India Shining while Passengers Whining

Air India, quite obviously, is one of the many entry points to our great country. An inability of sorts, a debilitating sense of powerlessness, and heartbreaking scenery engulfs you when you embark this aviation misadventure. Haha, O well, long-winded narration isn’t going to prove anything. Point being, if one were that curious to travel and experience the Indian hospitality, one has to “Let Go” when one flies our very best, Air India.

So, first, there are the passengers. I had a family of three placed in the middle row right behind me. Like a poultry farmer, trying to fit one more chicken in the cage, the family head was trying to fit his two extremely oversized suitcases in the overhead bins. The air host requested the individual to take it out and place it on the ground storage compartment somewhere in the plane. But HA! ~, who cares? With the hustle bustle of the fresh batch of other passengers, the case gets forgotten. The suitcases were left, protruding outwards.

When I asked the air hostess if I could use the nearest lavatory, a pained expression ensues as she mildly points to the sign on the lavatory which says, “Only for Business Class Passengers” in dark red which would indirectly mean “Scuttle off, you second rate urine dispenser!”

After I fought my way back from another far-off lavatory through the mix of confused and way-too-hyper passengers still quarrelling to get their space in the overhead bin, I see the man’s suitcases are still there, jutting out and untouched. I guess the man never realized that the bin would never close. I slipped a surprise look at the man and realized that my surprise look might just be comforting, since he smiled back at me. The man then got up and started pushing the suitcase in. May be he thought there was a secret door behind the bin that would open. Or maybe he thought the distraction would work, since the plane was about to take off. As people start pushing and locking these bins, the host came running to this man. “Sir, I told you not to put it here, how will it close?” The man responds, “How will I get my stuff out during the flight.” Ha-Valid point and obviously the suitcases are relocated to another floor storage compartments somewhere in the plane.

After a shaky take off, I felt relaxed. “It can’t get worse than this.” I was ready to ‘let go’. The plane gets stable and it was around 2 hours after the fasten seat belt sign was turned off and meals had been served, a family of five right in front of me decide to get themselves reorganized in terms of their sleeping positions. After a brief nap, I opened my eyes again and there they were. The father and mother sleeping in the front of the seats (the first row where there is ample leg space). I had never seen a couple sleep on the floor but I guess all was good since I realized people treat Air India more as Rajadhani then anything else. Both their daughters squeezed in a space which covered four seats, and a higher active son was nicely jumping around the area. His newfound activity was taping back the entire wallpaper/carpet that stuck out from the division wall in front of him since it kept peeling off.

After a few hours, I get up to find another lavatory only to land up in a tormenting one. “XREeeeeeuuuuu,” The maintenance unit behind the mirror made a creaking noise and just opened out into my face. I patched it back with baggage stickers that were strategically placed too keep the mirror in place. But to no avail. A few smacks on my face told me I had enough. As I held the stickers in place and washed my face, I began to gather the tissues with my other hand and prepared to make the exit. “XREeeeeeuuuuu” and another smack on my face and I decided that they should put up a sign “Enter at your own risk.” Obviously I let go.

As we approached midnight, I saw passengers cozying up to go to sleep. The rest of the night was good, except for squeaky kids, malfunctioning video/audio noises and a wake up announcement every 30 minutes. “Please pay attention. As the plane goes through turbulent weather, we request you keep the seat belts on.” Or rather. “Please pay attention. Our crew needs to sleep and we need someone to monitor this plane, so please don’t doze off and help us help you.”

I guess I wasn’t prepared for the insanity at the Bombay Airport. First, as you clear the immigrations and what not, there starts the hunt for trolleys. Passengers started running around for a spare trolley. The game was simple. Whoever touched the trolley first owned it. After 19 minutes of futile attempts, I managed to discover a chain of 7 to 10. Like a Good Samaritan, I looked around to point other passengers to it and placed my hand on the last one. One middle aged lady sticks her hand out and slaps it on my newfound trolley and gives out an “Oh Shit” disappointed reaction. I cursed my sense of generosity since it took another 30 minutes to find another trolley after I gracefully gave up my trolley to the lady.

In a very short time (About 2 hours), we finally get our luggage and we are off on our own to find our way through the familiar ‘Chai-paani’(tip) wallas. One guy literally asked me for a tip for providing his incomparable services of just accompanying me to the Taxi Stand.

4 Am and I got home. Air India truly prepares one like a military training. So I guess I paid for this unparalleled training experience. The rewards – Mom’s cooking and a good nights sleep in the comfort of my own bed.

Why burn in a funeral pyre? Why serve others when there is nothing left to serve you? Why protect others when brutes come to hound you? Why pray for us when your own faith is being tested? Why love unconditionally even through trauma inflicted upon you? Why heal others when your own wounds are cavernous? Why lift our weight when your arms hurt? Why still wake up early when sleep deceives you? Why make our houses so livable through your own last portion of savings? Why stitch seamlessly for others when your own clothes have multi-colored patches? Why invite those who have scathed you? Why still sing lullabies when your throat is so parched? Why colour our world when we leave you in total darkness? Why still bless others in your times of dire need?

Indian Women: We Salute You

Inconsequentials

Hands wrapped around a coffee mug, sheer sorrow laden eyes, tranquil mind and a certain carefree yet conscious look, she sits in Imperial Café. The questions from the past pour in, “Why me?” “Did I deserve this?” and the automatic nature of the self-imposing thinking process kicks in. “May be I should have figured this out a while back.” “There were so many instances that I overlooked.” Like a certain flower burdened with mud, she sinks into her coffee.

“Remember, darling, our favorite coffee – decaf hazelnut.” She shakes out the very thought of him, in a giant slurp. Wide-eyed and bushy tailed children whiz past her chair, and she offers them not a giant smile or candy, but lets slip by a grief-stricken look. “The ground floor would be ours, children can take up the first floor, and you know, the less invasive, the better, yada yada.”

She growls at the thought of her ex-fiancé; “You forgot Judy’s room in the equation right next to ours.” “If only I had seen through you then.” “It has been six months so I have had time to heal” She gazed at certain formations in her coffee; as a young girl, she was tricked into drinking milk by her mother, who would guarantee a magic of sorts upon embarking on a journey to the dairy land and…. “Stop”, she almost yelled. “Reminiscing about my family is a form of nostalgia I will use to drape my inhibitions of dealing with my current problems.” “Ah Gosh, my psychology classes aren’t helping me one bit. I guess this is how my patients felt like every time they digressed from the sorry descriptions of the misfortunes of their self-professed pathetic lives and me having to correct them instinctively.”

“Sometimes it’s a tonic in itself, observing inconsequentialities when in deep thought,” her mother used to say.

She looks around and glances at a baby in mother’s hands joyfully playing with her newfound toy-her mother’s hair pin, some waitress at the back hymns melodiously to a song, a homeless man outside pounces on a coin tossed by a passerby, one kid makes a click click sound with a light switch which just won’t work, one customer makes a house of sugar packets and then chuckles at the crumbled state upon poking it, twins argue over a piece of chocolate, an old old lady whistles while reading her newspaper upside down; and the coffee machine releases a whooshing sound that seems like a soothing background music, another customer plays a beat with a fork and a spoon which seems weirdly to match the waitresses’ hymn and the lady's whistle, and suddenly the entire coffee shop comes to life, and her past gets buried in the back of her mind. She takes one satisfied sip. Quite a tonic.

He walked with Him

With salt in his hand
A smile on his face
And a resolve in his feet
He marched with Him.
Unsure of the aggressor
Bewildered by the arrogance
Notwithstanding the apathy
He reassured Him.
What calmness lay in his visage
And serenity in his speech
That albeit injustice
He comforted Him.
How will His Grace not descend
Not have compassion
For an undaunted man
Who befriended Him.
Many deeds will transpire
Many tales will woo laurels
But a few will truly know
How modestly he confided in Him.

And I woke up this morning

And I woke up this morning,
With spirits devoid of joy and sleep,
Pondered instinctively about the fate,
Wondered if the shower could discolor,
If the soap could clean,
If the foam could wipe away,
The emptiness in me.
And I woke up this morning,
With feelings of eternal blues,
Feared if solitude was a visitor,
Wondered if the darkness could float away,
If the gel could unblemish,
If the warm water could befriend,
The lonesomeness in me.
And I woke up this morning,
With the clamor of a ring,
With the jangle of a song,
Assured that it will uplift me,
Ensnared by its rhapsody,
What hope sprawled in its creation,
And happiness sprinkled in the drum.
Finally a song that could wash away
The loneliness in me.

Tum jeevan ho

Mere aankhon main basi ek pyaas ho
tum hee zindagi ka pyaara ehsaas ho
tumhari yaddon se savare maine din apne
tumhari haseen se sajai khushiyan apnee
tumhare pyaar se mehki duniya meri
Tum ho mera vishwaas aur ho prerna meri
Tum hi meri bandagi ho
kaash mein ban sakun tumhari duniya ka hissa
kyonki mere liye tum ho meri puri zindagi
tum dost, tum saathi aur tum hum rahi ho
Tum jeevan ho.

The ghosts

She liked the ghosts around her.
Yet she challenged their existence in her mind.

She questioned their motives every once in a while.
Yet may be she thought she was blind.

She wondered about the colors they wore.
Yet she hated the colors they left behind.

She berated herself for being infatuated by them.
Yet she hated them for killing her kind.

She pondered, “What will they do next? Why did they learn my language? My parents said terrible things happened before 2003, but I was only 7 then, how do I know? As if the current violence isn't enough.

They guard my schools, they guard my house, and now parents seem to like them. Mom says, 'That bomb that went off last year due to a technical failure'. How I wish Allah makes somes technical failure and sends my cousin Mahmoud back.

My house got taken over in July. The ghosts need it for a radio base. We moved to the basement. Dad said, ‘It’s strategic or strategy related, something like that. And they promised they will clean .’ He winked at me. I don’t know what that means, but then they should at least wipe the blood off the street every once in a while.

How odd they protect us till they are with us and once they leave to the other side they become our enemies. May be that’s why we call them ghosts. ”

My Father and Him!

"Read this novel from front to back and tell me the story when I am back from work tonight", he would be ordered by my grandfather.

Water Sorter!

He would wake up early to pull water from the water tank. And so would more than twenty members of the household. Showering one by one for more than 20 members with limited water supply from the water tank would require resourcefulness, quickness and planning. The elders would display all that. And no, the family wouldn’t be the only one in the building with these problems and solutions. Such simple problems instilled dexterity in everyone to think of simpler solutions. Human chains would be formed with incentives for kids in the household to wake up and pull water out. One cousin particularly was adept at this. The cousin would wake up 4.30 in the morning right when the tanker is getting filled by municipality; he would organize, delegate and bask in his early morning achievement. Grabbing enough water for the family, he would go back to his life of never ending school work. He would marvel at his cousin’s genius.

Those pests!

From then on, the activities of the day ranged from helping women cook to clean certain parts of the house to helping cousins with math problems to going to school to daily fun cleaning routine. Latter included exterminating rats, cockroaches and lizards. Rodents would be caught with a homemade mouse trap devised by one of his cousins. Occasional mishaps were expected and made the activity even more fun when the rodent would escape and running around the house aimlessly would become a welcome excuse. Cockroaches were stomped over, collected and thrown off the ledge followed by arguments over – “Bhaiyya I killed 31” – “Hah! What lie! We have only 20 at a time in the house! I know better!” Lizards were strangled rather more strategically. A small cotton ball would be wetted and shaped in a sphere to look like a moth. The balls would be thrown near the lizard so that it would think it is some kind of a moth; lizards would jump, swallow and choke without hands and fall off the ceiling. There would be cheers and then some remorse on the sight of the dead animal. Then the young distracted minds would be engaged in other things.

Mischief was pride!

They would protect each other. One of his cousins would ensure the brothers get a chance to bat, bowl and field. Not a single slur would be overlooked. One day one outsider dared to say something about the family, his head was found busted. On the eve of school’s annual repainting and refurbishment, one of his cousins accumulated enough paans, ate them one by one with his friends and they went around spitting on the newly painted walls. Other cousin attached strings from the spokes of an umbrella to his belt and jumped off the 3^rd floor ledge, only to be thankfully stuck on the 2^nd floor. The same cousin would steal bananas from the local fruit seller’s basket and share them with his cousins. Daily, they would narrate their mischief for the day and feel a sense of pride in the company of their fellow upto-no-gooders.

Time for excursion!

One of the elder relatives would get a ticket for the movie hall. All the kids would wait impatiently for him/her to come back from the hall and gather down around to hear the plot, narrated to them sometimes ecstatically, sometimes begrudgingly. There would be occasional excursions and trips outside the city. Matheran was his father’s favored destination. His father had this special serene place where lay those special leaves. His father would magically fold each leaf up so a liquid substance would ooze out. He would then blow into it to create air bubbles which fascinated him. “He is not a lawyer, my father is a magician” he would wonder sometimes. They would move onto monkey point in Matheran, where monkeys would try to steal apples, bananas from them. His father would slam the monkey on the forehead with his trekking stick. What force! What power! “Well not a magician! He is a teacher, you can so tell – he is a disciplinarian. But good! These monkeys deserve some punishment!” he would continue wondering.

Kite flying - The Fame.

He outshined everyone at kite flying. He knew it. The record was spotless. For years and years, the natural talent would develop more and more. “Just me and my kite – focus on nothing else.”, would be his sense of exhilaration and nirvana. “What simple affordable pleasure - 1 Rupee in total – 10 p for 10 best quality kites for the season. Although I am better with just one of them. Now, off I go on to my terrace.” In times of privation, self-made kites would become necessary. “All I need is skeleton form a torn down old kite and attach newspaper. Hah – they won’t know what got them.” He would scan the sky and pick his victims. He would lift his kite carefully under the radar. Sometimes there would unsuspecting former champions. Sometimes there were those amateurs and then sometimes legends. “Remember, picking the right moment of time is crucial” he reminded himself. The precise moment will come and at that instance he would pull extensively at the manja (thread, string, rope) to steer the kite and swoop it in the direction of the other kite with sure anticipation. Just a split second. The victory! His younger brother would yell, “Kaipo Chee!!!! (I just cut your kite!)” He would just turn around at his brother holding the kite-flying spool or firki and be amazed by his participation! They knew he owned the sky.

Cricket and handy newspaper.

Newspapers were the resource of the day. They would all sit and wrap the ball carefully till it was a thick, spherical and firm paper ball. Yet one problem persisted – it just didn’t bounce like those other balls. “Oh well,” sighed one cousin, “We will play it like baseball – so no tupps allowed!” Origami was researched extensively till actual money started pouring in to afford a real rubber ball. And that joy of playing with a proper ball! Yet the handy newspaper would be missed.

In the middle of water shortages, money deficiencies, cricket and kite flying, one thing he would never forget – his task of the day - "Read this novel from front to back and tell me the story when I am back from work tonight". He would run back and finish the last few remaining pages of that novel and be ready to narrate the story. So many sweet memories, yet daily exercise of finishing up a novel never failed to be executed. The routine that would be missed dearly later on!

Diwali Reminiscences

And the phone rings. In the midst of all the diwali greeting cards, dry fruits, diyas, sweets and food, which is made by the best chefs in the world, you could hear the greetings of “Happy Deepavali, Happy Diwali” being sent from half way across the world to doorsteps of your very neighbor. The familiarity, the brightness, exuberance, the familial tranquility and yet the hustle bustle.

As if evil was a ragged cloth ready to be discarded, as if the past year’s pains and worries were nothing but specks of dust on a window pane, as if strained relationships were as overwrought as a self-correcting ripple, it feels like the muck, filth and sins were just wiped away by the giant swoop of our annual housecleaning ritual.

Houses are clean, temples are lit, sweets are distributed and then at night crackers are lit. Each year brings a dual feeling of some abstraction and collegial similitude.

“Wake up, beta. Your new clothes are kept near the desk. And, is the time to wake up on a Diwali. You don’t want to be left sleeping the whole year, do you?”

You knows its untrue, you know that grounds hog day doesn’t run on religious occasions, but yet the prospect of doing any harm, inflicting any pain, inabilities of any kind just retract us into our righteous selves, just this time with added enthusiasm. With a certain resolve, you arise and think of goodness as a box of pendas, ready to be eaten and passed around. And then it strikes….

“Mom, Unfair – Bhaiya just ran into the shower before me!” And you make a wish for the New Year that atleast for once - you make it to the shower before your siblings.

You walk into the Puja room, where you expect unusual occurrences. You wish for a giant car, you wish for a happiness in business and profession, family and friends and then when time permits, slip in a request or two about that extra bonus, better results, and if you are younger than that, you wish that Ganeshji would personally descend from his comfort chair and whisper something in dad’s ear which would sound like – a remote controlled car.

Yet – at the bottom of it all, be it Hindus, be it Muslims, be it Parsis, Sikhs, Christians, Jains, or even an atheist – you wish to speak to relatives and sit down for a nice meal of purri bhaaji and purran pollis with them.

Happy Diwali everyone. May you achieve everything you set out to do this year.

Yaa Kundendu tushaara haaradhavalaa, Yaa shubhravastraavritha|
Yaa veenavara dandamanditakara, Yaa shwetha padmaasana||
Yaa brahmaachyutha shankara prabhritibhir Devaisadaa Vanditha|
Saa Maam Paatu Saraswatee Bhagavatee Nihshesha jaadyaapahaa||"

Religions or Confusions?

For Abrahamic Religions: Christianity, Islam and Judaism (Together around 60% following in the world):

"Without Jesus Christ man must be in vice and misery; with Jesus Christ man is free from vice and misery; in Him is all our virtue and all our happiness. Apart from Him there is but vice, misery, darkness, death, despair."

"Sins lead to misery in this world and hereafter. Your heart becomes darker and darker until you repent. Your left with sorrow, regret, and loss of self-respect. It is only through the dhikr of Allah that the heart finds peace. Don't look for it elsewhere. "

"Throughout Jewish history, our utilization of the armaments of our forefather - prayer and faith with a non-aggressive defensive posture - has led to our survival through millennia of persecution. Yet when we embraced the strategies of our enemies - reliance on the sword with conquest defining success - and abandoned the successful formula of our forefathers, we have met with misery and great hardship. May G-d have mercy on us and restore our Judges to their former positions."

For Dharmic Religions (Buddhism, Sikhism, Jainism, Hinduism - Together Around 30% Following in the world )

Buddhism:
Meditation is an attempt to address the most fundamental causes of human misery. The Buddhist attempt to end war begins with cultivating inner peace, developing an unwavering ability to see things as they are, and treating all beings with compassion and respect.

Sikhism:
The Sikh path is not one where misery is to be endured for some unprovable distant life in some far-away heaven.

Jainism:
According to Jainism the soul which possesses infinite knowledge controls actions and perceives pleasure and pain through bodily agencies. Liberation from the material body and worldly activity which are the sources of misery could be attained by destroying desire and attachment by following the path of discipline and penance

Hinduism:
God's attention is always on the human being, but the human being, absorbed in the world, ignores God. He is unaware of the divine who is close by and patiently waiting. Human ignorance and inattentiveness to God, however, is the fundamental cause of misery which ends only when one turns round and recognizes God at one's side.

Courtesy, Google, for the searching capabilities of the word 'misery' and names of religions..

might not be the most famous quotes, but they exist , somewhere. so.

thank you, all humans, for making it all so confusing for us.

Time Traveler

He wakes up pushing his comforter away in a single swooping motion. He slips his feet into his warm slippers so customarily that they seem part of his body. He manages to stabilize himself sitting on the side of the bed and rub his hands awkwardly against his eyes. As his eyes open up gently, he looks at the size of his thick coarse hands. A croaking sound escapes his mouth - “What?” Misty, sultry, and mystic smells surround his nostrils and he looks around. A realization of the unknown and unseen runs through his vein and he suddenly feels unwanted and unidentified. The first solution is to verify the surroundings, and the second to wake himself up. Neither of them seemed to change anything. He was in an unknown place, in an unknown time, like an insect blustered away for miles by the winds to an alien surrounding.

A familiar voice enters his memory: “Son – Remember to make the right choice!” He gasps for air.

“I know your mother’s left her body already and I am going to join her soon.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t provide you more comforts in the past 12 years but remember us when ever you face a conundrum – you know what choices are right.”

As he groggily walks around the unfamiliar apartment, he searches for the time. Oh – 11.50 PM, but how did he just hear father’s voice moments before he passed away after that terrible accident. He bumps into a dingy wall with skewed mirror and gasps at the sight. “That’s me?” The image of the body attached to those hands sends a cold shrill realization in his blood. “What just happened?”

He places himself to be around mid-thirties – unshaven, bruised, short hair, chiseled face, but yet that boyish beam which he could always relate to. As he staggeres towards the restroom, the sight of faucet, the green towel and eerie picture of a frog on the side wall jolts him for a second. The kaleidoscopic nature of his brain makes him sneer in bewilderment. The warm water dabbed on his face serves as a numinous African magical healing powder – a shaking, yet reviving quality.

As he swabs himself with a moist cloth, thoughts become steadier. He is in a Hotel room, and he remembers the placement of his beeper. He jumps towards the communications device.

Beeper reads – “Hey D, We have the all checks in place, as per his orders - Fire away!! ”

BAM! –it all comes back- The button, the launch, the war, the covert training, the academy, the batch, the merit, the ranks, the works, the KGB, the defilement, the shame, the anger.

Snap! today is December 31, 1991. Ukraine dissolved from the USSR a few weeks back. A few weeks before that – the KGB sunk – destroying the identities of around a hundred operatives. All his efforts for peaceful restoration of his identity were being mocked at. The meetings of the defamed operatives last month had become focused around increasing the tension, a drastic change in the tactic from his Peaceful Alternatives Plans a few years back.

He remembers his corrupt yet charismatic chief saying a few days back, “Never mind the December 31, 1991 midnight, D and peaceful propositions for the future – We know the US will fire at will to destroy whatever they can. So Fire Away! Before they do!”

He glances at the file which contains the codes for entry into missile logistics system. 10 seconds to launch. One small missile fired without from an unknown underground bunker would send a panic wave around the world and may be give leverage to bringing back the USSR. The only flip side would be the pang of another cold war or larger scale destruction.

3 seconds remaining.

2

1

“Right choices, son. Right choices.” With his heart pumping heavily, he puts away the launcher and disarms the equipment. He tunes in the radio. Radio station chimes in a few seconds. “Breaking News! Chief of KGB has been captured…. guilty of treason….Government announces restoration …Repeat….Restore honor to covert officials… return back to base…”

He breathes a sigh of relief. Somehow –time traveling today never felt better.

The urn leaves ...

The urn leaves . .
It knows no past and has but one future,
to merge with the infinite.

The urn leaves . .
It wraps idyllic memories in its belly,
and parts with the somber reminiscences in our hearts.

The urn leaves . .
It overhears all the commiserations and whimpers,
and makes peace with its eternal darkness.

The urn leaves . .
It bids farewell to the loved ones,
and embraces the sight of our ancestors.

The urn leaves . .
It knows no past and has but one future,
to merge with the infinite.

Growing up in familial counsel about Work and Worship.

Months before I prepared for my journey to the US for further education, He inadvertently reminded me, "Never loose sight of the focus." And whenever I questioned the essentials of a good college life and good work life, nostalgia to childhood enveloped my thought process.

“Work is worship, isn’t it? Why hate it?” She would question me when I would frown about memorizing the dates of Mohenjo-Daro written in font ten times bigger than my brother’s textbooks. I would study my simple history and my brother would study his then amazingly complex subjects like physics, chemistry and what not. His mathematics would seem like scribbles of numbers and lines drawn across in the notebook. I was astonished at what I would have to study four years from that point. “They will change it all to story books and characters when it’s my turn.” – I would assure myself.

Each year, as I marveled at his capacity to absorb and Her patience with us, I would forget that I am working on something that I had deemed impossible earlier. I would frown at so much time dedicated to him and not me, but still the size of his pile and content of his unfathomable notebooks would keep me away from worrying further. “Haw- so much he studies nah mama?” I would ask Her. She would put her hand on my forehead, play with my hair and say, “You do too. Just with a little bit of nakhra (drama) and a tiny bit of che-che (whine)” and then She would tickle me and I would laugh every time.

Years have passed by but my brother’s thirst for knowledge has never lessened and Her patience has never wavered. My parents’ constant reminders about Work and Worship have thankfully never reduced. “Ketlu kaam che office maa (too much work at the office)” and He would chuckle. “Worked till the late hours” and She would say, “That’s fine, just don’t forget to eat on time.” I describe any task at the project and my bhabhi will exclaim, “Wow!” to remind me that’s so good and the fact that I got to do it and there are always other unfortunate people who would so die to do it but can’t. “What a week, yaar – worked more than 70 hours” and my brother will laugh out loud “Maja Avi. Maja Avi. Karo Karo (That sounds like fun, but yea Work Work)” assuring me that I am walking in the right path.

"Enjoy the process and don't worry too much about its results" - something He would declare. "Its a simple karma yog, beta. Don't let it drain your ambition, just empower it"- may be that constancy of declaration puts me at ease. Not about what you wear, not about accolades, not about recognition, not about conquest or fight about who is right at work that should take up your daily mind registry, but simple constancy embedded in enjoying the process of working, working in the right direction and aiming higher. Results are then left up to God.

The Power of Concentration: The Mother

The Mother sometimes in her classes with children, took a book of Sri Aurobindo, opened a page at random and read out a sentence from there. The Mother was asked, "Can these sentences give one a sign or an indication? What should we do to get a true answer?"

The Mother explains in detail what actually happens and how it is possible to get the indication or the answer:

"Everybody can do it. It is done in this way: you concentrate. Now, it depends on what you want. If you have an inner problem and want the solution, you concentrate on this problem; if you want to know the condition you are in, which you are not aware of - if you want to get some light on the state you are in, you just come forward with simplicity and ask for the light. Or else, quite simply, if you are curious to know what the invisible knowledge has to tell you, you remain silent and still for a moment and then open the book. I always used to recommend taking a paper-knife, because it is thinner; while you are concentrated you insert it in the book and with the tip indicate something. Then, if you know how to concentrate, that is to say, if you really do it with an aspiration to have an answer, it always comes. "

Way the mind works: Thoughts from a Hindu

I wonder if it ever occurs to us that the strength of the real potential of our minds is beyond our common understanding. Does religion assist us in our query to find out more or does it limit it? Do Hinduism-linked spiritual ideas and concepts help us navigate through the maze of the unreal image around us? Are we capable of figuring out over the lifetime, or will take longer to assemble such thoughts. Everyone is no anthropologist; we can't uncover 500 bones and point towards an evidence of these belonging to a particular dinosaur in a particular era. On a day to day life, spiritual thoughts are like these bones. When looked at separately, they are just - bones.

First, there is a tangible aspect to our minds, which is what I would like to call: medicine. As if our mind was trying to play a trick on us. Just like a flashing business idea, sudden enthusiasm for a particular sport (quite contrary to one's nature) or a sporadic feeling of tragedy watching the plight of the downtrodden takes over us, we realize our will power that our mind possesses in an instant when we are able to walk with ease in the middle of an otherwise serious flu. Like an adrenaline rush, a sudden sense of hope whistles past our eyes and ears; we see and hear the right words, the right thoughts come to us and we stand up; our ever move being marked with sense of fulfilment. We immediately realize the medicinal aspect of our mind; there is a prankish tap on our foreheads as if we are asking our brains to please wake up.

Mind and Brain are obviously different. There is definitely a scientific element of the brain that we know of. For example, the left-side of the brain takes pieces, arranges them and puts them in an order. The right-side likes the wholesome picture first and then works through the details. The left-side is more numbers driven and the right being more visualistic. May be this is the reason why scientists fail to look beyond the numerology and creative aspects of the brain to our day to day lives. It is like solving a math equation with formulas unknown to us. The question of the day is (for me) - Are spiritualists truly filling that gap, unlocking the real potential of our minds, giving us the formulas we need to think beyond what we do.

I have been reading about spiritualism since I got introduced in 2004 through Sanjay, a good friend and his family. Since then its just been one book after another. Sri Aurobindo's and Mother's philosophy feel like a comfortable boat ride on the sea of this utopian knowledge. I still feel swept by its simplicity; reminding me of times my dear mother would solve my most complex personal problem almost unknowingly through muhawaras or idioms. Its an ancient chest of knowledge being passed on to you without you being ready for it. So, I decided to read more.

I came across the "Monk Who Sold his Ferrari" which teaches one the potential with staunch resolution. I naturally chose to read Gandhiji's "My Experiments with the Truth" which was a natural transgression and complement to Bhagvad Gita; a Hindu’s guide to sense-purification. In Gandhiji, I found the complacency of a resolute mind. My father told me, "You will find a new meaning to Gandhiji's Autobiography in every stage of life." Recently, I started with Swami Vivekand's letters and speeches and Swami Ramdev Maharaj's Pranayam. Where next? I don't know, but I am amazed by a connection in all these thoughts. After all, what do a simple freedom fighter, an Advaita propagator, a spiritual revolutionary, a meditation guru, an American speaker on leadership and supporting success know so easily that we don't? Vedas and ancient Indian wisdom project an image of a sadhu or a yogi atop a Himalayan mountain when we wonder about unlocking spiritual knowledge through our meditation. I am not too sure whether any of these thinkers ever visited the Himalayas, but they have and are passing on knowledge way beyond our common understanding of the world.

I don't know if I have still not quite left the shore sitting on my comfortable boat in this sea. May be its a classic case of separation anxiety. In my younger years, I could resolutely stop wanting anything through sheer willpower and make a decision to either stop liking candies or stop liking remote controlled cars. However, trivial these decisions were, they made me feel good about my willpower. And now, when my thoughts are being challenged about wine, women and money every step along the way, why is my mind playing a trick on me? As I am more and more entangled in relationships and responsibilities, I take harder to climb every step towards something that should come naturally to me. Do I need to step down first and read about where I am going every time, with a map or a compass?

I have discovered this aspect of the mind over the course of two years. May be this is one way our mind works. It needs constant nurturing and a continuous reminder. The only other fitting analogy that comes to mind is that of an underprivileged Indian boy playing with a bicycle tyre, whipping it on its top circumference and running along with it with sheer excitement. Without his constant attention, the tyre will go to a distance and collapse. Without the tyre, the boy would just run alone or then remind him to unfortunately return home hungry to empty bowls in an empty zoppadpatti. When I am so inseparable from my mind in this simple sport of life, may be its time I realize that running with the tyre will take me to a greater distance. As a Hindu, I have a responsibility to nurture my mind. It will not earn me any accolades; may be it will not be worth my time. However, as these spiritual ideas promise, they will give me peace, and may be one day, I will escape the empty zoppadpatti of my mind and maneuver my own boat on this sea where many seem to have made big strides...