Terrace survey

So fatigued by my social network timelines, the various issues, the stridency and the hullabaloo. Have we become even more chronically agitated than we used to be a decade ago? It feels that way.

Tired of being cooped up, I went upstairs to my terrace just now, hoping to spot the golden oriole that comes to sit on the cotton tree some evenings. It didn't put in an appearance but a shikra gave me the fly-by, and I saw green bee-eaters do that winter thing they do.

Overhead, I sensed small whirrs, and saw two shiny kites amicably whizzing about. Being held on a roof somewhere two or three houses to our right. I was glad it was two and not one - flying a kite by oneself is such a lonely business.

The coconuts are doing well. The tree drops one or two at judicious intervals (and considerately, when no one is underneath). Happily, the next crop is being readied too. We had two coconut trees at one time and when they did nothing interesting at all, someone decided they needed a fillip. Some fertiliser was introduced and they both reacted rather drastically. One died and the other shot up by a few feet in a month.

As I looked down to see if there were any lemons on the shrub that I'd missed from ground level, a frond of jasmine put its tentacles on my arm in the most friendly way. No buds or flowers at this time, but you know, just saying hello.

Then the mosquitoes came out and I came down. That's all.

New days

I have made a few resolutions these past weeks – a promise to behave better. To break patterns, to haul myself out of ruts, to be aware... to consciously break habits, to be more alive than I let myself be.

It is not easy. You see, I like ruts. Warm, cosy places. So deep, so reliable, so always. The force needed to affect this inertia is substantial, often more than I’m willing to apply. But it must be done. The rut is not my home. I refuse to die there. Absolutely refuse to do that. So I must move. Keep moving till I come to a stillness.

So I try again every day. Some days are better than others. Some days are worse. But it will not do to exult or despair. There is no point in wasting time on such reactions. There is nothing to do but keep at it. But over time a trend will emerge, I think. More better days than worse ones. And THAT will become a habit, then second-nature. But in calling it second-nature, I make the mistake of taking it for acquired behaviour – such consciousness is, in fact, a return to my first-nature. Chidananda roopah shivo’ham shivo’ham...

So to replace Ann K Schwader’s seasonal haiku...
slow rain —
losing myself in
birdbath circles

...I put up Cynthia Puntil’s hopeful one:
another sunrise
a chance to do the things
I could have done before

Crackle

I'm feeling 'chiti-chiti'. That's what we onomatopoeically say in Kannada -- it's a word that describes the crackle of mustard in hot oil, a word for a mood where you scatter just as effectively at the mildest pressure.

Links: Missing links and Other Things

I can’t go wrong today, it seems. Every day brings exhortations from my social media timelines – links that lead to news, videos, cat videos, absorbing views, activism, personal photo albums... the lot. Today, link after link led to gold, so I’m just collating it all.

First thing in the morning, my friend Samanth Subramanian’s most excellent and moving essay about his grandfather, whom he says he didn’t question closely enough when he was alive. (I find that shocking – Samanth has at least half a dozen questions for anyone.) But now with the man himself obscured by death, Samanth tries to make ‘forensic guesses’ about his grandfather’s life, to build a sketchy biography, and a tribute.

He says: “There is some complicated guilt here too, lurking in the corner but unavoidable. I have felt as if I am personally responsible for rupturing traditions that run back many generations and that are still alive, to some extent, in the person of my father... under my uncaring stewardship, a certain continuity has snapped, and a vast body of inherited knowledge has suddenly and irreversibly decayed.”

How this resonates with me! Particularly since my mother’s death, I find myself stupidly at a loss – and feel many pangs over this heritage that could have been mine if I had only respected, valued it more. Between my grandmother’s lifestyle and mine is such a world of difference and I know whose is shallower, poorer.

In the same vein allow me to link (although I came across it a few weeks ago) to another fine piece that speaks of a culture, a past we have wantonly let go of.

When Shweta and I discuss this loss, we are agreed that the blame lies with our parents’ generation – our doting parents who loved their parents but didn’t respect them enough, who looked too much to the future, to western educations, to success, to expanding their horizons beyond anything their forefathers had dreamt of. Theirs the blame for not holding on tightly enough, for their lack of conviction, for not insisting that we, their children, learn and carry on some of it, for letting it all sink before we thought to grasp it. Is that too harsh? I am not bitter, only regretful.

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Another link today led to this wonderful interview with actor Kangana Ranaut. She’s astonishingly poised, impressively mature (she’s 26!) and devoid of artifice or affectation.



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My Guru talks of knowing rain: “If you walk through the rain with utmost awareness, you will know rain in a certain way. But if you walk through the rain with absolute abandon, you will know rain another way.” Isn’t that like holding on to moon beams? Can one know rain? He says maybe. That’s what I’m after. Which way I still don’t know, but I’ll know in the end. Or it won’t matter.

But let Sadhguru speak for himself.

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And though I didn’t come across these links today-today, these TED talks enlivened my week, so they go in here too.

Iwan Baan on how people carve out homes in unexpected places and ways:



This unexpectedly moving lecture on muses by Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray, Love:

Good intentions

Maine abhi khayal-e-safar hi kiya 'Safi'
Kaante simat ke raah ke paaon mein aa gaye...

 

मैने अभी ख़याल-ए-सफ़र ही किया 'सफी'

कांटे सिमट के राह के पाँव में आ गए।  

  

It is past midnight and I am sitting up, distressed, feeling very ill. I will spare you the details but I'm throwing up everything I ate all day. This happens occasionally when the stomach doesn't want anything but I'm too conditioned to regular meals to be able to deny it food altogether.
 

But I had tentatively started on a new regimen today to prepare for a program I'm about to attend: lots of fresh salad, no chillies, no beverages, plenty of good, nutritious, positive pranic stuff. It was supposed to get into its stride tomorrow, but I've hit a stumble today.

But now that this seems to have settled, perhaps it'll work like a breeze the next couple of weeks. Wish me luck.

Gorgeousness 2

It's been a 'nada yoga' kind of week. A dhrupad recital by Pt Uday Bhawalkar yesterday - he started with a gliding Madhuvanti, roused us all with 'Shiva, Shiva, Shiva' in Adana, went on to a soul-felt Rageshri and concluded with Behag (I think!). Mesmerising!

 

Gorgeousness

#nowlistening to L Subramaniam playing Raga Sivapriya. What sweetness it is!
It sounds like Shivaranjani but not quite, and I don't have the expertise to put my finger on the difference. But it is enough to be able to listen.

The link is here.
 

Vijayi Bhava

My Guru says: "To earn the grace of the Divine is the highest victory."

Happy Vijayadashami!

What's on your mind?

Feeling sick. A not-so-great curry puff from three days ago is still messing up my stomach - I just wished I'd earned this with a nice pav bhaji at least.

***

I saw The Lunch Box yesterday and it was everything they were raving about. Excellent performances by everyone. (I remember Irrfan Khan from all those years ago in a serial called Banegi Apni Baat and feel a little particular pride at the long way he's come.) I loved the life they depicted for Ila. The upstairs 'Aunty' whom we never see (fabulous little part by Bharti Achrekar), their shared lives... Ila asking Mrs Deshpande to switch off the music because her husband has come home, the basket that ferries domestic essentials, the complete sympathy between their desperately lonely existences.

The credits included an astonishing number of production houses and organisations -- what on earth was there for so many people to do in such a small film?

***

Still feeling sick. What shall I do? Gruel and bananas till I get better or just gobble what comes my way - how long can this tum-tantrum last anyway?

Very silly hai inki love life!

I watched Shuddh Desi Romance yesterday and can't think why I wasted two-and-a-half hours on characters who simply didn't know what or who they wanted.
After a stunning debut in Kai po che, Sushant Singh Rajput was blah. The girls were better, esp Vaani Kapoor; and Rishi Kapoor was FABULOUS but that still doesn't make up for the jalebi plot. Not shuddh anything, not desi (surely commitment phobia is an imported angst) and definitely not romantic. Maneesh Sharma, you annoyed me so much.

For a spotless mind

Something atmospheric has left me restless today. Impatient, bored and above being pleased.
I tried the old remedies and oiled my hair; tried the new and spent an hour on youtube... but neither took care of it.

There are several things I want to write about but this is not the mood to attempt them in. Sounds seem to grate on my skin, so music is out. A film perhaps, if I could zoom in on the right one? Or a spot of quiet mindless stillness. If it could be ordered.
 

My world against yours

I have raised an eyebrow, smirked in amusement, shaken my head and scoffed outright at so many opinions, people and attitudes this morning... and it's barely noon.
Some days, the world is just so wrong.