I am a paragon of love

 

I am a paragon of love

 

 

I am a paragon of love

Fluttering my wings joyously

Hopping from a tree to another

Flying around carelessly

Spreading affection around

Perching on branches,

playing with leaves and flowers

 

 

Nectars flow ceaselessly

I burn my tongue picking food

Hurt my throat singing loud

When I wail for any loss

my tears wash away in rain

no regrets I have for my life

for I am a paragon of love

Fluttering my wings joyously

 

 

Suddenly, I find myself caged

the life is boring and stale

I am asked to speak when I am silent

and my songs are forcefully muted

not enough space to spread my wings

My woeful cry is mistaken for a song

I am smiled at when I am in sorrow

Turned to be a puppet, tied to a string

 

 

Can’t dive to eat anything that I like

The blossom is not visible anymore

Fake life surrounds my captors

Nature is lost and unnaturally they live

Who never watched me on their balcony

Display me to the world as a trophy

I smile only when I pity them

Am sorry, now I pity them so often

 

I can see the sky once again

A pious soul bailed me out

It came in the shape of small fingers

Giggling with affection set me free

My tears rolled out with his beam

When I tried to kiss, he ran away

Pretending he did not owe me anything

 

 

Even I noticed it for the first time

That the colour of clouds changed with time

Morning and evenings are orange

Sometimes they turn grey, black and white

My love for all grew manifold

Because life is not just me but we

I want to play the role of my liberator

Create around me many more

paragons of joy and paragons of love

Why do we take life seriously?

 

Why do we take life seriously?

 

 

 

Why do we take life so seriously?

Do I have to be so serious?

That I forget the first time,

when my child enfolded his small fingers around my pinky,

It was all muscles and ligaments and no bone had shaped;

His smile churned my stomach;

His eyes met my eyes and they twitched in glory;

His baby step covered miles in distance, in life and in memory;

He threw his hands in air believing in security I never promised;

I laughed so hard when I bled with the prick from his first tooth;

Now I strain to live those days in my head.

 

 

Memories fade or get replaced,

Then he grew to be a toddler,

It was all sermon and lessons;

I was the superman and Godly for him;

He could be on top of the world, flying high on my feet;

A kiss could heal the worst of pain;

Lullaby and bedtime stories were concocted to convenience,

But they brought merry and exuberance all around;

He could sleep on my shoulder all evening,

And it never ached;

The giggle over the pranks still reverberates.

 

How did I forget?

The teenage was rebellious;

Generation gap was counted and resounded;

For him my techno skill always wanted an update;

Questions asked by me were offshoot of conservatism;

To sound liberal and up to the mark,

Compromises I made were in hundreds;

I lost my originality to showoff being original;

His teenage was my forties,

Forty was naughty or teenage more tense,

I kept guessing all the while though it made no sense.

 

Gradually life became more and more serious,

And the life became more and more forgetful;

It Intrigues me time and again,

When is it that I am living life for myself?

I have lost the smile on my face,

Easily overlook the smile on others,

and have become the reason to destroy smile of many;

Work sucked everything that was personal,

profession was to dance to the tune of bosses’ music,

passion took a backseat and instructions drove actions;

A cost that I have to pay for taking life seriously.

 

I Walk on the street mindlessly;

Fail to greet people crossing by;

Miss out on the excitement of kids playing in the vicinity,

and rallying of the pets in the park;

Never remember how many steps I walk,

as life is governed by different gadgets;

Relations are built and survived on screen;

That touch and warmth is difficult for me to recall,

For everything is played in the mind,

reality has been taken over by virtual world;

How do I undo all the misses I am experiencing?

Perhaps a cost for taking life seriously.

 

I so often miss now the fragrance of the flower in the park,

and buzzing of the bees, during my morning and evening stroll;

I have turned deaf to chirping of the birds,

and blind to their hop from one branch to another;

I forget to enjoy the vision of the embracing of clouds,

taking all shapes of imagination;

The budding of new leaves in different plants,

with a bucket full of hues of green;

Butterflies and dragon fly hovering over,

and the wasp hives clinging on the corner of the wall;

How each year I let everything pass unnoticed,

a cost for taking life seriously.

 

All time is consumed planning for future,

and ruminating about the past,

neglecting the present moment,

and living in a land of unknown,

mercilessly brutal to bliss and love,

Where togetherness is synonymous to loneliness,

Solitude is a word for depression,

Where in a crowd I find myself alone,

For none care for me but for themselves,

An ecosphere alien to one and all,

For that is the cost paid for taking life seriously.

 

Suddenly it triggered a thought process,

If life had been equally serious with me,

then my wishes would ride over the wings,

take my dreams to culmination,

aspirations would blossom into petals of red rose,

and become envy of every other flower;

ambition would be a cakewalk,

and spite of others blow away as dust in the storm;

I would love and be loved meaningfully;

When I would laugh tears would meander on the cheeks;

No expression would be shackled,

under the burden of who would think what;

It would be freedom all around,

As life would be just life,

A beautiful life as it is,

A gifted time to everyone,

Packed in surprises, all worthy to explore,

right from the childhood.

 

But, alas!

I don’t know how to not take life seriously;

For seriousness is what I have been taught,

Since I was born in this beautifully distorted world;

For what I see is what I have not to see,

And what I don’t see is what I have to believe;

For the eyes are mine, but the vision is someone else’s,

For I paint but the colours are decided by others;

Every drop of blood running in the veins,

Is directed and controlled remotely,

They get confused and lose the purpose,

And the body starts harbouring inexplicable ailments;

A cost so dearly paid for taking life seriously;

It would end with the smoke emanating,

from burning of skin and flesh,

with evaporation of blood and cracking of bones,

to be honest it would go now only with me;

I still yearn to find a learned to guide,

who can make me realize,

to take this beautiful life the way it is,

A gifted time to everyone,

Packed in surprises, all worthy to explore;

Amen!

Celebrate life in true sense

 

Celebrate life in true sense

 

Whole night I burnt like a charcoal

In the wee hours’ amber is still alive

The loose ashes glided all around

Letting everyone know that the fire is on

 

How do I douse that fire in me

Icewater seemed to be the best option

I wanted to soak as fast as possible

And also see that no blisters remain

For scars are scary

But here people had come to see me burn

So, my wish is no one’s wish

I had to burn

 

 

People moaned when I burnt

But none tried to stop the fire

I was of no use as soul had exited my body

Now I was a piece of earth ready to mingle

But, throughout life I had nourished this body

Not the Soul

For we go behind visible and neglect the invisible

Though the strength comes from invisible source

 

I took a long leap and carried myself little far

My family who wailed the most would understand, I thought

I dropped as a flake of ash at my son’s feet unnoticed

And he continued to wail on the shoulder of his sibling

A drop of tear soaked me finally and put me to rest

I kept mingling with mother earth all the while

Don’t know why playing with mud is called as,

you are soiled

And not projected as you are rooted or grounded

Is soil not our place of origin?

 

 

I wondered why was I fighting to be revived

Whom I loved had come to terms the moment my pyre was lit

They had arranged everything about my last rites

Oh, Yes, I recall that we as family had sat together and planned for everyone

I was to retire early to celebrate life in true sense

And for others, the path to future was so vivid and beautiful

So, I wanted to live to celebrate life in true sense

And here I let myself down and that is what I regret

 

Course correction is now no more an option

I can’t even tell people what I should have done

My bucket list kept piling up at a faster pace than deletion

Now everything burnt with me,

Every chip of ash being my items in the bucket list

Floating around begging to be fulfilled

But, alas, no one could hear me nor they could read it

I was happy though, as that drop from my son had quenched me

Finally, I mingled, dissolved into a world,

where aspirations and ambitions,

envy and prejudices have no space

All get equal opportunity to grow and flourish with mother earth

I am sure now I am going to celebrate life in true sense.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What if White had been black, and black had been white

 

What if white had been black

And black had been white

Would it be same on left, and right?

Or would same things be wrong and right

What if white had been black

And black had been white

 

 

Would crows become prettier

And ducks become strange

Would wicked heart be black

and young get aged

would the printed books look different?

and the cloud mean the same

 

What if white had been black

And black had been white

Would it be same on left, and right?

Or would same things be wrong and right

What if white had been black

And black had been white

 

Would the glamour of white skin going to die?

Would black become a symbol of celebration

And white to mourn

Would everything fair and fairy be white

Can sunlight give darkness

And nights be bright

Does this change everything whatever is in sight

 

 

What if white had been black

And black had been white

Would it be same on left, and right?

Or, would same things be wrong and right

What if white had been black

And black had been white

 

Would Angels still wear white

And the demons black

Would white be still the symbol of purity

And still would heart bleed white

whitewash may actually mean a black wash

has convincing lie to be white

and gory tales dark

Does this change everything whatever is in sight

 

What if white had been black

And black had been white

Would it be same on left, and right?

Or would same things be wrong and right

What if white had been black

And black had been white

 

Who decided on what is white?

And what is black

If whoever christened it changes it

Would the world be better, peaceful and harmonious?

Can racism, hatred vanish from the earth

Let us try once and change white into black

And black into white

And forget about what is wrong and what is right.

The burden of being a good Samaritan

It is not easy to be a good Samaritan, is what COVID teaches you. The burden is heavy, and there is fair chance that you may break your back, neck, lose your sanity and fall depressed.

Two stories run parallel during this tough time. One, of the devils, evils who try to make maximum of others vulnerability and exploit them to the hilt. There is black marketing of the drugs, the beds in the hospitals are being sold at exorbitant prices, in fact surreptitiously auctioned, oxygen cylinders wasted and sold to the highest bidder, ambulances charging a fortune, shortages concocted and falsely created to give desirable hike to service charges, hoardings of necessary items- medicinal and of provisions etc. etc. There is never ending saga of exploitation putting shame to humanity and civilization.

The second story is that of people who are risking their lives to help others. They are running pillar to post to serve the needy. Help is coming from sources who do not know personally those to whom they are catering their services, the persons who are benefiting from their help. Services has a full menu, consisting of all those services which have become a rarity now, and persons are falling dead due to heavy shortage of them. They include right from serving of food, putting to use all available resources to get a ill person bed, oxygen, ambulance and medicines; arrangement of transportation to carry the patients to the hospital and making available possible counseling; providing of hearse vans to carry the bodies of the lost ones and even planning help for the orphans or widows of the dead, who are left unattended. All this plethora of work, services sounds fantastic, very exhilarating and as if God's angels have descended to undo the worst. But is it that easy? Is providing these services as simple as they sound?

Good Samaritans are heavily paying a price for everything. They are losing mental peace, getting frustrated, depressed, losing confidence in themselves and getting sucked into cynicism. Why? This is a million dollar question. And the answer is very simple. Because it is unprecedented time. The resources are exhausted. Every small help requires using and approaching of all known resources, material and mankind, for they are not only scarce but sometimes not available. Even the human resources, on whom, through network, the Samaritans bank on have already spread themselves so thin that they sometimes do not respond. It may take ten to fifteen calls to get one response, and sometimes it turns out to be too little or too late. Even if five lives are saved in a day, one loss siphons off all the inner pleasure achieved and drains out morally, physically and psychologically at the end of the day. So, everyday, despite having served many, the person hits the bed with a sense of failure. It turns out to be a never ending and never winning match. 

Unfortunately, I have chosen to be in the team of good Samaritans. The fatigue of loss becomes so heavy that my bout of cough get profound. I owe my recuperation from COVID to my friends who helped me unconditionally. They were there not because who I am, but perhaps for what I am, or should I say some didn't even mind even if it was 'I', for they did not know me. 

I remember, one of my friend asking, 'Why are you taking pain when it takes toll on you?'. Another one said, 'It is your choice. Quit if it is so taxing and precarious'. Both are so relevant. I ruminated and found that the habit of giving service is not literally by choice. It is in your DNA. One jumps into the fray not because they tend to earn something out of it, but just because they have to, for they cannot survive without it. Perhaps, there is a breed who have to do it for their own sake. It is for them catharsis. Even little action is required for sanity or the sense of helplessness for doing nothing would kill them. So, it is not by choice but by compulsion. Certainly a selfish motive to survive by being into action. I too must have been born with this DNA. But, in this pandemic time, the sense of letdown is eclipsing the sense of relief. The burden gets piling. Pray that these good Samaritans do not fall prey and become a victim to these relentless pressure, and in turn call for help.

Reflection (6th May)- 

I got beautiful feedback from an intellectual, spiritual close friend, though on personal email. I think it reflects the teachings of Geeta. I am trying to put it verbatim

Take 1. Goodness is not a burden ...It is the inevitable and inseparable essence of Soul or Consciousness....

Nor it is part of DNA. DNA is part of our gross body...goodness is beyond it...it is part of Soul, not part of gross body..

Take 2. Doing good deeds and 'leaving' fruits to Almighty is not in our control...whether you want to drive your car yourself or you want to 'leave' it to your driver can be your control and thus can be your choice and decision...but 'leaving' fruits to Almighty is neither under your control nor your choice or decision...

Take 3. At a spiritual level we are not 'instrument' of goodness but we 'are' goodness itself...

Take 4. In spiritual goodness there is no 'I'. 'I' come when spiritual goodness has to be put into action...and then our body become an instrument and give rise to ego..

Ahamkar comes when I believe that I have capacity to deliver...to spread goodness...and when i act out of Ahankar...the ego of capacity or strength, samarthya, fuels the ego of doer, karta.. 

But when the person believes that he has no strength or capability to think or do anything but the requisite capacity to think and act is given by Almighty...there will be no ego...

My take

There seems to be no argument on what has been said. Certainly spiritual approach would give answer to all questions or concerns raised in my write up. I find this piece of advice very enriching and a way out. It so beautifully talks about 'Detachment in attachment'. As in my earlier posts, quoting great philosophers, I have mentioned about 'I' and how it is detrimental, as that 'I' restricts a person to focus on oneself, rather than on complete submission to divine and go with the flow. The understanding of difference between the mortal body and immortal soul is the essence of spirituality, which gets missed every now and then. 

I appreciate such enriching feedback and path correction. Thank you!

I am numb

 

I am numb

 

I am numb, dumb and all my senses have gone blunt. Out of 24 hours, I find myself sleeping, totally blackout, for more than 18 hours. Opening eyes is like having a spooking look through a tunnel, struggling to find something which makes sense, and by the time I realize that there is something known in visibility, I close it again. Total blackout again. For few glorious moments when I am in senses, what bothers is my Son’s struggle to settle in London. How do I facilitate him is the only sensible target left to meet out?

 

A person is very selfish. It is never ‘me’ in life. I was reading Sadguru’s ‘Inner Engineering’. He says- be responsible for your responses. I try to focus on my inner element, know my surroundings and think within. But alas the external issues are overwhelming. They do not let me sleep in peace. How do you undo what you have done for half a century in your life? Can a line of wisdom relieve me off the baggage which I have been carrying all my life? Even when life is threatening with shallow breath, half consciousness, mindless presence, still there are couple of factors bothering me, beyond my own self, my Son and father-in-law…  Maya is what weaves life’s activities. Sadguru advocated to come out of maya, and here I was thinking of two generations, one above and one below, and the current that is me is relegated to backburner, though physically struggle was on current. The power of mind put to use in traditional way, to solve literally where I had no say, is what we had been taught whole life. Worry for what you don’t have and worry for what you can do nothing. Worry has become a way of life for us.

 

My struggle is serious, with my lung infection due to COVID calling for medical emergency of sort. I am on high dose of steroids, and my numbness is perhaps attributed to those medicines. Sugar level has gone haywire because steroids don’t let them settle. I had got hospitalized on 15^th with sugar level shooting up to 550, and every day in the hospital it would read close to 350 odds, at least once a day. Rest of the time it would fluctuate less than 200. ‘Don’t you bother for sugar parameters, as we are managing through insulin’, doctor had reassured. Four insulin shots in all, one each before meal and one before bed, and twice blood thinner shots, all on my belly. I wondered if the small bulge on the abdomen is due to these 6 shots I was enduring. In the hospital at least six to seven times I was dripped with medicine. Israeli’s were the best in drip irrigation, to survive the plants in arid zone. My body was surviving through the same drip feed.

 

Day before, on 22^nd April, 2021, a lightning had stuck. Morning around 630 am I had received a call from Amitabh, my co-brother, that our father-in-law suffered severe cardiac arrest. He was in Chirayu hospital, Bhopal, for almost 14 days now. After 8/9 days of hospitalization, he had shown signs of improvement and suddenly things deteriorated. He was put on oxygen and on 20^th evening he moved to ventilator. In the family group he would text a short message about his wellbeing and anxiety. But the message papa sent in the family group ‘The Twelve’ on 20^th at 1135 pm read as ‘Aaj aahk… gf anr, nb FB’ and at 1149 pm ‘Kg ji Y aaz n. Abs sakas sbd az’. At 1144 pm he had texted on 'har har narmade' mandla family whattsapp group, 'Sjdbn nv2#$#$%%^*(=:-?.?' It made no sense and that shook us from inside. It was disjointed, disoriented but conveyed in volumes. Something terrible was wrong. Those were the last words perhaps he tried to communicate and they were incoherent to our sensible minds. We needed some esoteric talent to decipher them, which none of us had. It threw us into panic. Was it not surprising that he had managed to get into both the family group to communicate. He was sending his last words, in the form of blessings, bidding adieu and perhaps informing that he is connected to two worlds now. He had reached out to all family members he loved. To be honest he had not betrayed us, not left us without any signal. He had been loud and clear. The journey had started. With the strike of the midnight or may be in the wee hours, Hindu's 'Brahma Muhurta', he had embarked on his journey, but Maya didn't let us give up.  

21^st was wait and watch, and 22^nd morning the impossible happened. He couldn’t be revived from the cardiac arrest. ‘He was supposed to live forever’, is what Udhav/Anhad had written to me from London when he had heard about the loss in the morning. So, did we think. Certainly, I had sometime long back thought of spending some retirement time with him, discussing books, his favourite pass time. I have almost nine years to retire still. Plans which is not worth planning. What is in store tomorrow we don’t know but we tend to plan for decades. Yes, management teaches you that, plan meticulously. What is meticulous in life? Taking a cue from Sadguru’s book, I had texted him personally on Tuesday, 20^th April at 738 am, ‘Papa Pranam. You have to fight it out please. Talk to your organs, it helps. Please take charge. Work on inner healing. I pray. Look inwards, see your organs and tell them you have long wat to go (folded hands emoji)’. He responded at 1034 am with two blushing smileys. Those smileys were not smiley to me but his face with that permanently etched smile.

On Thursday, 22^nd, at 616 am I had written in the har har narmade whattsapp group of Mandla family, ‘Each one of you have loved papa unconditionally. Unki taqat ka source aap logon ka prem, pyaar, sneh aur dulaar raha hai. Sabhi apne mandir mein, isht devi/devta se prarthna karen. Samuhik aur vaqtigat prarthna karen please… I believe in miracles and let us together pray for miracle to happen (two folded hands emoj)’. And within half an hour the news had shattered my belief in miracles.

 

All these days, Amitabh and Rinki (Pragya) had been with him, traveling daily with food to feed and daring through COVID hospital to meet him. They would connect with Doctors, nurses and everyone to ensure that papa was well attended to. From Delhi, Didi (Manisha) and Bhaisahab (Shyam) pulled all the strings in the State Government to ensure that he was well attended to. No stone was left unturned to facilitate all help possible. Nanu (Priyanka) was coordinating with the security incharge of the hospital to ensure presence of person to take care. I lay in the bed struggling my own battle, being a mute spectator, praying with Durga naam path and other possible ways, trying to send some healing through reiki and just helplessly grieving in loneliness.

 

Papa was a mentor to me. A saintly person who did not hold anything against even his adversaries. Who had inspired me to a great extent to pen down my thoughts? Who would be happy hearing me speak in forums? Who would be happy that I am taking his lineage forward as a writer? He expressed less, when it came to family matters. Did not interfere in anybody’s personal matter, and found peace and solace in his writings, books and support system he created for others. He would always say to issues in family, ‘everyone is matured enough. They will find a way out’. He was sometimes too silent to create ripples. The noise that his silence made was disturbing. Silence has been his weapon, with Mummy and others. His strongest communication was through his silence. Going mum was a potent weapon to avoid or to communicate for him. How silently he communicated his opposition or wish. He had gone silent now, forever…

 

To him his brothers and their family meant everything. After years of detachment during his children’s growth, he had found this new love for Mandla (his place of birth) too spirited. When Mummy was there it had to be his three daughters and their family. But since she passed away in 2014, it was his family. Going back to roots, perhaps was the calling. His last celebration was with them at Tikamgarh and last grief at Mandla for his brother. His laugh and sorrow had mingled in the sand and water of Ma Narmada, a deity river at the shores of which he had grown.

 

He was bhishmpitamah of the family. Everyone was welcome to stay with him, talk to him, share their woes and happiness. Not necessarily he would talk in the language one wanted but still his voice was respected, because everyone knew that he had ‘malice for none’ in his life. This spirit came reflecting in the pieces written in the newspapers and other places by his acquaintances in these last two days. Everyone has a story to tell, and all are unique. He touched people’s life as a saint, without letting them know what changes he would bring in them. He was a giver, a generous contributor. For him what he had was for the community. None of his children can claim rights on what he had, as they were for all.

 

As of now, I am plastic, as my own senses do not support me. My voice is meek and feeble. I cannot sometimes recognize my own sound. Whoever talks to me thinks I have to take care of myself. I had to get discharged in urgency after I got the news of Papa, to be with my wife, Priyanka. I knew she cannot take it. All the way from Noida it took me more than an hour to reach. The doctors were magnanimous as they had discharged me without settling my bills. A goodwill coming from common acquaintances. All through the drive, I kept my eyes closed, as mind and body were not in sync. On reaching home when I entered, madhav was desperately waiting for me. He had already called four-five times as handling his mother was getting difficult for him. Priyanka entered the scene with disheveled hairs, colour totally drained out and asked me to take bath. I robotically went to the bathroom as directed and came to sitting lounge. She was sitting there thumping her foot down on floor hysterically, waving like a dry leaf and shouting that she doesn’t want to speak to anyone and no one should touch her. I tried to approach her and she ran away, walked briskly all around saying no talk and no touch. She was in denial. Whom to console, myself or her? For two three hours it continued. I switched off her mobile. For seven days I had been waiting desperately to return back home from hospital. Caged in four walls, lying unconscious most of the time, nurses pumping in fluids through all means, gulping food for the sake of it, was getting on my nerves. It was the love and concern of loved ones that was healing me and helping me go on. But this return to home was not what I had expected. Neither my mind, body or soul were in order. It was so plastic and unnatural. The red flowers had blossomed in this last week but the colours did not excite me. Neither the jamun branches which had moved inside our balcony, accepting my request, which I had been making for more than a year now, made me smile. Everything seemed so meaningless and unnatural.

 

Amitabh and Rinki said that they were doing the last rites, ‘Would Nanu like to talk?’ Rinki asked. She was not ready. I was positive and so was our whole family. Bhaisahab was positive at his place and Didi was with all symptoms. One flight to catch at 1125 am to make it to funeral, but neither the time permitted, as I got discharged finally at 1020 am and with all positive reports none was allowed to travel. ‘Papa, are you not taking too much of precaution?’ I would ask him when he wouldn’t let anyone at home for almost 8 months as precaution to COVID. ‘I know, but I do not want to get ill and you guys take leave to serve me,’ he would smilingly say. ‘my precautions are for you guys,’ he would reiterate. I was warned by a wise person sometime back that mind what you say, as once in a daytime Saraswati gets on your tongue, and whatever you wish becomes nature's command. Once, when my mother had disagreed to come to  my posting place Narsinghgarh, I had irritatingly said that you will come to die in my arms. And that is what happened, two years later. I had taken her to the hospital in my arms, last time when she had spoken in senses. Papa had said that he did not want anyone to come to serve him. He lived his wish. He had stayed there in the COVID section in the hospital so minimum personal help could be extended to him, and when he left us physically, for heavenly abode, even then we could not afford to take pain to join for his formal last rites. He had left without asking for any service. Amitabh, Rinki, Kanu and Kanishka, who had been support for years now had the privilege and honour to be at his side, in breath and without. In one of my blog, I have written that I don’t want anyone to worry for my last rituals after my physical death, as that is a mystery, and without resolving it there is no point in following rituals mechanically. I always wonder what is life after death, if I will be able to interact with beloved ones some way. In my book ‘Treatise from a Deathbed’ I have aspired to connect, and still my aspiration lives. Someday, maybe I will be able to connect with my parents, in-laws and others and tell them that life is not easy for those who are left wailing. There should be a way to connect and settle unsettled communication.

 

I am still numb and dumb. I know my state will remain for a week or so, before, as always, I will be back struggling for my daily bread. I have moved on when I lost my father at 18, my mother in 2009 and others so loving. I will carry on, move on….(24th April, 2021)

Brahm Muhurta

 

Brahm Muhurta

 

Parents intrusion in the morning is a dreaded experience for most of the kids in an Indian traditional family. Rarely a kid must have grown up without being woken up early morning, for it is prescribed in our traditions to open eyelids at Brahm Muhurta. 

I have heard in my childhood that Brahm Muhurta is the time when Lord Shiva and Parvati take a round of earth, like the doctors do in a hospital. Lord Shiva with Goddess Parvati sets on a leisure meaningful walk to see what his creations are doing in the wee hours, when the shadows of night are dissolving in the wake of light. Gauging their spirit and commitment he showers his  blessings accordingly on his progeny. As everyone believes, Shiva, the bholenath, known for his magnanimity, easy accessibility and being prone to be won over with little effort, is most vulnerable at that hour of the morning. His vulnerability is a boon to all because that paves way for the desirable creatures to woo him. It is said that it is the best time to seek his blessings to make all dreams come true.

Now what is brahm muhurta? To my knowledge, it is sometime between 330 am to 5/5:30 am, just when the night crawlers start giving up, after exhausting all the sensory vices, and plan to drop dead in the bed. It is the same time when the early to bed disciplined lot get into the last phase of their sleep and get ready to start the forthcoming day. This is the time when the demarcation between these two different categories of people gets more defined and is deepened. Now, anyone getting up anytime in this time slot has fair chance to meet the generous and benevolent blessing couple.

A student getting up to study at that time is bound to be blessed with knowledge, which would eventually get reflected in bright performance in the academics. Sports persons can tone and mould in the best way if they practice during Brahm Muhurta, as strength and sharpness would automatically flow. Similarly, a spiritual person would gain maximum through meditation and recitation of mantra's, if practiced at that hour. And, the same philosophy would apply to all. Whatever you practice at that time you get close perfection and precision.

So, wanting to have best for their child, every traditional Indian parent intends to arrange that most desired meeting between the kid and lord Shiva. With pious intention they test their luck by waking up the child early morning. If not, certainly they sermon the child in broad daylight as to what they miss by getting up under the sharp rays of sunlight and not during Brahm Muhurta. Interestingly, there are many tools used to incisively demolish the child’s dream, as for them brahm muhurta is the time when they consider to be having the deepest and sweetest sleep. Intrusive mechanism adopted by parents are sometimes physical and sometime remain soft.

I would here share the methods that I have personally witnessed in three generations. Luckily none of them were physical in real sense, where the child is shaken up rudely and pulled out of the bed.

We brothers had the fortune of being woken up by our grandfather. When we were child, he would come, call name once or twice and then noisily start working in the vicinity. He would also start singing little louder all his religious offerings. He was not at all a great singer, so his songs tore apart our closed eyes musings and force us to start the day during Brahma muhurta. Whatsoever we did to ward off those musical mornings we failed miserably. It is said that habits are made if one practices something regularly, or I have heard 21 days at a stretch. Alas, our 21 days continuous failures got converted into a habit of waking up the moment we heard him sing. So, we became early riser, a brahm muhurti.

My father had his own style. He was a very religious person. He recited hanuman chalisa hundred eight times a day. Not a small feat to achieve. Conventionally, the first call was by calling names. Then after walking around room to room, carrying on with his prayers, every time he entered our room he would snap his fingers couple of times and then move on. That clack sound hit our eardrums and subconscious state so hard, like a shell, that we would get up in just couple of his rounds. After one call he never uttered a word, however his proximity we sensed and those clicking fingers cemented his presence. So, our grandfathers tradition was inherited by our father, thought the tools used were different. Hence, our habit continued.

I have evolved a different way of annihilating my children’s nocturnal peace and tranquillity. It is blend of both physical and mental. Respecting the convention the first abortive attempt is always calling kids by their name and stating that they are still sleeping despite it is broad daylight. They know that the clock-time I quote is never true. It may be half an hour or so ahead of actual time. Then the trick is to sleep with them, embrace them by throwing arms and legs all around them, and then start singing songs loud. The songs are fixed-

Utho ho laal ab bhor bhayo hai, utho Krishna ji bhor bhayo hai, utho gopal ji bhor bhayo hai, gayya charan ki bela…

Uth jaag musafir…Jo sowat hai so khowat hai jo jagat hai woh pawat hai.

Jaago mohan pyaare jaago…

They have thousand times told me in bed that it is torturous and intimidating. But, when fully awake, they laugh and tease me on how I wake them up.

Now, the children are grown up and for them the concept of Brahm Muhurta has no significance. They are nocturnal animals and Brahm muhurta is the time when they hit the bed. I do not know if what we experienced and what we intended our kids to experience, to get up at Brahm muhurta, was really helping them to start the morning on a right foot or was it morning blues. That is debatable. I still believe that the over gracious, compassionate, altruistic couple-lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati, still take that morning walk and are ready to bless us with fulfilment of all our desires.

My spirits have not dampened yet. Even at 9 am if I have to wake my grown up kids I still throw my arms and legs all across their adult body and sing out loud….utho ho gopal ji…Brahm is within us and I tried to wake him up within each of us.

 

'Positively negative' and 'Social Distancing': misnomers

 

'Positively negative' and 'Social Distancing': misnomers

 

 

 

Connotation of many words have changed in the recent times. It brings melancholy in everyone’s life, if they come to hear that he is found ‘positive’. Quite logically, the mention is about COVID test. How a term like ‘positive’, which has been glamorized heavily and become a part of sermon of each guru, spiritual or management, has come out with a totally different connotation is baffling. Everyone wants to hear that he is ‘positively negative’. A melody to ears, and a sigh of relief to all kith and kin. How the two opposite words, depicting a state of mind, which is poles apart, have come together is interesting. Can we somehow keep negativity out of our life and keep positive a solution to all ills? Let us not be positively negative but stay positively positive. And, let the report be read ‘infected or not’. Let us remain positive and let not 'positive' become a negative word and 'negative' a new positive. 

 

Another catchy phrase, which has found a lot of significance is ‘Social distancing’. This has been projected as panacea to pandemic. The term ‘Social distancing’ was a measure taken to sustain class differences and was to mark, emphatically, the distancing of elite with the lower-class strata in the society. Sociologist Karl Mannheim, in 1957, described it as a means to maintain power hierarchies. In India, this phenomenon could also have been witnessed in strong caste discriminatory demonstration in the past. But, in pandemic, this term ‘Social distancing’ got unnecessary prominence and has been wrongly interpreted. What, rightly, should had been ‘physical distancing’ has been popularized as social distancing! If we literally maintain social distance in the pandemic times then it is going to be more dangerous than the virus itself.

 

Humans are social animals, and if they are forced to stay in isolation, without any social contact, then the propensity of them getting insane is high, unless they are Sage. The best way to keep one’s head leveled and to survive when physical contact is totally prohibited is through social interaction. With the technological advancement, now there is no need to be in physical proximity to entertain and interact. Another term ‘Social Media’ has filled the gap of physical distance, and turned the whole globe into an accessible village. In fact, the social media do not let anyone maintain Social distancing. Everyone is in a virtual room now, so social distancing is a misnomer. Hence, prevention in the pandemic is not through social distancing but instead through physical distancing. So, why not we switch on to ‘physical distancing’ and stop the usage of a highly contentious term ‘social distancing’.  Hope, by picking wrong terms or giving a negative meaning to a positive term we are not letting cynicism overpower us.

Self Image Perception

 

Was hearing Jiddu Krishnamurthi, the great philosopher, about how to protect oneself from ‘hurt’ and how to avoid ‘habit’. In most of his discourses he emphasizes on being attentive. He speaks about image one creates of oneself and anything going ‘against’ or ‘for’ the image leads to those strong feelings. And, attentiveness towards the interaction with external factors- speech, action or environment, can save one from getting affected, leading to eruption of strong feelings within. This is in a nutshell the gist of some of his speeches.

 

To my limited understanding, the three main things he emphasizes on is ‘Consciousness’, ‘Mindfulness’ and ‘Self Image Perception’. First two would come by practice. More than half of life activities, daily chores, are mechanically performed, driven by habit. Can we consciously and mindfully get into these actions. It would need lot of practice but no doubt the quality-of-life changes. Can we imagine ourselves not thinking anything else while brushing our teeth and seeing how our tooth is cleaned? Or realize the water rinsing our skin while taking a bath. Honestly, I had not noticed any of these actions ever. It seems I would never be able to get to act so carefully and consciously. However, a try is worth a life.

 

I reiterate, it is worth a life, because, lack of mindfulness makes us oblivious of ourselves and of our surroundings. They directly and indirectly affect and effect our present, though we foolishly presume it is the past and the future, which ordain our life. Current can be controlled, if we are conscious and mindful, but neither past nor future is controllable. But, how many of us live our present. Again, admitting honestly, I do not, even though sometimes I try to catch up with my present. So, is it not worth experiencing what is happening than what has happened and what will happen?

 

Above all these experiences, what intrigued me most was the actuality of ‘Self Image Perception’. This is amazing. It is ‘us’- to be precise ‘me’ or ‘I’, which is the culprit. ‘I’ interpret everything the way ‘I’ perceive my self-image. No doubt, everyone has to have their image, but how conscious we are to the factors that we presume to be bruising or massaging our image is important. Mindfulness towards these factors can prevent ‘I’s image from getting affected and thus save from outburst of strong feeling, which necessarily may not be real to the intention. This would bring peace and harmony around. 

 

Sri Ramana Maharashi, a great saint, in his book ‘Who am I’ has vividly defined the role of ‘I’. The perception of ‘I’ is so strong in everyone that it dictates our action. The false identification of self can be done away with, and that requires practice. The saint puts it so well, “When the world which is what-is-seen has been removed, there will be realization of the Self which is the seer” and he says, “When the mind, which is the cause of all cognition and of all actions, becomes quiescent, the world will disappear”.

Certainly that is quite saintly, and we the worldly animals can only strive to achieve that goal. But even few steps in that direction would bring lot of peace and harmony in oneself and surroundings. Let us revisit our ‘Self-image perception’ and control from getting affected by the world.