The missing towel

 Early mornings in early winters have a mild chill. So here I’m draped in a chador, the best way the farmers and their ilk feel warm. Give them the best of a thermal clothing, which would keep one warm even in Antarctica, but the farmers would feel unequipped against cold in the absence of chador or blanket load over them. It only shows the level of habits in shaping our realities.

So here I’m draped in a light chador picking up fresh clothes to wear after a bath. The set of clothes slung over my arm, I’m looking for the missing towel. The towel has gone missing. It gives me concern as I go searching over the place. Then the concern turns to irritation for the inconvenience caused due to the missing towel. Then arrives self-justification. I’m sure that I always place my things at their proper place. So the reason for the missing towel must be someone else, not me. My family members can hear my uneased exclamations over the missing towel as I wander around looking for it. It’s not to be found anywhere. I’m sure that I cannot be so careless as to put it at a place where it cannot be found. There is a prompt conclusion that someone else has misplaced it—the very same old habit of putting the blame outside of one’s own self. ‘I always place it here, someone has misplaced it for sure!’ they hear my summarized mutter over the episode.

Then it’s found. All of them are staring at me as it’s found. It’ there on my shoulder, hidden by the fold of chador draped around me. That was the first item I had picked up but then the chador corner must have slipped over and while adjusting it the towel got hidden. So here I stand with my lost towel found now. The towel that was always with me. But for whom I had already gone searching out, looked for the missing cause outside and already made judgments about others as their cause.

It’s deeply humbling to be caught so wrong-footed, to be caught so unaware. It only shows the level of unawareness we carry with ourselves on a daily basis. Then we go for a frantic search over the missing towel, the towel that was never lost. We go out on a search outside and naturally look for the reasons for its misplacement in other people.

Well, the towel is always there. But it’s hidden in the deep folds of the chador of unawareness. The chador of unawareness spun of a conditioned and customized self; made of the threads of limiting beliefs, fears, insecurities. Unawareness is draped around us like a chador’s folds and hides the towel of our real self. And thinking the towel missing, i.e., our real essential self, we go on a frantic search. We believe it to be outside. And when we don’t find it, obviously we blame others.

Like the missing towel we have lost touch with our real self. The hiding blanket of unawareness draped around us gives us a false sense of security against cold and vicissitudes of life. The towel of our real self hidden among its folds. And we going on a futile search, feeling restless, wading our way through the network of family, friends, relatives, acquaintances. Assuming them or the larger world outside to be the cause of the missing towel. And we won’t feel the real rest till we find the missing towel. It but is nowhere to be found. How will it be found outside? It has been with us all along this time. But we have moved far and wide. We judge and blame others for the missing towel. We try different occupations, careers, faiths, belief systems and relationships to find the missing towel but fail.

The experience was deeply humbling. How our unawareness is the cause of all the unhappiness. From the missing towel to the estrangement with our true essential self, it’s the same germ of unawareness that begets us unhappiness and suffering. We just need to watch, understand and be aware of all that goes within and around us. Then maybe suddenly we find the towel slung right there on our own shoulder for whom we had covered miles after miles. 

The sunburnt rose

 I’m a sunburnt rose in the little garden of a common man. My smile is singed with scorching May heat. These are the scorched edges born of my battle to survive and smile and spread fragrance and give nectar to these little creamy white butterflies that flutter around. They draw life from me and I take inspiration from them. Aren’t they small flying petals bravely flirting with the hot wind in this scorching heat?

I won’t say the margins of my petals are burnt. I would say they are the embroidery work born of my flirtatious ways to kiss the sunrays.  Well, no shame in that. My law is to smile, flirt, kiss and get kissed and spread fragrance. If that gives me burnt lips that’s no problem. And no problem with the sunrays either. They are what they are. I don’t blame them. Their law is to warm, mine is to smile. Don’t they give life to my frozen petals in the winters after a frosty night? When the frost melts on my lips to make me the seductive prince in the garden.

Well, that was then and now is now. Why compare dew-fresh lips with parched ones? Both are beauties in their own ways. Most importantly, both are smiles in different conditions. So no problem with the furnace of sunrays. Now they give me this beautiful embroidered smile, marking their craze for me over the borders of my petals. They can’t help it. They are in love. I look majestic with the mark of their love on my lips. Don’t I? I do, I know.

We are a few flowery soldiers fighting for love, truth and beauty on a branch. I’m in the front and would take the lead in getting my authenticity singed and branded on my petals by the fiery kiln. Then my deputy stands in wait. He would be leading the smiley charge once my burnt petals scatter to the winds. And after him, the little bud that you see just getting ready to hold the baton for love and beauty will take charge.

Love, beauty and truth are what we convey and carry across our generations. No wonder, we survive as a single entity named ‘rose’. A symbol of beauty and love. And of course smile. So we have to smile at all costs under any circumstance. If a rose won’t smile, I’m afraid smile would vanish from this small planet.

‘I’ and ‘we’ smile simultaneously. ‘I’ and ‘we’ are just the same. Due to this sameness between ‘I’ and ‘we’, I can still enjoy the full handsome youthful smile of my deputy as if it’s my own. I’m happy that all of us are roses only, not Mr. or Miss x, y, z, etc. For then our smiles would scatter and turn to pieces and my smile would become different from other roses. Thankfully we are spared of that fate.  

A smile isn’t just for full, luscious lips. It’s there for dry, parched, thirsty lips as well. A smile on parched, thirsty lips is a smile of bravery, conviction, wisdom, fortitude and determination, like mine as of now. A smile on full, luscious lips is a smile of youth, of romantic dreams, adventures and excitement like that of my deputy. A smile on a child’s lips is the purest, a rose itself. See, can you see it in the little daughterly bud? Now forget all the nagging facts of life and smile for a moment. If I can do it under the hot fiery sun, you can at least do it with all the equipment there to help you keep safe from direct bombardment by the sun.

The book of life

Aha the book of life! Every day a new chapter. Each incident, happening or phenomenon a fresh sentence with profound meanings.

The new sun rising on a misty morning arriving with the message that there is always light after dark to help us see and realize the illusions and unwarranted fears that we imposed on us in the dark.

The setting sun saying ‘a smiling bye’ with a message that one has to accept and willingly dive into oblivion after a dazzling day, after touching the peak of brilliance, after a full-hearted bear hug with life, after completing an innings in career or a relationship. That a ripe fruit has to drop, that once very dear people will go out of life, that smiles will be followed by tears as well. Accept. That we have to accept this play of existence in totality and that includes smiles-tears, win-loss, falling in love, partings, birth-death. Everything.

The shifting shades and reshaping clouds in the sky brimming with the message of change and impermanence, of new forms overtaking the old ones, of a smooth transition, of the old changing into the new without any drama, without any hassles.

Mother earth holding this portion of existence on her maternal palm with unconditional love and the undying spirit of just giving all that Her children need. The message of giving! How much more satisfying it seems in comparison to taking! That we evolve by a great margin just by giving a smile. And ‘taking’ also is highly undervalued. If we ‘take’ with a smile and gratitude, doesn’t it create a ‘giver’ who became joyful for the act? Mother existence prefers a graceful and full of gratitude ‘taker’ than a cranky ‘giver’. Give with a smile of kindness and empathy; take with a smile of gratitude. To mother existence these are simply two facets of the same coin.

The chirping of birds conveying the spirit of keeping songs alive on one’s lips even while engaged in the day-to-day commitments and routine practicalities of life. Their free flights spreading the fragrance of freedom, the urge to fly on one’s own path.

The trees with the message of growth irrespective of the changing environment and the divine instinct of giving fresh air, shade to the weary traveller, inspiration to artists, nests to the birds, fruits for the hungry. A new shoot sprouting from the cut on their bark. The message  that we too can get fresh colors and shoots to our personality at the points of cuts, wounds, adversities.

The flowers with the message that smiles carry the touch of divinity, that fragrant petals and nectar fuel the colorful sorties of many butterflies, that we too touch many lives positively with our gentle manners, smiles and sweetness of temperament. That our rainbowed touch can make many people joyful like nectar-satiated butterflies. We smile, say soft words, treat them gently and they soar high and become joyful.

Beautiful relationships with the message that our travel-weary heart, mind and body need a soft touch, a cool brace, a healing bonhomie; that friends, family, relatives, partners, lovers are all there to help us cross a milestone on our eternal journey and then melt and get reshaped like clouds in the sky. But we carry the invisible imprint of their persona on our selves. It’s firmer than a line on stone. People might have tears on account of you, once the pathways have parted, but ensure that the tears are accompanied by a smile as well so that the dry tears don’t singe someone’s soul.

A river in the hills, furiously cutting big boulders, passing the message that we have to raise a blizzard of karma to later enjoy a peaceful flow in the plains and later merge into the bigger serenity of the sea. That we have to cut karmic stones to come out of the stones, walk joyfully on the plain of relationships, kindness, care, share and finally sleep in the lap of mother sea.  

The silence in a forest loaded with the message that this is what all the words and languages point to, the language of silence, the mother of all sermons and preachings.

The exotic chaos and cluttering noise in a city heavily pregnant with the message that all of us are destined to wade through inner conflicts, puzzles, trauma and tension like common people beautifully engaged in the sweet-sour poignancy of the cities.

Falling in love loaded with joy, pleasure, care and share. It tells how important these feelings are for our wellbeing. Just recall the feeling of bliss while freshly in love! Isn’t that wonderful?

Falling out of love, tears, pain and suffering passing the message that we always could have been better lovers. In any case, it’s always for the best in future. We just become better lovers after partings.

Everything around us is full of messages. The book of life! Observe it, feel it, understand it. It opens the experiential dimension in life. With experiential knowing the phantoms of intellect and mind take a backseat. They always bow down to the confident sovereign, the soul, the observer now fully aware of its kingdom, its colors, shapes, hues, everything.

The beauty of carefully reading the book of life is that we learn to touch our own self, our own body, mind, thoughts and emotions with more empathy and self-love. We fall in love with life overall. We simply come out of the definition of life within this particular body and feel related to the life overall. Then we touch many lives very-very positively. We become healers without trying to do it intentionally. It’s just a natural state of being in that dimension. Happy reading the book of life!

Balance. Balance. Balance.

 Uncontrolled emotions will turn us suicidal, depressed and at the most a brooding misfitted poet. Uncontrolled mind will leave us open to the chance workshop of the devil. Anything negative may come out as a dark product. Uncontrolled energies will see us lunatics. Uncontrolled biology will find us turning into sex maniacs and rapists. Having control over life is only meant to avoid a 'part' of our nature or existence from becoming 'everything', thus shadowing all other dimensions of life. We get hijacked by one impulse. Then it's a stunted growth. Holistic growth, call it evolution, needs Balance among various aspects of our existence. As Buddha said Balance is the key to a really joyful life. Keep the parts in place. Maintain all the impulses firmly in place. Don't deny any part of your existence but please don't allow just 'parts' to be 'whole'. It's a multicolored bouquet with fresh flowers of body, mind, emotions, energies. Maintaining Balance among them gets us a fulfilling life full of nice relationships, jobs, growth, faith, love, kindness. If we are driven by just one impulse then it acquires too big a force, driving us in one direction, imbalanced, and we turn mere products of our impulse and randomly developing circumstances. Use all the 'parts' of your existence and we become creators of our own self. Because there is no excess of one particular driving force. As humans we can grow and evolve only as creators, not as circumstantial products. To be a mere product would be degradation and disregard for the tremendous potential of awareness that mother nature has given us. So again remember: Balance, Balance and Balance. At least listen to Buddha if not me! Everyone talks of Balance but how to do it, one may wonder. There is a very simple technique for it. Allow yourself to be softly braced by various aspects of life that touch and test the different parts of your existence. Live an experiential life in totality and allow mother existence to caress your multilayered and multidimensional self in various forms at the level of body, mind, emotions and energies. Don't run away or shun any particular aspect of life. Embrace the experiences that come your way. And where all are sovereigns, nobody would emerge as a tyrant to manipulate your life in an imbalanced way. 

A dandy lizard on a summer noon

 A shikra is a light-built hawk, ashy blue-gray on the top and rusty brown underside. It loves open, meagerly wooded country. It’s a swift flier, almost incredibly elegant, with quick strokes of wings ending in a glide. It flies close to the ground and shoots upwards to grab a perch upon a branch with solitary sovereignty. Hereafter, it gives a desiccating look for any mice, small bird, lizard or squirrel who, perchance, lowers its guard for a moment that may allow it to sire a successful hunt. It may seem to carry a kind of effeminate nonchalance for a hawk but its birdie persona is interspersed with enough skill to dispense with the life of any little rodent that turns careless even for a moment.

The predator gives a piercing, harsh, challenging call. Well, now it eyes a love-struck pair of garden lizards in the branches of the curry leaf tree basking at the peak of heat with its exotic elegance. Tiny clusters of whitish flowers leave aromatic pools of air around the couple. There are honeybees and butterflies enjoying the feast even in the noontime heat setting up a lifeful rhythm. Tiny guys expertly, uncomplainingly facing life’s gubernatorial challenges. The bees, the butterflies and the in-love garden lizards make it festively buoyant. A melding interface of food, love, death; the elements juxtaposed so nearby, side by side. I muse with a stoic smile: a circumstantial texture peppered upon the small tree; dismal indices of smallish ironies; and God’s inherent instinct of eternality above and beyond all this.

The noon is meticulously bright. Swathed in the distressing pools of longing, the male lizard is bright orange around its torso, she a shy soft pink. Hypnotized by the jingling placations of love-lust combo, they are perfectly oblivious to the hawk eye peering at them through the leaves from a top branch in the tree. Then the hawk falls through the branches like it has been shot dead, a free fall. They are lucky that the tree has enough leaves left on it to make it a noisy fall. The sexual energy quickly transforms into panic and they forget the tentacles of love and take onto their heels, individually, separately, for life. They become invisible. The hawk changes many look-out positions to spot the runaway couple. They are not to be seen. Changing colors in league with the times, a nice tactic to dupe and survive.

I have seen them a few times earlier also, enjoying the moments of togetherness; looking out for a healthy moment to join their bodies for the full fruition of love-lust combo. Seeing them together is almost mirth-exuberating spectacle. Looking at the way he has to change many colors, I feel that he is forever trying to deal with fresh tantrums from her bountiful books. As a dandy lizard, the male carries a lot of confidence of cosmic magnitude, a sort of self-assured, heraldic march, especially when its girlfriend is around. It raises its head and stares at you head-on. I have no doubt that it wants to impress her with a brave stance against we humans. I have faced situations where he has stared at me with gutsy posture from just a few feet away. Comfortably ensconced in a successful love’s saddle, anybody would give the impression of a king feeling robustly positive and on top of this world after self-coronation. Aaah, the heat, follies and dew-moistened rosy auguries of love, or maybe lust, maybe both together, sometimes one over the other and sometimes the reverse! In fact the combo is highly shapeless to define it in a particular way. But I’m happy that it didn’t repeat the same folly while facing the hawk and showed a clean pair of crawling paws, otherwise the lady would have lost her love necessitating her to go seeking love again after a few sad moments.