Simple Pleasures

I squinted against the bright sunlight at the small black insects that were again attacking my beautiful yellow hibiscus. All the swear words had completed echoing in my mind and so to say, I was speechless at that moment in time. The gardener and I have been waging a war against these pests for the last four months. Every-time I write an epithet for these pesky pests and sit back contentedly, they conjure themselves up from thin air! We have used pesticides everywhere but they don’t seem to work and I have almost given up hope.

 After about more than two decades I sat knitting in the sun. I remember the aunties sitting in the garden and knitting on a winter afternoon. I also remember me curling up my lips (mentally!) at them. How can you waste a lovely winter afternoon knitting? Isn’t it better to play or read a book or simply curl up under the quilt and dream? But college never gave us so much of free time- though we did laze around in the garden when we bunked a particular class.

Sunday afternoon post lunch was dedicated to simple pleasures and winter afternoons meant I could go to the terrace and put a mat and sleep under the quilt; my face under it creating an artificial darkness and snooze. See the dichotomy of the whole exercise- I wanted the heat of the sun but not its light!

 Here I loved the pictorial black dots on my yellow hibiscus but didn’t want the insects who give me so much of visual pleasure! But that’s reality. It is very possible that we like a person a lot but do not like his dress sense or food habits. The trick is in accepting the ore and extracting the gold!

 

I have this sudden creative urge and like jack of all trades I can’t decide what to do, I do everything. I have been experimenting with food (Those who don’t know me –I am supposed to hate cooking!); I have started a new painting; I am editing my ‘book’; knitting and now I am planning on stitching! Like jack I am “master of none’ either! In short, I am experimenting with ‘simple pleasures’.

 

I am master of my time now. I can do whatever I want and when I want, for most of the days. This freedom sometimes makes me feel guilty that everyone is working so hard and I am doing things which give me pleasure. I have just discovered the happiness of simple pleasure. Very recently I woke up to the fact that I am not going to change the world; not because I cannot but because I will not, as the world has already changed me. The reasons and equations which used to fire me are no longer there to egg me on and also because I understand the reason and the conditions much better. I have turned my daily chores into pleasurable tasks!

 

A few months back, I used to feel frustrated that I cannot fast forward the thought process of many a young mind for “I had been there ... done that ...” but now I have left that phase far behind. The sea and the surf, the green water and the blue sky are incessantly doing their duty and like they have successfully changed me they will change them or turn them to the path made for them (No right or wrong here!) I find simple pleasures in their falling down and getting up strongly to follow their destiny.

 

These days I have been downloading my favourite old songs and singing when I am alone. Those of you who have not partaken of this simple pleasure do it soon. It gives you a kind of joy which you rarely get to touch these days. The low notes and the high notes trill your sensibilities to a kind of high which can give a good completion to the thrill of falling in love for the first time!

 

Today in the morning I felt both proud and old. Proud because my off spring touched the magic figure of twenty-one and old because “Oh my God I am a parent to an adult!” but the pleasure outweighed the down and here I am musing on simple pleasures.

 The sea clean and clear hits against the black rocks, never getting dirty. It cleans the rocks absorbs the sand and dirt and still remains clean. Again and again it repeats its motion, sound and force; never tiring; happy in its insular world of water, sand and rocks. I am like the man-made concrete block put at the edge of the sea. I allow the sea to cut and file my edges to suit its mood. Should I have been like the sea which even when blockaded continues to chip away and shape its destiny like it desires to? Should I be as insular and focussed as the elements of nature? Will I then get more pleasures out of my simple pleasures?

 

I Protest!

Al- Jazeera is at it again! The passionate voice of the latest celebrity announcer is rasping on my already irritated mind. Words like ‘anger’ and ‘frustration’ are thrown higgledy- piggledy around the screen. After every event, an interview takes place with the “protesters” and we are served a potpourri of “human dignity, social justice and simple freedom”. Do these so-called journalists even know what they are speaking about when they use these profound words?

Democracy is the new Shangri-La, everyone wants it! The extremely sad part is people equate democracy to total unconditional freedom. When will they ever realize that there is no such thing; there is no state of existence without any strings attached? This law of the universe is there for our own good. Just imagine- I feel I love the new car my neighbour has got so I just car-nap it and go for a ride without hesitation! Unconditional freedom can exist only when there is a world of non-ownership; once ownership comes into the picture then every right has a duty (We have done it when we studied political science!)

What then is the duty of the varied media channels? They feel they have the freedom to show what the “truth” is- here it is in quotes because their truth is not the reality we think we are seeing on the screen. Haven’t we all heard about how people are paid by these very torch bearers of truth to pretend to be injured and dead for the sake of the camera and the story to be illustrated at prime time? Do they even stop to think of the repercussions a bloody mutilated body can do to a young mind or for that matter an aged mind? I know that they know what havoc it can wrought in a mind but they choose to ignore it. Why? Because from the business point of view it is not right to be emotional! From the business point of view let us keep the heart and mind separate! It’s all about TRP ratings.

Once the profession of journalism was looked up at with reverence; it was never well paid but it was supposed to be noble; it was a profession which combined intelligence, ethical thoughts and truth with utmost honesty. Is it time we wrote an obituary to this facet of reporting? It is more about manipulative and coloured facts than ever before.

All that we hear echoing and rebounding is ‘the disappointment’ of the ‘protestors’; their ‘fulminating rage’; the inner hurt in the soul’. Why are these so-called warriors so bloody hypocritical? Do we not know that existence in a comfortable way at the basic level is all about numbers and economics; isn’t it time we metaphorically behead these ‘poets’ and get down to the brass tracks of simple practical living; isn’t it time that we rubbed the sleep off our eyes and threw these servants of the devil out of Eden?

If you are interested in mythology and love reading the old classics then you would have noticed that a story cannot be created out of happiness. To have a great entertaining read you need a lot of passion, a lot of upheaval and a lot of chaos. So whenever everything is chugging along happily on the track of contentment something has to come and derail it so that we have something to talk about; we have something to get excited about or have something to get unhappy about. (Remember Eden and the events preceding the fall of Man?)

These stories are good to listen to on a cold winter night. But when similar stories are prepared and perpetuated at the cost of a real living family I strongly object to it and have to lash out in frustrated anger (impractical and non-productive!)

As long as the virtual world keeps within its limits and not intrude into the real world then its fine with me. But just like a small fire – it doesn’t burn everything down but it burns your eyes and suffocates you, these virtual media people make me smoulder ineffectively on one hand and make many an innocent smoulder in an artificial fire and drain out both our practical energy and our passionate directions to turn us into in effective denizens of Hades.

To be a “Protestor” is the latest celebrity profession, so I protest!

 

Hits and Misses

“Don’t miss me too much!” said my arrogant teenager a little bent under the weight of her backpack as she wheeled the packed suitcase to the elevator.

After a whirlwind morning of trying to see that she has taken everything; seeing that she had her cup of milk (I must tell you the milk story! but not now, otherwise I will digress as usual!); her breakfast; wearing a jacket; her shoes (Once she had almost gone to school in her flip-flops!); reminding her for the umpteenth time to look after her passport, money, iPad and herself in that order I was too exhausted to give any kind of cheeky repartee at her departure!

There was total silence in the house, unless you call the sound of the waves any kind of abnormal sound, it was quiet. I tottered back to the kitchen to continue with my breakfast preparation when my phone rang and I went helter-skelter to find where it was. At last I found it and there was my “Trying teenager” telling me that she had forgotten her jacket and she was coming back up to get it.

Rush to her room- pick up the jacket lying bunched up on the bed- rush to the front door and reach just in time to hear the ping of the elevator reaching - hand over the jacket to the grinning ape and repeat all the advice I had repeated at least twenty times (This BTW included the jacket-taking one!)

I suddenly realised that I was talking to an empty corridor as madam had disappeared! This time I took my time walking back to the breakfast table. I had a leisurely one discussing whether she will reach the airport with all her possessions! Anyway when I bid goodbye to Junu, I reminded him to ask Imen (Our Driver) whether Mickey had taken her suitcase or not from the boot- just to be safe!

Now there was total silence. It was cold, so I shut all the doors. I could see the noise of the sea but not hear it. As is my routine I went to her room to pick up the stuff she strews around her room. (Thank God it’s now only her room; it took me more than five years to train her to limit her destruction to her room!). Everything was normal- her bedclothes were messed up- the second bed was dumped with all her school books (anybody would think that she was the most studious child in the world) - the bath towel was draped over her study chair; (just for your information - the balcony is just a step away with a drying stand). All the drawers of the chest of drawers were opened to a different degree; a mouse could play jump and balance on them! The cupboard door had to be open – it’s like a matter of prestige for her not to shut the door!

The only things missing were -the three chargers were not lying in various stages of undress (The phone, camera and i-pad). Normally one is partly draped on the bedpost; one is absolutely on the floor; the last one will be out of the head point and half on the dressing table! I felt a lump form in my throat as I went round picking up and tidying the room before the maid turned up. Soon, very soon I will not have to do any of this and will I be jumping with joy when this happens is a debatable question.

Well the day wore on and I talked with her on the phone. Had she reached the airport on time? Did she get her visa? And had she paid the ticket amount at the school office? I had given her the money two days ago but she has to do everything at the last moment! At last she was airborne with all her possessions around her. But can a mum ever relax when her fledgling is trying out her wings? I don’t know about others but I couldn’t, I read, I played I even made kebabs to keep myself occupied but till she landed and gave me a call I was not able to breathe freely.

Then my almost -adult chick messaged to me that Mickey had phoned her and how proud she was of her – travelling on her own, dealing with passport, visa and immigration formalities on her own! Today I feel proud of both my chicks who I am sure and confident will go on to being independent young ladies and do whatever they do to the best of their abilities.

But I will still worry about Mickey’s “unawareness” of the world and Chiqui’s “over-awareness” of the world....

I shall always miss them when they are not around and nag them when they are...

 

The Potato Question

It was a dusty and windy day. I came out for a breath of fresh sea air and went through the exercise of taking the lift to the first floor- waiting for the 30 seconds that it takes to reach it and then thanked the lift man as I walked out. I inhaled deeply trying to smell the “wonderful perfume” which Mickey says she always gets to smell when she walks the corridor to the entrance but failed as usual! Not for nothing am I a Taurus (I never give up!).

I took the side door out and stood enveloped by greenery on one side and the glass fronted building of our apartment on the other and gazed at the turbulent sea before me. I took gulps of fresh air and withstood the ferocity of the wind blowing through this man-made “Corridor” and closed my eyes in pure pleasure. The biting cold and the viciousness of the wind almost took my breath away. I stood there in bliss. Suddenly something hit my bare feet and I looked down with an “Ow!” and what did I see?

A dusty elongated potato was lying near my feet. I bent down to pick it up and felt a certain amount of dampness. I was stunned to see  that the potato had tears in his eyes! It was very natural that I ask him, "What happened?” and it was equally natural that he told me his story...

He had just recently shifted into a new apartment and till a couple of days ago had been happy making new friends who lived in the basket. He suddenly noticed that every day some of his newly made friends would disappear and never come back. He was worried and asked “Someone” why this was so. Someone or (was it “Anyone”?) replied that they were taken to be cut into fingers and fried and stuffed into a dark tunnel. Multitude of voiced described the horrors that they would face as they traveled through this tunnel but no one knew the reason or the necessity of this whole ritual.

That day, my potato could not rest. He dodged and avoided the fingers that groped the basket but he knew that one day would come when he would be the “chosen” one. He decided to run away. He somehow rolled out of the basket and out of the house. Through the process of trial and error he managed to reach my feet. He wanted answers and help from me!

I felt like God with a devotee at my feet. With my limited wisdom I tried to calm him down. I told him that each of us are born with some reason- that  there is a reason for our existence and maybe the reason for potatoes existence was to be cut into fingers. This did not satisfy him. After all he was a post-revolution Egyptian Potato!

 He questioned me, “Why can’t I change my destiny?”

“Well” I replied, “it’s either that or you rot!”

He looked so downcast and sad at this statement that I tried to make it sound better,

“You have a choice, you know”

“What choice is there in my blighted life?”

“Either you make someone happy by being fried (I know it pains!) Or you make no one happy by rotting and stinking”

This made him thoughtful and he looked confused and sad.

“Give me some time” he said

“Sure” I said, quite confident that he would see my way and accept his fate. I put him carefully hidden amongst the shrubs in the garden and went back home.

As I walked back,  I was oblivious to all the beauty around me as the questions put up before me led to more questions and my mind echoed with them. I was not satisfied with my answers anymore. I knew that my wisdom was limited and I needed to dig deep to find a permanent solution. Tired and a little despondent I wracked my brain for the next two hours. I even discussed this with Mickey and Junu. One thought, I was just telling her a story and the other (as usual) tried to look at it seriously and gave me a variety of solutions (thinking off the cuff) suddenly Lo and behold ( fairy tale language!) the answer had always been staring at my face (“the answer my friend is blowing in the wind.....)

Now when I meet my potato I will have an answer that will satisfy him and me too. I will dig him a small pit and cover him with warm earth and let him germinate and produce a plant and let life go forward. I believe this is the clichéd “win-win” situation.

But then he might object! I will be imprisoning him within the earth.... what do you say?

Masking Emotions....but Living Anyway.....

Masking Emotions....but Living Anyway....

Some time back I had mentioned that we are never the same person at all times. Time and tide are ruthless and they carve and cut and grind us, to mould us into a shape which they think fits into the universe. The innocence and faith of a ten-year-old is not there when you are twenty-five. So at ten, you are one individual and another at twenty-five; for that matter I am not the same person I was a moment ago! So then what is the reason for my existence? Is it that I am just a cog in the huge universal machinery? Am I just a cold piece of iron cast to fulfill the needs of time? Do I have my use and then be thrown away like a used plastic bag?

I am confusing my metaphors here! I am strong as iron and resilient as plastic and like both, my feelings are not to be taken into account! Feelings, emotions and sensitivity are supposedly “human” weaknesses, and I have no right to indulge in them.

At what age was it that I learnt that it is not “nice” to cry in public or to show any kind of weakness? I don’t remember; it was supposedly a sissy behaviour. Having studied a part of my life in missionary schools I was taught all about the British “stiff upper lip” and till date I hate to express my pain in public (this includes my family!) 

Running away from pain has become a habit with me. Like the ostrich I bury my head in the sand, very sure that if I ignore something it will go away! Alas! This does works once in a while but most of the time the problem confronts me head on like Medusa's snakes! The more you cut them, the stronger and more potent they grow.

It was raining heavily, the little sparrow, bedraggled, shivered on the balcony. It was a girl sparrow (Did not have the black bib) and she chirped in utter misery; must have been hungry and cold. I wondered how to help it and threw a few crumbs of food, but she looked at it suspiciously and flew away... the rain was very heavy she came back again sidling on the banister and looked longingly at the food... I watched fascinated... she was joined by another sparrow (a boy- had a bib you see!) and slowly both hopped down unto the dry balcony and pecked at the crumbs; then they huddles together in a dry corner ...hopefully safe...In times of darkness you need someone to hold the candle.

Once at a party, I was asked “what would you grab if your house was on fire?” and I instantly without thinking said “nothing”. When I analyse this response now, I realize that even then I knew that material things have no value, they are like the iron and the plastic- they have their use but they have to be trashed at some point in time! They can also be replaced pretty easily....

The cold fingers of the mist swamped my senses and I shivered both out of fear and cold. The black rolling clouds came forward ushered by the thunder and lightning. The wonderful valley below me was obscured from my vision in seconds. Is it possible that a safe comfortable life be shattered in seconds without warning?

Two young people- too impatient to wait for the light to change ran across the high-speed traffic and in seconds were no more. What a waste of youth, energy and life! Yet life without risk is so sedate and boring! Man is a gambler but an intelligent gambler and so he rules; the day he crosses the road a second early he will be no more. But what about safe players like me? Well! We may continue to exist but it will be a vegetable existence-eat-sleep-eat!

Most of us muddle our way through life. We do as circumstances dictate us to. It’s only the lucky few that write their own destinies. But the truth is we are all dispensable and the small footprints that we leave behind will soon be erased by the timeless sea!   

The curving road below me shows a stream of red lights on one side and a stream of white lights on the other side... the red going away and the white coming towards me – continuous and unreeling. White for peace and red for danger (or is it anger?); is this a signal telling me that nothing lasts forever and I can trash my danger and buy myself some peace?

 

Hermetically Sealed?

Once upon a time lived a young hermit; his whole day was spent on contemplating the greatness of God. He appreciated each part of the day as we would appreciate a framed painting; he smelt the fragrance of nature at different times of the day and wallowed in it; he tasted the fruits and savoured each taste –salt, sour, sweet et al; he heard the sound of the gurgling stream, the song of the birds, the cacophony of the hawks and the crows, the rustling of the leaves, the patter of the raindrops , the whoosh of the wind....; he touched the velvet softness of the new grass, the rough scales  of the tree bark, the downy feathers of the birds  and the furs of animals. 

He was happy or so he thought... After years of spending such a wonderful life he thought he would venture out into the world and answer the many questions that always troubled his mind. He always saw many creatures of the same kind but never saw any of his kind and this disturbed him. He did know that God made him but why did he leave him in this lovely place? He wondered whether his reason for existence was purely to enjoy or did it have some other hidden quest?  He always noticed that everyone was busy eating, searching for food looking after their off- springs, protecting their home but he did none of these. His life was pure blissful joy. No responsibilities or onus rested on him!

He began his quest for knowledge with a minimum of baggage. He had a stout stick and the clothes he wore and a sickle to cut any fruits for his food. He walked for many days and reached a mountain pass. He looked down at the valley below and took deep breaths of the beautiful panorama spread below him. He saw huts and houses and well-manicured fields and smoke spires coming from the roof tops of the huts. The sun was setting and the whole valley was bathed in its golden glow. He felt a sense of infinite happiness suffusing his soul and he almost ran down to this lovely place.

He was hungry as he entered the limits of the little village. He saw lovely ripe fruits hanging on the trees and he reached up and plucked the fruit and bit into it. The owner of the orchard came running out and gave him a whack and jabbered at him. He was stunned! He did not understand what was it that confronted him; here was a creature of his kind yet he behaved like he did not know him. He gestured telling him in his own tongue that he was hungry and needed the fruit. This made the owner furious and he dragged him to the centre of the village. 

I don’t think I need to tell you what ensued! The process of law and justice went into full swing and the poor man was thrown into a locked cell. The trauma and pain and anguish the man went through were unimaginable. He who did not know what pain was- was being subjected to it with the whole gamut of negative emotions. He felt the pain as a baby does when he cuts his first tooth!

Did he venture further into the new world? Did he go on in spite of all the pain? Did he find what he had set out to? Are a set of questions that I leave you to answer. If you were him, what would you have done? 

Knowledge, any kind of it always brings pain. That’s the rule of nature. Because knowledge brings awareness and awareness is the acceptance of something which is alien to us at that moment.  It’s like falling down because we did not walk properly or like burning our finger because we did not know that fire burns.

Should we then stick to our own Utopia and be happy and satisfied with what we have? This is a personal question and each of us has our own personal answers. I have met many people in the course of my vagrant life who have felt sorry for me-as I have not stayed in the place that I was born in. They seem so happy and settled that I have been envious of them (Especially when I was a child). 

My position is almost an antithesis of the hermit. I have always lived surrounded by knowledge and the itch that it brings along with it! But I have my own similarities with him too. I have been satisfied and content with my desire for knowledge not for personal gain but for its sake alone.

I am at a point in my life where I have left time far behind and the only thing in front is a jumble of roads all seemingly impassable – yet I must battle through them. The question is which of the thorny roads I must cut through to reach my goal of Moksha! Is my fate as imprisoned as that of the hermit in the story or shall I or can I let a few bacteria enter into my cosmos?

 

Monkey Capers!

Yikes! I shut the bedroom door with a bang. I had effectively locked myself and my two-year-old daughter inside the guest bedroom. We were on the fourth floor of the apartment and the only way out was through the window which was unfortunately barred! Remember there were no cell phones those days. To access the phone for help I needed to go to the living room.... There were two beds in the room and my sewing machine. I knew it was a matter of minutes before the baby would be hungry and I didn’t even have a bar of chocolate with me. If I hollered for help no one would hear me, so I waited....

Both of us were terrified, I because I knew what was there and Chiqui because she didn’t know what was there! We could hear the pots and pans being thrown down and cupboards being opened and shut- I shuddered ... Chiqui was so terrified that she forgot to be hungry! After what seemed like eons (actually it was a mere ten minutes!) there was silence; I waited for another five looooong minutes before I cautiously opened the door and peered out – the cushions of the sofa were strewn all over the carpet and the balcony door was open. I carried Chiqui with me hoping to escape from the main door, which was wide open too and tiptoed out, but the silence followed me.

I found the biscuit packet intact, gave it to the baby, put her in our bedroom (This had been untouched) and latched it. Brave me! Then I went creeping towards the kitchen- what a mess! I looked everywhere and realised that the miscreant had disappeared. Like shutting the stable doors after the horses had bolted, I swiftly rushed around and closed all the balcony doors and my main door too and released Chiqui from the bedroom!

The little devil had overturned the flour from its bin; scattered the sugar all over the floor; all the masala bottles had either been smashed or strewn all over! The kitchen floor was resplendent with all hues, red, yellow, white, brown and what not! The fellow had opened the refrigerator and eaten all the eggs neatly but had spread the shells very aesthetically. I was in tears that day and my poor baby couldn’t understand what the problem was – for her it was a lovely mess!

 

My parents had told me that when I was few months old, I had been put on the seat of the open jeep for a moment, outside a temple. I believe a monkey came from somewhere and was in the process of carrying me off when my father saw this and bribed the monkey to give me back in exchange of a few bananas (See my worth!).

Whenever I have gone to the zoos, temples or tourist spots they have troubled me. Either they run at me with teeth bared or they want whatever I am eating or they just give me funny looks! I remember one of them stole my bottle of Coke and drank it (I was very thirsty but too scared to do anything!)

I have numerous stories of the atrocities they have committed on me! But there have been exceptions....

In college I had a friend who had this habit of going to the Hanuman temple in Delhi every Tuesday and Saturday. She was in a different college; I was in the north campus and she was in the south campus, so we used to meet at this temple, which was right in the center of Delhi, near Connaught Place. I followed her around mimicking whatever rituals she performed. Like all Hanuman temples this one was filled with monkeys. The strangest thing was they never troubled me; they did ignore me but they never came near me. 

After this small dedication to the Monkey God for a period of five years my ape friends have left me alone. But a big “but” is whenever the God wants me to visit him, he send his missionaries to remind me that it’s high time I visit him again. I make it a point to do so. I visit him whenever I go to any temple. I even have a small idol of him at home. He is at peace and so am I!

By the way I love bananas!