The Last definition is what got me hooked.....
Entropy and Interconnectedness
The Last definition is what got me hooked.....
Story and Truth
Once upon a time there were two little girls who were best friends. They did everything together and were always there for each other. One girl's name was Story and the other one was called Truth.
Years passed and these little girls grew up to be beautiful young women. And they were still quite close.
One day, as it often happens, shadows of ego crept into their friendship and the young women thought about playing a game to find out who was more popular of the two.
To settle this ‘fairly’ they decided that they will takes turns to walk to the end of the village and back. Whoever is able to attract and keep more people on the way is to be the winner.
Truth decides to go first. As she walks through the village few people come to see her, shy at first, and then they politely walk away. Some see her, make eye contact and then look away. Some just shake hands, and let her pass. By the time she reaches one end of the village Truth is very saddened by the dismal crowd. “I am surely going to lose this bet. So few people are interested in me..."
In a last bid to do whatever it takes, she decides to use her beauty and youth to her advantage. Since now she had to walk back, she decides to shed all her clothes hoping to attract more crowd. But, alas, as she starts walking people run away, they shut their windows, divert their paths, close the eyes of their children, scurry off in a hurry, and the village is pretty much deserted.
By the time Truth returns to the starting point where Story is waiting she is devastated and has given up
“You are clearly going to be the winner” she tells Story. “Look how few people came…" laments Truth.
Story comforts her and says that the game is not over yet and that she still has to walk.
So Story now starts her journey through the village. Many people, young and old, come and flock around her, excited and curious, and they slowly drift away, back to their old lives as usual. On her return journey, Story walks more slowly hoping to keep people with her but since many people have had an initial experience with her and think they now know her, they don’t turn up…
She does get more people to come, but not as many as she thought she would.
A thoughtful Story comes back to the starting point, where Truth is still upset, and quietly consoles her: ” See? Clearly you are more popular!”
Story then makes Truth understand, that is wasn’t that she was not popular or beautiful. It’s just that most people can’t face truth for long - and certainly not naked truth!
Similarly, many people are fascinated by Story, but without something to anchor them, the novelty quickly wears off.
Story then removes her beautiful colorful cloak made of stars and animals and trees and she wraps it around Truth and tells her that from now on the two of them will always be together. Because, by themselves, it is difficult for them to play their roles.
Henceforth, from that day on, where there truth there is a story - and where there is a story there is truth…
Sometimes wrapped in a beautiful colorful cloak - but we all know there is Truth inside.
Humour Listening
Ice-Cream Bucket
No Compartments
I don't like travelling by trains.
This is a moment to collapse the illusion of Cause and effect, because my statement has nothing to do with the recent rail saga, sad as it is. It's just the sheer..every man or woman for himself (or herself) syndrome.
This view of mine was challenegd yesterday, as I tarvelled to cross maidan for the Indo-Greman festival..I think it was the heat..I didn't want to be in traffic for any longer that I had to and hence the train option (yes ,. I agree it is very convinient)
As I sat, nonchalant, with my ear plugs plugged and listening to "O re duniya"..from gulal..Ironic as it was..(well its a song which says what use is this self absorbed world?)
The other reason why I sometimes venture into a train is the sheer joy of browsing through the cheap wares that the women/boys sell..even if I never use those things, that and the fact that it also gives me something to do.
This day, as I sat ..not particulary noticing anything..In, rushed a mother of two..very young childern..who just coudln't keep quiet. That and about 4 bags, each about half the size fo the youngest child.
As she sat, rummmanging throiugh the bags to get something for the kids to eat...In breezed one of my favourite people in the train..a lady selling 'gajaras' - jasmine flowers stringed together meant to adorn your hair (or whatever is left of it)
Our tired; yet enthusiastic mom..somehow manages to surface from amidst the bags and the children..to look up, as the sweet frangrance of the jasmine flowers wafts into our compartment..and like the sole bright ray of sun peeping from behind a trall concrete building..she beams...( I swear she looked like she would have jumped for joy, had she not had the bags, the kids and the the learnt ability to act grown up)
The lady selling the gajaras ..catches the beam..these women can read signals , I can tell you that...our sales people should learn a thing or two about prospecting from them; but that is another subject.
I watch with peaking interest as the transaction happens , complete with bargaining ..and an extra flower thrown in..Our mom..buys 4 gajras (yes..it was a deal after all)..and after the woman selling getsoff ....reality dawns..and the fisrt sign of realization starts showing on our moms face..What is she going to DO with the gajras..because she does not have the ONE thing that is required to wear it...yes a Bob-pin ( I know we have almost forgotten words like these - but the trains are a good reminder).
Disappointed and dejected..the sun again gone behind the concrete... just as she was about to brutally shove the deliacte flowers wrapped in green leaf...something amazing happened !!!
another lady , possibly a regular working woman..from diagonally opposite side , happend to see all this and did something that took me and our mom by surprise ...
She got up and walked to our side and just took out a 'bob-pin' which she was wearing..and handed over to our mom with a smile... gave it without too much explanation or talk and walked back..quitely to her seat...barely acknowledging the confused..grateful thankyou smile...of the estatic recipient.
Our mom, took the pin put the gajaras , all four, in her hair and the sun and the smile - was back on....
and so was the overall spirit in the compartment on this hot sultry day..I looked up at the faces of other women ..most of them had a faint...almost knowing smile... each possibly rembering a random act of kindness..or thinking of oppurtunities of doing one....
I went back to the fragility of my judgements..and deep sense of satisfcation..that despite evreything that the newspapers say is happening wrong with the world...Humaninty exixts..in these small pockets...of a train without compartments.
The heat and train somehow bother me less.
All is well with the world.
Before Memory Fades
Before the memory fades
Let me remember
The moments where
I was the prayer
I was the answer
My tree swing
My bed on the loft.
….Of my grandma's house
My solitary moments
When I found faith
My feeling of abundance
When I found 4 popsicles
Where I expected one
My joy and glee
When my red gumboots filled with rain water
And made a funny noise when I walked
My times of confusion
When my struggle for clarity
Made a thinker out of me
My goose bumps on the cold mornings
When I was a humble witness to
the new proud bud blooming
My unforgiving moments
When hurt hurt more
and Ask for forgiveness
My primitive judgements
and humbly Forgive
My feeling of security
When my mom went about her chores
Humming and talking
My wonder , echo and Silence
When I helped my gran clean the church
For the next days Sunday Mass.
My deep gratitude
For all the people who loved me as I was.
For all these little moments of magic
For all the struggles and strife's
For all the tears and tests
For all the celebrations
For Me.
Let me remember
Before my memory fades…..
The Lone Sweeper
The street empty
Shutters down
The Market
Sleeps.
It’s a small town.
The roads they
Turn in their beds
Sometimes groan..
Shuu…it’s a dream
And there I see the lone
Guy with his long broom
Quietly silently
Cleaning the Market
Of it’s day long
Debris
Of Pretenses fallen.
Of Joys wrapped;
in ice cream wrappers.
Of worries people brought here
And left – Refreshed.
To start living again – Hopefully.
And he whistled softly as he swept
No one in the daylight will stop to wonder
Where , all the rubbish went
No one will know his name
No one will recognize him in daylight.
And he is happy with that
Just doing what he is meant to do
Oblivious to – The philosophies of life
And just content living it.
The rhythmic sound of his broom stops just a bit
And I am pulled out of my revere
I look up …
Oh!! A piece of chocolate wrapper stuck under the wheel .
The humming and sweeping begin once again
My heart jumps up and applauds loudly …
Giving him a standing ovation.
And I go back – to another clean day.
Peaceful Warrior
Pre Amble:
The danger of a single story exists. It is dangerous because it has power. Power to influence – Perceptions – Beliefs – Behavior and even Faith. Influence to cast the wronged person as the wrong person.
Background:
Ravan, the Man, was a devout disciple of Lord Shiva, an avid Learner, a Musician and an accomplished warrior. When he played the veena..the birds joined in chorus
Ravana, the King, was an admired king. Who understood. Listened and cared for his people and respected their dignity. The well being of his subjects was the subject of most of his silent contemplations, which he got into many times
There was abundance and joy all around and the people rejoiced in the peace and safety that was their king’s top priority.
The Episode:
The huge garden, behind the king Palace… was lush and peaceful. Froth with the gentle evening breeze. The deep green grass…taking on a warm tone..glistened in the rays of the setting sun… The huge trees surrounding the garden..bore witness to the solitude..swayed gently..rocking the many young birds nesting in their arms…allowing the stray rays of the sun to paly peek-a-boo with them.
The air, filled with the sweet fragrance of multitude flowers and humming of grasshoppers… and the cacophony of birds returning happily to their homes. Punctuated by an occasional chime of the far away temple bells…and the steady deep rhythm of Ravan chanting…”Om Namah Shiva”… “Om Namaha Shiva”
Ravan, Sitting in deep meditation, under his favorite Banyan tree, oblivious to the yellow butterfly flitting gently on his shoulder.
Suddenly, the tranquility is pierced..mercilessly …by the soul shattering ..shrill scream of Suparnakha, Ravana’s baby sister…
Brutally pulled out of his reverie, Ravana is stunned …as he watches his sister soaked in her blood..covering her face and screaming his name…”dada” (Big Brother)…running towards him…
After what seems like and eternity..she comes and collapses in her brother’s arms..and wails. The wails that would wake the dead. Her Hot tears mixed with her cold blood are all over Ravana, and the once pristine white dhoti , that Ravan Always wore..is now screaming red.
Amidst the sobs..Ravans manages to pull away the hands that are still covering his sisters face…a face that he knows so well…he is the reason for so many of it’s laughter lines…reluctantly as Suparnakha..lets her face be seen… Ravana inspite of himself recoils at the sight… His sisters nose, ears and breasts have been chopped off..and the anger now mixed with disbelief and pain..washes over him ..and he wails and takes his sister in his large arms…and cries with her., gently rocking her back and forth….the shame..the humiliation..the pain…is all the world has come to , at that moment…
Getting his bearing …when Ravana manages to ask her the Silent question..”Who did this and Why?”… Suparnakha…now also fearful..of the consequence…manages to tell him, it was Laxmana who did it, on the orders, of Rama, to whom..Suparnakha has confessed her foolish love.
Hurt..and disbelief...standing still!!
Ravana..shaking with rage ..hurt and justified revenge…Gets up with a roar…after asking the palace maid to take Suparnakha away ..he is finally able to find his voice…
The dilemma that faces him is huge.. Should he just go ahead and kill Laxmana and Sita with the same, or maybe more brutality…so that Ram knows the pain??..should he wage a war on Ayodhya??..and them know that he is not a people who will take injustices lying down..What should he do??? …This is not just a humiliation of his sister ..but also an insult to his people…what is he do as a Brother..what is he to do as a king???..yes an eye for an eye…ear for an ear.. that is justice!!!
But….
What will it result into??.... More Blood…more innocent people dying..more families ..brothers..sister ..crying for their loved one..just like he was crying for his sister…No This will lead to an avalanche of revenges..and the streets and history of Lanka..and Ayodhya will be smeared by blood forever…… More Blood cannot be the answer….
There are already many people fighting and dying in battles that are not theirs ..all over the world…..Revenge cannot bring peace….for anyone… ever.
War does not discriminate. Nobody wins in a war.
So..then should he just sit here and do nothing??What kind of a brother will he be.. What kind of a king??? No he can’t do Nothing….
He can almost hear the echoes of his people asking for Justice…Justice…Justice….
The Mighty Ravana…is Silent…in his quiet moment of seeking divine wisdom.. listening to his inner voice…..
After what seems like an Eternity....
He looks up. His mind is made up..his heart quietened..his eye steady once again….
He realizes, Ram has to repent his wrongdoing..so that forgiveness can happen…so that healing can happen..so that Justice is served…so that peace prevails..
The answer…Sita.
(Ravan..came up with this though..knowing fully well that he himself cannot ever touch sita, and for all the duration that she was in his captivity..she was given a royal treatment..and Ravan made sure that Sita purity was not even touched by his shadow.
He treated her as any lady should be treated..with respect.)
What Ladakh can Teach the World
LADAKH means 'Land Of High Passes '. however it’s a metaphor for much more.
It's an innocent world, where a four-year-old trusts a stranger enough to hitch a ride.
Unlike denizens of other impoverished regions, Ladakhis reverse migrate to their land after having gained better education. One such fine example is Dorjee, a graphic designer from NID , who after having been out of Ladakh for 20 yrs studying and working, is back . Doing what he does best ..designing ‘elemental’ spaces.
They value their cow and goat more than a regular job, and thus live on in remote villages. Before starting to plough the land..the entire family sits around the field and praysfor 3 days for the inhabitants of the soil that they are about to disturb and make provisions for their food.
Ladakh being a land of such scarce resource ..has learnt to optimize their meager resources to the fullest.. They had (untill very recently ..zero wastage..everything was recycled including human waste). Even now Leh, one of the more populated places in Ladakh , what with one tourist for every 1.5 ladaki, it is one place where you don't see plastic.. You see instead good old brown paper bags ..and some other semi cloth bags.
Water, a very scare commodity, (since it doesn't rain at all) is very efficiently used..Water channels are created and water is ‘directed’ to a patch of vegetable till required..and then the channel is closed with mud and rags. Water used for cleaning dishes is fed to the animals. Everyone in the family knows how to do this.
Families are close knit, (what with having to spend 8 months of winter together) and there is a lot of “Touch” and everyone is very comfortable displaying it.Stories play a very important role in their lives..that is what they do most of the winter...
Display of Anger, temper or ‘pride’ is a vice and is looked down upon with the greatest contempt.
“Chi Choen” - means “What’s the Point” - is a favorite phrase of Ladakis.. when practiced it is a great way to maintain internal equilibrium..and laugh at things which may otherwise trigger you.
You see people waking about doing their chores with the prayer wheel silently turing in their hands... Peace and Prayer is a way of life...and not something which is ‘scheduled’.
Ladakhis greet strangers and friends alike with a cheerful Julley and A hot cup of tea or teas
No Ladakhi is a stranger. We just haven't had the time to meet them all.
Living with Peaceful Compassion and a connectedness with Nature, and respect for environment and all beings is what Ladakh and Ladhki have to teach and offer the world.
It's what we need the most
..otherwise.....Chi Choen?
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