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.