A door called birth and a door called death. And in between a passage. Beyond them, burns an inextinguishable fire, the eternal source of all life. I arise from this fire and choosing a mask for myself, enter the door of birth. I walk the passage, wearing my mask with my co travelers, wearing masks of their choosing. Lost in the stories of our masks, we give and take lessons from one another. And then, one day, I reach the door of death. The mask is pulled away. I see the fire, know my truth. I take stock of what I learnt and what I need to learn. I choose a mask once more and walk towards the door of birth.The Eternal Jester watches, cries and laughs.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Home
I seek home and no, the one made of bricks and mortar does not suffice. I seek space in another's soul, where I can be me, without fear. Where, without conditions, I shall be accepted, valued and loved as I am.This is such a thirst in every heart and drives one from door to door. And when I do not find succor, I slam doors shut in desolate despair. Like the musk deer, I do not realise, that the fragrance I seek, rises from me. That if I can accept my own self, I'll be my own sanctuary.
A Woman's Life
When I was about seventeen, an older male cousin sagely told me that a woman's life is a painful one. The statement had perplexed me, I recall, for then I did not really have any reason for viewing my life significantly different from a man's. Now, several decades later, I remember what he said and take stock. Yes, my life did have pain. I went through the pain of moulding myself to suit others and lost myself, in a way. But then, on the path to rediscovery, I realized that in order to really find oneself, losing is an essential prerequisite.I have felt like a lesser human at times, but that has taught me not to see anyone else as such. I went through physical and emotional rigours of child bearing and rearing and found that it connects me deeply to another human being and to my own empathetic self in a way, not possible for a man to experience. I went through the pain of letting go the ones I loved so much and experienced the fact that love does not diminish on doing so but rather acquires new dimensions, expanding, growing wings.Yes, a woman's life has pain. But this pain connects me to life's essence. I find myself blessed.
A Visit And Some Questions
What is disability really? And who are the so called 'able' or 'normal' ? I wondered when I reached the campus of "The Friends Of Camphill India". This is a residential community which houses twenty four adults with mental disabilities. When I reached there with my friends, they came up to us, in joyous welcome. A woman came up to me, looked into my eyes, hugged me and pinched my cheek. And when startled, moved and somewhat overwhelmed, I asked her name, she gave me a look, a trifle sad and disappointed and walked off. Disabled? Who? I, with my thousand barriers to love, with my conditioned need for labels like names and so on or she who could hug and love a stranger without qualms?
This question rose again and again in my mind. I saw A sitting there, severely autistic, his body moving, his hands dancing to the beat of a music, only he could hear. Abnormal ? Disabled ? Or is it that he lives a different reality, his experience of the world is different from mine ? Regardless of their chronological age, they were all children. They all had the unguarded eyes and pure smiles of children. No walls, no pretensions, their anger real, their hurt real, their love real. And we, the supposedly normal, find that hard to comprehend and so we label them abnormal. But the truth is that each of us sees the world differently and has his/her own unique relationship with the world.
Francis Aradhya, a woman of Dutch origin, who has been running the place for the last fifteen years, along with her Indian husband, Ananta and three children, has interesting views. She calls her wards 'special friends'. And she does not believe in a 'mainstream' life, where all those who are apparently different, those who do not fit in with the norms, are sidelined. She describes them as those who have come with a special destiny, a difficult destiny. And with their presence they help others around them to see, experience and know themselves. She spoke of life as a circle rather than a linear flow, which is inclusive of every human being as all behavior is legitimate human behavior. Its a part of vast spectrum of humanity. There is nothing 'abnormal' really.
It makes complete sense to me. This is the truest form of egalitarianism. I saw it in practice yesterday and felt moved and privileged.
The community has volunteers, co-workers living along with the special friends. They grow fruits and vegetables in their organic farm, work in workshops , do the household chores together. They have a bio dynamic plant and solar power.
I saw how a spiritual approach to life can blend and operate wonderfully with the material one.
I saw how a spiritual approach to life can blend and operate wonderfully with the material one.
Do visit them sometime. It will make your world bigger and better. I can vouch for that.
Friends of Camphill India
Take Care Woman !
Your son loved the fish curry and so you give him that extra piece of fish. Never mind that it came from your share. That is what women are conditioned to do. Think of others. Take care of them. Put yourself, your desires, your happiness last. Adapt, adjust, please as that makes your woman's life worthwhile. This is so ingrained and you do it over and over, again and again. And you never think of the soft being who lives inside you, who feels unimportant, neglected, deprived. Till one day, over some supposedly trivial issue, you erupt in anger.
And for this, you are labelled overly emotional, unpredictable, irrational. You buy that and feel guilty. No one, not even you, sees what lies behind that so-called
tantrum.The mountain of hurt that you caused yourself because you ignored your own feelings.Women, what you want and feel is important and if you don't see it, no one else will. You have so much love and care to give others but please begin with your own self.You are the nurturer. Nurture yourself.
And for this, you are labelled overly emotional, unpredictable, irrational. You buy that and feel guilty. No one, not even you, sees what lies behind that so-called
tantrum.The mountain of hurt that you caused yourself because you ignored your own feelings.Women, what you want and feel is important and if you don't see it, no one else will. You have so much love and care to give others but please begin with your own self.You are the nurturer. Nurture yourself.
On Suffering And Survival
Last week, the impoverished mother of a seriously ill child, said to me that God should be careful when he gives sorrow. He should not give so much that the person dies, crushed under the weight. I remember her words and think of suffering. It seems to be pretty much all pervasive. We also seem to have an innate ability of creating it when its not there. Is there an upper limit to how much a human can tolerate? Looking at the history of mankind, I would think not. Humans have gone through horrendous sufferings, natural and man-made like holocausts, pogroms and yet survived to tell the tale. And many have emerged from it, purified, transformed, elevated. The human spirit can endure and transcend whatever is thrown at it. And this gives me hope as I am made of the same spirit.
Musings On Death
Musing on death as someone I knew, died today. Death had not come easy to him. He had faced the debilitating cruelty of aging, the sapping of strength, mobility, memory. An inexorable fading away, slow but sure. His shell lay there, the empty body, while his spouse of many decades, reminisced, sobbing and smiling alternatively, weaving between memories of the past and loss in the present. His children, busy making arrangements had no time to grieve. People coming and going, phones being worked, rounds of coffee being provided by the neighbours, I watched life swirl around death. He looked incongruous lying there. Still, pale, motionlessness in sharp contrast to the bustle around him. The warrior had left, his battle done. His wife told me that for the last one month, he had only spoken of his parents and siblings who had passed on. He had not recognized any of the living.
They say, there is no type of wood which does not finally burn. I think of the fire which is inherent in wood.This fire which flares, smoulders and burns to ashes.The outer burning is merely a ritual.
*************
Fading eyesight, greying hair, creaking joints, wrinkling skin, vanishing memory. Death is not an unwelcome visitor. It cohabits with life. I had attended once, a session by a Buddhist monk on death absorption meditation. Birth is the manifestation of the five elements - earth, water, fire, air, ether from the heart centre as the body with its various systems(circulatory-water, digestive-fire, respiratory-air, ether-mind). Death is the absorption of these into the heart centre. Aging is nothing but the gradual absorption of elements. Disease only hastens the process. Dying is as ongoing, as natural a process as living.
They say, there is no type of wood which does not finally burn. I think of the fire which is inherent in wood.This fire which flares, smoulders and burns to ashes.The outer burning is merely a ritual.
*************
Fading eyesight, greying hair, creaking joints, wrinkling skin, vanishing memory. Death is not an unwelcome visitor. It cohabits with life. I had attended once, a session by a Buddhist monk on death absorption meditation. Birth is the manifestation of the five elements - earth, water, fire, air, ether from the heart centre as the body with its various systems(circulatory-water, digestive-fire, respiratory-air, ether-mind). Death is the absorption of these into the heart centre. Aging is nothing but the gradual absorption of elements. Disease only hastens the process. Dying is as ongoing, as natural a process as living.
Friday, March 14, 2014
This Day In My Life
When I woke up this morning, I had no idea, what the day will be like. My friend had volunteered in this hospital and I decided to go along. I had no real purpose in my mind. The paediatric ward was being given a makeover by the volunteers. Colourful murals being painted on the walls, decorations made of strips of leaves being hung up. There were students, nurses, homemakers working there.
The paint attracted me. I painted in my young days and many decades have gone by since. And so I did a part of the mural and got paint splashed on me, which was fun. Also, painting along with other people was a novel experience for me. I tired after some time as being arthritic, I cannot stand for too long. I saw a mother sitting on a bench with her child on a wheelchair. I went and sat next to her.
Its been a year and a half since I have stopped working as a counselor with sick people and their caregivers. I sat with this mother and her child who looked wasted and pale. He had a feeding tube in his trachea and could not speak. I was at a loss of what to say. I then introduced myself as a counselor and said that I was there for her if she wanted someone to speak to. She said she did want to speak.
They were from Rajasthan, she said. And life was hard as they were poor. She and her husband both worked. They had an older son. They worked so hard that they did not even have time to speak to each other. Their house was small, there was no running water.and she had to store water for a week. Life was so hard that they anyway wished to die. The only thing which kept them going was the boys growing up. If only the boys could have a good life, it would all be worthwhile. And then this had happened.
Two months ago, the younger boy, thirteen year old, had complained of leg pain. There was nothing else. No fever, no other symptom. She had not taken it seriously and had put him to bed. The next day, he could not move his arms and legs. Her energetic, mischievous child was paralyzed. He was in the ICU for many days on a ventilator. But now, the doctors said there was nothing more for them to do. He was being discharged. He was slowly regaining some movement. But no one knew how long it would take for him to fully recover.
I heard her story and could say nothing other than how difficult it all was. How difficult for a mother to see her child in this condition. As she told me her story, she had cried and also smiled at times. She then said, how uncertain life was. No one can tell what will happen in the next hour, let alone the next day. Humans have no say, no control at all. There is disease, death. Its all in God's hands. She told me about another patient, a seventeen year old girl and asked me to meet her. She said seeing that girl gives her the courage to face her own situation.
Then she went back to the ward to feed her son. When she came back, her mother and sister-in-law had arrived with her lunch. They brought her lunch everyday. I said, see, when one has trouble, one has support too. Her mother said that when a loved one is in pain, one has to be there. I then said, with some trepidation (as I did not want to sound preachy) that perhaps these very difficult situations come to give us some learning. She readily agreed and said, "Atma to jagrit hai. Sab dekhti hai, seekhti hai."( The soul is always awake. It watches and learns) She went on to speak about some of the things she has learnt, like patience and courage. I asked her whether she would write about what she was learning. She said she would. She told me then that she would never forget, for the rest of her life, that I had talked to her. I was deeply touched by her courage, calmness and depth of spirituality. And her mother's loving support for her.
I went to meet the seventeen year old girl, she had told me about. Her cousin was there taking care of her. This girl had undergone brain surgery, a year ago. She had not regained the use of her limbs. The doctors were going to operate again, soon. Her cousin said that she had lost both her parents, eight years ago. She showed me a photograph of a healthy girl, with two long plaits, taken a year ago. She had been a rank holder in the tenth exams. She could not speak because of the tube in the trachea but could understand what was said and also watched TV.
I saw the love with which the cousin treated her. Hugging her, kissing her, changing her clothes and bedsheets with loving care, she said, this is my baby. I marveled that in both the situations I saw, extreme suffering was accompanied with so much love and support. I spoke to the girl, telling her that I had great respect for her for what she was undergoing and that she was very brave and strong. She nodded her head and intermittently held my hand. I said to the cousin that the unconditional love she felt for the girl was a gift from her and she had taken on tremendous suffering to give this gift to people around her.
After that, I went outside and joined the volunteers in making and putting up leaf decorations.Two women, with a lot of warmth, taught me how to make them. I enjoyed learning this craft.The mural was coming up beautifully in vibrant colours and patterns. I felt the excitement and happiness in the air with the creative pursuits going on. There was consternation as a group of monkeys arrived, foraging for food and pulling down the decorations. Patients on wheelchairs and their caregivers watched.
Life flowing on, inexorably.
The paint attracted me. I painted in my young days and many decades have gone by since. And so I did a part of the mural and got paint splashed on me, which was fun. Also, painting along with other people was a novel experience for me. I tired after some time as being arthritic, I cannot stand for too long. I saw a mother sitting on a bench with her child on a wheelchair. I went and sat next to her.
Its been a year and a half since I have stopped working as a counselor with sick people and their caregivers. I sat with this mother and her child who looked wasted and pale. He had a feeding tube in his trachea and could not speak. I was at a loss of what to say. I then introduced myself as a counselor and said that I was there for her if she wanted someone to speak to. She said she did want to speak.
They were from Rajasthan, she said. And life was hard as they were poor. She and her husband both worked. They had an older son. They worked so hard that they did not even have time to speak to each other. Their house was small, there was no running water.and she had to store water for a week. Life was so hard that they anyway wished to die. The only thing which kept them going was the boys growing up. If only the boys could have a good life, it would all be worthwhile. And then this had happened.
Two months ago, the younger boy, thirteen year old, had complained of leg pain. There was nothing else. No fever, no other symptom. She had not taken it seriously and had put him to bed. The next day, he could not move his arms and legs. Her energetic, mischievous child was paralyzed. He was in the ICU for many days on a ventilator. But now, the doctors said there was nothing more for them to do. He was being discharged. He was slowly regaining some movement. But no one knew how long it would take for him to fully recover.
I heard her story and could say nothing other than how difficult it all was. How difficult for a mother to see her child in this condition. As she told me her story, she had cried and also smiled at times. She then said, how uncertain life was. No one can tell what will happen in the next hour, let alone the next day. Humans have no say, no control at all. There is disease, death. Its all in God's hands. She told me about another patient, a seventeen year old girl and asked me to meet her. She said seeing that girl gives her the courage to face her own situation.
Then she went back to the ward to feed her son. When she came back, her mother and sister-in-law had arrived with her lunch. They brought her lunch everyday. I said, see, when one has trouble, one has support too. Her mother said that when a loved one is in pain, one has to be there. I then said, with some trepidation (as I did not want to sound preachy) that perhaps these very difficult situations come to give us some learning. She readily agreed and said, "Atma to jagrit hai. Sab dekhti hai, seekhti hai."( The soul is always awake. It watches and learns) She went on to speak about some of the things she has learnt, like patience and courage. I asked her whether she would write about what she was learning. She said she would. She told me then that she would never forget, for the rest of her life, that I had talked to her. I was deeply touched by her courage, calmness and depth of spirituality. And her mother's loving support for her.
I went to meet the seventeen year old girl, she had told me about. Her cousin was there taking care of her. This girl had undergone brain surgery, a year ago. She had not regained the use of her limbs. The doctors were going to operate again, soon. Her cousin said that she had lost both her parents, eight years ago. She showed me a photograph of a healthy girl, with two long plaits, taken a year ago. She had been a rank holder in the tenth exams. She could not speak because of the tube in the trachea but could understand what was said and also watched TV.
I saw the love with which the cousin treated her. Hugging her, kissing her, changing her clothes and bedsheets with loving care, she said, this is my baby. I marveled that in both the situations I saw, extreme suffering was accompanied with so much love and support. I spoke to the girl, telling her that I had great respect for her for what she was undergoing and that she was very brave and strong. She nodded her head and intermittently held my hand. I said to the cousin that the unconditional love she felt for the girl was a gift from her and she had taken on tremendous suffering to give this gift to people around her.
After that, I went outside and joined the volunteers in making and putting up leaf decorations.Two women, with a lot of warmth, taught me how to make them. I enjoyed learning this craft.The mural was coming up beautifully in vibrant colours and patterns. I felt the excitement and happiness in the air with the creative pursuits going on. There was consternation as a group of monkeys arrived, foraging for food and pulling down the decorations. Patients on wheelchairs and their caregivers watched.
Life flowing on, inexorably.
Transformation
The caterpillar dies for the butterfly to be born. Heavy, earthbound gluttony transforms into brilliant, flitting, nectar sipping beauty. And so must I die every moment to my old self for my new self to be born. Death and birth walk hand in hand. I cannot hold on, must not cling to the moments as they pass me by. I have to embrace the new ones as they come. And so I leave my arms wide open in this passage of life and experience the ongoing bitter-sweetness of change, the agony-ecstasy of transformation.
Anthony Firingee
'shotti bote aami jete te firingee,
ei hite lok bhinno bhinno,
antim e shob ekangi'
(yes, its true, I was born a foreigner,
in this manner, people are different
in the end, all are part of the same whole)
- Heynesman Anthony or Anthony Firingee, replying to taunts on being a foreigner, in a live poetry contest in 19th century Bengal.
Son of a Portugese businessman who settled in Chandannagore, Bengal in early19th century, Anthony learnt Bengali, Sanskrit, read all scriptures and became a noted Bengali poet of his time, winning poetry contests against major poets. He was a Kali-Durga bhakt, wrote devotional poetry and married a Hindu brahmin widow. He is very close to my heart for his life is an example of inclusivity beyond man-made social divisiveness.
When a woman poet taunted him that he is a foreigner in guise of a Bengali, he replied "Like you are disguised as a woman." I just LOVE him!
ei hite lok bhinno bhinno,
antim e shob ekangi'
(yes, its true, I was born a foreigner,
in this manner, people are different
in the end, all are part of the same whole)
- Heynesman Anthony or Anthony Firingee, replying to taunts on being a foreigner, in a live poetry contest in 19th century Bengal.
Son of a Portugese businessman who settled in Chandannagore, Bengal in early19th century, Anthony learnt Bengali, Sanskrit, read all scriptures and became a noted Bengali poet of his time, winning poetry contests against major poets. He was a Kali-Durga bhakt, wrote devotional poetry and married a Hindu brahmin widow. He is very close to my heart for his life is an example of inclusivity beyond man-made social divisiveness.
When a woman poet taunted him that he is a foreigner in guise of a Bengali, he replied "Like you are disguised as a woman." I just LOVE him!
Losing Herself
I saw a woman drowning yesterday. Bit by bit. Slowly but surely. Losing herself in an attempt to fit in, be accepted by the husband and his family. I saw how the guilt was being overlaid on her everytime she wanted or said anything in accordance with her beliefs or preferences.She was being too 'aggressive'. Anything which defined her was not acceptable.This woman and her husband are well educated, well employed, urban Indians. It is heartbreaking to see this in the 21st century.
Book and Tree
I was reading a book full of a wise man's words and the thought came to me that to make this book, they had cut down a living, breathing tree. A tree which had drawn sap from earth and on whose branches, seasons had changed.It had been sawn, beaten, smashed to pulp and on its dead body, words of wisdom were inked.Dead wisdom substituted for a living one.
Change
"Be yourself. Do not change for someone else. It does not last and is not worthwhile." I hear this a lot and do not understand. Who is this 'yourself' which does not change? I see myself as this constantly changing entity. Every experience/interaction changes me irreversibly. I find it difficult to define who 'I' am at a given point of time as the change is so constant.
On Women's Day
Was at a picnic last week where this Rajasthani troupe was performing. Dancing, singing, magic/puppet show, the works. There were these two women dancing off and on, even when people were doing their own thing and not really watching. It looked qute sad and exploitative to me.Then it so happened that we began dancing with one of them and had a fun time. After that, I asked her name and which of the men was her husband. To my utter surprise, she told me in fluent English that she was unmarried, a graduate and working in an IT firm. That this was a part time occupation! Happy Woman's Day !
Home
I seek home and no, the one made of bricks and mortar does not suffice. I seek space in another's soul, where I can be me, without fear. Where, without conditions, I shall be accepted, valued and loved as I am.This is such a thirst in every heart and drives one from door to door. And when I do not find succour, I slam doors shut in desolate despair. Like the musk deer, I do not realise, that the fragrance I seek, rises from me. That if I can accept my own self, I'll be my own sanctuary.
Remembering
I had met this woman on my weekly round in the hospice. She had seemed disturbed and had asked me to sit with her for a few minutes. I had complied. She had taken me to her mother's bedside. A woman in her late eighties, dying of cancer, she had been brought there the day before. She was also an Alzheimer's patient and had been steadily losing her memory for the past few years.
The woman spoke at length about how much she loved her mother, how much she cared. She had found her mother, uncared for in her brother's home and had brought her home. She used special nutritional supplements and special diets for her mother to keep her strength up so that she could withstand the treatment for cancer. She had tried her best but was unable to cope now and so had brought her to the hospice. She cried.
I was familiar with this guilt of leaving loved ones in hospice care and so I consoled her, telling her the decision was right under the circumstances and that her mother would be well cared for. But I could see that her grief went deeper. She said that for many months now, her mother did not recognize her. She loved her mother, did her best but for her mother she was now nothing but a stranger. There was no difference between her and the maid.
I could sense her desperation, her pain. She had been losing her mother, little by little over months and years. And now she would slip away for ever and there would not even be a good bye. Not even an acknowledgement that she knew of her daughter's love for her.
I wanted to help but did not know what to say. I then remembered a film I had seen on Discovery Science on a coma patient. She had been able to recall conversations between her husband and the doctors and many other things that had happened during her coma state, she was not really supposed to know.
I told her about the film and said that even when the physical senses die, the physical brain dies, something lives on within and that something is perfectly cognizant. Its all knowing. I asked her whether she remembered anything, any slightest sign that her mother was aware of her presence.
She thought a bit and then I saw her face light up. She said that she had noticed that when her mother held her hand or arm, there was always pressure applied with the fingers. She had asked the maid, who also looked after her mother, but she had experienced no such thing. Maybe that was her mother's way of showing her that she recognized her, appreciated her, loved her. She smiled a little.
The next morning she called to inform me that her mother had passed away in the night.
The next morning she called to inform me that her mother had passed away in the night.
A Woman's Life
When I was about seventeen, an older male cousin sagely told me that a woman's life is a painful one. The statement had perplexed me, I recall, for then I did not really have any reason for viewing my life significantly different from a man's. Now, several decades later, I remember what he said and take stock. Yes, my life did have pain. I went through the pain of moulding myself to suit others and lost myself, in a way. But then, on the path to rediscovery, I realized that in order to really find oneself, losing is an essential prerequisite.I have felt like a lesser human at times, but that has taught me not to see anyone else as such. I went through physical and emotional rigours of child bearing and rearing and found that it connects me deeply to another human being and to my own empathetic self in a way, not possible for a man to experience. I went through the pain of letting go the ones I loved so much and experienced the fact that love does not diminish on doing so but rather acquires new dimensions, expanding, growing wings.Yes, a woman's life has pain. But this pain connects me to life's essence. I find myself blessed.
In My Mind
I live in a city and grow in my mind, a forest. And when my heart constricts in fear, I walk barefoot on dead leaves and feel underneath, tender pliability of grass. Life goes on, nonetheless.
Or I find in my mind, a seashore. I walk on shifting warmth of sands and watch the sea make forays, washing the shore clean of all traces of living. And leaving behind gifts. Delicate seashells,unbroken by the might of waves.
And I dare to love again.
Or I find in my mind, a seashore. I walk on shifting warmth of sands and watch the sea make forays, washing the shore clean of all traces of living. And leaving behind gifts. Delicate seashells,unbroken by the might of waves.
And I dare to love again.
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