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. 
--------------------------------------------------------------
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")

Yet another shot at pinning down Love

Doesn't Love come

In all shapes;

All sizes;

All colours.

Multiple times.

Simultaneously. 

In all ways;

In any way,

Anyways. 

Reflection

Of oneself,

In other eyes. 

Perception of

A piece of divinity. 

The sunshine.

Timelessness.

Limitlessness.

Spontaneous connection-

A oneness. 

Synchronicity in the air. 

If all that be Love,

Don't we then go all ways? 

Woman, Man, Fluid, Trans...

Lame, Sightless, Deaf, One-armed...

Socialist, Communist, Capitalist, Humanist... 

Hindu, Buddhist, Jew, Christian, Muslim, Jain... 

Married.

Single.

Divorced.

Separated.

Complicated... 

What else cannot be transcended? 

Beyond. 

In Love. 

Every One,

A potential soulmate. 

You would see your reflection,

In the nasty worm 

that eve-teased you,

or adam-teased,

In the bus yesterday. 

But if you meet your teaser

In the dark alley

And see your reflection,

as (s)he overpowers you,

And don't whack your reflection

In the balls, 

Genitals, 

If that is what it takes; 

Then I will call you 

Completely cuckoo! 

If I am in limitedness,

Can I perceive limitlessness? 

If I am incomplete,

How can anybody ever complete me? 

If I am not in love with myself,

Do I really, truly, love anyone else? 

Love knows no sacrifice. 

Clarified, rare, moments

Of pure perception,

Oneness of being

That needs no more doing. 

Isn’t it its own doing?

Doesn't Love fulfil itself? 

We do more: 

Plan 
Expect 
Talk 
Demand 
Court 
Marry 
Protect      
Help... 

For ourselves. 

Jab Harry Met Sejal

An appraisal of Harry and Sejal's meeting, many years after it actually happened.  

Image from Kathmandutribune.com

This is a leisurely, lazy, alright-why-not piece on this Imtiaz-Ali-meets-Bollywood-Stardom movie, Jab Harry Met Sejal.  I really love the original of all these Meeting movies, When Harry Met Sally. I also love the Imtiaz Ali version, Jab We Met.  So I waited breathlessly for Jab We Met 2 (Jab Harry Met Sejal).  But ended up catching my breath and actually watching it sometime this year only.  I read some of the not-so-favourable reviews and hadnt wanted to get disappointed because Imtiaz Ali is one of my favourite Tellers of modern Indian Love stories. Well, now what I am feeling is ambivalent.  Not so disappointed and yet a little disappointed. It has Ali's touch of love for sure. How he narrates the course of love and dances around and through those fine boundaries that romantic love unwittingly transgresses is definitely there. Watch the movie to get a taste of Imtiaz Ali's world of love and romance.  He usually remains within mainstream Bollywood lines and tries to stretch those lines from the inside by depicting complex nuances and shades of love between black and white. 

The film also has a taste of Bollywood stardom. Well, more like mouthfuls of it. In the bigger than life form of Shah Rukh Khan of course. If you have never been to Europe, then you must go on this proxy Europe tour with an aging but still handsome and charming SRK as your tour guide. I think he was actually meant to be a grumpy and insulting man who has been dragged to repeat a tour (grudgingly) in a futile search for a bauble, by a nauseatingly innocent woman in search of herself. He starts out well. But he loses the act very quickly and becomes his charming Shah Rukh Khan self soon. I mean, come on, this is SRK we are talking about. He cant surely be anything but "Raj, Naam to Suna hi Hoga"? But the sprightly Anushka Sharma carries her act through quite convincingly for most of the movie, with her Gujarati accent and calling Harry, Hairy. However, maybe falling in love changed her fundamental mannerisms and accent?  She loses it some time in the second half of the movie, and I was wondering if I was looking at a repeat performance of "Taaniji" from Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi.  But, I remember that we are still in the frames of an Imtiaz Ali love story - and I realise the story is trying to as well.  

The characterisation is intact. One or both of the protagonists are usually in search of themselves or some part of themselves in Ali's movies and love helps them discover, and transforms them. Of course for the better. This is true blue Indian romantic love we are talking about, ne? Here, the woman trying to come to terms with her sexuality, coming in to her own, getting comfortable and gaining confidence in her own skin is a journey that we get to see, albeit in slightly immature, teenagerish ways. But hey, who am I to judge? To each her own, right?  A man losing his inner "womanising" self through falling in love and finding a home within himself as well as an actual returning home, is perhaps the other journey.  The man's journey could have been more compelling, more attentive, in its portrayal.  And yet, we do get to see the subtle inner conflicts that arise, the contrariness and the resonances that humans can display in the throes of romance. We are told quite upfront that Harry is a 'womaniser' and Sejal sees this truth, and has no value judgement about it. That is a refreshing difference in Bollywood cinema. She also sees the underlying truth of his loneliness. That is a subtle thread of relationship and understanding that was captured quite touchingly and yet without fanfare and raucousness.  Here is a Harry unmasking his flamboyant colours to discover a sensitive self within, and here is a Sejal who is coming out of her hitherto protected, cocooned existence to find her bold and flamboyant self.  

There is also the usual spiritual, psychological, Rumi undercurrent that is there in Ali's movies that sort of laughs along with life's ironies (or feels poignant, like in Highway). Think about it - in this film there is a gem, something priceless that they are searching for everywhere outside and this leads them on a merry dance, and ultimately she finds it with herself.  And by the time she finds it, we and possibly she as well, realise that the real treaure that she is searching for is something else, which is also with(in) her.  Call me whimsical, but that seems to me like a metaphor for life's search.  "The treasure is within" or some such!  (There is also the phrase from the movie itself and its song, Jeeve Soniya - "What you seek is seeking you")

The music pieces are good as stand-alones but do not really flow with the story.  Like I said, if you have a leisurely, lazy Sunday, and as an absolute fan of Imtiaz Ali you have watched every other movie of his, then Jab Harry Met Sejal is an alright-why-not, to complete the Ali collection. 

Writing

My first love.
My better half.
My greatest romance,
I met you perhaps
When I was 6 or 7.
You took me to a forest
And made me it's Princess.
Sitting on that Madurai terrace
With its interesting
Nooks and crannies.
I could understand
All the animalSpeak
And they understood me.
Under that darkening sky,
I was alone;
And yet not at all.
Lost in the sounds and sights and smells
Of the forest;
In finding you,
I found myself that day,
When I was 6 or 7.
I started writing!
"I am the Princess of the forest...."
I won't go further, don't worry,
Into the strange pathways
Of the 6 or 7-years old forest.

As expected,
The romance of the first years
Is unbelievable, isn't it?
My autocorrect typed in - "unreliable".
Freudian slip, that?
Romancing you,
I poured poetry and my soul
Into a zillion pages.
Well, at least a fifty of them.
Into a thick diary,
Which saw its early death
In one of the many passages,
Through rented houses
That middle class Indian families
Go through like a pack of cards.
Childhood gone too early,
I didn't know to grieve my diary.
I replaced the romance
With expectations,
As expected.

You stayed with me,
As I wandered through Life.
Even as I took you
For granted.
We met under the night sky sometimes
With the stars and the moon
And the solitary plane.
We met,
When I searched everywhere
For my specs,
And then found them in my pocket!
We met,
When I felt like it,
When I got sad,
When I wanted to impress someone,
or make them laugh.
When excitement filled the air,
Or perhaps melancholy.
You taught me humour,
And looking closely.
You taught me to do Life,
While I made you wait.

I decided,
That I wanted marriage.
I planned much
For all its trappings.
Complete with a house,
Garden, children and dogs,
Dimming lights for romantic evenings,
And bean bags for rainy days.
Red oxide flooring and earthern ware,
As local as possible,
For that is sustainable. ..
But dreams were also made up of:
Vacations in Bhutan and Srilanka
For I wanted to understand neighbours.
Foreign to myself slowly,
And you as well.

Somewhere,
Along the way,
I don't know where,
All of a sudden,
I found you gone.
And panicked.
You then came and went
As you pleased.
I threw tantrums
Kicked and screamed
Till I was blue.
Kicked some more,
Screamed some more,
Cried a whole lot more...
You seemed to soften
And said, "look closely"
And much to my chagrin,
Went away again!
Paths dried up,
Garden withered,
Poof!
The castle in the air,
Became one with it.
Dark all around,
Dimming lights be damned!
The rest of that story,
As they say is history.
Or Herstory,
Of losing and finding herself.

Flash forward to present.
I am sitting with you,
You still inspire me
To be my best.
You say,
"All I want is,
Your attention.
Your presence.
Be with me.
Whatever follows,
Follows."
Watching,
An innocuous mug
In an innocuous bathroom,
Get filled with water,
The sound,
Changing as the mug
Gets from empty to full-
When I am with you,
I am no longer innocuous.

I redo,
My vows with you.
I want nothing,
Out of you.
I want nothing,
Because of you.
I would much rather
Have these moments
Of sitting with you
And having you
Do Life, do me,
In my most private moments.
I would much rather
Just have you along,
For the conversation
And company,
As I get squished in a crowded bus,
Or am triggered by a commercial ad,
Feeling loved amongst friends,
Or like a worm after a shouting match,
Satisfied after a successful workshop,
Not getting enough FB likes!
Or getting too much,
Of unwanted counsel....
I just want you to be.
Through it all.

Garbage everywhere,
Overflowing bins too small
To hold,
the world's unresolved emotions.
When I feel too small,
And inadequate...
Or too big, grandiose --
Or anybody in between,
Spewing out garbage-
Nonetheless,
You hold me
Through it all.
Making life art
Making new meaning,
Making over,
Making love,
You make me art. 

Imperfect Love

A human I think,
Wants to be just loved.
I want to be loved,
For me being me.

I want you to love me,
For being me.
All that I am,
Warts and all,
As they say.
I promise,
I will do the same.

You did that, didn't you?
I did that, didn't I?
Love. Warts and all?
All those years back.
But then, here's the truth.
Who was the real me,
Who loved you?
Who was the real you,
Who loved me?
Did I know me,
All those years back?
Did I love me then?
To expect you to do so?!

It takes lifetimes of a life,
To dig deep;
Doesn't it?
Who am I really,
Who loves you?

And yet, all I want
Is for you to love me,
Despite me!
If I ask you,
Why do you love me?
I don't want answers.
I want you to tell me,
"Hell! I have no clue why.
But I love you,
All of you."

Here,
I throw away my masks -
Of aspirations,
Of ideals,
Of identicalities,
Of dependencies.

And stand naked,
In glorious Imperfection.
Can you love me?
"A challenge to Compassion",
Says Joseph Campbell.

 The perfect human -
S(he) is a myth.
Cast aside the bedtime story then,
And come to my bed.
Let's celebrate our differences,
In togetherness;
Come to my bed then,
To make true love.
Sweaty, messy, clumsy, Real.

You Wait for Me

The feeling of Utter Joy. 
What am I searching for? 
Everything is right here. 
Just here. 
Being Home. 
You of course are a manifestation. 
Of this. Of being Home. of Being home. 
Is it just you Arunachala? 
Or just me? 
What is this resting? 
I am in it.
It is in me. 
It wont be for long.
Wo(man)'s destiny is to Search! 
But just for now,
I rest. 
-------------------

I heard this story of a Guru. 
He knocked his disciple unconscious,
Who wakes up awhile;
Aware. 
Of his Highest Consciousness. 
A ton of bricks hit me.
And I have fallen;
In Love, it must be. 
For this Intelligence, Love, 
Whatever you want to call it. 
The Big It. Supreme Spirit. 
Highest Self, The Buddha. 
Krishna, Govinda, Shiva, Brahman.
Durga, Lakshmi, Saraswathi, Sarada Devi. 
Whatever you name It. 
Whatever form you give It. 
It is in Love with us. 
-------------------

You've been sending me 
Messages and invitations. 
All this while. 
You've been asking me,
To turn and look at you. 
You want to dance with me;
No more no less. 
What do you do?! 
When I don't see your messages. 
You knock at my door,
You ring the bell, time and again. 
I say, what a nuisance,
This bell is. 
-------------------

Someone got lucky.
His It, It crashed his door open! 
-------------------

You have hurled grenades at me.
You've also rained on me;
A bone-drenching downpour,
Complete with light and sound effects - 
You've called to me - 
Thru' unconditional love.
     My daughter's touch. 
     The lick of my beloved canine.

And what do I feel? 
My daughter's touch. 
My dog's lick. 
And my love for her
& her touch. 
My love for my dog
& his lick. 
My love for my partner,
& his kiss. 
I have gotten lost in them. 
Blind and deaf to the invitation behind. 

The Invitation behind,
Every name,\
Every form,
Every label,
Every category,
Every idea,
Every condition,
Every every.
That now I know
Is waiting for me. 
You wait for me. 
-------------------

It is patient and active
All the time. 
Of this I am sure: 
My It is in love with me.
Just as yours is in love with you! 
Of this also I am sure: 
That I will again and again,
Lose myself - 
I will forget to unwrap the covering,
to find the invitation inside. 
All that I can pray for is then,
Even if I forget,
Let me again and again, 
Wake up to your summons. 

Its a New Love Story

What do you do

When you fall in Love

All over again? 

You've been with him,

Twenty years. 

Touched heights of ecstasy,

Together,

And sunk to the depths of despair. 

You've been with him,

While separated and apart

Not understanding - 

Why & how he's within. 

You've been with him,

Thru' the times without. 

While he'was changing

To a different he.

And you'ere changing 

To a different you.

Time leaves her marks. 

It's another he, now.

And another you. 

Inexorably drawn together

Yet again,

By some ancient, secret rhythm-

That makes you dance with him. 

For him. 

Names have not changed;

It seems like,

The same old husband-

And wife,

Making comfortable home & hearth.

And yet. 

It's a new Love Story,

That you both are narrating. 

Fresh, like the morning dew. 

Of hearts in tune - 

Learning to sing together,

The many songs of life,

Blending, seasoning... 

So, what do you do? 

You write a poem,

About falling in Love again,

And the promise

Of being held by it

And holding it. 

Rukku - An Obituary

Rukku stood at the Annamaiyar temple in Tiruvannamalai, blessing devotees with a caress of her trunk. She died a few days ago, only about 30 years old. Very young for an elephant.

I am selfish and wish I had had more time with her. Standing and swaying in her usual spot, she was a Vīta rāga vishayam for me. The yoga sutras say that the mind can attain a state of balance by contemplating on a pure and disturbance-free mind / object, a Vīta rāga vishayam. Alive, Rukku was this point of concentration for me. One can stand for long, just looking at her. About an hour has been my longest. Wish I had had more hours with those wise, wise eyes that took in everything around, that seemed to know exactly what's what.

She would go missing for a couple of months in a year, when she went to the annual camp for elephants at Bandipur. I used to miss her a lot then and stare at the empty space where she would stand. But I imagine she would have been having a joyful time with all her other elephantine friends. They are such social animals and would completely immerse and bask in the elephantlove at their camp.

I believe that she knew I stood there watching her. Perhaps my whimsy. But one that I would like to keep. I will now have to see how much of her I have in me that I can meditate on without her alive presence. I will miss Rukku.