The stamp of a tiny lesson on the love handle

The lockdown has spared a lot of energies with us. We are just looking out for the ways and means to unleash the reserves. My brother decides to use his extra stock on an abandoned, old and archaic water cooler lying in the barn. He is eager to set it into motion again. He finds it the real creative thing after the boring spell of work-from-home software engineering endeavor to get us more and more lost in the dehumanized world of software applications. So last night he raised a plume of dust, almost a mini desert storm, sneezed and laughed triumphantly as the rickety thing was dragged out of its grave.

Like any storm, the dust-storm left a casualty also. A stinging yellow hornet nest was dislodged. These days they survive on our garbage and left-outs. Whatever is of no use to us, turns of full use to them. But then we consumerists try to salvage the last utility even from our own dumps. Since it was night, the odds were against them. They droned angrily for a few moments. One of them even took revenge. It bit him on his finger. The salvo left him with a painful wince. He rubbed his finger and then all gets back to normal. The insulted insects took to hide and somehow see through the night.

In the morning, they are seen droning around angrily. They are aggressive and come very near the target, our foolish faces. ‘Don’t just take a swipe, even if it perches on your nose! It won’t have a reason to bite!’ I set out the instruction, having enjoyed the benefits of this approach many times in life. The principle struck very fruitfully even to ward off the angry hoard of the deadliest bumble bees, the big rascals of the stinging wasp family. Their group strikes kill humans even till date. And who can vouchsafe their deadliness more than my own family, having suffered directly. My great-grandfather, a tirelessly hardworking huge farmer, was returning in the evening after a day of ploughing the fields. The pair of bullocks had spring in their step as they mildly galloped back home for fodder and rest. The bells tied around their necks chimed the verve and happiness to get back home as early as possible. The sturdy great-grandpa had his plough on his work-beaten shoulder. An angry nest of bumblebees attacked them with full fury. The sturdy young farmer was bitten viciously. Well, that was almost hundred years back, my grandfather being just a child when he lost his young father. His terribly swollen body had hardly any chance of survival during those days when people hadn’t seen hospitals and doctors in their entire lives.

My ancestor’s soul must have nailed it in my little brain, I mean the instructions that I mentioned above. I was once cycling in my childhood and an angry scout party of bumblebees chased me down. They probably wanted to repeat the family history. But times had changed and even farmers had started to have some common sense. I had little common sense not to take a swipe or shake my head in any way. I just kept on cycling like before. They tried their level best to find any chink in my armor, and hence earn a right to attack. They devilishly teased the hell out of me. I could feel a few sitting on my hair. My face could feel the angry whispers of their drones. I but kept stuck to my credo. Thank you great-grandpa! You must have driven this little sense in my tiny farmers stock brain after having learnt the lesson in a tragic way yourself. So guys non-reaction saves lives. After a kilometer or so of them seeking a reason to strike, they were disappointed and left me on my fun ride.

This morning over tea, the topic turned to hornet bites. ‘These days bees and hornets have hardly any bite in their stings,’ my brother said while looking at his finger which looked almost normal. And both of us had our own share of horrible bites of master stingers in our childhood, when a bite would bloat the face and eyes for days. ‘Poor insects, they seem to have lost the battle! Harmless hornets and biteless bees!’ I had my Buddhist consolation and musing.

The talk then turned to our mother. A very strong peasant woman, who could walk 4 Km with 50 Kg fodder load of twelve feet long stalks of Jowar on her head, she had the softest, divine feminine heart of golden lotus and strong hands that could tame a male buffalo by holding its neck cord. But Mother had a weakness against stinging insects. We saw her crying after getting bitten by a hornet leaving me wondering, ‘How can Ma cry over a bite while she has the power to lift so much of load and tame buffaloes!?’ Lost in the fond memories of our Mom, I pointed out this fact about Mother in a little jest. She is part of everything now. I know she feels our pain for her leaving us. The moisture of love and gratitude for her must also be reaching her. In her lifetime on earth, she was too soft to teach even the littlest lesson to her children even at the grossest provocation! Well, now she must be looking at us in totality, and as a Mother must be feeling like mildly tweaking our ears for all our funny flaws. So she must have decided to teach me a little lesson about hornet bites after getting irritated over my remark. I would come to know about it an hour later.

I am doing kapalbhati pranayam in an effort to channelize my physicality to get it in sync with my spirit to raise my mundane awareness. My funny baby bump in the belly undulating with efforts to manage my prana. I have eyes closed and in fine rhythm. The smile is ravaged suddenly. I wince with terrible pain. My hand instinctively takes a swipe at the still funnier love handle by the side of my belly. I have been taught a lesson in a painful way. Hornets are painful man and no surprise Ma had tears of pain after getting struck. The rascal offending yellow stinging hornet has literally struck with full force. It seems to have fallen in Dracula type craziness after tasting my blood. I have to tear it away. Either it’s a love bite on the funny love handle or a kiss of revenge. Both mean the same if it’s a stinging yellow hornet. I am rolling in pain on the yoga mat, writing in funniest of body contortions, rubbing the raped love handle, doing God knows what type of asnas in pain. I would call it ‘Hornet-sting-asna’. The side of my belly getting a bump, as if in some asymmetrical pregnancy brutally sired by the rapist evil hornet.

Lesson has been learnt Ma! They are indeed painful and give tears after getting struck. Love you, and thanks for gently holding me by ears and still being there to keep guiding me in the lessons of life and living.