Imperfection: a stepping stone to perfection

 

I think we can avoid abusing the things that keep us alive, that give us this day, that shape our life (in whatever shape it might be). Whatever the texture, shape and structure, it still is our life. It’s still a flower (even if it’s badly mauled and ruffled by the circumstances) and it still belongs to the genre called ‘life’. And the manifestation as a ‘life’ is an incentive by default. We are manifested and still get a chance to evolve and manifest more. A blade of grass manifesting its life in famished desert sands is as important as a luxurious devdar in rich, salubrious, rain-fed hills.

This body, parents, siblings, friends, partners, deities, everything in fact has been responsible for this life that we see defining us at the moment. Irrespective of what we think of them presently, didn’t they touch our lives positively and meaningfully when we needed them or crossed path with them? Please recall that spark and excitement when we initially met them!

We meet people on the way and move on and meet new people further on the way. That doesn’t mean that the ones left behind were bad and the new ones arriving in life are better. They are equally good or bad. Everyone is equally imperfect, but even with their imperfections they have something to offer to us and we to them, which shapes one phase of the journey. They are the ones who get us to a point of being positively touched by the newer people.

If I judge those who were left behind, it would be like condemning the lower steps on a ladder after getting to the higher ones. Would we have reached the top step—for example, reaching a stage of finding an ideal soul mate—if not for those nice lower steps, those lovely people with whom we broke up in the past? The relationships are like a ladder. It’s a journey basically. Different people that we meet are beautiful, strong steps on the ladder that bear the weight of our feet and help us take the next step. And we are just the same to them. We too were low at the time when we met them and that’s why we stepped on that rung and found it helpful. So did they.

All steps, lower and higher, are equally important. All the people we connect with, all relationships, all situations and experiences are various steps on the ladder. The problem is that we judge them vertically like a ladder standing upright, in terms of high and low, good and bad. Life isn’t a vertical ladder. It’s multidimensional in nature. It unfolds in layers. All the people that we meet are equally high and low at various points. So honor the people that came along the way. They have given us this life as we see it now. We can avoid abusing these various steps on the ladder of life.

Acceptance of the uncontrollables in life and gratitude for what is done (ignoring what wasn’t done) save us from abusing the things, situations and people who have helped us live one way or the other. Respecting them is as good as respecting life.

The unknown graves of Sufism and a Sufi Shahjada

Humayun's tomb was built by his wife Hamida Bano Begum...I like this emperor because he died in his library, not the bloodied battlefield. And his mausoleum is a beautiful precursor to the great Taj Mahal. The grand beauty of Taj doesn't stand in abstract and doesn't sprout on its own. This modestly grand tomb is the inspiration behind the majestic Taj. You can say it's Taj Mahal in infancy. 

Made mostly of red sand stone, with thin marble inlays, it contains many structures (containing about 150 graves in 60 chambers) within the sprawling complex. It's a mosaic of architectural styles blending Rajput and Iranian styles such as jharokhe (windows), projections of the entrance, arches having elephant trunks, arches having circular medallions. Interestingly, there is a structure named Bu Halima, probably named after a famous Arab dancer. 

Had Dara Shikhon, the Sufi Shajada, become the emperor of India, he would have been a great Sufi, philosopher and King combined in the rarest of a rare combination. To understand Upnashids and translate them in Persian one has to be the master of soul as well as languages. I'm mesmerized looking at his massive commentary on Upanishads... This is something phenomenal... simply out of this world.

 

His life is a testament to the fact that it's possible to be 'a prince with esteemed spiritual values'. A unique royal personality, he tried to walk on the unorthodox bridge between the royal palace and the Sufi Khanqah. He possessed keen interest in Hindu thought and philosophy and in pursuit of that interest he commissioned translation of many Hindu sacred texts into Persian. 

 

A prolific writer he chronicled the life of 400 Sufi saints in his work Sufinat-ul-Aulia. In another work named Risala-i-Haq Nama he sets up a treatise on the path to the divine. In Hasanat-ul-Arifin he delves into Hindu thought through Ramayana and Krishna stories. Most importantly, his translation of Upanishads into Persian shows the depth of his soul and vastness of his mind. The beloved prince of the masses believed that Sufis and Hindus share the essential core of mystical truth.

 

Had he become the emperor of India, it would have been a different India altogether. But he was killed by his Islamic zealot brother Aurangzeb who ruled with sword on hardcore communal Islamic principles. The latter left enough communal mud for the current Hindu nationalists to wallow in it for political gain. The voice of sanity and secularism lies buried in one of the dozens of graves in the Humayun tomb complex, unrecognized, unsung. Auragzeb was very punitive towards his secular brother. He buried him in an unknown grave. The historians haven't so far been able to recognize the Sufi prince's cenotaph. I think his grave should be discovered and a separate memorial should be built in memory of this great philosopher prince whose life symbolizes our composite culture.  

Poets of the past....eight centuries back... it's an overpowering feeling to look at their work at the museum ...sooooo impressive...the great poet Amit Khusro's works at the museum.

Amir Khusro's Shirin-o-Khusro (1298-1301) deals with the tragic love story of Emperor Khusro and Armenian princess Shirin. It's a grand feeling to look at a copy at the museum. The ancient book decorated with gold borders in Nastaliq calligraphy by a master calligrapher and containing many illustrations by a master painter. 

Imagine Rumi's 25000 couplets drenched with universality for love and compassion. That was the time when Sufism, the jewel in the crown of Islam, was at its peak. Sufism that stood for unity of faith across various religions, Sufism that was liberal, Sufism that was mystical Islam's loveliest prayer to the Almighty. Unfortunately Sufism too was buried in an unknown grave like Prince Dara by the hardcore, fundamentalist Islam. It would have been a different world had Sufism become the public face of Islam.  

Solitary trail

 A solitary trail...all of us have a solitary trail, our very own...where we are face to face with ourselves. Where the small worldly self walks with the larger Self...where each step is a quantum jump in evolution...where the destination doesn't hark you, you become your own destination. You inhale wellness, you spread your wings, you float...where you get a causeless smile...this trail is available wherever you are situated, even in densely populated cities. You just need to feel it and then follow its alluring call.. seek your solitary trail, own it, stamp your love on it...

A tiny natural design

 A little piece of flawless design in a tiny pool somewhere in the cozy lap of a little valley surrounded by small hills. Nature has its own mystical symmetries. We just imitate poorly. Salutes mother nature. The more I read you, the more I go deeper into your mystical pools.

Melting after full blossoming

Picture 1: It clings and stinks. It doesn't want to give. It dies a painful elongated death. It doesn't surrender to change and holds its youth's bloom in a fist, a constriction, a knot, a stagnation. It will be there till it turns ugly. The glory of its past will be overshadowed by the piteous whine of its present. A painful event stuck up in the loop of time.

Picture 2: It opens up fully. It gives all it has to open up and scatter its still fragrant petals as a homage to gentle winds, balmy afternoon winters and keenly awaiting mother earth. It showers beauty. It's a drizzle of joy. It's not death. This is ecstatic disintegration for the larger integration. A process! A fluidity beyond the constraints of space and time.