he was a soldier and did not have to prove anything to anyone: this he had done already throughout his life. But when the call came to demonstrate spiritual bravery to pursue peace, he ws not found wanting. That is why we do not call him just a soldier but a "saint-soldier". It is tough to be a lover of peace when the world expects you to indulge in bloodshed and retribution. Soldiering for peace and for love calls for a courage much greater and nobler than that required in the battle-field. Such courage is demonstrated only by thsoe whose for whom courage was not a sentiment to impress or boast but a daring to pursue truth. Soldiering for peace and for love calls for a courage far nobler than that required on the battle-field. Those who dare to pursue love and truth do not wear their courage as a badge to impress the market or boast their petty wares.
# Accepting the detractor's help to help him have a shot at greatness.
Its easier to be good than to accept goodness of others, especially of those whom for some reason we don't like or disagree with. It needs immense moral courage to accept help from the enemy because by doing so, we expose ourselves to a serious danger of comprosing our long-cherished values like self-respect, dignity, pride and other fancy crutches that we use to promote our "identity". Only a saint can rise to the stature where she can accept offers of help from those who hate her, and she can do so without having her self esteem compromised in any way. That is because she has not made her identity a slave to vanity, nor has she allowed her vision to be so blurred as to lose the distinction between true moral dignity and false ego. What she is achieving by accepting the help from the enmy is not so much a personal gain -- she is a saint and therefore not after personal gain anyway ; what she is truly expressing is the courage to help her detractor have a shot at greatness. She is actually allowing her detractor to rise in his own esteem. In doing so, she is sacrificing her temprorary sense of what others call "self-esteem" but what she views merely as "vanity". She would not allow that vanity to come in the way of her providing her opponent a platform to exercise and exhibit his gretness , his generosity. She is in fact making it possible for the good in him to come forth, even at the expense of her own perceived dignity. Quite often our ability to accept the enemy's grace is a more true measure of the magnitude of our character than our courage to fight him. It is easy to fight the enemy -- everybody would do it -- because in doing so one has got a whole universe of jsutifications . And also a chance to show off one"bravery" or the "courage to be martyr." Said Guru Nanak, " A true martyr is one who has the dcourage to lvie as he was dead." Only saints have that courage. Only Guru Gobind Singh can sing songs of lvoe after an embattled life in which he sacrificed his father and his four sons, apart from making numerous other sacrifices. Only Guru Gobind Singh could extend a hand of friendship to his tormetors without any fears of being dubbed a coward. He knew he was soldier and did not ahve to prove anything to anyone: that he ahd done already throughout his life. But when the call came to demoinstrate spiritual bravery to pursue peace, he ws not found wanting. That is why we do not call him just a soldier but a "saint-soldier". We know it is tough to appear to be a lover of peace when the world expects you to indulge in bloodshed. Soldiering for peace and for love calls for a much greater and much nobler courage, demonstrated only by thsoe whose for whom courage was not a sentiment to impress or boast but a daring to pursue truth.
hAZEL: Be warned against entering a race of ego and vanity that garbs itself as dignity and self esteem.
" If your mother were battling for life and accepting an offer of help from someone you treat as your enemy could help her, would you accept that offer or allow your ego to come in the way of saving your mother?" asked Hazel of her son and added, " It is far easier to do good to the enemy than to have the enemy do good to you. That requires moral courage that is hard to invoke. And your response speaks more of who you are than about who your enemy is. But the true measure of your greatness lies not in how liberal you are in giving help but in how gracious you can be in accepting it while offered with love. Only the saints have the grace to beg. All begging without grace is an ignominy. But all vanity that comes in the way of gracious acceptance of the world's good towards you is even worse. Be warned against entering a race of ego and vanity that garbs itself as dignity and self esteem."
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
HAZEL: Snakes swarm your soul. And they bite the heart they inhabit.
But why do you seek acknowledgement and appreciation for a thing as ennobling as love? Are you not happy with just being in love? Do you not get anything from within yourself out of helping those who need it? What can others give you that you can not give yourself? ? Is your love a trade off for acknowledgement and appreciation? Then, why not make it a trade off for riches and fortune and cars and bungalows?
The moment you seek acknowledgement or appreciation or reciprocation, you are reducing the saintliness in you to a policy.
(Typos may please be excused)
Hazel's son had been sulking for weeks, feeling betrayed by the people he thought he had trusted and invested emotionally in. His heart was full of bitterness over the perversity of things and of a universe that had always turned against him, a universe in which love never begot love. "No matter how far you go to help others by sacrificing your happiness, there will be no appreciation, much less gratitude for this. I am not bitter, and I will still do what I have been doing all my life – loving and giving of me to others, but how disappointing to find that it is always one-sided! Your love and your sacrifices are never even acknowledged, forget about their being reciprocated. Why, mother, why? Why is it always me whom such things happen to?"
In fact he didn't wait for the reply , and answered his question in his mind, "This is because it is dangerous to be too good. This happens to me because I am always trying to be good." He hadn't noticed that his thoughts had been stolen by his lips and without his noticing it, he had actually mumbled all this. His mother had heard it all because she was sitting close to him with all her being focused on listening to and understanding her son.
Finally, he almost threw his arms up in desperation.
Hazel observed her son with concern and compassion. But he could notice that there was a hint of a smile on her lips, a smile that reminded him of a saint he had met during his childhood. The saint had been stoned by the villagers on the charge that he misled the girls of the village. Especially a girl called Meera who had walked out on her parents because, as she said, "she loved them." Everyone in the village had blamed it on the saint and he had eventually been stoned to death. But no one had seen a tear in his eyes or a complaint on his lips. He had blessed the village as he breathed his last.
"Why am I thinking of him now? Why does my mother always remind me of him? She has harmed no one and no one has ever uttered a word against her. Why these thoughts of that saint whenever I see a smile on mamma's lips?"
But these thoughts vanished as soon as they came because his heart was pre-occupied with more pressing things – and he was feeling suffocated and unbearably bitter, even though he said he wasn't.
Hazel looked at him again, and the smile was replaced by a quiet sobriety of voice.
And she said:
"No, my dearest, it is not always and only you to whom these things happen. These happen to most of us, and each one of us believes that these happen only to him or her. Nature has no agenda against you or anyone. What happens to you has to do with who you are and what you do. You set your own moral and spiritual agenda of happiness or otherwise, and you reap its results."
As usual, he had been pulled out of a territory he had enclosed himself in. Soon, his soul was back in his mother's lap and he was listening. But the questions that had been troubling him still remained to haunt him. He closed his eyes, and with some peace in his voice, uttered:
"There is no acknowledgement, much less appreciation of love or what one does for others!"
"But why do you seek acknowledgement , why do you want appreciation for a thing as ennobling as love? " said Hazel. "Are you not happy when you are in love? Do you not get anything out of helping those who need it? What can others give you that you can not get from within yourself? Is your love a trade off for acknowledgement and appreciation? Then, why not make it a trade off for riches and fortune and cars and bungalows? What is the difference? If you are demanding – or even simply expecting – something in return for your love and compassion, what is it in there for you to feel so grand about? You give with hope for being rewarded. Then, how is your love different from the market? But if you want acknowledgement or appreciation or reward or reciprocation, then why not declare at the very outset. Why not tell yourself that you will give this and and will take that in return. And why keep others in the dark about your love? Why not tell them in the beginning that you are not here for love but for a deal. Do you look at your love or whatever you do for others as a deal?"
Once again, he had been led into a territory where he was not familiar with the rules. His mother always changed the terms of negotiation and he was aware that she was slowly leading him into a twilight where he had been before but had always chosen to return to the velvety comforts of the dark.
She took his hand in hers, and slowly caressed its back with her palm. She continued as he closed his eyes as he often would when his mother sang a lullaby.
"No, son, it is never dangerous to be good, if you are not treating goodness as your bargaining lever. It is always a blessing to be able to be good, and to be ready to pay the price for it. Love and goodness are not luxuries you indulge in; but neither are they a burden like you seem to believe. You are good and you love because these are the only things that give lasting happiness. "
"There are many who believe that honesty is the best policy. Is honesty a policy? As a policy, it will always boom-rang. Honesty is the purest state of being, the noblest state of mind. And like love, it is sovereign and seeks no response. Honesty as a policy is the worst policy. Fortunately, saints are not saints as a part of any policy. They are saints because being saints gives them happiness that nothing else can bring. Honest people are saints who are happy for being honest. It is a feeling, not a policy. So with other good things. But the moment you seek acknowledgement or appreciation or reciprocation, you are reducing the saintliness in you to a policy. And that will always bring disappointment, unhappiness, misery, bitterness. Beware."
Her voice seemed to swim smoothly, effortlessly over ragged seas.
"You must examine and own any feeling that exists in your heart. You said you are not bitter? Aren't you. People who are not bitter are always happy. Are you? People who love never complain. Don't you? "
She paused and took his head briefly close to her bosom and then let him rest it on her folded legs.
" If there is hatred and bitterness in your heart, look at them closely. Get behind the sources of their fountains. Once you have searched your heart and soul with some honesty, you will find that hatred and bitterness are essentially your harvest, and have got nothing to do with the objects you hate or are angry with. "
There was a pause as a gentle breeze brushed his cheeks and he felt a cool hand soothe his anguished mind. As she spoke:
"And bitterness is worse than alcoholism; it is an addiction that does not even create a false euphoria and kills you just as quickly as alcoholism does. Worse, while alcoholism afflicts your body and mind, bitterness is a termite to the soul. Even worse, you get addicted to being eaten away bit by bit every day. The day your soul is not chipped away with persistent bites, you feel something is missing or perhaps that you are losing the ability to feel intensely. Of all the addictions, hatred is the worst and the most misleading, making you believe that only you have the sole proprietary rights to virtue and that you are surrounded by an evil universe. There is nothing more harmful to a man's soul than arrogant righteousness. It destroys you by pleasing you. And it also breeds hatred for those you consider less righteous, like those who do not reciprocate your love or goodness. Hatred stands between you and your sainthood and between your sainthood and your happiness. It is the surest means to unhappiness. And it is the most killing addicition; it is an addiction that soon turns into an obsession."
" Whenever you find yourself burdened with these addictions, take these out of your heart, place them in front of you and look closely. You will find some snakes of pettiness and insecurity swarming in there. Snakes swarm your soul. They bite the ehart they inhabit. And they names like bitterness and poison. The poison in your soul, as in your body, is fatal only for you. Others will not be affected by it till they also are bitten by the same snakes. Frighten these snakes away. "
The moment you seek acknowledgement or appreciation or reciprocation, you are reducing the saintliness in you to a policy.
(Typos may please be excused)
Hazel's son had been sulking for weeks, feeling betrayed by the people he thought he had trusted and invested emotionally in. His heart was full of bitterness over the perversity of things and of a universe that had always turned against him, a universe in which love never begot love. "No matter how far you go to help others by sacrificing your happiness, there will be no appreciation, much less gratitude for this. I am not bitter, and I will still do what I have been doing all my life – loving and giving of me to others, but how disappointing to find that it is always one-sided! Your love and your sacrifices are never even acknowledged, forget about their being reciprocated. Why, mother, why? Why is it always me whom such things happen to?"
In fact he didn't wait for the reply , and answered his question in his mind, "This is because it is dangerous to be too good. This happens to me because I am always trying to be good." He hadn't noticed that his thoughts had been stolen by his lips and without his noticing it, he had actually mumbled all this. His mother had heard it all because she was sitting close to him with all her being focused on listening to and understanding her son.
Finally, he almost threw his arms up in desperation.
Hazel observed her son with concern and compassion. But he could notice that there was a hint of a smile on her lips, a smile that reminded him of a saint he had met during his childhood. The saint had been stoned by the villagers on the charge that he misled the girls of the village. Especially a girl called Meera who had walked out on her parents because, as she said, "she loved them." Everyone in the village had blamed it on the saint and he had eventually been stoned to death. But no one had seen a tear in his eyes or a complaint on his lips. He had blessed the village as he breathed his last.
"Why am I thinking of him now? Why does my mother always remind me of him? She has harmed no one and no one has ever uttered a word against her. Why these thoughts of that saint whenever I see a smile on mamma's lips?"
But these thoughts vanished as soon as they came because his heart was pre-occupied with more pressing things – and he was feeling suffocated and unbearably bitter, even though he said he wasn't.
Hazel looked at him again, and the smile was replaced by a quiet sobriety of voice.
And she said:
"No, my dearest, it is not always and only you to whom these things happen. These happen to most of us, and each one of us believes that these happen only to him or her. Nature has no agenda against you or anyone. What happens to you has to do with who you are and what you do. You set your own moral and spiritual agenda of happiness or otherwise, and you reap its results."
As usual, he had been pulled out of a territory he had enclosed himself in. Soon, his soul was back in his mother's lap and he was listening. But the questions that had been troubling him still remained to haunt him. He closed his eyes, and with some peace in his voice, uttered:
"There is no acknowledgement, much less appreciation of love or what one does for others!"
"But why do you seek acknowledgement , why do you want appreciation for a thing as ennobling as love? " said Hazel. "Are you not happy when you are in love? Do you not get anything out of helping those who need it? What can others give you that you can not get from within yourself? Is your love a trade off for acknowledgement and appreciation? Then, why not make it a trade off for riches and fortune and cars and bungalows? What is the difference? If you are demanding – or even simply expecting – something in return for your love and compassion, what is it in there for you to feel so grand about? You give with hope for being rewarded. Then, how is your love different from the market? But if you want acknowledgement or appreciation or reward or reciprocation, then why not declare at the very outset. Why not tell yourself that you will give this and and will take that in return. And why keep others in the dark about your love? Why not tell them in the beginning that you are not here for love but for a deal. Do you look at your love or whatever you do for others as a deal?"
Once again, he had been led into a territory where he was not familiar with the rules. His mother always changed the terms of negotiation and he was aware that she was slowly leading him into a twilight where he had been before but had always chosen to return to the velvety comforts of the dark.
She took his hand in hers, and slowly caressed its back with her palm. She continued as he closed his eyes as he often would when his mother sang a lullaby.
"No, son, it is never dangerous to be good, if you are not treating goodness as your bargaining lever. It is always a blessing to be able to be good, and to be ready to pay the price for it. Love and goodness are not luxuries you indulge in; but neither are they a burden like you seem to believe. You are good and you love because these are the only things that give lasting happiness. "
"There are many who believe that honesty is the best policy. Is honesty a policy? As a policy, it will always boom-rang. Honesty is the purest state of being, the noblest state of mind. And like love, it is sovereign and seeks no response. Honesty as a policy is the worst policy. Fortunately, saints are not saints as a part of any policy. They are saints because being saints gives them happiness that nothing else can bring. Honest people are saints who are happy for being honest. It is a feeling, not a policy. So with other good things. But the moment you seek acknowledgement or appreciation or reciprocation, you are reducing the saintliness in you to a policy. And that will always bring disappointment, unhappiness, misery, bitterness. Beware."
Her voice seemed to swim smoothly, effortlessly over ragged seas.
"You must examine and own any feeling that exists in your heart. You said you are not bitter? Aren't you. People who are not bitter are always happy. Are you? People who love never complain. Don't you? "
She paused and took his head briefly close to her bosom and then let him rest it on her folded legs.
" If there is hatred and bitterness in your heart, look at them closely. Get behind the sources of their fountains. Once you have searched your heart and soul with some honesty, you will find that hatred and bitterness are essentially your harvest, and have got nothing to do with the objects you hate or are angry with. "
There was a pause as a gentle breeze brushed his cheeks and he felt a cool hand soothe his anguished mind. As she spoke:
"And bitterness is worse than alcoholism; it is an addiction that does not even create a false euphoria and kills you just as quickly as alcoholism does. Worse, while alcoholism afflicts your body and mind, bitterness is a termite to the soul. Even worse, you get addicted to being eaten away bit by bit every day. The day your soul is not chipped away with persistent bites, you feel something is missing or perhaps that you are losing the ability to feel intensely. Of all the addictions, hatred is the worst and the most misleading, making you believe that only you have the sole proprietary rights to virtue and that you are surrounded by an evil universe. There is nothing more harmful to a man's soul than arrogant righteousness. It destroys you by pleasing you. And it also breeds hatred for those you consider less righteous, like those who do not reciprocate your love or goodness. Hatred stands between you and your sainthood and between your sainthood and your happiness. It is the surest means to unhappiness. And it is the most killing addicition; it is an addiction that soon turns into an obsession."
" Whenever you find yourself burdened with these addictions, take these out of your heart, place them in front of you and look closely. You will find some snakes of pettiness and insecurity swarming in there. Snakes swarm your soul. They bite the ehart they inhabit. And they names like bitterness and poison. The poison in your soul, as in your body, is fatal only for you. Others will not be affected by it till they also are bitten by the same snakes. Frighten these snakes away. "
Hazel: God has a lot to be thankful to me for.
If love is a riot of imperfections, this universe and God owe all their fascinating and kaleidoscopic unpredictability to it For His sake, I glorify and perpetuate God's imperfections. God has a lot to be thankful to me for, and I will not forget it nor let Him forget it at the Hour of Reckoning-- which is every hour!
POONAM IN HAZEL : Truth is so large, kaleidoscopic and full of paradoxes that it requires either a saint or a visionary to see it.
POONAM WROTE IN RESPONSE TO MOUNTAINS AND PROPHETS:
MISGUIDED AND LOST HIDE BEHIND WORDS AND RHETORIC:AND LEAD TO DESTRUCTION FROM THERE.THE TOP WAVE CAN SEE THE MOST FAR...
Yesterday at 12:13pm ·
HARCHARAN BAINS IN RESPONSE TO POONAMM
perhaps you are right poonam. i am always trying to look at everything from points other than where I stand. and chances of your seeing the truth are as good as those of my seeing it. or may be both are right and each see only one aspect of truth. truth is so large, kaleidoscopic and full of paradoxes that it requires either a saint or a visionary to see it. and i am neither. who knows you could be both. i am not willing to lose you just because you say something different from what i say. in fact, by seeing things differently, you only enrich me and all those who read me and you. i respect your opinion and response. keep blessing with these.
MISGUIDED AND LOST HIDE BEHIND WORDS AND RHETORIC:AND LEAD TO DESTRUCTION FROM THERE.THE TOP WAVE CAN SEE THE MOST FAR...
Yesterday at 12:13pm ·
HARCHARAN BAINS IN RESPONSE TO POONAMM
perhaps you are right poonam. i am always trying to look at everything from points other than where I stand. and chances of your seeing the truth are as good as those of my seeing it. or may be both are right and each see only one aspect of truth. truth is so large, kaleidoscopic and full of paradoxes that it requires either a saint or a visionary to see it. and i am neither. who knows you could be both. i am not willing to lose you just because you say something different from what i say. in fact, by seeing things differently, you only enrich me and all those who read me and you. i respect your opinion and response. keep blessing with these.
HAZEL: A wounded immortality is the worst pain in this universe
Words are tender infants when backed with love. Be kind to them when you use them. But also be careful and be kind to those for whom you use them. Otherwise , their babble can charm God into Hell, or hurt immortality to instant death. A wounded immortality is the worst pain in this universe
HAZEL: Mountains and a prophets have nothing to hide; so they are anxious to declare themselves and be seen from as far as possible.
(SLIGHTLY REVISED AND UPDATED. PLEASE IGNORE TYPOS)
The mother and son had been sitting under the canopy of stars for hours. Neither had spoken a word. He knew she was sad but he knew she was full of love. For him as for everyone and everything that came within her range.
He was sitting with his head sunk between his knees. Slowly, he lifted his eyes and gave his mother a full glance, gentle but full. And from the stillness of the valley emerged a soft, almost inaudible voice, "Mother."
There was a pause as she gently looked up, placed her hand on his hair which had already begun to thin. The gentle thrust of the hand seemed to pull him towards her. Soon, her soft warm breath was on his arm which she held close to her neck. And then she let go of it, and both sat like two savants, tired yet fulfilled.But there was some disquiet in his soul.
"Mother," he repeated in a soft voice, " why has destiny willed it thus for me? I have committed sins and have been thwarted at the doors of destiny. ...."
"You have committed no sins but mistakes," she stopped him. "There are no sins to be committed but mistakes can be just as punishing."
"Is there a destiny?" he asked after a long pause. Saying that, he threw his head in her lap, closed his eyes and said in a voice of resignation and pain,"Please speak to me, mother."
She looked at his sad face, placed her right hand almost weightlessly on his cheek, and spoke in a voice which was a little sad but not disturbed. Her words seemed to drop gently like dew-drops from another universe. And then she softly moved him away, resting his head on the big protrusion of the root of the peepal tree. And she moved away and sat at some distance from him and she said:
" Choose a destiny for yourself. Choose a "yourself" for that destiny. Make sure both deserve each other. Then, sit back, relax and enjoy a most fulfilling love affair that you will ever see and experience. If you have chosen the two well, that will lead not only to a thrilling life-long romance between the two but also to a progeny worthy of future. That progeny you will call a "happy and successful adventure called life." Remember that in life that which is not worthy of a brave present will never be worthy of beautiful future. This is what is meant by only the brave deserving the fair. Most of the misery and failures in our life are born out of a mismatch between the two. Like all mis-marriages, the mismatch between your worth and your dreams, between your present and your future can only lead to agony. "
She paused to give his half-sleeping visage a close loving look. But he indicated with a slight movement of his hands that he was listening. And she continued," If you find that either you or your destiny are falling short of each other, end the marriage immediately, sit down alone in a closed room, re-script either your future goals or your present strength. Nature loves a balance, and you can not be happy for ever if the balance between your worth and your dreams is disturbed. There is no such thing as God in this universe, but there surely is something called Order. Some prophets have called that Order "His Will", some others sing of "Huqam " while still others call it a "Word" or "shabad" or "Kalma". All these are poetic symbols used by great minds who knew that human language is inadequate to express the infinite Truth. They have relied on myths and metaphors and symbols and signs to point towards what they saw clearly. You can also see it clearly if you accept that it is not a thing of the mind but of your whole being.'
The meaning of her words was beginning to drip into his mouth like manna dew. He turned his eyes away to look intoo the distant mountains that appeared to move away and then move closer , much like the expanding and contracting of lungs.
He closed his eyes, and with his eyes cooly shut, he asked: "What is it it that is not a thing of one's mind and yet is a thing of one's whole being?"
"There is only one sentiment," she replied as if she had never been interrupted and as if her words were not an answer to his question but just the continuation of a lullaby she had been singing. "There is only only one experience that gets your whole being moving in one direction, towards one goal. That experience, that sentiment is love. There is none other known in this universe," she said, looking more past him than at him. " But by getting your being to move in one direction, towards one goal, this experience opens you up to the whole universe because that is the nature of this universe. It gives itself unto you through the smallest particle that exists. Love that particle and it will lead you to a revelation of the whole universe. The universe surrenders to one who knows how to love even the smallest thing that exists, because all these smallest things are like children of the universe. A mother would surrender herself to you if you completely and selflessly love any of her children. This universe behaves exactly as a mother does. That is why a mother is sometimes likened to God. That is why a particles is said to contain a universe. That is why love is likened to God. There is no other God than love, but there needn't be. Love takes you where God is. God resides in compassion and humility and selflessness and sacrifice and God resides in joy that flows forth from all these. Only love makes compassion and humility and sacrifice and selflessness possible," she said, and then suddenly paused to check if he was listening. He was.
She got up from where she was and looked at the skiy which seemd to be speaking through a language of profound silence. She felt the sky was speaking through her, that her words were not her own but were being delivered through her by a force that surrounded everyone everywhere. She took a deep breath and then resumed," When you love something, someone, you are making a declaration that someone outside of you matters more than you do; you are also making a declaration that you want to be worthy.At the same time, you are also climbing a mountain and announcing that you are larger than you are, that you are a God unto yourself. Have you noticed that mountains and prophets have something common between them? It is not just about their heights. It is about their courage to expose themselves to heights, the courage to be seen from afar, to be seen by everyone from every direction. Mountain and a prophets have nothing to hide; so they are anxious to declare themselves and be seen from as far as possible. Sermons on the mount have only this thing about them: open-ness under the skies. The sermons will one day die, become irrelevant and outdated. But love that inspired them and the mountain that cased it will last for ever.As I said, a lover is only trying to be worthy. A beloved, even she does not know or accept it, is also trying to be worthy of the lover whom she seems not to accept. The day their preparations are complete, the day both are worthy, love takes them over and they reach their destiny. Destiny is nothing but your worth given a living body. Never try to be successful or happy. Try to be worthy; the rest will follow, " she continued. Her slightly moist eyes were beginning to reflect the dim light of the stars
" I say this to you because you are beginning to understand. And because I love you. And because I know how much you love me, though you think that your errant life is in the way of your love for me. It is not.That was only a preparation. You have embarked on your journey and nothing -- not even you - can stop yourself from reaching your destiny. You have cheated, you have lied, you have visited brothels, you have been unfair to women just as much as some women have been unfair to you."
She paused a little, as if to breathe in a landscape of pain yet peace. She took a deep breath and then she continued again: " As a woman, I can not forgive you. But as a mother, I am proud and happy that in all this, you have not allowed love in your heart to die. You are as likely to give up everything you have for a little suffering child in the arms of an ailing mother as you are to lose everything in the lap of a woman this society would call bad. ...."
Suddenly he felt he was on the sprawling plains of Kurukshtra, several centuries back in time. And the words of his mother appeared to drop from a racing chariot and from the lips of a warrior who carried no weapons, a warrior who seemed to be smiling even in the midst ofa rain of arrows.
The mother and son had been sitting under the canopy of stars for hours. Neither had spoken a word. He knew she was sad but he knew she was full of love. For him as for everyone and everything that came within her range.
He was sitting with his head sunk between his knees. Slowly, he lifted his eyes and gave his mother a full glance, gentle but full. And from the stillness of the valley emerged a soft, almost inaudible voice, "Mother."
There was a pause as she gently looked up, placed her hand on his hair which had already begun to thin. The gentle thrust of the hand seemed to pull him towards her. Soon, her soft warm breath was on his arm which she held close to her neck. And then she let go of it, and both sat like two savants, tired yet fulfilled.But there was some disquiet in his soul.
"Mother," he repeated in a soft voice, " why has destiny willed it thus for me? I have committed sins and have been thwarted at the doors of destiny. ...."
"You have committed no sins but mistakes," she stopped him. "There are no sins to be committed but mistakes can be just as punishing."
"Is there a destiny?" he asked after a long pause. Saying that, he threw his head in her lap, closed his eyes and said in a voice of resignation and pain,"Please speak to me, mother."
She looked at his sad face, placed her right hand almost weightlessly on his cheek, and spoke in a voice which was a little sad but not disturbed. Her words seemed to drop gently like dew-drops from another universe. And then she softly moved him away, resting his head on the big protrusion of the root of the peepal tree. And she moved away and sat at some distance from him and she said:
" Choose a destiny for yourself. Choose a "yourself" for that destiny. Make sure both deserve each other. Then, sit back, relax and enjoy a most fulfilling love affair that you will ever see and experience. If you have chosen the two well, that will lead not only to a thrilling life-long romance between the two but also to a progeny worthy of future. That progeny you will call a "happy and successful adventure called life." Remember that in life that which is not worthy of a brave present will never be worthy of beautiful future. This is what is meant by only the brave deserving the fair. Most of the misery and failures in our life are born out of a mismatch between the two. Like all mis-marriages, the mismatch between your worth and your dreams, between your present and your future can only lead to agony. "
She paused to give his half-sleeping visage a close loving look. But he indicated with a slight movement of his hands that he was listening. And she continued," If you find that either you or your destiny are falling short of each other, end the marriage immediately, sit down alone in a closed room, re-script either your future goals or your present strength. Nature loves a balance, and you can not be happy for ever if the balance between your worth and your dreams is disturbed. There is no such thing as God in this universe, but there surely is something called Order. Some prophets have called that Order "His Will", some others sing of "Huqam " while still others call it a "Word" or "shabad" or "Kalma". All these are poetic symbols used by great minds who knew that human language is inadequate to express the infinite Truth. They have relied on myths and metaphors and symbols and signs to point towards what they saw clearly. You can also see it clearly if you accept that it is not a thing of the mind but of your whole being.'
The meaning of her words was beginning to drip into his mouth like manna dew. He turned his eyes away to look intoo the distant mountains that appeared to move away and then move closer , much like the expanding and contracting of lungs.
He closed his eyes, and with his eyes cooly shut, he asked: "What is it it that is not a thing of one's mind and yet is a thing of one's whole being?"
"There is only one sentiment," she replied as if she had never been interrupted and as if her words were not an answer to his question but just the continuation of a lullaby she had been singing. "There is only only one experience that gets your whole being moving in one direction, towards one goal. That experience, that sentiment is love. There is none other known in this universe," she said, looking more past him than at him. " But by getting your being to move in one direction, towards one goal, this experience opens you up to the whole universe because that is the nature of this universe. It gives itself unto you through the smallest particle that exists. Love that particle and it will lead you to a revelation of the whole universe. The universe surrenders to one who knows how to love even the smallest thing that exists, because all these smallest things are like children of the universe. A mother would surrender herself to you if you completely and selflessly love any of her children. This universe behaves exactly as a mother does. That is why a mother is sometimes likened to God. That is why a particles is said to contain a universe. That is why love is likened to God. There is no other God than love, but there needn't be. Love takes you where God is. God resides in compassion and humility and selflessness and sacrifice and God resides in joy that flows forth from all these. Only love makes compassion and humility and sacrifice and selflessness possible," she said, and then suddenly paused to check if he was listening. He was.
She got up from where she was and looked at the skiy which seemd to be speaking through a language of profound silence. She felt the sky was speaking through her, that her words were not her own but were being delivered through her by a force that surrounded everyone everywhere. She took a deep breath and then resumed," When you love something, someone, you are making a declaration that someone outside of you matters more than you do; you are also making a declaration that you want to be worthy.At the same time, you are also climbing a mountain and announcing that you are larger than you are, that you are a God unto yourself. Have you noticed that mountains and prophets have something common between them? It is not just about their heights. It is about their courage to expose themselves to heights, the courage to be seen from afar, to be seen by everyone from every direction. Mountain and a prophets have nothing to hide; so they are anxious to declare themselves and be seen from as far as possible. Sermons on the mount have only this thing about them: open-ness under the skies. The sermons will one day die, become irrelevant and outdated. But love that inspired them and the mountain that cased it will last for ever.As I said, a lover is only trying to be worthy. A beloved, even she does not know or accept it, is also trying to be worthy of the lover whom she seems not to accept. The day their preparations are complete, the day both are worthy, love takes them over and they reach their destiny. Destiny is nothing but your worth given a living body. Never try to be successful or happy. Try to be worthy; the rest will follow, " she continued. Her slightly moist eyes were beginning to reflect the dim light of the stars
" I say this to you because you are beginning to understand. And because I love you. And because I know how much you love me, though you think that your errant life is in the way of your love for me. It is not.That was only a preparation. You have embarked on your journey and nothing -- not even you - can stop yourself from reaching your destiny. You have cheated, you have lied, you have visited brothels, you have been unfair to women just as much as some women have been unfair to you."
She paused a little, as if to breathe in a landscape of pain yet peace. She took a deep breath and then she continued again: " As a woman, I can not forgive you. But as a mother, I am proud and happy that in all this, you have not allowed love in your heart to die. You are as likely to give up everything you have for a little suffering child in the arms of an ailing mother as you are to lose everything in the lap of a woman this society would call bad. ...."
Suddenly he felt he was on the sprawling plains of Kurukshtra, several centuries back in time. And the words of his mother appeared to drop from a racing chariot and from the lips of a warrior who carried no weapons, a warrior who seemed to be smiling even in the midst ofa rain of arrows.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
You erected an effigy where he sought an icon .
SAID HAZEL TO HER SON AT LAST AND THERE WAS PAIN IN HER VOICE THAT ECHOED HER SON'S DESTINY
......... "though you deserve none of this, you will yet be loved and forgiven because this universe knows no language other than love and forgiveness . But that love and that forgiveness will forever your crosses be till you bathe in the fountains of love that break forth from your soul ."
((another extract from "HAZEL", a novellete))
Said Hazel, continuing in voice heavy with pain:
"Often will the unpitying violence of truth judge you in all your nakedness . Every morning will you run away from the heartless gaze of the mirror . Every day will you find it hard to look your own child in the eye because you erected an effigy where he sought an icon . And you decked that effigy to cheat your son. But children know ropes from snakes . Your voice that to an infant's ear should music have been will for ever sound like a thud of a corpse falling from heights . That is the sound of falsehood imploding. You will not be forgiven easily for never have you known what it means to forgive, though your vengeance always had the colors of courtesy. And your desire roamed the streets of this town in love's clothing. You learnt to spin colorful yarns and those yarns pleased you and pleased others. Do you expect that in return for a life time of rolling in the muck, you will receive even a whiff of fragrance ? The stink of carcasses fills thy soul . You will beat your breast but instead of music of melancholy, only the hollow sounds will fill the empty skies ."
But having thus spoken the truth to her dearest child, Hazel became somber and quiet . Then she spoke softly again. "And yet, " said she in almost inaudible murmur, "though you deserve none of this, you will yet be loved and forgiven because this universe knows no language other than love and forgiveness . But that love and that forgiveness will forever your crosses be till you bathe in the fountains of love that break forth from your soul ."
After this, Hazel stood there silent and pensive for a long long while . She was sad for her child whom she could not save from himself .
......... "though you deserve none of this, you will yet be loved and forgiven because this universe knows no language other than love and forgiveness . But that love and that forgiveness will forever your crosses be till you bathe in the fountains of love that break forth from your soul ."
((another extract from "HAZEL", a novellete))
Said Hazel, continuing in voice heavy with pain:
"Often will the unpitying violence of truth judge you in all your nakedness . Every morning will you run away from the heartless gaze of the mirror . Every day will you find it hard to look your own child in the eye because you erected an effigy where he sought an icon . And you decked that effigy to cheat your son. But children know ropes from snakes . Your voice that to an infant's ear should music have been will for ever sound like a thud of a corpse falling from heights . That is the sound of falsehood imploding. You will not be forgiven easily for never have you known what it means to forgive, though your vengeance always had the colors of courtesy. And your desire roamed the streets of this town in love's clothing. You learnt to spin colorful yarns and those yarns pleased you and pleased others. Do you expect that in return for a life time of rolling in the muck, you will receive even a whiff of fragrance ? The stink of carcasses fills thy soul . You will beat your breast but instead of music of melancholy, only the hollow sounds will fill the empty skies ."
But having thus spoken the truth to her dearest child, Hazel became somber and quiet . Then she spoke softly again. "And yet, " said she in almost inaudible murmur, "though you deserve none of this, you will yet be loved and forgiven because this universe knows no language other than love and forgiveness . But that love and that forgiveness will forever your crosses be till you bathe in the fountains of love that break forth from your soul ."
After this, Hazel stood there silent and pensive for a long long while . She was sad for her child whom she could not save from himself .
Monday, April 26, 2010
Hazel's son writes to the woman he " loves like no man ever loved a woman ..."
"Words are tender infants when backed with love. Be kind to them when you use them. But also be careful and be kind to those for whom you use them. Otherwise , their babble can charm God into Hell, or hurt immortality to instant death. A wounded immortality is the worst pain in this universe. Take care and be happy.
Hazel's son writes to the woman who exists and exists not...."
(Extract from "Hazel", a novellete)
"….I have known myself to be capable of handling any impact so long as there is love in my heart, and there is more of love here than you would know what to do with.
So you can leave me to deal with the residue. I am more than used to living with myself as company.
There are a lot of things I imbibed from a great woman in my life. One of these is that relationships in love are always more about others than about oneself. Initially, it was painful to try to live up to it. But the more I imbibed of the meaning of her words, the more I realised that this is the only way to be happy in relationships -- happy and secure and unchallenged. If these words had come from any other person, I would have thrown them out of the window as useless sentimentality, and would have said, " I want to live my life on my terms. If someone cannot make me happy in a relationship, she is not for me."
But I could not tell this to this woman for two reasons. One obviously was that I was madly in love with her, loved her her beyond any language, symbols, myths or metaphors invented by man can describe .The other was that I had seen her practise this in her life and being happy with it. She had won her happiness the hard way, but once won, this could not be taken away from her by anyone. She was a strong and very beautiful woman, not one of those sissy weaklings who sometimes make a virtue out of necessity and justify their slavery in relationships because they cannot have the courage to break the bondage and be free. This woman always walked free, and yet she always knew only how to give. Her independence was her thing. It came from deep within her and flowed from the eternal fountains of spirituality. There was something sweet like honey and totally unobtrusive about this independence, and it was neither assertive nor aggressive. And yet, it was quietly there -- un-negotiable, uncompromising and very, very beautiful. She was always willing to live according to the terms of her loved ones, but in doing so she changed those terms before others knew it. You would never meet a greater woman in life. I might.
This woman was my mother. I learnt form her that complete surrender and complete control are the same thing.
Go fly your way, be happy and keep everyone around you, everyone you care fo. . You have given me all I could ever have dreamt of. So now, when you are talking to me, you are talking to a God fulfilled. Its all about you and how you can be happy. If I am a factor in that , I am completely yours. If I am not a factor , I am completely yours anyway. I said it will be my lifetime's ambition to be worthy of what life has given me over the past few years.
Generally speaking, I do not fail to be worthy when I try.
And it will always be my silent effort not to be an irksome item in your baggage of happiness. If anything, I would love to remain someone who egged you on to higher heights, both personally and professionally and as a mother. When I am talking to you, I am not talking merely to the woman I love the most. I am also talking to the woman who loves -- and knows how to love --those who have a first right on her affections; your children, your mother and your brother and dad.
I have never loved a woman with this intensity before, and I never can. No son of a woman in this generation can. If I can not , that means love comes to a dead stop at this end. Love does not travel beyond me. I am the final destination of this glorious sentiment in life.
Words are tender infants when backed with love. Be kind to them when you use them. But also be careful and be kind to those for whom you use them. Otherwise , their babble can charm God into Hell, or hurt immortality to instant death. A wounded immortality is the worst pain in this universe. Take care and be happy. . Love you.
Hazel's son writes to the woman who exists and exists not...."
(Extract from "Hazel", a novellete)
"….I have known myself to be capable of handling any impact so long as there is love in my heart, and there is more of love here than you would know what to do with.
So you can leave me to deal with the residue. I am more than used to living with myself as company.
There are a lot of things I imbibed from a great woman in my life. One of these is that relationships in love are always more about others than about oneself. Initially, it was painful to try to live up to it. But the more I imbibed of the meaning of her words, the more I realised that this is the only way to be happy in relationships -- happy and secure and unchallenged. If these words had come from any other person, I would have thrown them out of the window as useless sentimentality, and would have said, " I want to live my life on my terms. If someone cannot make me happy in a relationship, she is not for me."
But I could not tell this to this woman for two reasons. One obviously was that I was madly in love with her, loved her her beyond any language, symbols, myths or metaphors invented by man can describe .The other was that I had seen her practise this in her life and being happy with it. She had won her happiness the hard way, but once won, this could not be taken away from her by anyone. She was a strong and very beautiful woman, not one of those sissy weaklings who sometimes make a virtue out of necessity and justify their slavery in relationships because they cannot have the courage to break the bondage and be free. This woman always walked free, and yet she always knew only how to give. Her independence was her thing. It came from deep within her and flowed from the eternal fountains of spirituality. There was something sweet like honey and totally unobtrusive about this independence, and it was neither assertive nor aggressive. And yet, it was quietly there -- un-negotiable, uncompromising and very, very beautiful. She was always willing to live according to the terms of her loved ones, but in doing so she changed those terms before others knew it. You would never meet a greater woman in life. I might.
This woman was my mother. I learnt form her that complete surrender and complete control are the same thing.
Go fly your way, be happy and keep everyone around you, everyone you care fo. . You have given me all I could ever have dreamt of. So now, when you are talking to me, you are talking to a God fulfilled. Its all about you and how you can be happy. If I am a factor in that , I am completely yours. If I am not a factor , I am completely yours anyway. I said it will be my lifetime's ambition to be worthy of what life has given me over the past few years.
Generally speaking, I do not fail to be worthy when I try.
And it will always be my silent effort not to be an irksome item in your baggage of happiness. If anything, I would love to remain someone who egged you on to higher heights, both personally and professionally and as a mother. When I am talking to you, I am not talking merely to the woman I love the most. I am also talking to the woman who loves -- and knows how to love --those who have a first right on her affections; your children, your mother and your brother and dad.
I have never loved a woman with this intensity before, and I never can. No son of a woman in this generation can. If I can not , that means love comes to a dead stop at this end. Love does not travel beyond me. I am the final destination of this glorious sentiment in life.
Words are tender infants when backed with love. Be kind to them when you use them. But also be careful and be kind to those for whom you use them. Otherwise , their babble can charm God into Hell, or hurt immortality to instant death. A wounded immortality is the worst pain in this universe. Take care and be happy. . Love you.
HAZEL: LOVING AND LIVING WITH SATANIC IMPERFECTIONS
.....These little coquettish self-plays are sometimes reminiscent of a place called Varindavan. Look not for meanings when in love. Being in love is the only meaning there is to anything. And who should know it more than the rascal I am talking to ---except that I know it better and more!! Envy me my luck, but the price -- if that is a price -- is loving and living with Satanic imperfections. And aren't those thrilling? Who would want to be God if it came at the expense of the one most beautiful feeling and experience we have been bequeathed by the expelled ancestor? (Again) except that no one has ever had to pay that expense. Contrary, God is fascinating as he is becasue of His imperfections. Otherwise, he would be constricted to a pretty narrow universe. ANd who cares for a perfect wooden idol anyway? If love is a riot of imperfections, this universe and God owe their kaleidoscopic unpredictability to it For His sake, I glorify and perpetuate His imperfections. God has a lot to be thankful to me for, and I will not forget it nor let Him forget it at the Hour of Reckoning-- which is every hour! Rajiv meri ye shokhiy-e-rindaana dekhna/ Rehmat ko baaton baton mein behla ke peee gya!
HAZEL: BANISHING GOD? I prefer to play the girl child (Rajiv and I)
Sehaj Swabhav: RAJIV MUDGIL
Today at 7:50am
I banished God a long time ago. All his angels, fallen and upright left with him. I put away all scriptures and philosophies: saints and prophets moved away from my vicinity many years ago. I have no quarrel with God or any of his emissaries or followers. There is no vanity in what I say. It is a mere statement of fact spoken in humility which is the natural state of human existence. Not because the human race is a fallen progeny nor because it occupies but a miniscule place in the grandeur of the universe. It is because, in a state where there is no comparison, no one to compare with, vanity is impossible; only pure existence which neither denigrates nor embellishes itself.
Why should I seek to understand God, universe, my own self, pain, pleasure, prayer or devotion? Shall I construct and deconstruct with my intellect, create word monuments which now crumble and now rise on truths, half truths and falsehoods which serve but themselves. I have no questions, so what shall I seek answers to? Who shall I pray to and for what? I have all I need and cherish and there is no one out there who can grant or withdraw. Shall I describe the face of pain? I’ll know him when he enters my house uninvited. But when he is here, we’ll live together in this house and I will listen to his heart throbbing in my temples and lie down with him. Pleasure is my housemate. He is quiet and unobtrusive but fills my spirit with his body odour. The winds of autumn will rustle up dry leaves into the rosebush with little buds and the cherry and apple trees will soon blossom.
This is the natural state of the human spirit. It is not an object of wonder. The wonder is that most humans don’t consciously live it.
“Tum mere paas hote ho goya,
Jab koyee doosra nahin hota” - Momin
It is ‘sehaj swabhav’ whose quiet peace is being drowned out by the energetic but fruitless noise of intellect which fears empty space and constructs wordscrapers forever taller than others.
I do not crave “anhad naad” because when my cat snuggles up to me and purrs with pleasure as I stroke it, it touches my spirit with soothing pleasure. In the morning, when I prepare fruit for my daughter, the pale pineapple, the orange mango, the red strawberries, the green kiwis, the blueberries in the plate are a thousand times richer than the clearest rainbow because I adorn my daughter’s food with love which will sustain her.
Thoreau wrote,
My life has been the poem I would have writ,
But I could not both live and utter it.
And, this from Emily Dickinson,
I asked no other thing,
No other was denied.
I offered Being for it;
The mighty merchant smiled
HARCHARAN BAINS : TODAY 7.25 PM
I PREFER TO PLAY THE GIRL-CHILD
I continue to love God; I love all myths and all play things. I see no God I can banish, except as the little childhood playmate whom I would rather humour than dispense with. To banish God would need having a God to banish as anything more than a myth. And to presume God and my own existence as more real than a fleeting shadow play would be a forceful act of vanity. And then, as I said, God and I have a vested stake in each other's myth. I safeguard his and I get him to safeguard mine. Its a stake I have created . And I ahve constructed beautiful figures I call prophets and saints, and they follow me wherever I go. You are one of them . They have no choice becasue I have invested them with love, and love has to follow its creator. I have created myths much, much larger than anything I know, but thats the only way to live this life. A life bereft of myths is a drab tale, not for me. Call it a mock exercise, but the day He comes alongwith prophets and saints to seek help at my door, I will most probably give it, becasue I have something so large to give that only a myth can receive it. I look at my own eixstence also as a myth, a beautiful, absorbing myth whose reality is only as tangible as God's . Nevertheless, I prefer to play the child-girl and play with dolls, taking them for real. Its such a wonderful life and such a wonderful feeling. Your cat and my myths purr the same song.
Today at 7:50am
I banished God a long time ago. All his angels, fallen and upright left with him. I put away all scriptures and philosophies: saints and prophets moved away from my vicinity many years ago. I have no quarrel with God or any of his emissaries or followers. There is no vanity in what I say. It is a mere statement of fact spoken in humility which is the natural state of human existence. Not because the human race is a fallen progeny nor because it occupies but a miniscule place in the grandeur of the universe. It is because, in a state where there is no comparison, no one to compare with, vanity is impossible; only pure existence which neither denigrates nor embellishes itself.
Why should I seek to understand God, universe, my own self, pain, pleasure, prayer or devotion? Shall I construct and deconstruct with my intellect, create word monuments which now crumble and now rise on truths, half truths and falsehoods which serve but themselves. I have no questions, so what shall I seek answers to? Who shall I pray to and for what? I have all I need and cherish and there is no one out there who can grant or withdraw. Shall I describe the face of pain? I’ll know him when he enters my house uninvited. But when he is here, we’ll live together in this house and I will listen to his heart throbbing in my temples and lie down with him. Pleasure is my housemate. He is quiet and unobtrusive but fills my spirit with his body odour. The winds of autumn will rustle up dry leaves into the rosebush with little buds and the cherry and apple trees will soon blossom.
This is the natural state of the human spirit. It is not an object of wonder. The wonder is that most humans don’t consciously live it.
“Tum mere paas hote ho goya,
Jab koyee doosra nahin hota” - Momin
It is ‘sehaj swabhav’ whose quiet peace is being drowned out by the energetic but fruitless noise of intellect which fears empty space and constructs wordscrapers forever taller than others.
I do not crave “anhad naad” because when my cat snuggles up to me and purrs with pleasure as I stroke it, it touches my spirit with soothing pleasure. In the morning, when I prepare fruit for my daughter, the pale pineapple, the orange mango, the red strawberries, the green kiwis, the blueberries in the plate are a thousand times richer than the clearest rainbow because I adorn my daughter’s food with love which will sustain her.
Thoreau wrote,
My life has been the poem I would have writ,
But I could not both live and utter it.
And, this from Emily Dickinson,
I asked no other thing,
No other was denied.
I offered Being for it;
The mighty merchant smiled
HARCHARAN BAINS : TODAY 7.25 PM
I PREFER TO PLAY THE GIRL-CHILD
I continue to love God; I love all myths and all play things. I see no God I can banish, except as the little childhood playmate whom I would rather humour than dispense with. To banish God would need having a God to banish as anything more than a myth. And to presume God and my own existence as more real than a fleeting shadow play would be a forceful act of vanity. And then, as I said, God and I have a vested stake in each other's myth. I safeguard his and I get him to safeguard mine. Its a stake I have created . And I ahve constructed beautiful figures I call prophets and saints, and they follow me wherever I go. You are one of them . They have no choice becasue I have invested them with love, and love has to follow its creator. I have created myths much, much larger than anything I know, but thats the only way to live this life. A life bereft of myths is a drab tale, not for me. Call it a mock exercise, but the day He comes alongwith prophets and saints to seek help at my door, I will most probably give it, becasue I have something so large to give that only a myth can receive it. I look at my own eixstence also as a myth, a beautiful, absorbing myth whose reality is only as tangible as God's . Nevertheless, I prefer to play the child-girl and play with dolls, taking them for real. Its such a wonderful life and such a wonderful feeling. Your cat and my myths purr the same song.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
HAZEL: God and I
A fresh wound, bleeding profusely, and no cure in sight. But I have decided to square up to it the only way it is possible to do it: accept it and tell God to get lost for the time being. I will call Him back when I am done with this cruelty of circumstance which He is in no postion to undo. Its a helpless poor God we got to deal with, and I know how to do that. I will not trouble Him nor embarrass Him with requests He is powerless to meet. Nor will I give up singing, nor stop being in love with Him and adoring Him. After all, He is MY God, and there are times when He needs me more than I need Him, especially at an hour when His weaknesses and imperfections are in danger of public exposure. For the moment, I will tell Him to go and rule a zone of universe where there are no demands on his grace and compassion so that the legends of His omnipotence and boundless compassion are not disturbed. And He can return when my universe will be one such too. I have stake in God's happiness and His ego, and am sworn to protect both, just as He has been protecting mine. We are playmates, after all, God and I and are in a secret pact to protect each other's myth. (Elaborate later.. Ludhiana)
HAZEL: Riot of imperfections
If love is a riot of imperfections, this universe and God owe all their fascinating and kaleidoscopic unpredictability to it For His sake, I glorify and perpetuate God's imperfections. God has a lot to be thankful to me for, and I will not forget it nor let Him forget it at the Hour of Reckoning-- which is every hour!
Hazel: Question of love and understanding
Questions of love and understandingShare
Today April 26, at 3:55pm
If the person you love the most were to turn around one day and ask you, "Why me?" , would anyone have an answer? And if the same person also tells you that he/she loves you with equal intensity and is wondering "Why you?", would the situation become simpler or more complicated? And if the issue is flung farhter into crisis with a question,"How can you love me when you do not even know me well enough ?", should one attempt a retrieval or should one fling oneself into the deep along with the issue? Is it possible to know someone/something without being in love first? Updated 5 hours ago ·
Rajiv Mudgil: One in intense love is so absorbed in the other that 'why me' or 'why you' cannot arise. Beyond a certain level of intensity, the human heart cannot bear requited love. I don't know if it is simpler or more complicated, it is just unbearable and totally at odds with sanity.
Today April 26, at 3:55pm
If the person you love the most were to turn around one day and ask you, "Why me?" , would anyone have an answer? And if the same person also tells you that he/she loves you with equal intensity and is wondering "Why you?", would the situation become simpler or more complicated? And if the issue is flung farhter into crisis with a question,"How can you love me when you do not even know me well enough ?", should one attempt a retrieval or should one fling oneself into the deep along with the issue? Is it possible to know someone/something without being in love first? Updated 5 hours ago ·
Rajiv Mudgil: One in intense love is so absorbed in the other that 'why me' or 'why you' cannot arise. Beyond a certain level of intensity, the human heart cannot bear requited love. I don't know if it is simpler or more complicated, it is just unbearable and totally at odds with sanity.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Hazel: SISTER AND I AND OUR CONSPIRACY AGAINST THE UNIVERSE
"These are private words addressed to you in public"- Eliot.
"During my childhood and youth, I and my sister were up in a conspiracy against the universe and we used to laugh mightly at our daily little triumphs . Now, the universe is up in a conspiracy to get back at us. We will face it bravely ... she certainly will.... We, I and my sister, grant the universe this right to get even with us. "
"During my childhood and youth, I and my sister were up in a conspiracy against the universe and we used to laugh mightly at our daily little triumphs . Now, the universe is up in a conspiracy to get back at us. We will face it bravely ... she certainly will.... We, I and my sister, grant the universe this right to get even with us. "
Hazel: Pain: that red hot knife slicing through my heart
Today nApril 25, 2010 at 3:33am
I sing of happiness and love. But what of pain - that sharp, intense reminder of the human situation on this planet.Is it what followed the Eden curse "Thou shalt bring forth thy progeny in pain?" If the very act of bringing forth progeny is soaked in pain and if the natural response of a progeny at the time of brith must of necessity be crying, then can we really escape pain as a part of our definition.? Said the great Romantic: "Our sincerest laughter with some pain is fraught/ Our sweetest songs are those that tell us of our saddest thought." And Said Bacon:"It is as natural to man to die as to be born; and to a little infant, perhaps, one is as painful as the other." We know pain in its sublimest form purifies. And some of the greatest souls of this universe have actually courted pain -- not as a masochistic indulgence but as a gateway to understanding. But will someone please define pain for me? I know I have always been uplifted by pain to suprme heights, something very close to what love makes happen. In fact, love makes it happen becasue it walks so perilously close to pain's territory, making it possible for us to experience the othe extreme -- eternal happiness. Love -- that soul connecting force between agony and ecstasy, and both live deep in the heart of God. I invite a landscape of pain but I still want to understand its colours and the brush that paints it. Saints know pain is a treasure, but not all pain; just extreme pain born of love alone ---which is what I am going through since yesterday. It feels like a red hot knife is slicing down my heart.I pray I may be spared from pain born of desire or ego or possessiveness. I seek pain born of love, but having sought it, I find it unbearable. Did Jesus say on the Cross: "O God, do not put me through examinations?" Was it his pain breaking through poetry and love? Surely, the pain of Jesus can not be bron of desire for happiness. Surely, his drinking of pain on our behalf was not the same as our pain. Surely, the pangs of Meera, of Mansoor, of Guru Arjun, of Sacatese were not the pangs I feel when a pleasure or ego-boost is denied to me. Surely, its an experience I need to understand yet. Pain cleanses, yes, but not all pain. But what is pain really?
I sing of happiness and love. But what of pain - that sharp, intense reminder of the human situation on this planet.Is it what followed the Eden curse "Thou shalt bring forth thy progeny in pain?" If the very act of bringing forth progeny is soaked in pain and if the natural response of a progeny at the time of brith must of necessity be crying, then can we really escape pain as a part of our definition.? Said the great Romantic: "Our sincerest laughter with some pain is fraught/ Our sweetest songs are those that tell us of our saddest thought." And Said Bacon:"It is as natural to man to die as to be born; and to a little infant, perhaps, one is as painful as the other." We know pain in its sublimest form purifies. And some of the greatest souls of this universe have actually courted pain -- not as a masochistic indulgence but as a gateway to understanding. But will someone please define pain for me? I know I have always been uplifted by pain to suprme heights, something very close to what love makes happen. In fact, love makes it happen becasue it walks so perilously close to pain's territory, making it possible for us to experience the othe extreme -- eternal happiness. Love -- that soul connecting force between agony and ecstasy, and both live deep in the heart of God. I invite a landscape of pain but I still want to understand its colours and the brush that paints it. Saints know pain is a treasure, but not all pain; just extreme pain born of love alone ---which is what I am going through since yesterday. It feels like a red hot knife is slicing down my heart.I pray I may be spared from pain born of desire or ego or possessiveness. I seek pain born of love, but having sought it, I find it unbearable. Did Jesus say on the Cross: "O God, do not put me through examinations?" Was it his pain breaking through poetry and love? Surely, the pain of Jesus can not be bron of desire for happiness. Surely, his drinking of pain on our behalf was not the same as our pain. Surely, the pangs of Meera, of Mansoor, of Guru Arjun, of Sacatese were not the pangs I feel when a pleasure or ego-boost is denied to me. Surely, its an experience I need to understand yet. Pain cleanses, yes, but not all pain. But what is pain really?
Friday, April 23, 2010
wine belongs to those who can sip it from the fruit while still on branches
REVISED; Grapes belong to those who can wait for wine. Wine belongs to those who can sip it from the fruit while still on the branches. Branches belong to those who feel the arms of their beauteous love around them all day all night regardless of where they are. Days belong to those who see the sun reflected in the happily moist eyes of their beloved. Nights belong to those who can burn like a glow-worm to guide their beloved into their hearts. Hearts belong to those who purposely court dangers. a heart that dreads dangers is fit to lie beneath a tail, becasue that is what "co-ward" literaly means. A lover's heart invites death, tempts death and if that does not work, rapes death-- it wants death so badly. Anything that belongs to death does so to underscore the strength and intensity of life. Therefore, anything that belongs to death in this sense actually belongs to life and love. A poet cried out in "separation" from death and actually comiserated with death: kabraan udeekdian mainu , jion puttraan nu maavaan!" ( Graves pine for me as mothers pine for their long separated sons" Shiv) Love belongs to God. God belongs to me, I belong to all, you belong to all. Let love guide you to the illuminated Cross, because for ever will you wear that Cross around your neck, for ever will it settle there, for ever kissing your warm, throbbing bosom. The pendant on the virgin's heaving bososm is there for this reason alone. Those who walk with love towards the Cross embrace life, becasue there is life only beyond that Cross, no matter which side you approach it from. Let's walk slowly, noiselessly, almost motionlessly step in step twoards the cross and kiss each other under the shadow of the towering cross. experience death once so that you may live for ever. Experience death while still alive, that alone is knowing death . Spake Nanak: "Nanak Jeevatiaan mar raheeye, aisa jog kamaaiye." And after such death, -- live . And love, becasue there is no such thing as a loveless life. A loveless body will soon rot and decompose. A loveless mind always stinks. Let your mind be a garden in full bloom, exhaling fragrance all around. Lovers, prophets, martyrs and saints have found a simple name for that fragrance: Love. Do not stand in the way of love. Do not stand in the way of fragrance, becasue in so doing, you will hurt fragrance but little, but you will hurt generations and generations of children, starving them of fragrance. Join the children and sing and drink and inhale the fragrance. And if the fragrance smells familiar, be not surprised. It is your fragrance, the fragrance of love that you have been too scared to let out. Love's true enemy is not hatred; very often, it is a propellant of love. love's true enemy is fear. You are not willing to pay the price. You enter love's empire as your enter a duty free shop, expecting a marginal gain.If thats how you do it, you are right, because you will get that marginal gain-- at the cost of love. Cast fear away, and in the vacuuam thus created, love will rush in of its own from all directions; you need do nothing more than just close your eyes, lie back and allow love to fill your dark, stnking voids. Once thats"s done , you will wake up as Jesus, Nanak, Mohammad, Buddha, Nam Dev, Ravi Dass, Krisna ..or MEERA. The game is simple. Its your call -- would you rather be a stinking, rotting yet somehow walking carcass in the valley of flowers or would you allow the nimble healing fingers of love touch you, kiss the leprosy off your body, mind and soul, and turn you into a garden where laughter, fragrance and lovers' esprit de corps fill every nook and corner of the place. Love and religioin are not about who others are; they are about who you are. And the moment you see the two as two and not as one, you have fallen, perhaps irredeemably, till a Nanak walks your way and picks you up and holds you close to his bosom. Or you can make Nanak smile gently by donning the mind of a Meera. But the prophets will still care, keep kissing the cancerous ulcers you like to nurture ; the prophets will wait around near the bend, so that they are there when you wake up. But its your call really. Because its your life. There will be those who will excel in 'wise restraint' from love; you cannot live by love alone, they wil tell you. Listen to them; you will not fall 'grievously low'. But as a prophet said,"you will not soar high." Love is not about falling; it is about soaring. Those who have lived it have repeatedly shouted from atop the mountains : Ghatt, ghatt mein har jio basse, santan kahio pukaar.......ANd " Kaite jeevan preet bin, sukk gaye kumlaaye ..."
AH! ATLAST, THE ENERGY OF INDIA HITS ME LIKE A TORNADO......
ON RETURN FROM THE USA/CANADA 3:12pm |
FROM FACEBOOK
And back in New Delhi Indira Gandhi International Airport, ah! The energy of India hits me like a tornado run amuck a million times over. Suddenly, India emerges like mad ecstatic leviathan from the seas, hair floating, horns blaring, people jostling to force one another out, vehicles screaming for no reason, there are horns where there is none to listen to them , there are cows and dogs and even cats running a wild show on what is known as the Grand Trunk Road. In incredibly overcrowded trains, where five fit in into a space built for one, where there is hardly space enough for everyone to breathe, up comes a beggar-singer, calmly breaking into a song which no one will care to listen and yet none will dare to ignore. Next stop: three vendors, selling twelve knives and scissors for the price of one --- and with that a comb, a toy monkey, a needle set, a thread reel and cake of soap free (without haggling) ---India! Three pretty young girls, all clad in divinely spotless white school uniform walk blissfully across the busy inner ring road, gloriously unmindful of a multitude of speeding vehicles screeching to a halt, unmindful of the oh-so-angry looks on the faces of the vehicle owners. Where there are red lights; they do not function for someone for some reason chose to smash them last night – so the busy square is kept busier because the only way to find one's way to is to play a war of nerves … keep pushing without allowing the eyes of the others guys to meet yours, pretending you have seen nothing on the other side. Everyone gets away with it because everyone is doing it. And yes a policeman ---India's most powerful symbol of legislature, executive and judiciary rolled into one -- stands with his back to the great drama of the Indian excitement. There are rules to be broken, there are laws to be mocked and there nearly 100 crore human minds ready to smash anything even remotely reminiscent of law and order to pieces with a vengeance which only the spiteful Indian gods or their Greek counterparts know how to inflict. Turn the page: there is a beggar woman, persistently knocking at the your car window, not even expecting you to respond, but not bothering to let that dishearten her. She has two little, dirty kids, their noses flowing into their mouths, flung on each side of her, and both have a look in their eyes which tells you they wouldn't be bothered one way or the other about their mother's efforts to salvage something for them. These beggars irritate you, and yet they are the only test god will put your charity to…nay, not charity but your love. Smile at one of the children and both will smile back. There are loudspeakers at religious shrines belonging to different communities , crying loudly into each other's throat claming proximity to God they do not believe in. All this disorder, this riot of directionless energy, this unabashedly selfish race to get ahead, trampling over all norms, all laws, all rules and regulations ----this is what hits you.
This is what you see of India if you do not have eyes to see anything else. And yet this defiant disorder, this indefinable force run wild, this lack of discipline, this proud refusal to be civilized , this persistence with a way of life which everybody knows is silly and yet which no one will be found coward enough to abandon –this is my homeland.
Then there is this gloriously competing hot summer sun which leaves bodies sweltering, sweating, smelling foul . And what they call this "blistering heat"! I pretend not to notice it becasue thats what I have been doing with this heat each summer since my childhood -- play hide and seek with it, test my naked feet (tender at that time) by running a full stretch of burning sandy path on the way back from school. This heat loved the blisters on my feet, and I loved surviving each summer without ever being deterred from flying my kites from atop godforsaken dilapidated buildings, till someone elder in the family would come and slap me right across the face and take me home. Summer would smile at my plight, and I would smile back at her the next noon, quitely, triumphantly declaring ,"I am back." There were no air conditioners then to spoil this love affair with heat. And there were more kites in the skies and in my eyes than there were fears in any bosom.
India, where the only way to read is between the lines, where the only invitation to sanity is to join the madness – this land full of paradoxes, ironies, contradictions, oxymoron . This land alone has the credentials to represent God -- in all His wild unpredictability and His mocking refusal to be understood. India will be understood the way God is: surrender yourself at His feet, and He will be yours. Look not for petty virtues like consistency, orderliness, system, discipline or such like . These are virtues by which the weal swear and live – the weak who lack the heart to welcome the cyclonic flux of particles, all flying in all directions, seemingly flying into eternity. India is the Kubla Khan of the Universe. And Kubla Khan lived in : " the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
" A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And whoever beholds India will let out a cry..
" Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of paradise."
India, who would die rather than be understood. Isn't it like you and me? Turn your gaze within your bosom , and each one will see an India there. But how many have the courage to live that frenzy.? India has. Have you?
COMMENTS BY FACEBOOK MEMBERS
Timmy Kamboj, Sahil Agnihotri, Jugraj Dhillon Sohi and 2 others like this.
Gurbrinder Singh Anand SAYS " a perfect 'write up'. i say this not cos its come out of some well established ,high profile officer but i say this cos this 'piece' has its proximity to each one of us ,here in india.i feel the agony and your helplessness to set things in order .this piece reminds me of Newton.he was not the first person to see an apple falling to the ground but ... See Morehe was surely the one who made a 'law' which we all follow today . so its time for people like u sitting at high places and for us working at the ground level ,to set things right.
your style of writing reminded me of 'khaled hosseini'.for some this comment may seem more like blandishing but wot ever i stated comes from the heart. sometimes u come across such beautiful articles or works which u wish doesn't end. this 'piece'is definately one of those for me.
JAGVINDER WROTE
Jagvinder Singh Chattha i am glad that you are back into our beloved land, but we do miss you dearly back home - here in the States. Things that we couldn't express, are well written by you in this wonderful note. As i was reading it, it took me back to times whenever i visit India.
FROM FACEBOOK
And back in New Delhi Indira Gandhi International Airport, ah! The energy of India hits me like a tornado run amuck a million times over. Suddenly, India emerges like mad ecstatic leviathan from the seas, hair floating, horns blaring, people jostling to force one another out, vehicles screaming for no reason, there are horns where there is none to listen to them , there are cows and dogs and even cats running a wild show on what is known as the Grand Trunk Road. In incredibly overcrowded trains, where five fit in into a space built for one, where there is hardly space enough for everyone to breathe, up comes a beggar-singer, calmly breaking into a song which no one will care to listen and yet none will dare to ignore. Next stop: three vendors, selling twelve knives and scissors for the price of one --- and with that a comb, a toy monkey, a needle set, a thread reel and cake of soap free (without haggling) ---India! Three pretty young girls, all clad in divinely spotless white school uniform walk blissfully across the busy inner ring road, gloriously unmindful of a multitude of speeding vehicles screeching to a halt, unmindful of the oh-so-angry looks on the faces of the vehicle owners. Where there are red lights; they do not function for someone for some reason chose to smash them last night – so the busy square is kept busier because the only way to find one's way to is to play a war of nerves … keep pushing without allowing the eyes of the others guys to meet yours, pretending you have seen nothing on the other side. Everyone gets away with it because everyone is doing it. And yes a policeman ---India's most powerful symbol of legislature, executive and judiciary rolled into one -- stands with his back to the great drama of the Indian excitement. There are rules to be broken, there are laws to be mocked and there nearly 100 crore human minds ready to smash anything even remotely reminiscent of law and order to pieces with a vengeance which only the spiteful Indian gods or their Greek counterparts know how to inflict. Turn the page: there is a beggar woman, persistently knocking at the your car window, not even expecting you to respond, but not bothering to let that dishearten her. She has two little, dirty kids, their noses flowing into their mouths, flung on each side of her, and both have a look in their eyes which tells you they wouldn't be bothered one way or the other about their mother's efforts to salvage something for them. These beggars irritate you, and yet they are the only test god will put your charity to…nay, not charity but your love. Smile at one of the children and both will smile back. There are loudspeakers at religious shrines belonging to different communities , crying loudly into each other's throat claming proximity to God they do not believe in. All this disorder, this riot of directionless energy, this unabashedly selfish race to get ahead, trampling over all norms, all laws, all rules and regulations ----this is what hits you.
This is what you see of India if you do not have eyes to see anything else. And yet this defiant disorder, this indefinable force run wild, this lack of discipline, this proud refusal to be civilized , this persistence with a way of life which everybody knows is silly and yet which no one will be found coward enough to abandon –this is my homeland.
Then there is this gloriously competing hot summer sun which leaves bodies sweltering, sweating, smelling foul . And what they call this "blistering heat"! I pretend not to notice it becasue thats what I have been doing with this heat each summer since my childhood -- play hide and seek with it, test my naked feet (tender at that time) by running a full stretch of burning sandy path on the way back from school. This heat loved the blisters on my feet, and I loved surviving each summer without ever being deterred from flying my kites from atop godforsaken dilapidated buildings, till someone elder in the family would come and slap me right across the face and take me home. Summer would smile at my plight, and I would smile back at her the next noon, quitely, triumphantly declaring ,"I am back." There were no air conditioners then to spoil this love affair with heat. And there were more kites in the skies and in my eyes than there were fears in any bosom.
India, where the only way to read is between the lines, where the only invitation to sanity is to join the madness – this land full of paradoxes, ironies, contradictions, oxymoron . This land alone has the credentials to represent God -- in all His wild unpredictability and His mocking refusal to be understood. India will be understood the way God is: surrender yourself at His feet, and He will be yours. Look not for petty virtues like consistency, orderliness, system, discipline or such like . These are virtues by which the weal swear and live – the weak who lack the heart to welcome the cyclonic flux of particles, all flying in all directions, seemingly flying into eternity. India is the Kubla Khan of the Universe. And Kubla Khan lived in : " the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
" A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And whoever beholds India will let out a cry..
" Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of paradise."
India, who would die rather than be understood. Isn't it like you and me? Turn your gaze within your bosom , and each one will see an India there. But how many have the courage to live that frenzy.? India has. Have you?
COMMENTS BY FACEBOOK MEMBERS
Timmy Kamboj, Sahil Agnihotri, Jugraj Dhillon Sohi and 2 others like this.
Gurbrinder Singh Anand SAYS " a perfect 'write up'. i say this not cos its come out of some well established ,high profile officer but i say this cos this 'piece' has its proximity to each one of us ,here in india.i feel the agony and your helplessness to set things in order .this piece reminds me of Newton.he was not the first person to see an apple falling to the ground but ... See Morehe was surely the one who made a 'law' which we all follow today . so its time for people like u sitting at high places and for us working at the ground level ,to set things right.
your style of writing reminded me of 'khaled hosseini'.for some this comment may seem more like blandishing but wot ever i stated comes from the heart. sometimes u come across such beautiful articles or works which u wish doesn't end. this 'piece'is definately one of those for me.
JAGVINDER WROTE
Jagvinder Singh Chattha i am glad that you are back into our beloved land, but we do miss you dearly back home - here in the States. Things that we couldn't express, are well written by you in this wonderful note. As i was reading it, it took me back to times whenever i visit India.
UNDER A DRIZZLE ON NEW YORK'S BROADWAYS, GURBANI SMILES ON ME....
UNDER A DRIZZLE IN NEW YORK'S BROADWAYS, GURBANI SMILES ON ME
hours before leaving America
Yesterday 23 APRIL at 6:26am |
Gurbani smiles on me wherever I go. Under a honeyed drizzle across the sprawling New York Broadways, connecting Whitman's New Jersey with Atlantic Blvd, ten figures of love and compassion and forgiveness walk beside me.And as the GPS in Jagvinder's car guides us through roads filled with people urged by love towards their homes, Gurbani leads me to intergalactic spaces, past those spaces, into zones that stretch to the heart of infinity and beyond, a melody walks with soft steps along the Atalantic. And under a soft drizzle, in Jagvinder's car this:
Mein gal vich leho milaaye jio...
jhim jhim amrit varsda, Goli golaya khasam da...
Boh maan kiyaa tudh oopre, tudh aape paaye thaaein jio...
tu thaan thanantar rav rahia Nanak, bhagtaan sach adhaaar jio...
Ootthat bainthat sovat jaagat, jee praan dhan maal,
Darshan piyaas bahut mann mere, nanak daras nihal.
Har darsan ki piyaas ghaneri,
Antt Nanak sharan prabh teri.
Mein gal vich leho milaaye jio,
Deho daras , deho darars, deho daras, deho daras....
Sukh daatiya,
Mein gal vich leho milaaye jio.
Forgiving masters judge not because they know judgement is irrelevant, because forgiveness is the only option they have, the only option they exercise. The Gurus judge not because love is never a slave to judgement. They judge not because they have pre-judged the option. They judge not because they love. And this sinner walks the broad road along the mighty Atlantic even as the loving Gurus smile at my pettiness. Someone said prophets do not follow; they lead. Do they? Only the prophets know how to follow , and they always follow those whom they love (and they love everyone) Only the prophets have the courage to follow. (Do we have the courage to follow the Gurus? If we had, we would have followed their glowing footprints that have waited for 300 years or more, and we would have been blessed and we would have become prophets. Our loveless hearts have kept us from fulfilling our own prophesy, kept us from turning ourselves into prophets.
But here, on New York's Broadways -- here, today, this moment -- the Gurus bless everything with their unending love, compassion, forgiveness and more love and more compassion. Here and everywhere, today and everyday, this moment and always --the Gurus breathe spring into every soul. Rise, and be blessed.Updated on Wednesday ·
Jugraj Dhillon Sohi, Yuvi Uv and 2 others like this.
Shashi Samundra P.S. I meant provide Gurmukhi translation along with the Gurnbani quotes.Thnx.
22 hours ago · Rani Bains WROTE IN RESPONSE TO JAGVINDER'S POST: ...and when it comes to being greatful, Jagvinder you are not alone.
20 hours ago ·
FOOTFALLS AT NIAGARA
Saturday, April 17, 2010 at 11:44am |
Are these the gentle footfalls of the mighty surge of love that I hear at Niagara even amidst this immortal roar of the waters, or is it the motion of some angry Indian or Greek gods who roll on in an endless motion to write their signatures with water? Footfalls resound like thunder to weak ears, the human ears, but the sky that always listens quietly, patiently, lovingly gently smiles at the play of elements that both frighten and enchant my feeble mind. But I rejoice in this overwhelming palpitation of fear that the roar creates in my heart. I rejoice because both the gentility and the violence of the spectacle fascinates me like a maiden who kills and revives and kills and revives with her fleeting glances. These waters, this movement, this mighty sound and the fog and clouds and this all enveloping chill that has chosen to embrace me with warmth -- what else is the thrill of God? And what else the thrill of love ? The Niagara moves now with awesome regality, but now this constant roar is nothing but an attempt to impress me like a little child trying to impress her mother .And yes, Niagara, rejoice -- because I am impressed ! Because I have love in my heart for you as for every humble rivulet that flows kissing the bosom of this earth. Be proud, but not too much -- because if you are the roar of Shiva, the humble stream is His profound silence. And watch the saints whose hearts reflect you and the the little rivulets alike. But I salute you this moment, not just because this moment you roar like a sage in a trance but also because just a little back from the spectacle, you approach this roar with slow , graceful dance of my maiden love. Footfalls of my maiden love silently sing the melody that your mighty falls do in a roar. Roar on, Niagara, and hearken the gentle, inaudible melody of love that smiles at you all the time.
Amardeep Purewal and Sonu Jasmit Dosanjh like this.
Harcharan Bains @balwinder: love and poetry and prophets follow me wherever i go and where i leave my footprints , god comes kissing . ....and i love your roar...
April 17 at 9:54pm · Balwinder Singh So, when do you think love and roar should meet...... I wish this roaring love be heard at the earliest...right there beneath the mighty falls!
April 17 at 11:18pm ·
hours before leaving America
Yesterday 23 APRIL at 6:26am |
Gurbani smiles on me wherever I go. Under a honeyed drizzle across the sprawling New York Broadways, connecting Whitman's New Jersey with Atlantic Blvd, ten figures of love and compassion and forgiveness walk beside me.And as the GPS in Jagvinder's car guides us through roads filled with people urged by love towards their homes, Gurbani leads me to intergalactic spaces, past those spaces, into zones that stretch to the heart of infinity and beyond, a melody walks with soft steps along the Atalantic. And under a soft drizzle, in Jagvinder's car this:
Mein gal vich leho milaaye jio...
jhim jhim amrit varsda, Goli golaya khasam da...
Boh maan kiyaa tudh oopre, tudh aape paaye thaaein jio...
tu thaan thanantar rav rahia Nanak, bhagtaan sach adhaaar jio...
Ootthat bainthat sovat jaagat, jee praan dhan maal,
Darshan piyaas bahut mann mere, nanak daras nihal.
Har darsan ki piyaas ghaneri,
Antt Nanak sharan prabh teri.
Mein gal vich leho milaaye jio,
Deho daras , deho darars, deho daras, deho daras....
Sukh daatiya,
Mein gal vich leho milaaye jio.
Forgiving masters judge not because they know judgement is irrelevant, because forgiveness is the only option they have, the only option they exercise. The Gurus judge not because love is never a slave to judgement. They judge not because they have pre-judged the option. They judge not because they love. And this sinner walks the broad road along the mighty Atlantic even as the loving Gurus smile at my pettiness. Someone said prophets do not follow; they lead. Do they? Only the prophets know how to follow , and they always follow those whom they love (and they love everyone) Only the prophets have the courage to follow. (Do we have the courage to follow the Gurus? If we had, we would have followed their glowing footprints that have waited for 300 years or more, and we would have been blessed and we would have become prophets. Our loveless hearts have kept us from fulfilling our own prophesy, kept us from turning ourselves into prophets.
But here, on New York's Broadways -- here, today, this moment -- the Gurus bless everything with their unending love, compassion, forgiveness and more love and more compassion. Here and everywhere, today and everyday, this moment and always --the Gurus breathe spring into every soul. Rise, and be blessed.Updated on Wednesday ·
Jugraj Dhillon Sohi, Yuvi Uv and 2 others like this.
Shashi Samundra P.S. I meant provide Gurmukhi translation along with the Gurnbani quotes.Thnx.
22 hours ago · Rani Bains WROTE IN RESPONSE TO JAGVINDER'S POST: ...and when it comes to being greatful, Jagvinder you are not alone.
20 hours ago ·
FOOTFALLS AT NIAGARA
Saturday, April 17, 2010 at 11:44am |
Are these the gentle footfalls of the mighty surge of love that I hear at Niagara even amidst this immortal roar of the waters, or is it the motion of some angry Indian or Greek gods who roll on in an endless motion to write their signatures with water? Footfalls resound like thunder to weak ears, the human ears, but the sky that always listens quietly, patiently, lovingly gently smiles at the play of elements that both frighten and enchant my feeble mind. But I rejoice in this overwhelming palpitation of fear that the roar creates in my heart. I rejoice because both the gentility and the violence of the spectacle fascinates me like a maiden who kills and revives and kills and revives with her fleeting glances. These waters, this movement, this mighty sound and the fog and clouds and this all enveloping chill that has chosen to embrace me with warmth -- what else is the thrill of God? And what else the thrill of love ? The Niagara moves now with awesome regality, but now this constant roar is nothing but an attempt to impress me like a little child trying to impress her mother .And yes, Niagara, rejoice -- because I am impressed ! Because I have love in my heart for you as for every humble rivulet that flows kissing the bosom of this earth. Be proud, but not too much -- because if you are the roar of Shiva, the humble stream is His profound silence. And watch the saints whose hearts reflect you and the the little rivulets alike. But I salute you this moment, not just because this moment you roar like a sage in a trance but also because just a little back from the spectacle, you approach this roar with slow , graceful dance of my maiden love. Footfalls of my maiden love silently sing the melody that your mighty falls do in a roar. Roar on, Niagara, and hearken the gentle, inaudible melody of love that smiles at you all the time.
Amardeep Purewal and Sonu Jasmit Dosanjh like this.
Harcharan Bains @balwinder: love and poetry and prophets follow me wherever i go and where i leave my footprints , god comes kissing . ....and i love your roar...
April 17 at 9:54pm · Balwinder Singh So, when do you think love and roar should meet...... I wish this roaring love be heard at the earliest...right there beneath the mighty falls!
April 17 at 11:18pm ·
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
saints soldiers
April 13,1699 : A man strode on to space with a sword dripping with blood and a prayer on his lips and songs of love in his heart. The blood on his sword was not the voice of murder, for he had killed no one . Five men arose to kiss that sword, and each one was blessed. They became for ever the beloveds of the Universe which stood before them in human form and embraced them. That embrace awaits you and me. It has waited more than 300 years , and it can wait another 300 million, because it knows not how not to love. But for our own sake , shall we stop prolonging the wait . Lets be worthy of the embrace that beckons us .
SAINT: A MAN WHO HAS NO HATRED IN HIS HEART.
SOLDIER : A MAN WHO CARRIES NO PERSONAL AXE TO GRIND.
SAINT SOLDIER: A MAN WHOSE ONLY CRUSADE IS TO CONQUER HIMSELF THROUGH LIMITLESS LOVE, SACRIFICE AND COMPASSION.
ONE MAN DID IT FOR ALL HUMANKIND. DO WE DARE FOLLOW THE GLOW OF LOVE THAT SPARKLES IN THE FOOTPRINTS WHICH HE HAS LEFT FOR ETERNITY?
TO GURU GOBIND SINGH
PHIR ROSHAN KAR ZEHAR KA PIYAALA ,
CHAMKAA NAYEE SALEEBEIN
JHOOTHON KI DUNIYA MEIN SACH KO TAABANI DE MAULA
PHIR MOORAT SE BAAHAR AA KE
CHAARON AUR BIKHAR JAA
PHIR MANDIR KO KOI MEERA DEWANEE DE MAULA.
SAINT: A MAN WHO HAS NO HATRED IN HIS HEART.
SOLDIER : A MAN WHO CARRIES NO PERSONAL AXE TO GRIND.
SAINT SOLDIER: A MAN WHOSE ONLY CRUSADE IS TO CONQUER HIMSELF THROUGH LIMITLESS LOVE, SACRIFICE AND COMPASSION.
ONE MAN DID IT FOR ALL HUMANKIND. DO WE DARE FOLLOW THE GLOW OF LOVE THAT SPARKLES IN THE FOOTPRINTS WHICH HE HAS LEFT FOR ETERNITY?
TO GURU GOBIND SINGH
PHIR ROSHAN KAR ZEHAR KA PIYAALA ,
CHAMKAA NAYEE SALEEBEIN
JHOOTHON KI DUNIYA MEIN SACH KO TAABANI DE MAULA
PHIR MOORAT SE BAAHAR AA KE
CHAARON AUR BIKHAR JAA
PHIR MANDIR KO KOI MEERA DEWANEE DE MAULA.
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