Kundalini

 Allow the self to be twisted and turned as per the the divine crawling of Her grace and blessings...it will seem overbearing sometimes...sometimes perplexing to the extent of getting you to the threshold of the dark night of the soul...don't crib and complain...have faith...making is a bit challenging but all this is happening for a purpose...to make you a better version of yourself...with volition and conscious effort we can do ourselves some favor..if not, it will twist us a bit more painfully...it can't be stopped because finally we have to get into a better shape as per the laws of evolving consciousness...so smile, take a deep breath and cooperate...and always remember: There is no goodness bigger than that we spot in others. There is no bigger evil than that we generate by our own hands.

January 10

 

There are people who once lit up your life with their warm smiles. The cold, hard icicles of your life melted under their warm touch like balmy sunrays giving a kiss of life after many snowy days. Later, however far you may drift apart, they are still inseparable part of your being. Your ego may deny it on the surface but the cells in your body carry those sweet memories. They set up the tunes of an unwavering harmony below the turbulent surface having ripples of guilt, complaint, pain and anger. The fragrance lingers on with its innate modesty. A frozen current inside you that still flows sometimes under the warmth of the nostalgic strains of distant memories. Its aching beauty, its divine sadness still sometimes comes acalling to refresh and revitalize your pain-lynched present self. It always exists to define your present. Always. Acknowledging the existence of countless such sweet memories in my mind, body and spirit! With grace, humility, gratitude and love wishing the source of these sweet memories a very happy birthday! Always wishing that special someone a profound, meaningful, joyful happy birthday on the tenth of January!

The story of a mother and her son

 

Naveen Baman usually set out on his hunt for the day after touching his mother’s feet. It was theoretically a very moral-heavy schedule. Much to matrilineal delight, his father would get a patriarchal heartburn as the son won’t even look in his direction as he stepped out for a well-paid day in many senses of the term, that included apart from money—his first love—winning some affection from some fresh female in his life.

With each minute ascending into relevance, the mother would wait for her darling son to return at night to serve him dinner, however late it was. She was always there, awake and alert, like a petite watchman on duty. The blooming mechanisms of a very interesting outdoor life got him curious about liquor one day. He tasted it, found it interesting, drank then, and led by an over-zealous assertion of free spirits gulped down pegs after pegs. From the top of an oozing enthusiasm, he toppled down suddenly and was blacked out.

The moment you pass out you turn small and insignificant. With monumental presence of mind, his drinking peers left him in front of his street and vanished into the profoundly dark swathes of night. They were well aware of the fulfilling bond between the mother and the son and hence were scared of the mother’s stormy tantrums when she would see her son heaped out of senses.

Clueless about how to proceed further, he chose half of the water drain and the other half of the street to lie down and snore. The air was laden with disintegrating gloominess. Much scandalized over her son’s thunderous misjudgment, the mother arrived at the scene with a few members of the extended family to salvage her son from the clutches of the corrupt and corroded episode.

They got into the act of hauling him up. Naveen had very serious objection to this disturbance. The mother was shouting amidst a flurry of teary promos. With his few traces of consciousness still in his grasp, he made out that this old, shrieking woman was the ringleader in dislodging him from his favorite drain. ‘Bhola, give me a rope. We have to strangulate this old woman. She has too big a tongue and prattles too much,’ he yelled to his cousin brother. The mother indeed was famous for her talkative tongue.

As they dragged him to the house, he kept on shouting, ‘We have to kill this woman by hanging!’ The father looked from a distance. He felt as if his son was talking sense now, even though under the influence of liquor. But truth has to be accepted in whatever form it arrives. So he felt happy inside.

Naveen started snoring after a tornado of proclamations to get his mother hanged by the strongest rope in the house. The next day, when he got down to touch her feet she kicked him. She did it for a week. On the eighth day, she put her hand on his head. ‘You are a nice son! Devils are the ones who made you drink,’ she declared.

Natural intelligence

 

This particular belpatra tree, in   a corner in our garden, has unbelievably big, dangerous thorns, almost  two inches long and so sturdy that these can be safely used as nails plonked into wooden planks. Even standing near the tree seems so scary. Its thorny mass is sprawled over the fence wall. It’s impossible to even think for the humans to put their hands through a few boughs. It’s a fearsomely barbed fence. But cats, monkeys, squirrels, chameleons scamper through it without much concern. The birds land upon it with as much ease as they show while landing on a flower.

I see two peacocks rustle through the thorny maze almost effortlessly. Their entire bodies seem to carry natural intelligence, allowing them to go along the path of existence with amazing fluidity. We, on the other hand, have too big conscious part in our brains, which clouds our natural intelligence with fears, phobias, illusions and false assumptions. No wonder, I get a prick as and when I try to pluck a leaf from the tree. They, the rest of the non-human species, don’t bother beyond a few basic points and glide joyfully in the process of living. We humans, on the other hand, carry a huge burden of awareness that usually brings us down instead of elevating us higher.

Village of the apes

 

As the ever-effacing scythe of time reaps on, it’s no longer the same world. We have turned out to be a sensationalist species. Our riling and abrasive march on the path has forced the lesser species to go hush-hush and move prohibitively, trying to stay away from our snipes and barbaric barbs.

But our simian friends, the co-sharers of our gloriously compulsive traits, still hold out the baton from the side of the lower species. Everything from flowers to jewellery is under risk. How can things be normal with so many monkeys around? The situation is grim. Sometime in future, I apprehend a ‘Planet of the Apes’ kind of scenario.

The rhesus monkeys aren’t simply driven by instincts. They surely have a strong intent to carry out their thuggery. They love breaking, ruffling, toppling and shuffling things. To watch their misdeeds is an illustrated treat in itself. They deftly handle the myriad strands of foolhardiness to spin out most outrageous of stage scenes. Their sexuality is decidedly warped like their more evolved brethren. I see two monkeys going normally over the top of a wall. Suddenly, the one behind jumps onto the haunches of the one in front and feigns vigorous, avaricious pelvic thrusts to pacify the pangs of lust lying forever unsatisfied in the psychic realms. It’s a blatant slap on our norms. A typical tome of their mischief.