"My lord has taken so many forms.....I adore him for his versatality......but If I had to make a choice, it would be Raam, the scion of the suryavanshi clan......As with all the god-men he was misunderstood.....
As I see today his name has become the banner for politicized fights between groups, reviled by feminists for sowing the seeds of Sati into the already chauvinistic Indian society.....and for letting go of his wife when she was pregnant......
I was with him when he lived his mortal existence, though you may not see my name mentioned by the robber turned saint Valmiki , I was very much a part of the epic......for every time He descends we too follow him, not to support but to learn.....
He came to teach acceptance of the moment......surrender....surrender to the present moment....neither judging nor rejecting the present moment but take it because the moment right now is life itself......
Enlightened by his kulaguru vashishtha on the secret of life....Raam was already in a state of surrender before his life unfolded.....when his stepmother insists on his exile into the forest for 14 years, there is no inner resistance within Raam......He accepts the moment .....living it fully without much drama......the drama is created by the people around him and who deny the present.....IF Raam had a 20th century intellect he would have obsessed about his decision on days together and would have carried a grudge against his stepmother for the rest of his life....
But he accepts.....lives his life fully in the sylvan surrounding....for him it was an opportunity life had given him to explore the wild......bought up in luxury he never knew how to tame nature for ones own survival......this experience humbles him, making him a better king when he comes to ayodhya after 14 years, as he has seen life from the eyes of the lowliest member of the society......
Separation from Sita threatens nay tests his equilibrium.........it is as if the universe tests him throughout to be dramatic ...to carry a sorry picture of himself as a victimized man......He realises this when sita is taken away from him........It is the monsoon season......he sits morose in a cave contemplating the horrors his wife would be enduring.....there is nothing he can do ...the Monsoon prevents him from enabling his forces to search for sita.....he is left alone with his own mind.....the inability forces him to trace the source of his angst......awakening blossoms.......there is nothing to feel sorry about ......there is no one to feel sorry about.......whatever has happened is what life is at that moment..."takshani" ..."at that moment".......He surrenders.......to the moment.......suspension of thoughts.....stillness envelops him......psychological time stops.......there is no future, no past.....no Sita no Raam....neither monsoon neither the absence of it......neither friend nor enemy.......
In that state ...Brahman is revealed......he sees Brahman smiling at him through Sita and through Raavan......the seed that Vashishtah had sown takes root.....it grows....he realises his role in the scheme of things.....he stops fretting and fuming....when the time comes in the form of the present moment he will do what is right at the moment....he taught me never to hold on to any concept as right or wrong , as each moment brings its own knowledge and to make a decision prior to that would be faulty logic.........accepting the enemy's brother as a commander in chief when his counsel suggests otherwise reveals that Raam lived in the present moment......not judging ....he sees reality as it is and this decision of his becomes a crucial factor in his winning the battle...
We adore him not because he killed Raavan.......if not Raam , Raavan would have died a natural death or would have taken to ascetism like parashuram sick of his own wild ways......the gods praised and eulogized him because of his ability to keep the drama out of his life and react to the moment as it is.....
He is a symbol for the average man.......to reduce drama and increase living .....for only when you have lived each and every moment, have you lived life and not merely existed...."
Monday, December 20, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Old memories......
Something I saw on facebook triggered this.....
My childhood is so vague in my memory.....maybe I was not very attentive as a child.......Those were the days of "chitrahaar" and pepsi cola....:P
It is said that smell is the best trigger of memory ....the smell of "vibhuti" (sacred ash) triggers the vision of my mother in the small enclave in my house in mumbai....
I remember my mother ...fair....beautiful......looking fresh in her 9 yards saree......murmuring incantations ......after the worship she used to force consecrated "prasad" down my throat....and push my head in obeisance towards the laminated photo of our family deity.....
I remember the fights I used to have with my sister......unrecognizable now as a stern matriarch disciplining her children as once my mother did.....
Our fights were legendary......she never backed down and I remember hitting her with my small fists screaming "Dishum" with every wallop I packed....
Battles with my sister were always a lose-lose situation...though I would win the battle by making my mother side with me(I was the younger one so my mother was possessive about me, much to my sisters chagrin). After the fight she would go into the other room and lock herself up.....and how could I let her have all the fun alone...I would knock the door and ask in a gruff voice "what she thought of herself??"......No response....I would then use a more gentler enquiring tone to find out whether she was playing without me and having fun in the process!!!
I can imagine her giggling with suppressed glee while retorting that I may as well say goodbye to the toys which we both shared........Mute rage used to take over me and I would run over to my mother who by this time would have lost interest in our fight and just retort by saying that nowadays I need to pay attention to my studies......I remember thinking how stupid grown-ups were....no sense of priority...the toys were at stake and there was a very good chance my sister may be wreaking havoc with them or worst marrying off He-man and Evelyn....(the He-man doll was my favourite....I had stolen it from my friends house and his sword was moth-eaten)
I specifically remember the clock striking 8:15 p.m......that was the time my father arrived after a punishing day on the Mumbai train.....The moment the bell rang we both would rush for the door........there was a reason for that......my fathers office had a canteen from where he would get us biscuits........that was all he could afford.....he would smile in tired satisfaction as we ruffled through the "red bag" ( He always bought the goodies in the red bag)....Now as I look back I can see the tired eyes of my father.......tiredness from a life which gave him no freedom.......bound him to a chair for 30 years.....he always liked to travel.....A history buff and a naturalist at heart.....he detested being tied to a spot.......someday I hope to take him on a Eurotrip.....
Sundays were good......there used to be Ramayan on TV......and at 2 in the afternoon my friends would call me for playing box cricket.....
I was mortally afraid if someone would suggest over-arm bowling or playing in the ground...since I was very good at thrashing them at under-arm bowling........playing in the ground would mean losing to the guys who I used to make mincemeat of in underarm cricket....:P...
sometimes I would feign stomach ache just to escape playing in the field....
I remember one specific incident which my building friends still refer to......on one such day when I was trying to evade playing in the field...one of the bullies in my building held me the scruff of my shirt and asked me why the little imp thought the field was not good enough for him...
I responded by saying that I am prone to "summer boils" and my mother has strictly prohibited me from playing in the sun.....After 8-9 seconds of stunned silence all of them burst into peals of laughter....because it was winter in Mumbai..:P
My childhood is so vague in my memory.....maybe I was not very attentive as a child.......Those were the days of "chitrahaar" and pepsi cola....:P
It is said that smell is the best trigger of memory ....the smell of "vibhuti" (sacred ash) triggers the vision of my mother in the small enclave in my house in mumbai....
I remember my mother ...fair....beautiful......looking fresh in her 9 yards saree......murmuring incantations ......after the worship she used to force consecrated "prasad" down my throat....and push my head in obeisance towards the laminated photo of our family deity.....
I remember the fights I used to have with my sister......unrecognizable now as a stern matriarch disciplining her children as once my mother did.....
Our fights were legendary......she never backed down and I remember hitting her with my small fists screaming "Dishum" with every wallop I packed....
Battles with my sister were always a lose-lose situation...though I would win the battle by making my mother side with me(I was the younger one so my mother was possessive about me, much to my sisters chagrin). After the fight she would go into the other room and lock herself up.....and how could I let her have all the fun alone...I would knock the door and ask in a gruff voice "what she thought of herself??"......No response....I would then use a more gentler enquiring tone to find out whether she was playing without me and having fun in the process!!!
I can imagine her giggling with suppressed glee while retorting that I may as well say goodbye to the toys which we both shared........Mute rage used to take over me and I would run over to my mother who by this time would have lost interest in our fight and just retort by saying that nowadays I need to pay attention to my studies......I remember thinking how stupid grown-ups were....no sense of priority...the toys were at stake and there was a very good chance my sister may be wreaking havoc with them or worst marrying off He-man and Evelyn....(the He-man doll was my favourite....I had stolen it from my friends house and his sword was moth-eaten)
I specifically remember the clock striking 8:15 p.m......that was the time my father arrived after a punishing day on the Mumbai train.....The moment the bell rang we both would rush for the door........there was a reason for that......my fathers office had a canteen from where he would get us biscuits........that was all he could afford.....he would smile in tired satisfaction as we ruffled through the "red bag" ( He always bought the goodies in the red bag)....Now as I look back I can see the tired eyes of my father.......tiredness from a life which gave him no freedom.......bound him to a chair for 30 years.....he always liked to travel.....A history buff and a naturalist at heart.....he detested being tied to a spot.......someday I hope to take him on a Eurotrip.....
Sundays were good......there used to be Ramayan on TV......and at 2 in the afternoon my friends would call me for playing box cricket.....
I was mortally afraid if someone would suggest over-arm bowling or playing in the ground...since I was very good at thrashing them at under-arm bowling........playing in the ground would mean losing to the guys who I used to make mincemeat of in underarm cricket....:P...
sometimes I would feign stomach ache just to escape playing in the field....
I remember one specific incident which my building friends still refer to......on one such day when I was trying to evade playing in the field...one of the bullies in my building held me the scruff of my shirt and asked me why the little imp thought the field was not good enough for him...
I responded by saying that I am prone to "summer boils" and my mother has strictly prohibited me from playing in the sun.....After 8-9 seconds of stunned silence all of them burst into peals of laughter....because it was winter in Mumbai..:P
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