2014

Some time back I resolved that I would not use the car horn more than two and a half times during any drive. It was an experiment that I wanted to conduct for myself to see if it was even possible to drive in this manner in a place like Delhi. So it was two loud honks for events that could metamorphose into a potential catastrophe and one little beep for a small unforeseen event.

Living in a country where vehicles literally order drivers with `HORN PLEASE` signs emblazoned on their vehicles in order to get road space, my decision was a tall order to accomplish! This decision entailed much thought and self-control. Judging every situation for its `Honkworthiness` kept me involved in my driving in a novel and exciting way.

Because of this self-imposed rule, I was more vigilant on the road and kept the speed under check. It is well known that speeding vehicles make the most noise. In realising that honking was not a limitless luxury, I kept a close eye on jay walkers and sundry other impulsive road crossers like cyclists, motorcyclists, autos and the four-legged variety in the form of stray dogs, cats and cattle.

Listening to music and driving with rationed honks can be a wonderful experience. One is slow to come to a boil… Honking and speeding raises the adrenalin of the driver and the other motorists, tempers flare and anger reaches the surface much faster.

 In my meditative, non-excitable, low honking state, I gave way to traffic that would otherwise have a long wait to enter a by lane. Most drivers who benefitted from my generosity had a look of astonishment on their face as they crossed me. Some openly doubted their good fortune and thought that this might be a ruse on my part to knock them sideways. As they tentatively crossed me, sometimes I would get a `Thumbs up` from them and a relieved smile. A good deed done, indeed!

When I don’t approach the road as a war zone, it doesn’t turn into one.  When I stick to my lane, I organise more than my thoughts, I clarify my intention, thereby simplifying decision-making for the other drivers. (hopefully/wishfully!)

In limiting my driving to Two and a Half Honks, I hope to`Be the Change I am Looking For!`

…And hopefully, live to see it 😀

A little girl had been shopping with her Mom in Target. She must have been 6 years old, this beautiful red haired, freckle faced image of innocence.. It was pouring outside. The kind of rain that gushes over the top of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout. We all stood there under the awning and just inside the door of the Target.

We waited, some patiently, others irritated because nature messed up their hurried day. I am always mesmerized by rainfall. I got lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world Memories of running, splashing so carefree as a child came pouring in as a welcome reprieve from the worries of my day.

The little voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance we were all caught in ‘Mom let’s run through the rain,’she said.

‘What?’ Mom asked.

‘Let’s run through the rain!’ She repeated

‘No, honey. We’ll wait until it slows down a bit,’ Mom replied.

This young child waited about another minute and repeated: ‘Mom, let’s run through the rain,’

‘We’ll get soaked if we do,’ Mom said..

‘No, we won’t, Mom.. That’s not what you said this morning,’ the young girl said as she tugged at her Mom’s arm.

This morning? When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet?

‘Don’t you remember? When you were talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said, ‘If God can get us through this, he can get us through anything!’

The entire crowd stopped dead silent. I swear you couldn’t hear anything but the rain.. We all stood silently. No one came or left in the next few minutes.

Mom paused and thought for a moment about what she would say. Now some would laugh it off and scold her for being silly. Some might even ignore what was said. But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child’s life. A time when innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith.

‘Honey, you are absolutely right. Let’s run through the rain. If GOD let’s us get wet, well maybe we just needed washing,’ Mom said.

Then off they ran. We all stood watching, smiling and laughing as they darted past the cars and yes, through the puddles. They held their shopping bags over their heads just in case. They got soaked. But they were followed by a few who screamed and laughed like children all the way to their cars.

And yes, I did. I ran. I got wet. I needed washing.

Circumstances or people can take away your material possessions, they can take away your money, and they can take away your health. But no one can ever take away your precious memories…So, don’t forget to make time and take the opportunities to make memories everyday. To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven.

I HOPE YOU STILL TAKE THE TIME TO RUN THROUGH THE RAIN ..

Take the time to live!!!

Keep in touch with your friends, you never know when you’ll need each other — and don’t forget to run in the rain.

Deep and safe in the bushes, it’s time to make a nest
Perfect, secure and comfortable, a quiet place to rest

I’ll have to work fast and hard, short list a bush or two
See if it fulfils my criteria, that is the very first thing to do

Now, collect the most flexible twigs, make sure they are the same size
They’ll be easy to curve and mould, make a perfect bowl to hold the precious prize

I’ll work fast and furiously, letting nothing get in my way
Soon, when the nest is ready, thats where my lady will stay

The eggs come soon enough and there is excitement in life anew,
Between caretaking, safeguarding and nurturing there is little else to do

Oh! The babies are so small and helpless, they fill my heart with pride
I’ll take care of their every need, I’ll never leave their side

They are growing up so fast now, how beautiful they look
Stronger and sturdier by the day, giving back more love than they ever took

Life is so perfect now, my lady, my babies and I
I wish I could hold on to it, delay the time they’ll want to fly

One day when I come from work, I’ll be greeted by a different sight
The young ones, on the periphery of the nest, ready for their very first flight

Their joyous laughter will fill the air, I’ll try and steady my heart
Despite trying to slow time down, it’s finally time to part

They are ready for their maiden flight, I give them a tip or two
But deep down I know they’ll manage, they’ll know the right thing to do

So, fly my babies, fly high, new journeys you undertake
Remember, no matter where you go, our love will follow in its wake….

I have a sepia tinted photograph of myself as a little baby sitting on my mother`s lap. It is stuck on the inside wall of my cupboard, its edges curling with the burden of the many decades that it has witnessed. It is the first thing I see when I open my cupboard to select my outfit for the day. I peer into the baby’s face to observe if it has any resemblance to the woman that it has now become. Similarly, I look into my young mothers beautiful face to capture what she has carried forward from her youth. The emotion that fills my heart is quite powerful. It is a mix of nostalgia, gratitude and love. The photograph reasserts to me how many years my mother nourished my body and soul and made me the person I am. It is not something that should ever be forgotten. The presence of the photograph in my cupboard helps me reprioritises my goals in life. It shows me the relentless motion of time and what all it changes in its wake. It also teaches me patience…patience to hold my tongue when my mother slows her speech to choose the right word. Wisdom to tame my impatient hands as she works at her pace to finish a job…My mind becomes clearer, as I mull over what to wear..

Alongside this photograph is one of my fathers, who, in passing away in his forties, remained frozen in all the vitality of youth, smiling his beautiful smile, he looks at me benevolently. I remember so many things about him because of that one photograph. His absence feels less stark, his face not a hazy memory but a clear picture. I remember his love for me and meticulous dressing, his penchant for always being on time, his love for a good joke and a hearty laugh…in his own silent way he still guides me..

The others who form this open album on the side of my cupboard are my immediate and extended family. In looking at their photos I remember to thank God for their presence in my life. I smile at the monkey face my son used to enjoy making and the certain angle my daughter always prefers when being clicked….the photograph of my brothers with their arms protectively around me shows me that the most precious thing in my cupboard is also the most intangible….

I was complaining about being ‘bored’ during the summer break. It was a word that was used indiscriminately and liberally by children of all ages. Almost as if it were an illness that we had contracted, much like the viral or malaria… Trust my mother to find a solution that would suit all. She laboured up to the storeroom and rummaged around till she found what she was looking for.

She placed a shapeless bag in front of me and asked me to sort it out. I remember sitting on the dining room floor surrounded by entangled balls of very soft colourful wool. One color meandered into another, like the meeting of the proverbial ‘Sangam.’ With no beginning and no end, I really didn’t know how to move forward. The more I pulled one ball, the more entangled it got with the other.

“Can’t do it!” I yelled at my mother, throwing the colourful mass down with all the vigour of a teenager.

“You asked for some activity, well, here it is.” She said calmly.

She could sense my impatience and irritation as she looked on from the kitchen door. Then she left her knife and vegetables and came and sat next to me.

She picked a ball of wool and followed its thread into the tangled mass. Slowly she loosened it by pulling gently at the knots, in a back and forth motion. As the knots loosened she was able to pick the ball up and take it through the lines of different color wool and wind it neatly.

She eyed the scissors that I had brought.

“The easiest thing would be to cut away all the tangles and knots,” she said, ”But the real lesson is to Work them out with patience. Whatever you choose to do now is the learning you will carry through life. Work on those things that seem too tangled and messed up. Don’t make cutting off your first option.”

I am happy to say that I managed to wrap up each ball of wool into a perfect sphere!

My happiest memories involve the mountains.

For somebody living in the plains, the simple act of filling up a back pack means lightening up the weight of ones existence to an amount that one can carry on ones own back. By the process of elimination, almost every thing seems dispensible, except for the very basic items. 

With this selection comes a very real sense of lightness. Knowing that one can do with so little is really emancipating. The biggest possession, one easily realises, is ones good health. It is the single greatest requirement for any kind of movement, especially one that takes you to the rarefied air of the mountains and the walking that it inevitably entails.

Keeping fit then becomes a priority, living simply and eating healthy, a necessity. 

I love the mountains for what they bring out in me….

The sense of awe and adventure comes back, the breath tightens with excitement at every turn…  The comfort of faith, lost somewhere in the cynicism of the city, tiptoes back into the soul. …The audible sound of silence and peace that envelope the nights and the days, help restart stilted conversations within….and reacquint me with myself..

Yes, my happiest memories definitely involve the mountains.

.. 🙂

“Walking, I am listening to a deeper way.

Suddenly, all my ancestors are behind me.

Be still, they say.

Watch and Listen.

You are the result of the love

of thousands.”

Linda Hogan, Native American Writer

It was at a retreat that we were asked to look at our hands. To look at them and observe the blessings they hold. Those of our ancestors, our parents and their parents and so on. Our Zen master asked us to gently put our hand over our head and believe it is our father or mother loving and blessing us. It was an amazing feeling. The thought of having them with us constantly, looking out for us and being with us was beautiful to comprehend.

Their love is inextricably linked to us and is in our life, if we just become aware of it. Yet we live in such isolation, believing that there is only what is tangible and visible. If they are not with us physically, we believe that they are just not there

It is impossible for us to be here without the love of those who lived before us. To believe that we are born in isolation, live in isolation and behave in entirely unique ways is a fallacy. We are the product of those who we know and those we have never had the chance to meet.

We behave in ways that some of them might have done in. To take the credit for all that we have made of ourself is erroneous. I carry my mothers eyes and my fathers nose. I get my sense of humour from my dads side and my love for life from my mother. Who am I really? if not an amalgamation of all the known and the unknown.
To remember that they are in all the good and the not so good in me, attaches me to them in a new way. To remember this gives me a sense of the immensity and continuity of life.

I like to remember that I am the result of the love of thousands.

It brings a smile to my lips and I feel a happiness envelope me…

A popular show on radio requires the Radio Jockey to call up an unassuming person to chat about some simple issue. Slowly and determinedly the RJ escalates the conversation to a point where the person called comes down to angry swearing within seconds. This happens with unfailing regularity, much to the listener`s amusement.

The whole premise of this popular show is that the RJ will be able to say the exact things that will elicit a particular response from the person called. To think that we are like machines that react in certain predictable and reactive ways is quite unsettling.

While driving down a road, I was confronted by a motorcycle borne trio. The riders were in a jolly mood and were weaving their bike left and right at a very slow speed. They were making sure that I could not overtake them. Every time I used the horn they would raise their hands as if to provoke a rash reaction. Their complete lack of sensitivity and brashness got me livid with anger. I felt like a puppet, completely at the mercy of their outrageous and dominating behaviour.

“So you think you are in control?” I wanted to yell at them.

My mind calmly echoed the question back at me, “So you think you are in control?”

I wanted my answer to be a resounding, “Yes!”

Then something just fell in place… I saw myself at my destination a trifle later that expected but I would not be made to behave in a way that I did not want to.

I realised that while the right to fight back is ours, the way we do it should be ours too. It should not be dependent on another person`s manipulation of us. That would be giving too much power to someone else and too little to our own self….