What is a holiday?

 I often wonder,

What is a holiday?

Is it - a complete break from monotony or

a change of place

or

No usual duties

or 

laden with work in the mind but pretending that it is not work day!

The idea of cutting off from routine cannot be understood by me -

for I cannot wake late or remain unbathed or postpone breakfast.

I carry work within my head,

but postpone doing it.

I try to ignore work messages by saying to myself, "I am on vacation."

But the after-holiday thought hoists itself on me wrecking havoc.

Deadlines love me.

I guess I share an intimate karmic connection with them.

They chase me and I chase them. We love playing hide-and-seek,

but almost always, we end up losing sight of each other.

And when a holiday chances upon my schedule, the deadlines arrive,

in pomp and glory.

Grinning and laughing - I choose to play along.

And I always lose.

Hobbling into 2016 (Literally!)

Anything new fascinates me as it gives me another chance to rebuild, a chance to look forward to altering me and a chance for hope to abound and if it's a new year, then the prospects triple. Well, 2016 is here and I am overwhelmed and excited by how I get another opportunity to better myself. And lest I forget, the beginning of this year saw me with a broken big toe nail; ''broken'' would be an under statement because the broken nail led to a state of no nail. Yes, I entered 2016 without a nail on my left big toe. I am unwilling to go through the process of how I ended up without a toe nail as I have been narrating the experience to all and sundry throughout my five-hour of my first working day. Phew! the thought itself tires me immensely.

A colleague upon observing my gait, went into a philo-spasm exclaiming how life slows us down when we are running and that one needs to mind the pace with which one works and so on. She is right, I thought, not about life slowing down and all but about SLOWNESS itself. How often we just rush through everything. Slowing down to observe and be mindful is something I consciously try to do but end up forgetting. I stumbled upon this quote of John Muir which speaks to me about a certain calm,

Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity.

- John Muir -

This is what we are exactly doing to ourselves - getting tired, nerve-shaken and over-civilized and in the process forgetting to slow down and cherish our surroundings, US! 

Well, the injured big toe is slowly teaching me to see the world in another fashion and thus ushering me into 2016. 

I hope and pray that you have a blessed and mindful 2016.

The process of writing never stops . . .

These days I find myself ghost-writing in my thoughts over and over whenever I find something interesting and worth jotting down. There was a time when I had the patience, luxury and adrenaline rush to capture my thoughts in my blog but then, like everything beautiful comes to a momentary halt (with promises of renewal), I sparsely felt the need to post. I discovered that inspite of not giving a form to my thoughts in the form of posts, I mentally write within my mind. Yes, that's why I say that the process of writing never stops. It continues albeit without a palpable medium.

I realised this quite late because I was perpetually in a state of guilt and anger in equal measure when I saw that my blog is lying in a state of neglect almost like the memories of an old lover who remains within but rarely demands any attention. I knew that my blog is there, safe, still read by some (the growing statistics tell me that) and bookmarked by some others to be read in leisure. But the ache of seeing the last entry dated a month ago does not bring any consolation to my otherwise active mind. In the interim, I have been closely observing my mind! Strange as it may sound, I have stumbled upon some interesting thought processes that marginally cut down my guilt quotient. I am always writing posts within my head - not the scribbling in a worn out journal but paragraphs neatly organised with a propah introduction, middle and conclusion, like I always say to my class!

I wonder whether this happens to everyone and if so, how long do these entries stay. For me, they stay a while until the next interesting subject comes along. I am afraid my mind has not served as a container so far, only a medium - that too a virtual one. I wonder if there is a procedure to tap one exact nerve and extricate all the posts and translate them to coherent words that would show up on my blog as posts. If wishes were horses, nay blog posts, I would be one content soul happily basking in the glory of my thoughts which I know would eventually get fed on my blog!

Until the technology makes my wish happen, I will hopefully continue the process of writing, sorry ghost-writing in my mind and maybe sometimes, I would stop by my wee blog and strive to record these precious nuggets of memory.

Dear reader, what have you been doing with your thoughts, if I may probe.

Better said than done!

The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day.

- David Foster Wallace -

I have the habit of putting up a quote as my Facebook status and today's quote was the above one. It prompted a zillion thoughts in my wee head. Wallace, indeed sums it up pretty well, "The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort . . ." A friend was lamenting the fact that she always needs to prompt her children to be aware and observant. She is quite aware that children learn by observing and all that jazz but she wants to instill that being aware is something which needs to be cultivated and practiced. When adults can't be aware of things, instilling the same in children seems like a tall order. I wonder if awareness is also genetic and there is gene somewhere which can be possibly called the 'Awareness gene' something like the 'Selfish gene.' And what exactly is being aware? I would see awareness as being intuitive to oneself and also to the immediate environment that surrounds us - Let's take this simple example (again quoted by my friend): A person is having her breakfast, there is no water in the vicinity. An individual who is aware will be immediately pushed to go and fetch a glass of water and place it next to the person who is eating. This simple task does not need much training. It comes from a sense of having observed that there is no water and the person in the due course of the meal might have the need to drink water. This needs attention to the needs of others and an awareness of something not being there when it's needed. My friend's angst is that the young adolescent is completely oblivious to the situation and for nuts cannot bring herself to do any task without being asked to. Now why is my friend so very frustrated at this behaviour? Her defense: While she and her siblings were kids, they were quite attuned to the situation and did not need any nudge or command to act on their own. In short, she had the awareness of a particular situation while her child hadn't inherited that trait. I hope you get the drift that I'm not talking of the awareness that is attained by intense meditation and power yoga!

I wonder whether she can instill awareness? What do you think? One either has it or not. I've seen many adults who don't seem aware of their bodies, their physical environment and many other subtle aspects that go unnoticed. Mindless eating, wasting natural resources and spewing unnecessary words definitely mean that there is nil awareness otherwise how can one explain the extreme mindlessness of people. Some of us have been doing many thoughtful acts without knowing that these acts arise out of awareness and attention. A photographer does not just click pictures - (S)He is aware of what is happening and then (s)he pays attention and then clicks the image which is a beautiful blend of his/her attention of the subject. My friend Jim Brandano would accept that.  Just possessing an expensive camera will not make someone an excellent photographer! Well, I'm not talking about photography here. 

I'm not making sweeping general remarks about awareness here. I have just set to words some niggling thought processes. My sympathies lie with my friend who is struggling with her teenage daughter. I pray that her daughter learns to observe, pay attention and be aware of what's happening within and outside of her. 

I would like to pose few questions to you, my reader: Is awareness a natural trait or an inherited one? If it's intuitive, why aren't many attuned to it? Does awareness have a specific age bracket. Pray, tell me . . .

Image 1: Internet
Image 2: Internet

Do you remember your WORDS?

Burying myself in the watery landscape of Amitav Ghosh's The Hungry Tide, I lift my head to wonder when Piya asks a question, "How words are lost?" The line, for a moment, tore me away from the tides and made me ask myself, "How do we remember words and how do they inhabit us?" The question has been rising up and down in the undulating terrains of my mindscape much like the tides in Gosh's novel. I wonder when the word, 'scintillating' find root in me or when did I caress the word, 'reverie?' Books? Perhaps. Teachers who sprinkled their lessons with lovely-sounding exotic words? Maybe. Newpapers, magazines, TV, blogs - Gosh, I wonder how each of this medium has made way for a new word to enter and dwell in my system.

Sometimes I wonder if I was cut into two, how many words would tumble out and wriggle free from the thoughts and memories. The idea thrills me. But the thrill soon disappears when I think of the million words that haven't met me. No matter how much I try, my vocabulary will still be wanting. I try hard to recollect the time when I liked to pronounce words which sounded lovely to hear - sen-su-ous, dil-ly-da-lly, bour-geois, . . . I can go on with words as these. I remember the times when writers always added an extra dash of beautiful words in their works of art. I had to curb myself from running to the dictionary to find the meaning of a word that was lost to me. I never did go to the dictionary. I tried to decipher the meaning by myself by reading and reading the lines. Most of the times, the meaning unfurled without any fuss but then how will I remember that beautiful word in the future. Will I be able to use the same when I write or talk? Then in a casual conversation, the word gingerly drops itself in an appropriate conversation. I am aware of what I has just uttered. I ask myself: "Really?" I smile at the knowledge that the word had somehow taken to me and has decided to grace my language with its presence. What more? The word makes its presence felt and in some cases, for the word to be used the situation is created. It's not long before the word has built a permanent residence in me. Then the romance fades. It becomes another word in my vocabulary.

Like the smell of blood alerts the senses of a Bengal tiger, a new word lurks somewhere there, waiting for me to attack and relish it. I read a blog - the blogger has used a fantastic word. Like the previous times, the word is new, fresh and sounds good to pronounce as well. I flirt, cajole, and before long the word is nestled in the safe havens of the mindscape.

But then, as Piya remarks, words can be lost as well. Some words don't get flushed off the system that easily and those are the ones that has appeared in various parts of the chronological self - memories, nostalgia, letters, conversations, speeches and lectures. But there are the other words - which just disappear. What is that word for that wee opening? Crevice? Oriface or Orifice? Strange how words are remembered and forgotten like incidents that are vague - ones whose smells are remembered but people forgotten.

Do words have an independent existence apart myself. Of course, not. Words cannot be on their own except for a receptacle like me or you or a book or a blog. Words are parasites that mingle freely with our existence. They are parasites in a nice way, maybe not always. There are times when we can wriggle ourselves free of those words by choosing silence, once in a while.

But they say, even silence is a language. Now, I don't remember when along with words, I also learnt to embrace silence. Perhaps another post maybe.

Do you remember how words came to inhabit you?

Image 1: Internet
Image 2: Internet

Of eating beet and still feeling hunger's heat!

I can still feel the mawkish taste of the beet that I had for lunch last week. It so happens that if I tend to eat anything that I don't much like, the hunger never seems to be satisfied. I don't know whether it actually happens or it is the dissatisfied state of my mind which negates the feeling of having eaten a meal.

Last week, I had three dry (oil-free) chapattis and beet curry. I must mention that beet, however prepared, does not excite me the least bit. I cannot manage to eat it, for its sweetish taste has never been compatible with my idea of curry. Even carrot and peas fall into this category. But carrot I can manage and peas - I never even try.

Coming back to the subject of beets -- Inspite of having the usual fare of three chapattis, I still felt as if lunch was incomplete. Surprisingly, I went forth and made two dosas which I happily consumed with a smile and a tune in my head. As the process of giving in to my taste-buds was in progress, I could not understand the whole game of my hunger not being appeased. Was it my feelings rather than my body's signals, I can't understand. Even if I had listened to my feelings, how come I was able to gobble up the extra two dosas which was a foreign practice that day. Maybe the dieticians are right when they say that craving is a false signal let out by the body. But I didn't crave for dosas on that afternoon!

Well, I rest my arguments here by crowing the beet as the vegetable that is solely to blame for all this furore. Nevertheless, the beet gave me a whacky post!

What are your hunger stories? Do you like beet?

Image 1: Internet
Image 2: Internet

If

Last night was terrible. There were so many 'if' questions that kept flashing through the crevices of my mind. I almost started all my thoughts with an 'if.' I wondered if it was indeed a useful idea to indulge myself in such a process. The mind alas does not look for the reasons, it just keeps grinding the same thoughts over and over. This morning, as I woke up, the 'if' questions resurfaced. They prodded, teased, irritated and finally left me in a state where anger and blame constantly played around. I was angry at every thing and person that crossed my way.

So many 'if' questions bog us down in the journey of life. Its not that we cannot overcome them but the strength lies in allowing the 'ifs' to have their way while we observe the process. Being an observer from outside towards the inside is something which one has to cultivate. Its difficult! It needs practice! It does not happen overnight!

Perhaps certain 'if' questions niggled Rudyard Kipling's mind which led him to write the poem, 'If.'


IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!


--Rudyard Kipling

Reflecting on the connections . . .

Well, I am wondering about different connections that take place at a given point of time in different places with different people. While I am writing away prose filled with pain, there are certain others writing away paens of poetry filled with amorous dilly dallyings and pages of romantic indulgences washed with passion and longing. What if the writings of pain and pleasure is caused by the same person. Confusing? Well, those are the intricate connections that cease to confound me. Someone else at this particular point may be pondering about life's contradictions while at the same time there might be someone revelling at the accomplishment of composing a new piece of music just as they wanted it to be.

Life is this. While one man was being crucified on the tree, there were certain others who were casting lots for his garment. The garment was supposedly made of one seamless piece without ant stitches, history tells. But there are certain aspects that history does not tell us: that the man who was crucified was on that cross without any apparent guilt or reason. The connection I want to make here is that today we might connect many things to our glory and to our pride when apparently they don't belong to us. We are not justified having them unlike that man many many years ago who died for no apparent fault of his. Well, dying and living are two sides of the same coin.

Well, I started this piece with a particular insight but it did not move that way. The way it moved, maybe for some apparent purpose. A connection between words are always not easy to fathom when in a disjoint state of mind. Reader, the mind is the culprit. It paves way for so many imaginative connections that are sometimes very lethal for our growth. So commit your mind to the higher power so that the thoughts are constructive and lead you in a path that you need to follow.

How Cannot I not Nag . . .

Well, sometimes the mind works so fast and makes one beserk that one needs to do something. Well, this contradicts the path of meditation and being calm, but sometimes I choose not to be calm and let my impulses drown me. Then I realise, "Was that me?" Then I hit myself - this is me under an absolute adverse situation. Well, I surprise myself at times and hope that the surprise element does not shock someone else as someone else's perception of me. After the mind works on me and forces restlessness on me, I sit by and wonder, "Is this the done thing?". Well, the saner me says "NO" but the emotional me says "Why not, what else then?" This is what precisely Eckhart Tolle tells one not to do. But did he have any idea as to how difficult its going to be once a situation arises. I did enjoy reading Tolle but in reality it was difficult to follow him. Maybe one should resort to the adage, "Practise maketh a man perfect."
Striving to seek and not to yield!!