And schooling starts

 

One year of preparatory schooling put enough burden on three-year-old Nevaan. The classrooms look almost like poor ghettos to mere two-year olds made to sit, already under the disciplinarian stick. Then the pandemic-facilitated lockdown was a big respite for these tiny students. KG 1 and KG 2 went through online mode without claiming too much from the rich bounty of childhood. The online classes were a big fun initially. Not going to the school is a big bonus to any child. It’s really joyful. But then the idea of joy is already relative. Now the one-hour online class has started to sound tedious. And off day from this session comes as joy presently. So the other day when he was expecting a full holiday, the message popped up that there will be a thirty-minute fun activity class today. ‘Oh no, even today we have school!’ he gets irritated.

A tiny story of faith and love

 

Here is beautiful story of love, faith, prayers and persistence. A nasty tornado strikes Kentucky. It’s a countryside house. A grandma with her fifteen-month-old granddaughter and three-month old grandson is all there to protect the two little angels. You don’t have the physical force to fight a tornado but you have a still more potent power in you to do it, prayers.

The storm’s eye lurks viciously. The old lady knows the house is just moments away from being blown off. She puts the kids in a bathtub and swathes them in pillows and blankets. More importantly, she puts a Bible with them and says prayers over them.

The tornado strikes the house. The house is blown off. The bathtub is picked off the floor and is blown away. The rescue workers find it at a distance, upturned among the telltale signs of the storm’s mauling. They lift it and hand over the kids to their granny. They are safe. Prayers indeed can help us in braving the strongest tornados of life.

In company with birds and animals

 

A basket is toppled. With typical simian assiduity, a mama monkey meddles with peace in the courtyard. The tiny imp on her back holds a raw banana as she expertly escapes. I can just bang a hollow bamboo on the parapet wall. She beautifully glides in air as she jumps to the other roof across the twelve-foot wide street. The baby safely perched on her back and holding the green banana as the trophy of their effort gives me a taunting, smirking look, as if to say, ‘You are no match for my mama!’

Even the doves, despite the foreordained tragedy about to take place in the scraggy, sparse nest, sometimes go against their nature and turn a fighter. A docile dove is a beautiful sight but to have these lovely cooing moments they need to fight with talons sometimes. It enkindles some faint hope for the hatchling in the nest—it’s a miracle that at least one egg was spared and there is a funny, hairless plump chick, forcing me to count it as a success even if it dies the same day. But there is every chance that you will be disappointed if you nurture hopes about the doves successfully raising a brood. I haven’t seen a single successful case in dozens of episodes witnessed over the decades.

The conspicuous calls of the long-tailed rufous treepie carry reminiscences from the hills. Sometimes they seem throwing a weighty pun at the local birds. It’s a migrant couple with cinnamon body, black head and bluish grey long graduated tail. These treepies are known to keep a covetous eye for the eggs and hatchlings of smaller birds. So the little ball of meat in the dove’s fragile, clearly visible nest has caught the treepie’s attention. The predator makes frequent forays to taste it. The doves don’t stand a chance against an eagle. But they think they can give it a fight against the treeepie. The moment the treepie lands on the curry-leaf tree, the doves turn soldierly and chase it away. The intruder takes off with a loud and shrill ko-ko-ko-ko. It kept coming for three days but the doves defended well.

As I have emphasized it many times, a dove hatchling needs to be very lucky to survive. The resident cats have smelt feline girls outside the fence. It meant at least the eggs survived. It seems the honey buzzer has found honey somewhere else, so it hasn’t turned up for the last few days. And now the challenger to its survival happens to be a treepie against which the docile doves can feign bravery for some time. Accepted that we need luck to survive but effort is luck’s operational part.

A visit to the nearby town

 

Colors represent the mirthful gratuity of mother nature. The void, the nothingness gets striped with sacramental plentitude of membranous manifestations of an entire array of colors. All it takes is just a few colors to transmute the dull, plastid screen into a lively drama.

Colors speak a lot about our personality as well. The colors of cars, for example. Whenever I see a red car on the road, I brace myself for some extra caution. The red cars seem to whizz past with infernal temper. They look highly competitive and seem eager to smite away any other vehicle in speed and attitude. They gesticulate quite forcefully and look like a big siren warning you to stay away. The people driving red cars carry a bit of extra adrenaline, which is helpful for fun and adventure but is pushy for those around. Moreover, extra adrenaline on the road is an inappropriate setting. So give them enough space as they go raising a tornado on the road.

As I went lazily on my scooter on the road, going to the nearest town, mulling over the credits and debits of life, the red signal flashed in the rear-view mirror. Instantly I left the entire road to the red-gallant. You are blameworthy if you don’t do it, especially in case of angry red bigger vehicles than yours. Do it to avoid any gruesome spectacle. As it passed arbitrarily shoving away any opposition, flaunting its extraordinary stature, the windy storm was enough to shake me and my tiny two-wheeled machine. My stewardship pretty heavily shaken, I went still slower.

After fifteen minutes, I reached a congested crossing in the town. On a packed road in towns, the two wheelers carry some advantage. They need little space so that you can maneuver among the bigger vehicles stranded for space. As I slowly trudged ahead, I saw the red car. I crossed it with a self-styled smirk. The tortoises still win the races, after all. The Indian roads are a great leveler. To allay the fears of slow movers, let me point out that the costliest cars cannot fly. And the pony carts and slow guys like me have as much chance in reaching the destination as any of the costliest, reddest car.

Then there was a sight to behold my attention in the town. A golden retriever proves that it’s indeed a capable retriever. At the confectionary shop, it knows which biscuits to retrieve to match the spools of pleasantry in its mood. With an admixture of loyalty and authority, it walks by the side of its master, safely holding the biscuit packet in its mouth.

The philosophy of being master of none and jack of all trades

 I know it's very difficult to like everyone around. We are primarily indifferent to the strangers. And that constitutes the major part of humanity around us. Now come those whom we know directly or even indirectly. Among these we have strong likes and dislikes for someone. Let's start with the ones whom we dislike. Dislike is a pretty heavy value judgement. It leaves long shadows of emotions and thoughts in our brain that eat a lot of energy, block the smooth flow of pranic energy inside, leaving behind niggling tugs of restlessness at our being. Likes also have their effects at us. Because likes change into dislikes as well. Change is the ultimate law, we shouldn't forget. We create a web of dislikes to sustain our likes because the latter seems supportive to our identity. Ultimately both likes and dislikes have to melt because they are two sides of the same coin. But since dislikes leave direct negative impact on our psychosomatic system, it's advisable to start with dislikes. Cut down on your quota of dislikes, gradually like a sculptor chipping away extra stones to carve out a beautiful idol. Chip away slowly. The extra stone of dislikes is a part of you. Accept it. But it needs to be shed to be the best version of yourself. This is what i mean by making of oneself. You have the choice to be the same monolith as you were born. Nothing wrong with that. Just that at the end of the journey you feel guilty for having wasted an opportunity. We have to pass in the court of our own conscience. 

Try to be indifferent to the objects of your dislikes. The perception of someone as your enemy should dilute to indifference over a period of time. Once you have no enemies you will automatically get away from the weight of friendly attachment. I mean you will still like those whom you consider your friend but your liking won't come from your needs and a fear of support. It will be free of bondage. Once you become indifferent to your enemies, you become more realistic and natural about your friends as well. You don't hold too many expectations. Most of the time our expectations and needs of security pass as our likes and friendliness. You still will have your core group of people who will stay irrespective of your attachment or no attachment. And dear sadhak, as you move on the middle of likes and dislikes, equally distant from both, you don't feel the rub and friction that you feel on the edges on both sides. Start with being indifferent to your dislikes. Then everything becomes the same over the decades of your life. A sweet indifference.  Enemies and friends melt in the same pot.

 I'm no spiritualist preaching all encompassing love. That seems too idealistic to a common man like me. I talk about what is feasible. My only problem with scriptures of all religions is that they would straightaway ask one to be an earthly version of god, an all loving, smiling, godly entity. It makes you guilty. Beacuse you are human and would slip and the priests and scriptures stare like tough teachers in your conscience. I try not to forget that it's easy to say the most utopian things. But we are no gods. We are poor earthlings and we have our little journeys. The journeys of little species of nature. So my sadhna at the moment is just to cut down on my dislikes for my enemies, whom I sometimes feel like kicking at their bums for their errant ways, to a level of just mild irritated grimace, then to a slight burn at my ego, then to indifference, maybe later to forgiving and who knows, if I'm lucky, even love them one day. 

Dear brothers and sisters, why be a victim of too lofty expectations based on scriptural theses? I know I'm a work in progress. So why should I go itching for enlightenment? I will take my time. I decide my pace and feel happy if on the completion of another year on my journey i see some improvement. To be joyful about tiny gains is a wonderful art. I for one feel like celebrating the day when I am carefully walking and avoid crushing an ant. Why shouldn't I celebrate? If i don't have it in me to save elephants, why shouldn't I turn joyful on saving an ant? Saving an ant keeps the hope of care and consideration alive in me. I'm happy with my little quota of kindness for it saves me from complete darkness.