Prayer for a restless soul...

I hold the summer dawn in my eyes. Somewhere in the background is the shuffling of the night shadows, listlessly shifting camps. The flutter of awakening wings and an occasional glimmer of muted light coerce the dreams to withdraw their baiting tentacles and recoil.  

The gold of this new day pierces me, demanding an identity all its own, lest it too gets pressed through a copier and shelved into an almirah where all those yesterdays are neatly stacked. 

How about me? I want to know. I too am afraid of the sameness of my being and the routine which has it cast in a mould. Melt, molt, remould me, a prayer escapes from the inmost adytum of the Self. Graft me wings,  either that of a butterfly or of an eagle that I may flutter around or gyrate the heights, grant me solitude, either that of a chrysalis, or of the Lone Wolf, that I may lose myself in the music of  deafening silence or sprint across a thousand miles of wilderness... Hammer and fashion me, either into a wayside daisy, shy and wilting, or into the mighty Baobab, supporting with its powerful boughs the leaning sky. 

Dawn slips through me, metamorphosing into twilight. I lie on the grassy floor, looking up at the stars, away from home... 

The Sound of Alchemy

 Our lockdowned  long summer days have gradually learnt to find redemption in the ruckus of the government diesel truck, which ventures into our gated community twice a week with the seasonal harvest of mangoes, purple grapes and red and yellow bananas. 

As the truck, manned  by a couple of  masked and gloved attendants veers into our neighborhood, the hustle and bustle of this new activity  brings the winged populace of the area, otherwise busy vying for attention with their ceaseless singing, to a sudden attentive halt...Prompted by their unanimous decision as not to waste their precious talent to pure noise, they either eavesdrop on people haggling, or conjure up new melodies to attract more prospective mates. 

I think the sudden rise in avian activities is owing to the fact that the lemony yellow, ethereally delicate amaltas (golden shower) flowers are in bloom...A blessing endowed upon us mortals once a year, it allows us to bask in their beauty even as we pick up the fallen blossoms, rich in fiber and vitamin C, to be combined with ginger, green chillies and salt and made into a delicious chutney to be consumed either with savoury pancakes or with rice. 

Amaltas is native to the Indian subcontinent and to the Southeast Asian region. In the Ayurvedic school of medicine, it is rightly known as Aragvadha, meaning 'disease killer'. A glance at the innumerable benefits of each and every part of this tree in the National Health Portal's website is enough to justify its ancient Sanskrit name. Right from being a cure for various skin eruptions, eczema and insect bites to an effective remedy for rheumatism, migraines, syphilis, and believe it or not, even malaria and jaundice, amaltas is one of Nature's great elixirs: cooling for the soul, and when everything around is emitting blistering heat, healing for the body.   

Growing up with an amaltas tree right in our school courtyard, I remember attempting to encapsulate in words its graceful artistry in our creative writing class. I sat for the whole period in the balmy shade of the tree,  trying to listen and understand what it was so eager to convey through this abundance of pure allure, but my ears were not  attuned  to its language.  

However, with an amaltas blooming right next to our place now,  I feel the bond between us slowly building. As the boughs bend low with the weighing beauty of its weightless clusters of flowers, I sit in its shade and close my eyes.

1.

As the prowling heat of 

summer assails the earth

lapping up life with its 

lolling tongue,

and we seek shelter 

behind enclosed walls,

in AC rooms and mojitos,

the slender amaltas

braves it all.

Its calm ascetic temper

transforming the leaping

flames of a pitiless sun

into sweet dangling blossoms

soft and delicate

and filled with nectar: ah love,

the alchemist!

2.

The brazen blue 

of the summer sky,

squeezes

through

the dense  dangles 

of amaltas,

to lie huddled

in its gentle shade

3.

Long golden tresses

as that of Rapunzel

so casually undone

to tempt 

the passersby.

4.

The koïl

cooing all day

to celebrate

the flowering 

amaltas: 

sore-throated now.

Waltzing with the Self...

 Sofia's hand jerked, creating a storm big enough for the coffee to spill over on the table and make a puddle... She let it be, not bothering to wipe. 

As the last sip trickled down the oesophagus,  she sat the empty cup on the brown puddle, picked up a paper napkin from the holder, and began stamping coffee rings on it...randomly. The process relaxed her, and the neatness of the individual rings against the erraticness of the emerging pattern  was liberating in itself...Taking a quick snap of the stamped napkin, she posted it on her Instagram as the artwork of the day for the 15-day art challenge she had accepted to give an impetus to her creative self during this lockdown period. 'Coffee Stampede', she wrote under the caption, feeling pleased with herself. A task was out of the way, and the coffee was delicious. "Maybe, next time, I should try it with the black coffee: spill some right on the napkin, make a stain!" Her mind was already jogging, adrenaline rushing...on the way she picked up some fallen leaves, their rich coffee imprints beginning to invigorate her imagination.

So it was Sofia, a ceramic artist by profession, who by her own experience, made me thrill to the idea of non-judgmental art. "Everything one creates is art," she philosophized. "For, it is an expression of oneself in a fleeting moment...a circumambulating  memory wanting to leave an impression".

As for me, after years of being a proud miniature artist with love for packing in minute details into a tiny space, espousing Sofia's philosophy literally felt like shaking myself off of my back. From creating intricate paintings on pistachio shells, sea shells, tree bark and pebbles with 1 and 0 size brushes, to embracing the freedom which comes from using thick paint-smeared brushes was a matter of 'letting go'.  The next step entailed running  the paper under the tap and squeezing tubes of watercolors over its soaked surface, smudging it all up and letting the streamlets of colors determine their own course...invent and re-invent themselves infinitely. With the sole objective to loosen up, I indulged in several mindless quick paintings, letting myself being carried away by the leftover colors on the palette, and by the mood of the moment. Sometimes it was the criss-crossing courting calls of the crow pheasants which dictated the strokes, and sometimes a sudden rush of wind toppling over the cashew boughs...and sometimes it was just the lazy afternoon silence stretched across the porch which quietly stole into the artwork, à mon insu.

In the wake of the two-week complete lockdown, which has now been extended further,  'loosening up' takes up a greater significance. One just needs to let go of all the self-imposed prejudices, mental limitations and breathe deep and slow...discover,  re-discover,   and un-cover oneself, and revel in those thousand and one facets of one's being which are purposefully kept shut...take this opportunity afforded to us by these innumerable lockdowns, to unmask the Truth within...unlock our hidden Self,  and  waltz with It.

And Another Day Ends...in Dance

With the two-week lockdown imposed by the state government to curb the rising cases of Covid-19, once again we find ourselves face to face with ourselves and the wall...the wall could very well be a screen of one's smartphone or of the laptop, or it could simply be that chiaroscuroed space scaled by the vagrant shadows in varied degrees...

I try to stay within the confines of the house, cook a lot, plan much, execute little, and let the ruthless titanic might of Chronos snatch away my hours mercilessly. But, come six o' clock in the evening, and my feet haul me up to the terrace to indulge in an hour of leisurely walk, while feasting upon the changing vistas of a sprawling sky. Almost invariably, a colony of crows and a couple of Brahminy kites land up staging a short play. The plot is always the same, the manoeuvres different. The Brahminy kites, by the virtue of being the birds of prey, are perceived as the usual suspect of homicide, or should we say 'corvicide' by a  skeptical  group of crows, who chase them around, pecking them furiously, in an effort to steer them away from the fledglings in the nest. Now, call it the paranoia of parenthood or sheer collective hooliganism, we will never know. But guys, I have to give it to the kites for maintaining their calm all through this exercise and letting the crows  have the last word.  But, I wonder who has the last laugh...I'd like to believe it's me, the sole witness of this daily drama. 

Two days ago however I was treated to a very unexpected finale. The chasing game had reached its usual dénouement with the victorious  crows emptying  the sky in a hurry to return to their loved ones. The Bahaminy kites too had conducted a rigorous inspection of their territory, patrolling the area a few times. But instead of diving homeward, the pair soared higher and higher, catching the thermals... above the gold of the setting sun to the blue quivering heights they glided , and what followed was a visual poetry flung across the sky. 

Suffused in the golden

mist of the late evening,

there they were

threading their way

across the deepening 

blue of a dying day.

One pursuing the other,

at the acme of

swallowing heights

away from the

hurried world of men,

gyrating, gliding, 

sidling and sliding,

sensuous in their

twilight courting, 

they danced to the

melancholy of a 

lonesome sky...

to the inner music

of a love unspoken,

to the gentle calling

of the rising vesper...

They danced until

the sudden onrush 

of the tropical night

drew them apart, 

One disappearing 

into the comfort of 

a coconut grove 

the other cruising on

to follow the sound

of the crashing waves.

Natural in their

togetherness

and accepting

in their separation

these Brahminy kites

eternised an instance

of the fallen hour,

bringing home to me  

my own yearnings

and my own 

silences

Compassion in the Time of Corona

 "In Covid times, patience, self-care and compassion should come in the first-aid kits for everyone!"  writes my friend from Norway. 

And right she is! 

It wasn't so long ago when in the capital city of our nation, on one hand people were dying of oxygen shortage, on the other there were ruthless profit-mongers hoarding the cylinders and clandestinely selling them at exuberant prices. So much so, that the mounting incidents of oxygen being sold in the black market in India, became the butt of a joke on Trevor Noah's The Tonight Show on NBC. Yet, what didn't hit the headlines was the generosity of Manoj Gupta, the owner of Rimjhim  Ispat Factory in U.P., who was filling up the empty cylinders for a rupee each to help towards the treatment of Corona positive patients.

Similarly, the private ambulances in the capital region were all out making a buck by maximising on the emergency situation and charging  desperate  people tenfold the usual amount to ferry them from point A to point B. And, if that were not enough, the rate could increase by manifold if the hospital did not have a bed readily available and the patient were coerced to wait it out in the ambulance. 

Yet,  the 34-year old Javed Khan of Bhopal, a small-time autorickshaw walla  decided to equip his vehicle with an oxygen  cylinder, sanitizers and over-the-counter medications in order to haul Covid patients to the hospital, for free.  When Javed saw the havoc being unleashed by Covid, he just stopped carrying passengers for business. Instead, determined to do something to address the worsening situation, he  converted his three-wheeler into a small ambulance using up his own savings.  And now he devotes his time and energy taking patients to the hospital for free, and in an emergency situation, even administering oxygen and paracetamol.

The Jain International Trader's Organization (JITO), in association with the Greater Chennai Corporation, has launched Oxygen on Wheels service, a free facility for patients in critical condition, queuing up for admission outside the government hospitals. Buses laden with oxygen concentrators, each able to handle six patients at a time, are deployed along with an operating 24/7 helpline.

 

The year 2020,  which could also be termed as the year of the migrant worker, witnessed the generosity of common people towards those in plight. Several names come to mind, such as the two Pasha brothers, local banana merchants from Kolan district in Karnataka, who sold their plot to feed jobless daily wage labourers, returning home to penury. 

Even though many such stories of the everyday people rising to the occasion to help their fellow-beings abound, amongst the celebrities, the one name that has flashed oft and again across the television screen is that of Sony Sood. Sood, a Bollywood actor, stole the limelight with his remarkable outreach program, carried out with the aid of a growing team of 45000 volunteers. Not only did he succeed in organizing buses to help ease the stranded migrant crisis in the wake of the sudden 2020 lockdown, but he is right at this moment actively involved  in saving thousands of lives of those circumstantially left out by an overly burdened  healthcare system. 

 

If people, rich and poor, can step out of their comfort zone to help those in need, imagine if our Central and State governments had the far-sightedness and will to do something to alleviate the suffering of the people, we wouldn't have been in this supreme quandary we are in today.

If our government were not so preoccupied with the foundation- stone-laying ceremony of the formidable Ram Temple in Ayodhya, or in getting the plans for a brand new Parliament building and PM's Residence passed by the Supreme Court, maybe we could have turned more spaces into Covid-treatment centers, manufactured more ventilators, and erected more facilities to fill oxygen cyclinders. Then our ambition, to be recognised as a force to reckon with, would truly have been fulfilled, all while saving the lives of thousands of people. 

It is high time we realise that it is not by owning state-of-the-art fighter planes, hi-tech submarines, and a world-class competent army, along with a billion dollar space program, will we achieve Superpower-hood, but by ensuring that 1.3 billion people of this country have access to potable water, food, clean air, green  and invigorating environment, and basic health care. And yes, a functional garbage collection and recycling system. 

The acceptance that the fulfilment of the basic needs of every citizen should figure as the topmost priority in every government's agenda, demands not only

 vision, but also patience and compassion.

The SOUL Sisters

 SOUL:  Sisterhood Of Unconditional Love. That was the acronym my friend Anyas had come up with for our fledgling group of five women,  who wanted to make a difference by tapping into our inner strengths and energies,  and unleashing them in an attempt to make the world a better place. It was Anyas,  born and brought up in Lyon, France,  an avid tai chi practitioner, who first felt the urge to form such a group.

And it wasn’t long before, even in a place like Fairbanks, Alaska,  at the very edge of the last frontier,  she came across women with similar aspirations, eager to share their spiritual tools and experiences, setting aside all divisive beliefs and religious dogmas.    There was Yulia, robust and lively,  who hailed from Ukraine and was a reiki expert; Ju Yung from South Korea was a quiet woman, who taught archery at the local high school; Ida from Romania was an exponent of the Munger school of Yoga,  and Rachel,  a local Athabascan, was a firm believer in totems.

  Then, there was myself, who was hoisted and transported to this magnificently beautiful, brutally cold place from the warm laps of southern India. We met every Sunday at 11 am, the five of us,  not only on the mornings of long summer days, but also during the relentless twilight hours of winter, when the mercury would plummet to minus 40 degrees centigrade, or even lower.   It wasn’t long before the five of us grew into 12 of us, and at times, even 15. In fact,  our Sunday Soul Circle shrunk and expanded, and shrunk again, only to expand again.

It all depended on the weather, on the hunting season, on salmon runs,  and on frozen driveways;  seekers came and went, as they wished, but the doors were kept open for all who chose to step in and be part of this very unusual circle of women.   What we were capable of, we did not know.   But, we did recognise the fact that we could empower ourselves by learning, teaching, and sharing with each other whatever little knowledge we had of the spiritual, mystical, and the esoteric. So, while Yulia introduced us to the basics of distant healing, Ju Yung gave us simple instructions on Chakra meditation; Ida the most motherly figure of us all, kept us organised, and punctual as a unit.

Anyas attended a workshop in California on how to form a Merkabah. And subsequently, we built one such in her living room.   Merkabah, in ancient Jewish mysticism, refers to the divine light vehicle to connect us with celestial beings, who, in turn, can help us touch the higher realms of consciousness.    I, hailing from the country of yantra, mantra and yoga, taught them to chant Aum, and some simple shlokas. I also taught them the abc of pranayama.   Rachel, on the other hand, belonging to the ancient tribe of the proud Athabascan people, encouraged us to find our totem, so that we could be guided on this magical journey of self-discovery we had embarked upon.

   Our weekend session would routinely begin with a 15-minute meditation, followed, perhaps, by chanting and breathing exercises. Almost always, we would have a crack at automatic/spirit writing, either on a topic one of us would come up with or a self-inspired free-write. Such writing exercises involve a complete surrender of oneself,  into the hands of one’s guardian angel,  who, we believed hovers just above our crown chakra. (My friend Anyas became such a good instrument, that every morning at 7 am, she was compelled to open her journal and pen down, not so much her own thoughts and musings, but those uttered to her by her guardian angel.

   She recently published a book, which is a compilation of messages received by her (over the course of one year).   During these seances, not only did we learn to channel our chi; open our chakras; find our totem, and study correct pronunciation of Sanskrit words to help manifest the power of mantras, we also shared healthy recipes and natural cures, danced to celestial music, and had tea with dried apricots. We became friends and comrades in our quest for something new and positive.   Even though many of us left Fairbanks to go places, we carried within us the seeds of a new adventure, and the ability to cling on to our inner strength.

In the purple twilight of winter, when almost everything else is hibernating, a few of us had grafted wings,  and learnt to fly! 

Of Gods, Curries, and Que sera sera...

"The news out of India is beyond scary - I keep sending prayers out for you and your family," a friend from Michigan wrote, while another from New York had this to say, "I want to make sure you are healthy.  The news here is all about how dire it is in India!" From Omaha, "Hope your family is safe and sound.  We are praying India has a quick recovery."

I have been deeply touched by the concern that has poured in from friends across the globe, who have watched the tragedy unfold in metropolitan India, in the wake of the second wave of Coronavirus.  People queuing up for oxygen tanks, queuing up outside hospitals without beds, begging to be helped, queuing up at the cremation ground to have the last rites performed for the departed beloved...it is a heart-rending situation and reflects on how unprepared we were for something of this magnitude. Even though kudos should go to our scientific community for the speed with which it developed a functional vaccine, the central and state governments however remained complacent in ensuring that we were not caught off guard when the second wave hit. 

Therefore it was no wonder that when the second wave did arrive, it turned into a full-fledged tsunami, reflecting the failure of the administration to secure a better way to manage the virus, by equipping the hospitals with  more beds, PPEs, ventilators, Remdesivir, and adequate staff. 

During the first lockdown, while much of the nation's energy was directed towards tracking the super-spreaders and communalising the virus, China had already been in the news for having erected a 1600-bed hospital in Wuhan within ten days, to deal exclusively with Covid-19 patients. Our government, however, chose to boost the morale of an under-equipped health system by having the fighter jets fly past showering flowers on the hospital staff, an exercise which cost the nation's taxpayers millions of dollars. 

Our government got busy congratulating itself, having dispensed its duties by creating a few makeshift skeletal clinics during the first lockdown, which were speedily dismantled as soon as it thought it had conquered the virus, and lead the country to a triumphant milestone. It got busy exporting oxygen, PPEs, and  Remdesivir to neighbouring countries, eternising India's image of the perpetual big brother with the helping hand. Even while the country was reeling under  the second wave, and people gasping for breath, we continued to export oxygen. And according to government sources, 11 lakh Remdesivir injections were exported to five countries since its demand had considerably tapered in India following a dip in Covid-19 cases from December to February. We were proudly patting our backs for having become one of the biggest manufacturers and exporters of PPEs, as in a recent speech, PM Modi gloated over the victory India had achieved in its fight against the deadly virus:

"Friends, it would not be advisable to judge India’s success with that of another country. In a country which is home to 18% of the world population, that country has saved humanity from a big disaster by containing corona effectively.”

While a message eulogising Surdas, one of the blind saints of the fifteenth century India, who, it is being said, through his inner vision had foreseen the devastation caused by Covid-19, was doing the Whatsapp circles, why did our government, lead by a supposed visionary world leader, fail to get the cue from the havoc it was causing in other nations, and prepare the system to meet it head on?  Or did by chance the Prime Minister think that our powerful gods and robust curried diet had chased the virus away from our holier than thou country?

With less than two percent of the population inoculated, and thousands dying every day, India has been brought to its knees. Now, all we can do is pray for respite...and a miracle.