माता भूमिः पुत्रो अहं पृथिव्याः

Idly, the other day, I asked Grok for a poem on nature. Whether dear Mary Oliver is the go-to on such subjects or if the omniscient Internet trackers know of my love for her, I don’t know. However, it offered to me this painfully beautiful poem:

Sleeping In The Forest

I thought the earth remembered me, she
took me back so tenderly, arranging
her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds. I slept
as never before, a stone
on the riverbed, nothing
between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated
light as moths among the branches
of the perfect trees. All night
I heard the small kingdoms breathing
around me, the insects, and the birds
who do their work in the darkness. All night
I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling
with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.

***

So vivid, I could feel around me also dark, rich soil. Slightly moist under my fingers and more than a little alive. My ear pressed against quiet rustles in the earth.

I asked Grok immediately to give me an image depicting this beautiful scene. The results were nice but a bit limited.
 

 

I hopped across to Dall-e, my old favourite, with the same request and the response was a bit more fantastical and pleasing to me. 

The first image had exquisite balance but issues with rendering the human face. 

A tweak of the prompt yielded this.

What do you think?

Walk Slowly

A very long time since I wrote on this blog… I’ve outgrown it perhaps.
But the beautiful Mary Oliver resonated once again with me and where would I record this but here?
 

When I Am Among the Trees, she says…
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It's simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

Dawn Chorus

I have not been able to figure out a more precise pattern. But it is always early morning, before dawn and always a Sunday. A group of people, often about 40 in number – or as it happened today, closer to 70 – proceed down the street in a moderate pace, singing bhajans accompanied by manjiras and chimes. Many of them wear white. The men walk to the front and the women bring up the rear.

I have not been able to arrive at what sect they might belong to, or even if the grouping is just a geographical one. They sing mainly of Vishnu, but as they passed slowly out of earshot today, I heard one bhajan to Mahadeva as well. The whole vibe is old fashioned. The melodies are from a former era, the style of sankirtan is gentle. The singers merely pass through, neither looking around nor performative in their attitudes. Simply chanting. One person leads, the others follow. Sweet, and very pleasing.

 

Who are these people? How are they organised? I have not been able to ask, because a) they are singing and it seems rude to snag a straggler and pose questions in moody, crepuscular light; b) I was still in my night things this morning and by the time I was dressed in a more seemly fashion, they were ambling along the next street.

***

It is true I have a nostalgic temperament. An old sepia photograph of Hyderabad from eight decades ago, with wide open spaces and bullock carts, is enough to cause a physical pang. Archival recordings of classical music leave me extraordinarily wistful. I am appreciative of the present moment, but what we have lost – architecturally, culturally, socially, structurally – pinches the heart.

(I remember some hand wringing in this old post.)

So a throwback like this one, a simple nagara sankirtana, is like finding a handful of seed of some precious, long-forgotten landrace, or a small colony of a species considered extinct. A specimen from which it is possible to learn, draw and replicate.

I wonder if they’ll let me join?

Dhanya Ananda Dina

“There he is! Look! Oh my God, illé nintiddare! He’s standing right here!” Shweta and I nudged each other in quick whispers.

Our first ever in-person glimpse of our beloved Guru was of his back. We had entered the open grounds for the launch of five of Sadhguru’s books in Kannada, and he was standing at the back of the venue, facing away from us, speaking to a couple of people. I remembered his shawl, which had snakes going up. In my memory over the years, it had morphed into one large, highly striking snake but alas, the internet’s memory is as good as the elephants’. The video I found gives my remembered image the lie – they were a series of small snakes undulating upwards from the rich border.

Anyhow, there he was and there we were. The start of a love saga of unexpressable sweetness.

+++

In Isha, people are as fond of telling their own stories as they are anywhere else. But if there is one story that everyone will listen to with rapt attention (in fact will poke out of you, if you’re willing to share), it is of how you came to be with Sadhguru. Each story is unique: some are dramatic, some more matter-of-fact, but each is arrestingly interesting to us.

This is our story.

Our mother passed in 2009 and my sister and I dealt with it in different ways. Shweta took up a series of work assignments, I did nothing but stay home and stare at the walls. The sharp grief passed and at one point we looked at each other and wondered what the rest of this life was going to be like. Our spiritual bent was more keenly accented now, and I remember saying, “Rama-Krishna ankonDu iroNa.” Perhaps just turn consciously towards the divine. It would help find guidance in some next life, wouldn’t it?

We were not very learned but this message had rammed home – we needed a Guru. Not someone a little more accomplished, who knew a few more turns on the path, but a full Satguru, the Kaamil Murshid, the Ultimate Guide, the Perfect Master. We were particularly scared of half-baked guidance, having read horror stories of aspirants bogged down at some stage or led disastrously astray by their own accomplishments.  

In November 2010, still unsuspecting, I put up this blog post. 

Early 2011, we were tripping on the Cricket World Cup. And yet, we talked about how to go about this spirituality business. Having heard that world would have five Satgurus at any time, Shweta said somewhat wistfully, “Surely India would have at least one!”

“This person who writes in the Deccan Chronicle occasionally… he calls himself ‘Sadhguru’,” I said.

The problem with that however was that spirituality is no better than any other area when it comes to quacks and dilettantes. Anybody can stick a grand title to their name, and who can tell? Still… the word ‘Satguru’ is not a magniloquent word to be randomly affixed, it is a specific Office. This man didn’t seem dishonest or so stupid as to be unaware of the consequences of such a travesty. What if… he really was a True Master?

So with the excitement of the world cup playing alongside, we started to watch some videos on Youtube. In those days, Isha’s videos had a particular flute drift as their opening signature and that tune played out repeatedly in our home. By the 7^th or 8^th video, we knew we’d found him.

We must’ve watched 350-400 videos that month. One of the videos had an end slide announcing an Inner Engineering program with Sadhguru in Mysore in April. Our own people came from around Mysore, and it was Sadhguru’s hometown, moreover where he experienced his Liberation. We registered, booked our train tickets, bespoke a hotel room and landed there on 14^th April, a day before the program.

We saw him that very evening at the book launch, sat down and listened as he took questions, and as he left, we followed with folded hands as far as we were allowed. Our first acquaintance with a feeling that was to become very familiar over the years – the wrench that happens in the region of the heart when Sadhguru leaves a space.

15-17 April 2011 changed our lives. We were initiated on Chaitra Poornima. “We didn’t plan it,” Sadhguru chuckled. He never does, but auspiciousness always happens.

12 years (and some ¼-½) is one sun cycle. For sadhakas, this time frame is like a probationary period. Just do what you’re told and stay the course. What crossing it will mean, I have no idea. But it’s a milestone. 

 

My Experiments with Dall-E

In November 2022, Dall-E 2 was opened to the public without a waitlist. This is a deep learning AI model that generates digital images from natural language descriptions called ‘prompts’. I signed up just to see what the buzz was about and since then, I have been quite thoroughly enjoying the artificial intelligence experience.

A new user gets 50 credits to play around with, after which you get 15 free credits every month – each prompt or variation uses one point. You can buy credits also. I have not yet explored ‘Outpainting’ which is an editor interface that lets you tweak the images that get thrown up with your prompts.

Alas, I did not use my 50 credits too well. First prompts were extremely mundane – a log cabin in the woods, for instance. Nice but meh.

I played a bit with watercolours and some nostalgia. The effects were pretty.

Photo-real images with my rudimentary prompts were a bit hit or miss.

Then I learnt that with its heavy learning material, the AI interface was aware of thousands of artist styles and aesthetics. A muddled prompt for something in the Mughal Art style threw up a pretty but somewhat confused assortment of elements.

I tried a couple of classical elements together: a koel, a mango tree, and an ornate window in the style of Amar Chitra Katha, and I was really pleased with these images.

Line drawings were satisfactory, illustrations of flowers in the botanical style were near-perfect and even this render of a phoenix was very acceptable.

I wanted to represent the epic road trips my sister and I undertook last year and I was pretty happy with a couple of results in a cartographic rendering.

As you see from the column on the right, I seized the chance to represent this blog’s title in an expressionist output.

I explored what might emerge if I suggested ‘EH Shepard’ or ‘Raja Ravi Varma’ or ‘MC Escher’.

A photo-real request for a Pallas’ Cat (this gorgeous feline was one of the highlights of the trip we took to Ladakh in August 2022) was quite stunning.  

Since many users were bingeing on androids and ghostly apparitions, I didn't go down too much the futuristic route, although a neon digital art image of a mesmerising phone screen delivered to the brief.

As this column says, we may never have to use stock images again, or struggle to express an abstract idea. I have mourned for years that I cannot draw. Now who cares?