In(ter)dependence Day

Found on Pinterest, tokkoro.com

This 'independence' day has been unlike any other. Perhaps some new ways of what an independence day of a nation could mean percolated through the complexity and density and shone through. At least for me. Who or what is the nation then is a question. 

My father was a military man, died a Major while in the Grenadiers. I had been about 4 and half years then. I'd been holding this narrative for a while now that his absence and my missing of this belonging to my father was something that Life and Universe chose for me to learn something about myself. Today I realised that actually he is not absent. He and his energy are very much present in me; in those parts of me that I had been rejecting all along as invalid. I held some ideals of the world, that of being military-less and of not being constricted by bigotted lines of nations. Isolated in themselves, without being in touch with reality would make these ideals into fantasies. And that is what they have been. What would bring them more into the light would be to hold them as living dreams while being in touch with reality. A living dream is an alive question that one holds within and lives it (the question). 

The reality is that there are numerous soldiers giving their life for love of this land no matter what ideas and opinions I may have about how love should be shown. My father had also been one such (though he lost his life in an accident, just a clarification). His way of loving and serving this land was to protect it, and his idea of this land was the nation and republic state as far as his public identity and official activity was concerned. 

A book on Dakshinamurthy Iyer

He married into a family for whom the nation was its civilisation. My mother's side of the family had all been part of the freedom struggle and believed in the 'Sanatana Dharma that is the true eternal religion of this land'. They believed this land to be the punya bhumi and this each of them carried within themselves. My great grandfather, better known as Annaji, had pictures of Sri Aurobindo, the Mother, Swami Vivekananda, Sri Ramakrishna and Sarada Devi right along with many foreigners (whom I cant identify) and other people (whom I can now identify as Babasaheb Amte, Sri Guruji, Baburao Moke, Eknath Ranade and many others). This was the grandfather, Dakshinamurthy Iyer, into whose ear a 5-year old me let out a blaring horn through an old agarbatthi carton (those circular cartons that are used to store agarbatthis), and deafened that ear almost literally. He was the one who gave me my love for English by insisting that I write to him in English on the post card every week, and introducing me to English works, newspapers and journals. Now when I think of it, it seems like others looked at him like he was Don Quixote much of the time when his 90+ year old self engaged with the 5-yr old child and gave her all kinds of things that she can understand nothing about, to read. And yet, these are all the people whose idea of the nation was a civilisational one that they had been fighting for.  This is what I took on. Including the grief of the Partition that they all underwent and never recovered from. They retired from an active public life of serving this land and chose to serve in retreat mode (For example, another great grandfather of mine, Sitaraman Iyer, was a ghanapati and took part in all the veda parayanam that he could). He was the one who gave me his well-thumbed and loved copy of Sundara Kandam. 

Today I am looking at it as a giving up on what one loved, in grief and despair.  I understand it and believe that this land still is recovering from the Partition and still needs to own up to this grief. This is one of the fundamental encountering and reckoning that we have not done collectively. Only this collective grieving can bring about collective healing. I dont know though how we are to do that. It is because we have not grieved truly and enough that there is such turbulence in the country. 

One way for me to start doing it is to look at reality and accept all of it first as it just is. It is only then can I even recognise that there are these two ends of me that are both holding me: 

Had-Anhad, Film by Shabnam Virmani

There is on the one side, ideas of Dharma and spirituality and Vedanta that talk of humanity and a universal consciousness, a holding of all. This has always been there within me; this is also the part of me that has until now talked of Ahimsa, as a greater love. It is this side which loves revolutionary art, music and culture like that of Kabir which dissolves borders and carries us into the no man's land between boundaries of India and Pakistan. 

There is now on the other side, the idea of a nation state that has the military and the sheer reality of the circumstances that we have created for ourselves. We have hostile neighbours and have had genocides, and it is the military might that is holding some of this at bay. Even if I dont understand the nuances of all of that, I recognise and feel the passion and love that one can hold for this land which will draw a boundary to protect it. I felt it this morning in my first Silambam class as I took a stance and gazed straight ahead. A dream-like opponent stood in front of me; I dont know who or what it was. My father stood in me.  This is the same threatening stance that I took a couple of days back in an encounter, completely unplanned and spontaneous. I had never taken such a stance before.  That moment came flooding in too. And I realised that the opponent is not the enemy.  Ahimsa is also about boundaries - as much as I dont invade the other, I also dont allow invasion. It works both ways. Compassion, as anything else true to its name, begins at home. There are no enemies, only opponents. 

Are these two ends holding me, or am I at the centre holding them both together and balancing this tension? Or attempting to. When I am holding this tension within and looking at it, my idea of the whole changes. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. And independence is about freedom. A freedom that cannot be an outcome shining at the end of the tunnel; tomorrow never comes! A freedom that is the journey and the path today. What I do today, this moment about my freedom is all that matters. That is what I will be doing tomorrow. The practice of yoga is happening now. It is absolutely the same for the nation. 

Who or what is the nation then is a question. Is it the land, the rivers, the forests and its geography? Is it all the historical twists and turns and wars that we have gone through and their numerous narratives? is it the nation and republic state with all its citizens and the Indian diaspora? Is it the Vedas, the Gita, and the Bible, and the Quran and Guru Granth Sahib and other scriptures and texts that we all love to quote out of context and for convenience? Is it all the media controversies and the struggles and movements of people on the ground? Is it our ideas of dharma, ahimsa, spirituality...? Is it our leader(s) in different walks of life, politics, media and all the different woods? Where is the nation located? 

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My reflections through this day were also watered by the following that happened today: 

1) A reflective post by a dear friend on Instagram about today & nationalism - She is a farmer, a mother, the bread-winner of the family, and truly of the earth in a way that I can only aspire for. 

2) The Centrefield Podcast on India - The Way Ahead - For me, a precise and beautiful conversation on the ideas and principles of dialogue that India holds, between Abhishek Thakore and Raghu Ananthanarayanan

3) A beautiful dialogue among friends at Purnam Cafe, holding quite a diversity of ideas and perspectives with much maitri and karuna - on the Uttarapara speech by Sri Aurobindo 

Kaathu - An Obituary

Kaathu is a Thamizh word meaning wind / air. For us, the word 'Kaathu' is short for Kaathavaraayan, and synonymous with Love. Pure, unadulterated, unconditional Love. 

"Kaathavaraayan" is the name of a village deity in Tamil Nadu, meaning "the one who protects".  Our dog, Kaathu, short for Kaathavaraayan, enveloped and protected us in his cocoon of love. 

He died this morning, and what an auspicious death. In the early brahmamuhurtham time, just after Amavasya started, on Deepawali day. He leaves behind such a treasure of memories - adventure stories, fullnesses, lessons of life and love, togetherness and warmth during struggles and joys, silences and spaces, comedies and tragedies, a paw reaching out and calling for attention, a jaw gently placing itself on one's lap in quiet acknowledgement of emotion, melting eyes looking into mine with endless trust and love, lots and lots of comic play, sulks and making up, running with the wind in abandon, combats and resistances, always flowing, and holding us with such communication and sensitivity.  I will miss the space he gave me and how a deep part of me felt listened to by him. 

He had the biggest heart. There was so much space inside it that he put up with any kind of space outside. He adjusted and accommodated with all our meanderings and detours and whatnots of life with such cheer and sport. I remember, right during the 2015 floods, we were shifting bag and baggage to Tiruvannamalai. I was in this tiny Acer van, the driver on one side, me by his side, my 3something-yr-old daughter on my lap, and Kaathu at my feet. Thats all was the space for each of us for about 3-4 hours, as we took the highway through lashing rains, (lots of thunder and lightening), intimidating play of light and shadow all around as we crawled past dusk and into the night. All this frightens him, but he sat through it all, curled up and quite content, ensuring that his body was fully in contact, giving me a lick once in a while asking for attention (and/or giving it!). 

This was the way he loved - with his full loving presence and demanding the same from us. No loving quietly from the sidelines for this guy. He filled our lives with the light of his eyes and the love of his heart -
"sitting right in the middle of my carpentry tools as I chiseled and sawed that I had to encounter him constantly", says senior K;
"looking at me as I eat all the time wondering when he is going to get his tidbits, and competing with me for attention", says junior K;
"he would sit right there at the kitchen entrance as I cooked, or stretch out beside me, his entire body touching the side of my thigh and leg as I sat at my computer", says me. 
The grandmothers received his love in the way they wanted initially - without touch and from a slight distance (He knew this without being told). But over time, he won them over enough with all his beseeching looks, that they completely gave in and started patting his forehead or touching his torso carefully.  

He was just so completely there, fully present with us. And so much in silence. Except when he barked at something from outside. His bark belied his size and never failed to startle, stun or freeze anyone - human, animal or bird. It was like the roar of a lion. I took pleasure in his sound and his silence. And in the touch and feel of him. That's how he showed up.

He loved his food, and ate just about everything that we did. He wanted sambhar rice and tomato rice just as much as he lapped up pasta and pizza. He completely went for taste and refused to touch his food if it just had bland rice. Senior K has become so used to keeping aside whatever is cooked to mix in his food that this is going to be a difficult habit to lose, he said. The loss of an animal family member, that too one who had mixed himself with our days and moments so thoroughly, like sugar in milk, is difficult. He made life sweeter.  

We buried his body in a beautiful place under a neem tree, a brook gurgling nearby, surrounded by fields and trees, and in the gaze of Arunachala. As I smelt the fresh, tangy, unpolluted air, I was remembering Kaathu's doggy smell that I loved to bury my face and nose into. 

Climate Change

Pic by Guillermo Ferla on Unsplash

Girivalam Diary, 10th August 2021

Many legs walking along,
In this cool and pleasant morning.
Leisurely paces, firm gaits,
Trailing fire.
Hot and cold all at once.
Every eye encountered;
_a reflection of restfulness
Holding tiredness, and watchfulness.
As if a battle has been fought,
And crossed over.
Not of defeat or victory though.
We can only speak of relationships.
And intimacy.
With the self and the other.
With viruses.
Even the warrior
On a closer look-
though holding shield and sword
Is doing so with a smile,
Held by his backdrop
Of sky and mountain.
Soreness and tiredness,
Held in a gentle perception
of the centre
that seems to hold it all.

It's safe here
to encounter rage,
It is seen and held,
And subsides.
It's safe here
to encounter fear,
It is seen and held,
And subsides.
It's safe here
to encounter pleasure and aversion,
Joy and sorrow.
All seen and held,
Subsiding.
It's safe here
to glory in love and freedom.
There is a courage
that can arise out of such restfulness.
The perception of the largest
And deepest context
That one can hold,
And be held in.
There is no way ahead,
nor a map.
But this path
Shines around the centre.
Earth moves around the sun,
Twirling around her axis,
In joyous abandon.
How to dance the dance,
Will be revealed
As she dances
in cosmic rhythm.
This moment too will pass.
And the sea tides will rise
With the moon.
And subside again.
And life will go on.
Outer climate faithfully reflecting,
The inner. 

Ardhanarishvara - Reflections from Pavazhakundru

He is all Sky
She is all of Earth.
Wind in their wings--
Dancing with each other.
Lighting the lamp of love
Immersed in the river of life,
Sometimes swimming along the waves
Sometimes navigating the currents
Watching each other play.
He teachers her courage, and holds her;
As she flies, into his Infinity.
She teaches him patience, and anchors him;
Allowing him to rest, in her Creativity.
She sinks her teeth into his neck.
He returns the favour and crushes her lips.
They smile wickedly.

Innocently.
with joyous sorrow,
with painful pleasure,
As they both draw blood.
And kill each other every day,
Every moment.
So as to be born anew the next.
And meet again, and again. 
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We are today in urgent need of finding and allowing the feminine and masculine within us to meet in ecstatic union. Both, the masculine and feminine of human society as a whole today are at war with each other and are only meeting on the battleground, swords drawn, guns exploding, and fighting each other from the shadows. They are seldom meeting in parks and gardens, or playing on the beach, or watching the sunrise together or dancing in the moonlight. This is largely the situation within individuals as well. For humanity to take this step, individuals need to allow this to happen in their beings, bodies. Each of us needs to allow the Ardhanarishvara within to take form, with the feminine and masculine coming together in perfect and dynamic rhythm. And this love is a continuing death-life process, happening every moment, so that each moment's action is born anew, out of that love. The future of the planet rests on this. 

- 21st July, Reflections and view from Pavazhamkundru, Tiruvannamalai where Ardhanarishvara is supposed to have taken form and given darshan. 

Re-cognising

Pure home-made ghee
Fragrant with timeless love.

A unique family stew,
with particular vegetables, lentils
spices and herbs...
made especially for me.

Colourfully aglow flowers of Rangoli
that bloom just outside the doorway,
every dawn.

The Beauty of Nature,
drenching pages & pages with ink,
and webpages with blogposts-

A gentle and composed smile,
Or the quiet tears of hurt,
Righteous anger that corrected,
Followed by immediate embrace.

Ever-expanding activity-
A proliferating message of Love,
and a passion for all-
Compassion, encompassing...

All the earthiness of Earth
As only a mother can hold.
Do we have it in us
To really look at her-
And hold her just a little bit-
As she does us.

Lest it becomes too late
For humanity to say,
Mother, I love you too.
At least as much as you do me.
Lest it becomes too late
For humanity
to act from Love.

And recognise that we,
are the missing parts;
Of the puzzle that is She.

- 26th June 2021, reflections from the previous season of Purnam Cafe (theme of contemplation and conversation: "the pattern that connects us")

Returning

 

21st June 2021

All paths, yoga and otherwise, lead to you. 
All practice is of you.
All gifts are given by you.
All offerings are also yours. 
All breaths come from you,
And each OM exhaled returns home,
To You. 

16th Jan 2021 

The west sun welcomed me,

Settling into her own alchemy.
A friend recently spoke of homecoming-
And that's what I was humming.
A memory of what I'd left behind,
Taking form in my mind.
The sounds and sight;
Smells of dipping hands into twilight...
The taste of a sweetness,
Ageless. Timeless.
Home sweet home,
Resting quietly in chrome.
Returning to this epicentre,
Is not governed by my calendar.
I can only try to listen.
And answer again and again...
Until the epicentre,
Dissolves into its heart-centre. 

Behind

Antness of  the ant

elephantness of the elephant

natureness of Nature 

humanness of the Human

deathness of death

lifeness of life.

Plunging deep,

into the heart of form,

into the core of Earth;

into the core of me --

burning there. 

Would that dissolve form? 

Can something be created 

out of nothing? 

Clay and potter --

Her creative energy

her hands

skin and breath,

the smell of wet earth,

and its texture-

mingle on the wheel-

round and round and round... 

and breathe life as one. 

what gives life? 

the mud? 

the potter? 

the wheel? 

all of them swirling together? 

They all seem to matter,

And yet, they all are but matter;

material of life,

that move around a centre.

(What is it that breathes?) 

Who are You? 

What are You? 

Behind. 

the mind cannot but help,

take recourse to what it 'knows'

what it believes--

brilliant as that recourse is.

swirling and churning,

the material of life -- 

Words in a book,

still not what they denote.

And yet... 

Krishna tells Draupadi

in a letter-

on a thousand-petalled golden lotus: 

I am Infinity. 

I am your unbreakable bond,

with everything else.

I am your Arjuna too.

The universe is,

but a reflection of me.

I AM. 

Who is this I then? 

And what can the I create? 

I am an infant

searching for the new 

to come out of me,

while all that there is,

It already is. 

- April 2021

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A poem evoked by the essay, "Why Exhibit Works of Art?" by Ananda Coomaraswamy, which had been in discussion at Purnam Cafe. 

Surrender

The train that has reached, 

its destination. 
Tracks end here.
Remains of many journeys
rattle under the seats;
are being swept away.
Mains switched off now.
surely the morrow brings possibilities,
of new journeys? 

The house that has been,

emptied.

Hollow sounds echo. 

whitewashing,

can remove stains on walls.

what of hearts,

haunted by memories? 

Not real anymore. 

cannot hearts make homes? 

The box of paints that has

dried up.

Brushes scratch the bottom,

in vain,

As the canvas waits. 

cannot the sound of the scratch-

and the smell of canvas-

and the taste of blood-

and the touch of death-

paint

-what is waiting to come alive? 

This summer,

the village again sees the river bed.

cracked and calloused. 

its the first summer,

she's noticing it,

on the other side of childhood. 

The villagers

point to the signs.

saying, the rains will come. 

he panics. chokes. 

Lugs buckets of water,

from their summer stores,

and pours it in! 

from time to time

the futility hits her,

leaving her emptier than the river bed,

if that's possible. 

he sits on the river bank,

looking at the circling birds,

picking up a wet smell in the air,

and listens to the crick-crick of insects. 

Drawing up her knees,

she settles down to wait.

Perhaps the rains will come.

For now, she takes a breath

allowing it to seep in

through the emptiness. 

Ordinary Lives, Extraordinary Living

 Ordinary Lives, Extraordinary Living –
Also a review of the book, This Too Shall Pass, by Elango Thambiah.

A story is alive, throbbing, when it is straight from the heart and can reach deep into the hearts of its listeners and pluck strings there. This is such a story.  In first person, from the real-life incidents that took place in the life of its protagonists, it is narrated in such a simple manner, that reading it felt like drinking a large mug of hot chocolate as a young something, snuggled into the warmth of a grandmother’s love listening to her wisdom stories.

It tells the profound story of a family living through the trauma and subsequent recovery of one of its members suffering from brain hemorrhage, and how they find their way back to the land of the living.

 I read the book last week over 4 evenings and nights, of days filled with intense, meditative study of Vibhuti Pada, chapter 3 of the yoga sutra, with a group of co-sadhakas that also included the author-protagonists of the book!  

And because of this concurrence of the yoga study and life story perhaps, this book seems forever intertwined with the learning and insights from the Vibhuti Pada of the yoga sutra:

How it is possible to connect with the ecstatic joy and beauty of simply being Alive.

How just by the virtue of being this ordinary human being, he and she have the potential and possibilities of channelizing and straddling an extraordinary state of being, the extraordariness of Life, with an ordinary self simply by surrendering to that life. To the very act of being fully alive to this present moment.

Pic by Vincent on Unsplash

This book epitomizes the above for me. And brought alive an inner story for me, completing the healing process of one big part of me, and closing a very old wound. A wound that said, “Any change means loss; loss of love, loss of warmth, loss of safety, belonging… so, fear change and shun change.” A wound that did not believe that there is anything permanent and holding a terror of everything that is not.  And yet, a deeper part of me had always searched for the permanent. Is there anything that is unchanging?

This Too Shall Pass is about that which is unchanging that rests in all the dance and drama of change. And brought home to me in a primal way, that Change also means new, fresh prANA, new forms of love, new explorations, possibilities and ways of being. How fun.

It is then possible to live life with this changing, ordinary moment, every moment, being held in the lap of the extraordinary permanence within it. And as Thomas Merton says, live and celebrate the “present festival”. Like a new, tender shoot. 

Do consider buying the book, much of the proceeds from its sale will go to The GangaFoundation, an organisation for enhancing the quality of life of persons with Spinal cord injury in India, co-founded by the author, Elango Thambiah, . , 

Boundaries and beyond

 Sometimes,

Beyond childhood memories made together,
Beyond tags of cousin, brother, sister,
Beyond different routes of ideology and opinion,
Beyond ideas,
We meet some.
Labels, ages, times, words....
Distances, drop.
And there is just a spontaneous connection.
And the 'you' and 'I' pick up threads,
Seamlessly.