About Me

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Hi, this is somebody who has taken the quieter by-lane to be happy. The hustle and bustle of the big, booming main street was too intimidating. Passing through the quieter by-lane I intend to reach a solitary path, laid out just for me, to reach my destiny, to be happy primarily, and enjoy the fruits of being happy. (www.sandeepdahiya.com)

Tuesday, December 31, 2024

Year end blessings

The last rays of the last sunset of 2019 in this solitary bowl of peace! A windlashed day when mountain wind seems to play flute through the cheer pines. A yellow billed blue magpie, a beautiful long tailed bird, chirps a song of farewell, as it flies into the feeble gold mist clinging to the last rays of the day. An end is just a new beginning! Wishing you all a warm, bright sunrise of a new day, a new year, a new beginning! Happy New Year Guys!!



Bid a forgiving bye to the last strands of grey on the last dusk of 2020, and open your eyes to a multi-hued, vibrant, happy and prosperous first dawn of 2021! Wishing everyone a very happy new year!





As Ruskin Bond says: 
"All this is pure nostalgia, of course, but why be ashamed of it?  Nostalgia is simply an attempt to try and preserve that which was good in the past...The past has served us: why not serve the past in this way."

Well, say a gentle bye to 2021. Even this must have something to smile about for you. A healthy nostalgia augurs well for the future. Wishing everyone a fulfilling and joyful 2022. Remember the good, forgive the wrong and take up the next step with a smile.


Blessings by Maa Ganga on the last day of 2023 for all you friends out there! Wish you all a very happy and joyful new year in advance!

Sunday, December 29, 2024

Musings from Morni hills

 'Love thy art, poor as it may be, which thou hast learned, and be content with it; and pass through the rest of life like one who has entrusted to the gods with his whole soul and all that he has, making thyself neither the tyrant nor the slave of any man.'

___ Marcus Aurelius (121 - 180).

Sunny sojourn in advance for the new year that is bound to be brighter and happier for all of us! In free-spirited celebratory mode with mother nature!

The misty sea on hill tops...




A stone isn't as heartless as we may think! It has juicy ounce of life and living at its core, wherefrom a tiny spark of life trickles out. The stone of course can brag about its clothing!

Valley frost is almost baby snow of small hills!

Somewhere, away from the maddening crowd, a two-roomed primary school cosily holds the elementary prospects of life, living and learning for 8 little students!

Sun-kissed stones possess molten hearts! Be a bit more aware and sensitive to feel the ripply souffle of life throbbing behind the Stony ramparts!

Could you see my blood and feel my solitudional pain?! Yours is red, mine is frozen white!

A coin and boiled rice on the tiny footpath leading to the little river! A sort of faithful offering. The coin waits for some school kid trudging uphill to get transformed into a sweet candy inside his/her cherishing mouth. The rice of course sets a sumptuous lunch for birds and insects, or who knows even jackals and wild boars!

Humans, We know you guys have terribly twisted brains that allow you to eat your own tail! I am trying a bit of twisty jig like u guys' brains! Tell me, does it sound aesthetic?!








Mountain eagle...glides in silent majesty...

A hill top swimming in the sea of fog...


Let there be hugely and mammothly majestic Victoria and Zambezi falls, I sing more melodies in my little vale! And mind you, I draw bigger sips of love, harmony, peace and contentment!!


Divine fluidity setting up an orchestra! Draw your own version of truth out of this! It's open to all interpretations!

Saturday, December 28, 2024

A sadhak nearing destination

 

Kaka Maharaj, who has been for many decades staying in a hut by the canal, is comfortable in holding three satsangs with me in a month. That is the time when we share, discuss—and even debate—about our versions of truth. He remains tethered to his hut and avoids contact with the people who he thinks carry too much worldly subjects within themselves which disturbs his sadhna. Once a month, he takes a solitary footpath to reach the temple outside the village where an idol of his guru is installed to pay homage on purnima.

He hadn’t visited the nearby town for more than a decade and seemed set to avoid it forever. But then he paid a little worldly price for holding satsang with me. He adores Dada Lakhmi Chand, the legendary folklorist from the area. A little test of his adoration: suppose he is just about to break your head with a brick and you just happen to say ‘Dada Lakhmi Chand’ and he would stop to listen what you have to say about the Shakespeare of Haryana. I spotted this chink in his armor and enticed him to the town. It was a feat in itself.

There was a biopic movie on Dada Lakhmi Chand shown at the newly constructed swanky, posh mall in the town. Ask him to visit the sansar of town and his weed-lit red eyes would throw daggers at you. He may even throw some object at you. So I suitably rolled the invitation with the name of his hero. As a result, he didn’t jump at the mention of ‘town’ like he would have normally. I could spot my chance and built my orchard around the great folklorist. I built up an imaginary world extolling the virtues of the biopic in highlighting the great Haryanvi poet. The result was that I could convince him to watch a movie—unimaginable—at a big mall. He who doesn’t find the idea of even a television set in a house too becoming for a healthy life and living! He agreeing to watch a movie at a mall! That shows yours truly can fruitfully bargain with hostage takers as a profession.

On the appointed day I drove him to the town. He was dressed in a pair of kurta-pyjama that was lying buried under a sack for almost a decade and was surprisingly safe from the rats.

(The rats would cut even his plastic jars and steal his meager supply of grocery that keeps him alive on one frugal meal a day. I have seen big rats scampering across the grassed roof of his hut. ‘They even jump at me when I’m sleeping,’ he once told me. ‘Maybe it’s a message from your guru that you aren’t supposed to sleep,’ I remarked. ‘Well, maybe!’ he seemed in agreement with my casual jesting remark. A monitor lizard once stayed near his hut and then there won’t be any rats. Kaka Maharaj considered it a friend. But then one day when he was meditating the lizard crawled onto the head of its sadhak friend. Kaka Maharaj wasn’t aware that it was his friendly lizard. He swiped his hand and it panicked and jumped. The lizard must have thought that it was an attempt at its life. ‘It jumped and ran but stopped at a little distance and looked back. We looked at each other for a long pause. Then it went away. I never saw her again. It was my fear that startled her. This littlest ounce of fear has to go from the body of a sadhak. The body shouldn’t move even a little under such circumstances. I knew I had failed in my sadhna. So I cried that day,’ he told me.)

Now, coming back to the movie-watching trip. He found the town changed beyond recognition since his last trip. ‘I cannot find the old town anywhere!’ he exclaimed. It was understandable. The world around his hut has remained the same. It’s the same canal with the same flow of water. The only change he can make out is that the little saplings he had planted are big trees now. That’s the parameter of change for him. He looked startled and intimidated by the booming urbanization. Imagine a person who stays in a grass hut being taken straightaway to a showy mall! He was tentative and unsure on the slippery floors. The elevators, lifts, showy shop-fronts, food aroma from the food court, the humming of humanity, the glitz and glamor and among all this an old saintly man. He seemed lost among all this. He towed me like a little child follows an elder in a crowd. The scent of modernity in the mall hit him hard. It was completely opposite to the free natural fragrance around his little hut.

Inside the theatre, he sat like an alien trapped in a hostile environment. But when the movie started and a few folksongs from his hero blared and bombarded the eardrums he looked a bit amused. Then the folk-hero’s life history began with his birth. It was too much for him. ‘All this is a big lie! How do they know all this happened like this? It was more than a hundred years ago. This is fake! A funny drama!’ he shouted in my ear. I was thinking of making a respectful exit from the darkness. But he understood. ‘I know you like it. So watch it. I’m going to sleep,’ he assured me. Then Kaka Maharaj folded himself like a baby in the womb and slept off in his chair. His guru his mother. His faith the safe womb. He could actually sleep in a cinema hall where the music would rattle your bones.

After the movie—sorry, after a sound sleep—he looked fresh and totally detoxified of the urbanized exposure I had brought upon his system. The modernist clatter and noise seemed to have no effect on him now. His smile and poise was back as he walked out of the mall. ‘Kaka Maharaj you could actually sleep so soundly in that noise!’ I exclaimed as we drove back. ‘Yes Tagore—he calls me Tagore for my love of books—I don’t know whether you believe it or not. I saw only my Guru on the screen. Then it was so easy to sleep,’ he said. Maybe his guru had sent him for a little test and I’m sure he passed the test by coming out unaffected from a totally alien environment. That’s the sign of a good meditator. He/she retains the inherent balance even after coming across conflicting situations.

On the way back, he asked me to buy cumin seeds for him. I got two 250 grams packets, one for him and one for our own kitchen. ‘How much is this?’ he asked, gently weighing the little packet on his palm. ‘It’s 250 grams,’ I replied. He gently corrected me with a slight sway of head, ‘No Tagore, it’s only 200 grams. The shopkeepers would always cheat like in the old days,’ he said. Then I expressed my doubts about the difference in weight telling him that this is the town’s very reputed grocer and I don’t think they would cheat people like this. ‘Look at the packaging and all the stats given regarding weight, packaging date, expiry date, nutrition table, nice logo, nice material,’ I enlisted the indicators of quality. Later that day, I weighed my packet on the tiny kitchen scale and the weight came to be exactly 200 grams. I am humbled.

A few satsangs after this incident didn’t go well. He debated and cut my opinions as if with premeditated intentions. Maybe he was giving it back for taking him to a place that stood the polar opposite of his world.

A few months back, I found him visiting my room crammed with books. Possibly he got curious to know a bit more about me. He is into bhakti yoga and I could feel his discomfort while standing near the little hill of gyan marga. As we know one’s company of friends and people leaves a big impact on the person’s life. Maybe Kaka Maharaj got interested in books. Some days later he asked me for a book. I chose a book by a local saint, the combined works of Narayan Maharaj, thinking he would be able to relate to the writing because it was written by someone from the same area keeping in mind the socio-cultural factors prevailing in the area. Judging the psychology of reading among non-readers—they lose interest very easily—I suggested him to read the book randomly, not page by page. ‘Just open any page at random and read, maybe that particular page has a message for you,’ I gave my expert advice as I handed over the thick volume. He was sitting under a mango tree and took the thick volume with discomfort, almost suspicion in fact. He opened a page at random as I had suggested. He is all seriousness as he reads the first line on the page. He throws the book into my lap as if he has received an electric shock. ‘It’s a sheer lie!’ he mutters. Well, the first line on that page happened to be the local saints ‘prohibition against weed, ganja and charas. Kaka Maharaj has been smoking weed as an aid in his sadhna for decades, so obviously he found it insulting. ‘See, I respect him. But that doesn’t mean he is correct about everything!’ he looks stern.

Imagine out of 500 pages, this page had to open and the first line—perhaps the only line in the entire book—happened to be the one that would offend the reader. So the book was returned just one-line read. ‘You yourself wanted to read books,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘No, no … books are suitable for you. Take it away,’ he instructed. So I returned with my thick book.

Recently he crossed a big milestone in his sadhna. I call it a milestone because I have heard and read about it that most of the sadhaks have to cross it sometimes on the path. At one night he faced the soul-rattling experience of weirdest apparitions, ghouls, djins, naked witches, ferocious demons and the strangest human-animal hybrids. ‘I was sitting in dhyan post-midnight. They just arrived in big numbers. You cannot imagine such strange and fearsome bodies and faces. Some of them came so close that I could smell their breath. The naked horrid witches stayed a couple of feet away, but they danced in a repugnant manner. My heart would have burst out with fear if not for my guru. I survived just because I kept focus on my guru and saw his image in my mind,’ he told. I have read many books of sadhaks meeting such experiences. He is a simple man of faith, so it may not sound too much to him. But I know with my bookish knowledge that mother existence has tested him for fear. That day I felt very glad for him and left with a smile on my face—for him, for his sadhna, for his guru who saved him from a fall in the face of the devil.

Mystical musings from Morni hills

 

When godliness shines as warm, fluid curtain of sunrays upon the frigid, cold stones lying on the bedrock of a tiny valley!


On the eternal bedrock of the ever-flowing river of time, a stony comma stands with childish arrogance, harking for a pause!


A frozen obituary of love offered by motherly night to a cold-hearted fatherly day!


Some moments in a little valley!








In silent majesty, mother nature paints her murals on this wayside stone on a craggy footpath...



Motherly sunrays kiss with indiscriminating affection, be it rose petals or thorns!

With unrestricted charms, the first rays of the morning sun kiss life and living into every pore of this little heaven. It can beat a virgin maiden's first lip kiss in passion and surrendering affection!


A wood gathering mountain girl seems to have left a rosy, velvety hanky as a memento of love in the woods for her beau!


Snows of Shivaliks!! Don't get confused guys! It's just early morning frost in the valley!

Molten fluidity of eternal truth putting its signature upon the stony, rippling canvas of a little valley!


Little valley standing proudly like a confident princess adorned with a golden-hued crown of sunrays!


Mossy blanket of shivering stones under flirtatious cold waters!

Friday, December 27, 2024

Redemption

 


The following lines were written 10 years back during a kind of the darkest hour before the dawn:

It has been months since 

I last lit my faith's lamp,

So many days have passed since

prayers chimed in my dark den's air damp, 

My meditating self,

Now gives atheistic yelp.

Lost my faith!

Lost my prayer!

Lost my rituals!

Lost my meditative trance!

And now it's a bright sunny, soothing dawn. The divine fluidity of this hill stream whispers her prayers and love in the wordless language of truth. I feel redeemed, salvaged and blissful! Good day everyone! Lots of love and blessings!