Take away my passport - I cut my hair!

For the past few months I have not been able to write much as I have been obsessed with- getting a haircut or rather trying to lose my Indian passport. Have I lost it ?!- trust me, this one ruling even the babus of the passport offices must not have thought of......

And now the bare bones of it- I went to Vrindavan and visited the ISKCON temple there with my extended family (some of who are borderline religious fanatics). There we met this person who is apparently quite high up ladder in the organisation. My god fearing relatives, overwhelmed by their good karma to have met with such a person, performed the customary greetings. Now, I am still to make my peace with many issues in the Hindu religion, which is the religion given to me by birth. And although, I may be uncomfortable with the specifics, completely male oriented and regressive as they are, I do believe in certain cosmic truths like being human or taking one step at a time and doing your bit for the world. A sort of common sense meets girl scout kind of philosophy that, by the way, has held me in good stead up until now.

Anyway, coming back to my story, this person apparently detected my discomfort at the obeisance that he seemed to, quite frankly, demand rather than generate. And that's when he and I crossed paths, as before that, we had no thread linking us. Now, this gentleman decided to teach me a thing or two about India. With his entourage (such likes are seldom without one) hanging on to every word that he was saying he went on to explain to me how my short hair was anti India. Not anti- Hindu mind you! He went on to explain how the great founder of this organisation had converted so many hippies of the evil West into good Indians and how I was causing national shame. I needn't get into the details of it all as I am sure that you can guess the rest of it. To cut the story short, my relatives looked apologetic for my short hair and the disgrace they cause, promising on my behalf that I shall mend my ways. My children,utterly confused at the high handed jargon dished out to their mother, were torn between their good manners and their wish to stand up for their mother. And as for me, I suddenly was lifted away and outside of myself as I disconnected completely with the entire episode.

Now, I am outspoken person if I have had the time to prepare, but this kind of on the spot verbal feud usually ends in a feud of the non-verbal kind as I will fly into a rage, and cut lose. But luckily, the social boundaries were strong enough for me to bite the bullet and just appease my raging bull by casting defiant glares at the Holy man.
I have been accused of a lot but let this go down in history as by far the most amicable argument that I have ever had. I had begun this article as one written in hurt and anger and somewhere the humor crept in and all I am left with is this Malgudi-Days-kind of feeling about the situation. One where I am the poor Swamy, whose happiness at catching a toad, has been dashed to ground by a portly Panditji, with whom he had the misfortune of colliding, thereby warranting a purificaion ceremony replete with curses and promises of hell for Swamy. While, I, Swami and my children fidget and wait to go catch another toad.
One regret-perhaps I could have done better. I did have a million conversational replays of the entire event in my mind with me emerging as a clear hero and every one else seeing the proverbial light.
But such was not the case and all I could do to redeem myself was to get another haircut!
I hope the passport authorities of India are not listening!

हाँ तो यह है मेरा तजुर्बा बुक फेयर का। एक संस्था है एकलव्य (www.eklavya.in) जो प्रदर्शनी में शामिल थी। वहाँ एक व्यक्ति मिला जो शायद hamaara परिचेय हमारे देश से करा सके.शायद हम हिन्दी स्कूलों में सीखते हैं और अपनी अंग्रेज़ी की मिलावट से इसे प्रदूषित कर देते हैं.किन्तु इस व्यक्ति की भाषा इतनी सरल और शुद्ध थी की पाँच साल संस्कृत पढने के बावजूद मुझे उससे बात करने में संकोच हो रहा था। हम शायद गैर अंग्रेज़ी भाषी व्यक्तियों को हीन और अधूरा समझते अं। किन्तु इस हिन्दी भाषी व्यक्ति ने मुझे इस प्रकार का कोई भी आभास नहीं दिलाया।

इतना आत्म सम्मान उनही में हो सकता है जो अपने ज्ञान और दिशा के विषये में बहुत सिक्योर हो। शायद यही सही मायेने में ज्ञान है- जो भाषा का मोहताज नहीं।

में गांधीजी की एक किताब दूंद रही थी जो मुझे कहीं नहीं मिल रही थी। जब मैंने इस व्यक्ति से इसके बारे में पुछा तो यहाँ भी मुझे निराशा किंतु एक अजीब सा आभासहुआ। हम शायद गांधीजी के बारे में किताबों में पढ़ते हैं और उन्हें पर्वों पर याद करते हैं। वे बापू हैं, राष्ट्र पिता हैं । लेकिन जिन लोगों से में आज मीली उनके लिए गांधीवाद एक साँस लेता हुआ आदर्श है। उन्हें NCERT की आवश्यकता नहीं। वे गांधीजी के बारे में संकोच se नहीं बोलते जैसे शायद शहरों के लोग बोलते हैं क्योंकि गांधीवाद इनके लिए राजनीति है, समाज व्यवस्था नहीं।
पहली बार अपने ही शहर में लगा की हम शायद यहाँ के नही हैं। इस स्वतंत्र देश के वासी तो हैं किंतु सोच se शायद अभी भी आधीन हैं। हम तो उन पर्येतकों से भी पीछे हैं जो कम से कम इस देश के बारे में पढ़कर इस देखने आते है। हम अभी भी किताबी भारत को ही जानते हैं क्योंकि वह हमारी पढाई का हिस्सा है। सौ करोरकी आबादी का आंकडा तो जानते हैं पर यह सोचने की भूल भी करते हैं की या तो यह सौ करोर हमारे जैसा है और या एक गाँव के किसान है। अध्यापक, कवि, बुनकर, कारीगर या गाँव का डाकिया तो वह हो ही नहीं सकता। और गांधीजी की लिखी सभी किताबों का जानकार - कदापि नहीं।
शायद यही मेरी इस बुक फेयर की सबसे बढ़ी खोज थी।

Inner Eye

A friend recently asked me to clarify the header of this blog - inner eye looking outwards. In his opinion the inner eye or 'antarmann' as we say in hindi is an introspection of the self from within. That seemed to me like a 360 feedback on oneself. And while its not counter productive, I would say that it is limited in its realm. So here's what I meant by what I wrote.
Its an out of body experience... like letting your mind out as a tourist amongst the physical bazaar that we encounter everyday. This juxtapositioning of the physical and the meta physical is the lens through which I am trying to pick things out. It creates for me a million meeting points of the two worlds- inner and outer. A Deja vu that just does not end. Like two people participating in the same event.
Choices become so much easier, conclusions instant and one gets a feeling of getting away with it. Just like an invisible person would. Iam just trying to make an effort to align my two worlds. The resonance has to be tremendous. Invisible being, inner beings, extra terristial beings may see a glass half full,but then again the other half wasn't really empty- air was there ! Possiblities are limitless.

Other Indias

Went to see the Delhi Book Fair and met some Indias that we sitting in the Rajdhani never dream of. The Hind Desh ke Niwasi are not in the boutiques of Khan Market or in the Cultural by lanes of Mandi House. They are out there, living and breathing an air of socio-political awareness that the arm chair warriors and NGO hungry socialites only talk of.

I will run a feature of what I saw, learned and took from this collision of paths, I hope not merely accidental. But for now I am too overwhelmed and need time to gather my thoughts.

I leave you with this beautiful book I purchased from Eklavya Publications.

Ironic

“A death row pardon
Two minutes too late “
Alanis Morissette’s song played out for me this morning. As I drove down a busy lane, I spotted a lizard hitching a ride on my windscreen. It was beautiful and repulsive at the same time. I could neither look at her nor look away (what choice did I have - I was driving!). Its translucent skin almost showing its dark bulbous underbelly. It’s glassy, beady eyes staring unabashedly at me.
As I drove on, I started to weigh my options, frantically thinking of ways to evict this unwanted passenger. I couldn’t just clear the windscreen, it would have killed it. If it fell on the road, it would be squashed under some wheel. Yes, it needed help, protection and a ride home safely.

So we drove – the lizard and I, openly sizing each other up. And as I was contemplating ways of getting out of the car without any unpleasant encounters of the reptilian kind, I saw a crow swoop down directly towards the car. Somehow, it looked more menacing, blacker and bigger as it neared, like some ominous big bird from a witch’s tale. The next moment, I heard a thump as a wing beat against the roof of my car. I looked up to see the lifeless lizard clutched in the crow’s claws as it flew away. My heart pounded in my head trying to came to grips with what had just happened.
It was all over- the crow had rid me of my peril and the lizard of its life. I don’t know why but I felt a sense of deep loss. I felt like I was an abettor of some crime. Like I had aided the crow, conspired against the lizard- conned it into believing that I really was saving its life, only to serve it to the crow on a platter. And the crow- it appeared like some conspiring felon, hiding round the corner waiting for a sign to ambush the unsuspecting creature.
For the rest of the ride, calm engulfed me. The crow had rid me of more than the lizard. It had snatched away from me an unnatural sense of responsibility, a burden of knowing too much, knowing what’s best, the burden of Assumption. My help really wasn’t needed. I could have shooed the lizard away. But no, I had to help her, save her from own death. And I did not have the power to do so. Her destiny, in a flash linked me, the lizard and the crow in a dance of nature- beautiful in its might and ruthlessness. And we three were connected through our karma- like transmitters and receivers, our energies transcended physical barriers. The lizard placed a choice in my hand, I in the crow’s and the crow converted this into her destiny and my karma in one swoop. As students we learn of the conversions of energies. But we make the mistake of limiting it to the realm of science. What I saw today made my school lesson appear but an obvious deduction from a natural phenomenon.
Actions have reactions. Energies are passed on – apparent or not. That we do not know, is not sufficient to negate the existence of that which shall prevail. And above all, Nature Rules. Sometimes, humans are redundant.
And I was only trying to help- Ironic.

Wild Horse

Read this beautifully inspiring poem in the Euro Tunnel. It has been with me since 1997........

Ride a Wild Horse

Ride a wild horse

Against the sky

Hold tight to his wings

Before you die

Whatever else you leave undone

Once ride a wild horse

Into the Sun

- by Hannah Khan

A Summer Flower Show

I choose this name for the photos that follow simply because nature displayed some of its most spectacular floral shows for our pleasure during our week long stay at Mukteshwar. The blooms, most vivid in colours and contrasts, would turn any person a poet.

Summer!

A clear view
(met this amazingly clear headed shepherd on a hazy summer morning at Mukteshwar)


Thrash it out
(And this lady was not at all camera shy as she informed us of a good view point to click her from)

Read between the lines !

(Mountain people have a certain agelessness as if they too become a witness to the great play of nature just like the mountains)

Podcast !

(A pod from the cotton tree )

Acquisition of past

Fountain pen- a thing of the past. Today, I acquired one after many years. Its such a good feeling to deliberate over ink bottles (not many choices , though, at the local shopkeepers). My kids are over the moon because they think its a 'cool gadget'. And it is too- Eco-friendly to boot. At least I won't need to keep disposable pens anymore- the ones that are thrust in your face at every teller, restaurant and bookshop. I think that we are seriously lacking in style both as individuals and as a collective.
The fact that one size fits all, does not apply to the fountain pens (as the one that you use is the one that works for you) lends you character. The right angle, the right slant to get a good hand, a good speed.. there is an understanding a relation between you and your tool.
My first fountain pen (when I was Eleven) was a stout gold pen with a black checkered pattern on it. It sat quite plum in my hand and its smooth nib was like no other I encountered after that. It belonged to my mom and I held it like it was a sword - like I was finally ready to take my place in the world.
But these days such small initiation ceremonies are lost. My son takes some plastic tube to school which looks just like the rest of them and not like some wondrous wand that wields magic.
But then again, maybe its a good thing. For I cannot imagine the SMS language penned down in a flourish to last an entirety. Its best disposed off!

My Takhti

A takhti, traditionally is a wooden board,quite resembling a clipboard of today but with a twist. And to write on a takhti you need 'siyaahi' (ink) and 'kalam' (pen). And then, just write straight onto the board. So, what do you do when there is no more space on the takhti ? Well, wipe ad clean it and start again. Over time it gets worn and looks like an old chopping board. And therein lies the romance of a takhti.
For me, Takhti represents old ways. It represents time when it was still measured in hours and days and not in seconds and nano seconds. It is an echo of an era when we still bothered to remember spellings, when disposable pens were not an option. A takhti probably, gave 'a clean slate' its first meaning.
So, it was only apt that this chapter of my journey be penned on a 'Takhti'.
Does anyone still posess an old Takhti?

The Quest of a Believer. Once there was an island and people lived on it quite happy in their believes. Then came a boat full of people which happened to be passing by. Now, they see the island people waving at them and assume that they are looking to be rescued. Whereas, all the islanders were doing was wave at them with joy. So the boat people jump off shore, look at all the strange rituals and decide to 'educate' these poor souls. In doing so, they undo all that is of value, qualifies as uniqueness and gives one roots. Now the island people no longer want to be on the island. The boat people, however, weary of their travels and still not happy, settle on the island. A true interaction happens then. And the boat people are humbled and realise their search. Now they try and rescue back the island-boat people causing much angst, debate and faithlessness and a deep feeling of loss- of time, energy and peace.

And that more or less sums up the relation that the world and Indians have when it comes to valuing the age old beliefs of our country specially when it comes to the inner quest. We love it when the world endorses Yoga, loves the sitar and finds haldi a great antiseptic. Why is it more palatable when it is wrapped in candy coloured wrappers? As if the over hydrogenated West has to give us a nod for us to start believing in that which has always been ageless. Imagine that- An Endless Shelf Life.

It is this 'thing' , this 'gyan' that I seek. And my first step - take it as a detox regime- is to simplify- thought, action, reaction and its meditation.

How it all started

There is a world of images, expressions, feelings and sounds that surround us ... each one of us. Some that we like, some that we don't. Some surprise us, others shock us. Some we keep in mind and some we readily forget. And then there are those that defy all logic and leave an imprint on in a life altering manner. This blog is about all that. It is what I choose to take from what the world has to offer. And hence the name "Takhti", which in my grandmother local punjabi dialect meant the writing board. So I hope that you enjoy these musings as much as I did thinking them.