The journey-woman

As you drop your knapsack, like a battle weary soldier easing her of metal armour and weapons, and look at the dreamy destination you have toiled to reach which unfortunately doesn't look the way you expected it. Don't forget this destination whom you find short of expectations at least gave you a journey and made you richer by adding positives to the man and woman in you. Irrespective of destinations, love your journey, for there are no destinations, only journeys. Destinations are the shifting mirages. Reach one, and its latest variant teases you from a distance again, pulling you into an endless pursuit. With biggest uncertainty about its ending, life is naturally supposed to be a journey and its carrier simply a journey-woman. Had it been meant for destinations, the timing of its ending, death, won’t have been the most uncertain thing for each and every being alive out there.

Rabbit, try faking a lion for some time!

A bit of iron talk to test whether it stands or not in comparison to the butter soft approach to life. If living like an iron-masked alert soldier gives you sustained peace, well and good, you may carry on like a hard-fisted maniac. If you find something missing, you will automatically realize the significance of mellow posturing. So to start with the tough tasking.

Life is to be won by wearing the battle shields and arms of cold hard logic and point blank reasoning. You become a soldier. Keep your emotions and sensitivities safely cradled deep in your heart. Don’t wear them on your chest, otherwise some arrow will easily pierce you. So always be predatorily alert to the risks to your interests.

When life screws you up from many angles, and despite best of your efforts, and all the humanly possible tries, you find the situation unchanging, you can still fight for a change! The change in yourself, the carrier of all this unjustified shitty load! You can make yourself physically stronger. And forget about the psychological variants of strength. It is like a person suffering under 100 kg weight. And come whatever may, she cannot unburden herself of this load. What is the option left? It is just to get physically stronger so that it is possible to carry the load. I am talking of plain physical strength. Forget about all other hypothetical versions of strength. Simply believe that physical strength is the prelude to all other concepts of strength. So all you guys and girls, who are undeservedly carrying extra load in life, just sweat it out. Grow strong physically! Then you can even laugh at the weight on you!

But it should not be an alert soldier type all the way. You deserve our airy moments—little-little somersaults, froggy jumps over life's grounded roadblocks, tiny ballooned flights above the frictitious realities on the surface. But we must not forget we are terrestrial beings not the airy angels. So guys ensure that you land rightly on your feet after airy jaunts and not crash-land on you ass.

Hammering the nails into the box of destiny

God was hammering down nails into my wooden being to shape the box of my destiny. I but kept on crying with pain and cursed him for his mercilessness. My prayers egging Him on to toil more on my behalf and all this while I thought He was deaf. Making is a bit painful buddy, but believe every nail writes the script of many-many pleasant moments in future. Pain is never futile. It’s always a box in the making. And was construction ever devoid of pain, sweat, labour and suffering? These are just simply elements of ‘making’. Now I see the beautiful artwork of the box and come to realize why those nails were hammered. It was all meant to see me home. So love your struggles and sufferings buddies. That is when you actually get ‘made’ into something substantial. During the so called smooth phase when the life is safely on autopilot, you just trundle ahead carrying your old self cocooned in the make-believe sense of being happy and content. But in reality you hardly move ahead during this phase. The routine just plods you ahead like an impassive dummy. Be willing to accept your pain, suffering and struggle. It’s one of the best investments I know about. When you come out of the last dark hours of the night, believe me the sun shines resplendently like never before.

Love in the times of war

"But how deeply, painfully, irreparably had he wounded her and upset her life, and how restless and violent she was in her determination to re-shape her destiny and start afresh!" ___Boris Pasternak in Dr Zhivago

The smell is mildly pungent, of tobacco, of paper, soaked in the spirits of literature. Classics are classics. As I douse my hunger down the pages, a surprise awaits. A huge bonus which makes my day and turns me richer. A surprise gift. The story ends to live in your memory. But then there is a beginning once more. There are 43 pages of poetry, taking the last page of the book to the dreamy depths, to last forever. That's how Boris Pasternak surprises and gives a bonus to his readers in Dr Zhivago. 

Flower and snake caught in the single loop of memory

Some moments just get etched in your memory. Their empowering aesthetics or intimidating impulses can still tickle the senses even a decade later. Such moments define life, make it momentous. These moments stand as the real milestones notifying the flow of invisible, unstoppable stream of time. Such moments stand out in two ways: a) raising your hair, jolting your senses and giving scary Goosebumps; b) massaging your aesthetic senses in a way that you retain the touch almost throughout life. I can recall two such moments.

The first one occurred a decade back at the start of the winters in Delhi. As the metro's first ladies only coach eased its beautiful burden, I found myself walking down the stairs among a fragrant swarm of few dozen beautiful ladies. Colorful woolens…Deo and perfume...grace and beauty. Flowers. I felt like in a perfumery...like a guilty black-bee in a garden. It was really overpowering. I can still smell and see those moments as vividly as it happened a decade ago. Some moments just refuse to fade from your mind’s horizon. 

The second one still sees me swathed with swirling emotions of scared ecstasy, awe, plain fear and genuine appreciation. The moment stands erect almost a decade back on the highway of time. I saw two snakes mating..and not on tv guys..in real. Surrendered to slithery, coiled, hissing passion, their venomous stalking turned to submission. The kiss of death morphed into the kiss of love. Their fangs and poison took backseat. Horrified initially, my shaken self felt the coiled fluidity of those two slithery bodies forming love loops…shocking majesty…ecstatic! Those vivid images still crawl in my mind like it’s happening now itself.

A little Zen practice

The shifting stage of life. The biggest truth about life: change, impermanence. From 7 AM last morning to 7 AM this morning. 24 hours of change. From armful to fistful...from coquettish smile to crumbling grimace...from the skies to the ground...from running to rest...a very simple Zen technique I use every morning to stamp home the biggest truth which we tend to forget while we boast, fret, fume and stomp on the stage of life. So as the grains of time's sand slip through your fist, be happy, enjoy, smile, love and care for those around, so that when you look back from your mound of dust you find it meaningful.

A smile's life on cobwebbed lease

Sometimes existential support, as slim as an almost invisible single strand of spiderweb, sees you smiling well beyond your expected time. It's 4:30 PM the next afternoon. The pair, a souvenir of a lovely, cool, dewy night, still hangs almost in full life. These are night blooming jasmine flowers. They bloom under dewy starlight at night, and tumble down happily at the dawn, pulled by mother nature's call for cyclical transformation. But then some chance innings outfox the routine cast of apparent reality to carry further on to reach some milestone. These couple of flowers saw the youthful charm of full bloom at cool October night. Thousands around them toppled down at the day's onset through a slightly misty morning and are almost recycled to dust in the ground. But mischievous destiny lends out a strand of web, and here they are swirling and swaying to gentle breeze of these balmy early winter days. Little ounce of beauty and fragrance hanging like chandelier signifying the imperishable aesthetics of love, peace and harmony.

The Night-smile and day-time vestiges

He smiles through the dewy night, the night blooming jasmine, Har Singar. As the day opens its eyes, I find the vestiges of fragrant night scattered under the tree. The first thing I do these days is to collect the tree's offerings and keep it as a fragrant trophy on my desk. It makes my day. Keeps it smiling and fragrant. Thanks brother tree! I just put some water around you, and here you are with a shower of unconditional love, life, beauty and fragrance. The weather has turned amazing and your gift makes every day better than the previous one.

Refurbishing an old nest and the story of birdie care

Well, not all abandoned nests go unnoticed. While the rains lashed in August and September, a scaly-brested Munia pair (spice finch or nutmeg mannikin) set up an irregular, globular, oval nest of grass, straw lined with feathers and strands of cotton wool. The cycle completed and the hatchlings flew to take their chance on life on the tightrope of creation and destruction. The parents however are known to use the dormatiry off and on while on the way in their birdie sorties. So I have seen them a few times sneaking in for a restful night. The nest stands jolted after more than a month since the nestlings left. The rains and wind shook it. But then the old house is still fit enough to catch the eyes of a pair of white throated munia (Indian silverbill) who are a bit lazy and sociable little beauties who are open to move into used house. They have white throat running from beak to undertail, brown plumage and blue grey beak. So letting swift chirrup trill, the lady on house hunting is inspecting the rainlashed nest, evaluating how much of refurbishment might be required.

Quite incidentally, the original houseowner, scaly breasted Munia, also happens to be there on a nearby branch. Perhaps it has came for some noontime nap. The silent and peaceful bird with bright cinnamon head, full brown plumage and scaly patterns on breast just looks on pensively. Possibly it understands that laying eggs by someone is better than her sleep. So guys, no fight. It just looks at the would be mother with a strange detachment and allows the inspection. Hope we humans can learn something from these birdie guys.

Self-fucking moron or a happy go lucky filly? The choice is always ours!

The adventure and fun of life decrease in proportion to the distance between the point of your craziest, wildest urge of your heart and instincts on the one hand and the low point where you chose to be, driven, rather checked, by your fears, overvaluation, inhibition and assumptions, all of which stopped you from saying 'yes' to the moment and the choice which had all the possibilities to change your life miraculously. Never underestimate the consequences of your endeavors. A butterfly flapping its wings in Africa is linked to the causes which drive a furious hurricane in America. So no action is small, only our fears and insecurities turn it puny, belittled piece of failure. Coming back to that choice which could have seen you soaring in a sunny journey at the highest height, but which you missed through over-analysis and chose to crawl on earth, cursing yourself at every step over the so called missed opportunities. Long after that choice is gone, and you cast a helpless look at the sweeping miles between where you could have reached if you had the guts to say 'yes' to your heart and the poor point where you chose to be, you just can't help but find life almost meaningless. Destiny isn't a cheater altogether. There are moments passing through our lives when, with only a little bit of daring 'yes' we can change the entire course of our lives. Say yes to the liveliest, loudest, craziest, wildest cooing of your heart. If not the destination (and there is no destination by the way), you will love the journey for sure. A little stroll impregnated with your heart's agreement is far more substantial than hundreds of miles of sweating run if you have forced yourself into it. Those miles after miles are not the rewards to your self-punished self. That is the punishment for not being true to yourself. So listen to your heart, shut off all haggling by your mind which is tricking you by forcing you to compare your worth through the scales of others journeys. You have to have your own scale to measure the worthiness of your journey, how many miles you have to go, at what pace, at what stopovers and many more. Use others' scales and all you do is just self-fuck at the cost of lot of pain to your ass. So we always have the option of being a happy go lucky person instead of a self-fucking moron.   

A real journey entailing the mirage

Life isn’t just sailing in calm, composed waters. Mostly, the waters are stormy. That is the law of nature. It simply cannot leave things static. Things will turn static only at the moment of the cosmic crunch, the opposite the Big Bang when the universe will implode to start exploding again in the next spell of activity. So till then enjoy the activity.

Overall, our character is defined by the manner we captain our little boats to enter the peaceful waters, the doldrums, for a time. Sailing in calm waters is not the reality though. The storms lurking over the horizon is. Keep an eye on it as you are cooling your heels after the last battle. And while you drop your knapsack, like a battle weary soldier easing her of the metal armour and weapons, and look at the dreamy destination she has toiled to reach which unfortunately doesn't look the way she expected it. Don't forget this destination which you find short of expectations at least gave you a journey and made you richer by adding positives to the man and woman in you. Irrespective of the destinations, love your journey, for there are no destinations, only journeys. There never was a happy person who didn’t enjoy the journey to have his bumper lot of happiness in one lot at reaching the so called ‘destination’.

Braving the stormy patch and keeping an eye on the next one is the formula to become a successful caption of your life. So simply be a journeyman or journeywoman. Quite ironically the destination is just being there on the path, simply journeying. Just look into the past and remember all who have died and try to recall how many reached the so called destination. The only fixed destination is death which is the most uncertain event (in term of its time of occurrence) for all of us. There is no such thing as ‘life’, the hard-fixed noun. All we have is a sweet-sour poultice ‘living’, the verb, the activity, the process, the journey. So do your deed, make your run, have your shots at your so called goals and the process of doing itself is your reward. Beyond that any idea of rewards and destinations is just like mirage in the deserts.

The Big Bang was a poetic moment

Without the seed of poetry there won't be any prose. Just like without the tiny seed there won’t be a tree. The canopy, the full foliage of the tree is just an extension of the dream lying with its realistic potential inside the small seed. The elaborate network of trunks, branches, twigs, flowers, fruits and leaves is nothing but a commentary on the small poetic seed. So all ye wannabe writers, nurture the poet in you, who understands the value of pause in life, who moves slowly to watch everything, sight and smell everything. Whose senses are open to the inclusive interplay of wonderful harmonies of the supreme song, the universe, the one song. Brushstrokes of poetry softly touch the soul without disrupting its restful muse and bring out the nuggets of love, compassion, harmony and peace. If you are a poet by nature then you have the potential to be anything because all these elaborate extensions of your life, your dreams, your professional and personal goals, your milestones, the world around you, all these and more are nothing but a reflection of that poetic pure seed. Being poetic is being the master of all the best-ever possible emotions as a human being. Poetry is the common soul of all art forms. It is impossible to visualize an unpoetic artist. Poetry is the womb that mothers all that has ever been loved and appreciated by the man and the nature. To be poetic is to love. You taste godliness by being poetic. The mankind has pictured heaven just as a huge poetic dream. All the myths, gods and goddesses are marvelous poet philosophers and poet soldiers. So learn to be a poet.  Love yourself as a poet.

Double standards

Just waiting for the champions of Islam to speak against China. If they don't do it, then their selective fusillade against certain countries gets exposed. One thing is sure: it's never about religion, as most of the people believe, but basically about selfish geo-strategic reasons in turning countries against each other, or bring them together. From religious point of view, Pakistan should be China's biggest enemy, given mass atrocities on the Muslims in China. But they are the best of buddies. Are the Muslim Uighurs lee Muslims? It has to be clarified by the loud-mouthed champions of Islam. In the rest of the world they stoutly espouse the Muslim cause. So why this silence on Uighur Muslims in China? Or Chinese Yuans stuffed in your croaking throats have silenced you? Pakistan has been pouring all its collective energy as a nation into the Indian side of Kashmir, justifying its terrorist activities basically on the grounds of 'Islam in danger in Kashmir; philosophy. From the same religious benchmark, it should never see eye to eye with China. So it gets proved. Need more proof? By the way, go to Kashmir in India, you will be surprised to note that despite the violence and counter violence of decades, not even a single aspect of the religious life of Muslims has been affected in the state.   

Silence of Pakistan, Turkey on Chinese repression of Uighur Muslims outrageous

The sleeping beauty on jasmine leaves

RIP Lime Swallowtail! A hearse of jasmine leaves and sadabahar flowers. You still  look full of flying life, as if ready to take off any moment. You had your colourful days, flowers, nectar, airy swirls, rainbow days.
Quitely you landed on the tarmac of mortality, and your little ounce of spirit flies and takes off to the the highest station to be one with the primordial spirit. From limited to the unlimited. From here to everywhere. From these few colours to all the colours of paradise. From now to forever. From this beautiful pattern and design on your wings to the primal self evolving pattern of nature.

The tree in your yard is as alive as your family members and more

There are more prominent complexities in nature than man-made systems. Read this seminal work and you will scientifically understand why a tree is as alive as human beings. It's purely research based, not some esoteric mystical talk. You will learn how life is as good, valued and important at all levels in nature. It will bust your misconceptions that life is human centric only. Read it to know your real place in the scheme of natural things. After reading it your next visit to the forest will give you unimaginable perspectives. You will feel more of a humane being. Well, it's strictly for your benefit only.

"In 'The Hidden Life of Trees', Peter Wohlleben shares his deep love of woods and forests and explains the amazing processes of life, death and regeneration he has observed in the woodland and the amazing scientific mechanisms behind these wonders, of which we are blissfully unaware. Much like human families, tree parents live together with their children, communicate with them and support them as they grow, sharing nutrients with those who are sick or struggling and creating an ecosystem that mitigates the impact of extremes of heat and cold for the whole group. As a result of such interactions, trees in a family or community are protected and can live to be very old. In contrast, solitary trees, like street kids, have a tough time of it and in most cases die much earlier than those in a group.
Drawing on groundbreaking new discoveries, Wohlleben presents the science behind the secret and previously unknown life of trees and their communication abilities, he describes how these discoveries have informed his own practices in the forest around him. As he says, a happy forest is a healthy forest and he believes that eco-friendly practices not only are economically sustainable but also benefit the health of our planet and the mental and physical health of all who live on Earth."

Love spiced with curry leaves

Love, love, love on the small Kari patta (curry leaves) tree. The tree with aromatic leaflets adds a delicious aroma to various curries. It adds taste to the precious moments of this tiny bird couple, a cute pair of Oriental white eye.

In the afternoon I spray water on the small tree, and they usually come and take a rubbing bath against wet leaves, prancing around, twitching their square tails, flapping their greenish yellow coats. Then they peck and cuddle each other with their slender, pointed, slightly curved bills. Love is never enough. They raise their little heads in supreme abandonment, while the partner is busy cuddling in the fur with its beak. Goosebumps, all pleasing and tinkling!

Let there be wars, hate, jealousy and bigger human issues around. Here they are, etching out a tiny, colourful love tale, with small dreams of a nest in their eyes which have a beautiful white ring around them. They really love this afternoon bathing by the way. I have to spray water so that they don't miss it. There are more important things to attend to as well. After the lovey dovey moments, they hunt gregariously among the foliage for insects and take sips of nectar from the overblooming sadabahar flowers around. And of course in between are their softly jingling conversational notes, possibly taking birdie jibes at human follies of wasting time and energy in unnecessary hassles, while all that is needed is just to be in league with mother nature and uncountable happiness showers by default, as a rule of nature.

Universe: The one song

Look at your body and think, whether it exists in abstraction. It doesn't. This ecosystem is your extended body. Then earth is this ecosystem's extended body. Solar system is earth's extended body. The Milky way is solar system's extended body. Supergalaxy is Milky way's extended body, and so on so forth. Now can you guess what is the meaning of "universe"? It is "one song". If you still didn't get it, no need to waste time, carry on like before, but don't forget to smile and have fun. This is just one harmonious, ever evolving song to which you can definitely add your melody and composition by being in tune with natural laws. Closely watch nature. You will see the miracles happening with such magical effortlessness that they appear more mundane than even the simple task of you lifting your hand. And one more thing, like you see around, it's nothing but dynamic exchange and transformation of energy and matter, your own purposes in life always fall short of the universal will unless you link them to the causes beyond your own self. So while you strive to be happy and successful, try to do it in a way that it is harmonious with the same desires of not just human beings but all of ecosystem. Even a genuine prayer for someone will do. Enlightenment doesn't mean skies will shower flowers and earth will part and you will get a halo around your head. It happens when you become commonest of the common and see you in the natural scheme around. 

The best bridge between science and spirituality

The strongest bridge ever built to connect Eastern mysticism and Western science. The best digestible concoction prepared by mixing the two apparently contradictory, antipodal substances. Eat this porridge, walk on this bridge and you will realise there is absolutely no difference between spirituality and science. A must read for all educated people out there.

The bulb of life on an electric bulb holder

Well, this bulb holder was lying idle for too long, till it got the attention of natural intelligence. A mud fort in the making. Hope it will cherish the bulbuous fluid in eggs that will sprout the light of life. A wire tailed swallow pair is busy making their mud nest. They pick up mud from rain puddles and deposit it layer by layer, slowly mixing their saliva and droppings in the mixture. During the breeding season their glands have extra salivation equipping them with a suitable adhesive. This is what I call environment friendly birdie cement. My mother has a problem though. She finds it disturbing because at this stage it appears a mud sling on the painted wall. I have convinced her that it will be a very nice, decorative wall hanging once it's completed. Best of luck beautiful birds. They have very bright colours of metallic blue and white.

Awakening the dead

It was a dry, dead branch at the top of an acacia. But that was before the monsoon touched with watery pout, to kiss and infuse greenery even in an otherwise prickly, irritatingly imposing silhouette of the acacia. Overblown life from the surroundings is creeping into the dead wood. The creeper is handing over its extra greenery by climbing over dead pricks and crown the treetop with a symbol of life. The canopy is getting its leafy top. Wonderful greenish encroachment. The birds though may not be happy because this dead branch at the tree top used to be their favourite sentry point to look around.

Dry branch after leafy donation by the creeper

Dry branch when the monsoons arrived and birds had their bare watchtower