Romancing with pause in a little world

 

There is so much to learn at each step I take in the countryside. Wild grasses, flowers, bushes and shrubs hold their secret for stiffed arrogant hasty walkers who go determinedly in pursuance of a monetary goal. But they smile, greet and lay bare their secret to anyone taking a pause, look carefully and caress some wild flower. There is so much to learn about small things in life.

Common water hyacinth might be called ‘terror of Bengal’ due to its invasive tendency, but here it’s no terror. The aquatic plant freely floats on water edges. Its buoyant bulbous stalks hold green glossy leaves. Some of them have lavender flowers.

This is late October and this little patch of wilderness between the canals is adorned with its blooms. Urena lobata (Caesarweed or Congo jute) are tender shrubs. They have small pink-violet flowers where a little group of white butterflies is having a peaceful nectar feast on this noon.

There are eucalyptus, neem, sheesham, mulberry, peepal, banyan trees along the canal bunds safely holding the undergrowth around them. The local forestry department has planted some blackboard trees (scholar tree or milkwood). The latter have prospered well here. Their glossy leathery leaves are found in whorls of six or seven.

Carrot grass (Congress ghas or Santa Maria feverfew) has grown very well without feeling guilty about its invasive worthlessness. It’s not maligned as an invading weed here in this little free ribbon of wilderness between the canals and on the outer bunds on both sides. But its tiny white flowers can cause pollen allergies for those sensitive to it. On the optimistic side, some researches are proceeding to look into its heavy metal removing properties. Mother nature still holds lots of secrets in her coffers for we the kids to explore.

Common cockle bur has hooked projections. The burs stick to the clothes of solitary loungers like me, probably recalling our attention to their medicinal properties.

Prickly chaff flowers (devil’s horsewhip) have spikes with reflexed flowers arranged on a long peduncle. Not too suitable to caress and go near, but they have uses in dropsy, piles and boils.

Common mugwort (riverside wormwood) forms a lush green carpet of little frilled leaves.

Senna hirsute is a smiling yellow-flowered beauty crowned with joyful butterflies hovering around.

Pampas grass flaunts its rustling silvery inflorescences. It’s the stalwart of the grassy world reaching up to four meters, almost forming a second-tier tree-line below the bigger trees. Their blade-like leaves make rustling music as their cut the breeze to contrive natural percussions.

Saccharum spontaneum (kansh grass) is a perennial grass growing to three meters. It’s useful for making thatched roofs.

Then there are reeds having their resident colonies of weaverbirds and warblers.

I caress yellow common wireweed flowers as I walk gently in this little slice of solitude on this noon. There are some fish ponds at some distance from the canals. Black kites and cormorants fly to steal fish. This is a little strip of solace for me. It holds a few units of wilderness in its ribbon-like sojourn across the cropped fields on both sides of the canals. You cannot see much on both sides as kansh grass and elephant grass provide a suitable fencing. When I take gentle footsteps across the shrubs, bushes and grass, I get the feel of a forest. Especially at noontime the quotient of solitariness goes up by several notches as the farmers have returned home and even the distant voices cease to exist to cut across the natural fencing.

A slow walk with a goatherd

 

There is still some space left for their goats where the farmers won’t harass them. It’s a Tsunami of ‘development’ propelled by the parasitical growth in the Delhi NCR. There are more and more roads and industries planned to relieve Delhi of the unbearable urban pressure. The agricultural farms are rapidly changing into industrial plots; district roads into national highways and expressways; and the dusty farm-side cart tracks of yore are now tarred single-lane connectivity. It’s a business boom; the air is buzzing with the talk of money. The value of agricultural land is going up to reach crores of rupees per acre. There are bigger cars, swankier houses, louder talks and mountainous pride and prejudices. The countryside is shifting to a completely new shape.

There are last traces of wilderness among this progressive clang and clatter. Two canals go side by side, taking easy turns, giving each other a rippling company. Their embankments have almost a free growth. The forty-feet dividing bund between them is covered with pampas grass, weeds, bushes and grasses. Walking on a thin foot-trail running across this growth gives you the feel of serenading in a peaceful forest. Tall growth on the outer bunds provides you a natural wall to nurture your moments of solitude. You hear the sound of tractors but you cannot see them, hence you feel miles away from the humanity’s banging and clanging ways.

He is a man in mid-sixties; his companion a lad of maybe twenty. They have a combined goatherd of fifty goats. They are Balmikis. Their day starts around eleven when they set out with their goats on the unclaimed, free patch of grassy ribbon between the canals. Their goats can freely graze here. They cannot enter the cropped fields on both sides, so it avoids kicks and abuses by the angry farmers. There is fresh water and plenty of grass for the goats.

The old man is clad in shabby all whites. He looks full of wisdom and contentment with his thick snow-white beard on a weather-beaten dark face. They talk, walk, lie down and even stay silent through the day. The bigger world, though not too far in physical distance, is far-far away. They aren’t into calculations and numbers. ‘How many goats do you have?’ I ask. ‘Well, this is all we have. Maybe a few are behind the bushes,’ the elderly man introduces his assets. ‘How do you come to know which goat belongs to either of you?’ I’m carrying the inertia of ownership of property from the village. ‘The goats know better. They all look the same. But once they reach home, they are smart enough to segregate and walk into their respective homes. There is never any confusion. They know better,’ he shares the goatee basics of wisdom.

Both groups have a bull each and the patriarchs are on good terms with each other, knowing that there is nothing to fight about. Things are clearly sorted with a natural understanding.

They sell some of the grown-up goats whenever budgetary requirements arise. The goats graze and contentedly live; the owners also manage a small slice of life almost on the same level of hierarchy. ‘A good goat sells for ten thousand rupees,’ he tells the basics of their economy.

He hasn’t got his old-age pension even though he is eligible for it for the last five years at least. He has adhar card, voter card and ration card but the crucial age proof is missing. The age on the mentioned documents isn’t sufficient to validate his pension entitlement. Those who have attended school can present a registered proof from the school’s past records. Even then it’s a tough job and one has to bribe a few months pension to avail the right. Those who haven’t got a school leaving certificate and a matric mark sheet have the option of getting an age certificate from the civil hospital. There the doctors believe in your youth. They won’t believe you are sixty till you are seventy.

He is happy because he doesn’t believe that even he can get a pension. An amount of 3000 rupees/month can surely help him a lot at this stage of life. ‘You have already lost 180000 rupees of pension money during the last five years since you turned eligible for it,’ I bring hard commerce and economics in this little slice of solitude. I myself feel the pinch of his loss. But he seems unaffected because he doesn’t expect it at all.

He is landless, illiterate, unskilled, and very low in the so-called caste hierarchy. From the pit of his existence it’s impossible to look high and think of pension. Life itself is such a big loss right from the beginning, so you don’t care about smaller losses. ‘How much money I will lose if I live to be hundred?’ he asks. I calculate the sum and give him the figure. It’s a big sum in lakhs. ‘And you lose all this because you cannot arrange a bribe of 10,000 rupees,’ I tell him the reason for his loss. ‘And who would think of pension if had 10,000 rupees to fill their pockets!’ he laughs loudly. I’m ashamed of my calculative ways. Now it dawns upon me that he is happy in his small world, where he has some little rights of free grass on a ribbon of wilderness. Any additional information from calculating and educated people will disturb his peaceful world. At least the grass is still free. Let’s see how and when even this thin ribbon of free wilderness vanishes, making him possibly the last goatherd in this tiny world.

The Unknowable

 Talking about the ultimate reality, Osho said it’s that stage in the journey of a seeker when after knowing everything still more remains to be known. Material science tried to crack the code and frantically searched for the fundamental particle that cannot be further divided. If ever they arrive at the primary material constituent, they can claim to know all and everything. There won’t be any unknowable. But as they have found, there is no fundamental entity. All the previously assumed smallest entities kept on subdividing, finally merging into the endless depths where everything merged into nothingness, leaving them clueless where to spot the primary constituent. All this merges into the never-ending spools of energy, sparks, vibrations and frequencies. It’s a screen where even our thoughts, emotions and feelings—which itself is a movement of subtle energies as substantial as the gross manifestations of energy movement on the visible level—can project our own creations. And creations of physical sciences have created many means of convenience for us.

I would even deter myself from calling it maya, the illusion, because we can call something illusion only in relation to something permanent. There is hardly any permanent entity, apart from the unknowable rule of the rules which says the first part of the statement.

If there is no ultimate destination, one may ask, then why should one go on a quest to know, realize or feel the secrets beyond the boundaries of our ordinary sense perception. If all remains to be known after knowing everything then why take the path. Why this quest? In my opinion, it’s our humble attempt at upgradation. Consider for example, the routine life of someone defined by the basic driving forces of sense perception, the life set on the most basic, littlest stage where basic instincts of fear, greed, anger, jealousy and hate confine life into a tiny ghetto which is very engaging. This is no moral judgment against anyone who sets up life in a tiny cell. It’s never about morality or immorality or a higher life or lower life. In my opinion, it’s about the actualization of the potential. All are free to choose. If one can be joyful in the little so called prison, then what is the problem? Why then hatch a bigger one?

Coming to the life at the most rudimentary level, I however take it as a life spent in a tiny cell, its boundaries defined by self-set parameters, majority of them simply adopted in the name of conventions and prevalent beliefs. Where is the creator, the godly faculty with us, if we spend life merely as a product, as a creation? The problem with spending life in a little hovel is that there is hardly any possibility of becoming one’s best version. One doesn’t become a creator. The things that pile up in the congested space narrow down the space further. The grip of the prison turns to literally enslavement. As one sees things piled so precariously overhead in such a narrow space, we get further scared of its fall. We crib because we hardly have the space to move.

Doesn’t a prisoner feel very relaxed, if he is let out from the cellar and allowed to go into the yard outside? He feels relaxed. He will feel still better if put in a spacious garden, and still better in open spaces. Same is the case with us. We want to evolve, to liberate, to move freely, to feel relaxed, a sum and summary of that nagging pinch of restlessness that always reminds us that something is missing in life. Under the open skies and the vision set on the distant horizon, we get opportunity to create, the real destiny of mankind in this avatar—not in relation to anything in particular but freely as per our benchmarks. We know that there is still something beyond the horizon—and the horizon will keep shifting as long as we keep on moving in our quest—but we don’t feel imprisoned because there is no fixed boundary. The limitation of our vision to make us see till the horizon doesn’t create a fixed boundary. One can move on and on and be part of a larger and larger reality. This is what I call creation, the basic steps towards liberation. Liberation is not about reaching the boundary, the final destination, because in that case one will still be a prisoner with the ultimate wall blocking the view. Liberation is in moving towards an ever-broadening horizon. Out of the open possibility, we change the congested cell into an open panorama where the unknown doesn’t imprison, but keeps on beckoning us through a see through walk-able horizon in the distance.

I don’t differentiate too much between knowing and awareness. Knowing is the seed that sprouts the fruits of awareness. Knowing is the beginning of awareness. The awareness of more and more leads to the realization of something beyond even knowing and awareness. Call it Samadhi, moksha or liberation. The enlightened ones whom we revere are not the ones who have cracked the code. Nobody can. The honest ones will accept, the businessmen types will create more wordiness to drown the primary question within itself and earn some more respect from the followers. The revered ones are the ones who created the most. Who walked to the distant most horizons, who walked to the brink of liberation and realized that come whatever may, it’s the same circle beginning and ending at the same point. One spreads and spreads the awareness to finally realize the point. Awareness spreads so much to be sucked into a point. Realisation is all awareness condensed into a point. A divine sublimation. This is the creation of the little seat of godliness. They inspire, they guide, they heal, they do most of the things we believe them to be capable of, but beyond that all remains still as much unknowable as before.

One more drop of sweetness in a bitter world

 Scorching heat... spring died...flowers withered. But life has to continue till flowers bloom once again. With temperature around 40 and flowers gone, these honeybees look like desert travellers busy around an oasis. Water level in the tiny vessel was low, so many of them slipped down the edges while attempting to take tiny swigs of water. One can use love, care and help in any corner of the world. It polishes the aesthetics of humanity. A little practice to be more human. Goodness is qualitative in nature. It doesn't need quantity to get certified as a good deed. Main thing is one's emotion. So here I take my quantum jump in evolution by filling the bucket to the brim so that these little thirsty visitors safely perch on the upper edge and drink water without risking their lives. They get water, I become more aware of the godliness in me. Profit both ways. Vaah, what a fruitful day!

An interesting phase in Indian politics

 

The power equation has a very common thread among the power aspirations—you want to be the real controller of affairs; you have an impulse against sharing it with centralization-diluting people, groups and institutions. There is hardly any chance to come across a politician who doesn’t want all-out power in his own hands. The only deciding factor is to what extent he can manage it. So we can safely say that all politicians are basically cult aspirants. From this point, Modi is justified in trying to rise above his own party and the parent organization, the RSS. But the trends after two phases of parliamentary elections give rise to a pertinent question: Is cult politics (which can be safely called electoral autocracy) feasible in India?  

To seek answer to this question, we have to first find out where it’s practical and effective to operate the politics of cult. Of course the communist countries come very close to set up a system that easily digests the mythical cult of an individual because systematically the entire society is cut in the same fabric, doing away with socio-economic and religious diversities. In a beautifully manicured field, it’s very easy for one sturdy sunflower to stand in the middle and function as the all-go point of authority. It is also possible in the mono-religious, theocratic societies, predominantly Muslim countries for example. There is a firm, homogenous hold of faith over the people and in this evenly leveled society an individual can easily rise above and rule over the rest.   

However, cult formation in a massively varied society like India is a big challenge. There are so many regional disparities, economic variations, caste categories and religions. It’s an exciting jungle of different plants and trees having varying heights. How far you will go to be at the same height from all of them? You cannot serve as a common denominator to all of them as a cult figure unless you use brute force or do something as drastic as changing the constitution itself, both of which are virtually impossibilities in the Indian set up. There are so many centrifugal forces always pulling the power away from the center. You can have some moments of a total grasp but things will slip out of hand because India is an exotic Pandora box. And that’s where the uniqueness of this great country lies. We love our freedom of not being perfect. We are a bouquet of colors which is so appealing to this rapidly mono-coloring world. We are an exotic chaos which is far more interesting than any order. We have earned our freedom after centuries of subjugation and we would very much like to keep enjoying the spirit of freedom including the freedom of expression.  

You simply cannot rise above history by belittling past greats like Gandhi and Nehru. They had their own cult following but it was showered upon them by the people willingly and out of respect and affection. It wasn’t a product of their cult-formation direct endeavor. It was just an outcome of their sincere efforts for the welfare of their motherland.   

How big and effective a cult you can erect in such a diversified society as India depends on your personal capacity. And Modi has been the most effective and capable person since Nehru and Indira to rise above the hordes of power-diluting factors and rule as a supreme authority. Beyond judgments, I see it as a mark of his capabilities, his brilliant oratory and the spirit of keeping an unrelenting hold on all those around him. But in such a tight-gripped system in a democracy, there will always be tension among those whose powers have been diluted. They will look up to you with anxiety because you are keeping their loyalty by force. To maintain an unchallenged authority as the central figure it requires frequent purges like in communist and theocratic countries. But it isn’t possible to do so in its direct form in a democracy and that too the largest democracy which is always under the scanning radar of the world because what happens here has a direct bearing on the global democratic machinery. Yes the indirect tools of intimidation like ED, CBI, IT and other authorities work to an extent by keeping the opponents (both within and outside) cut down to a manageable size. But it is a deterrent only. You can just control your opponents till a point, not do away with them altogether.

One can feel a strong undercurrent of change in India after the two phases of elections. There is oversaturation with the brand Modi in people’s psyche. If you hear Modi-Modi one billion times, of course there will be a Modi fatigue. You lose that charm over people’s fancying spirits.

I think almost hundred percent media control is counterproductive. It discards the basic principle of safety valve. Freshness and newness are the basic elements of news that keep people glued to the news channels. The electronic media is so saturated with Modi narrative that it turned very boring for the common masses. Of course the diehard zealots would love watching it but they number very less. Most of the people would at the most like a leader instead of turning blind followers.

In the absence of a safety valve type dissenting outlet in the mainstream media, the journalists and critics who had been kicked out of the mainstream media platforms found their outlets through numerous social media platforms including YouTube channels, which have been highly effective in presenting a different aspect of the situation. People liked these interesting, discordant voices for their varying opinions. They had the element of fresh news. No wonder these platforms will have a decisive role in the current elections. Cheap internet plans allow the people to stay glued to their social media choices, who is even bothered about the television.

In his place I would have kept the ratio of 75:25 in the mainstream media—75 percent my narrative and 25 percent for the opposing voices. It would have acted like a safety valve and so many tiny punctures in the tube won’t have surfaced in the form of mushrooming social media channels. Of course Modi government has its own mushroom sprouts in social media as well but their content has been a copy of what people see on the television, so that also lost interest and hence viewership.

All in all it will be a very interesting election during the next phases and Modi, the master he is of our emotions, will of course try to raise a blizzard, trying to flare passion and bring out the critically opinioned and imbalanced persona in us and flock after his cult. How much he will succeed is to be seen.