God- What's in a name?

24th October 2009, Puttaparthi

All my life, I have believed in the presence of a primordial, ultimate force that triggered all of existence, way in the beginning. I grew to believe that force was Sri Sathya Sai Baba, physically. I thank my stars for being brought up by elders who imbibed in me this association. If I have myself figured out, I know I’d feel this poignant restlessness over the vagueness of the term “force”. I would need it to be defined in tangible terms, and it is now. But I had always only had a rather superficial devotion towards Baba. Pretense ruled my reality. It felt nice to be spiritual, but I never really was. Until, I think, today.

My eighteenth birthday began with a whole lot of typical teenage fun. Friends popped in at midnight with a cake, we aimlessly wandered in the dark streets and had a sleepless night on the terrace. Then I caught my flight to Bangalore and taxi to Puttaparthi, Prashanti Nilayam. Got a room, ate lunch at the nostalgic Western Canteen and snoozed for a good two hours. It was then time for darshan. Thinking I was late, I quickly paced towards the gargantuan Sai Kulwant Hall, where devotees in ten thousands, had already seated themselves in the traditional, discipline manner. I found myself a spot in the back, without sacrificing a good view. The hall boomed with the sound of two men chanting what I thought were endless recitations, into the mike. The entire, spacious ashram echoed with their voices, in fact. Several minutes later, it ended. I felt an excitement in me. He could be entering any minute now. This anticipation was rather unfamiliar. The bhajans began. As always, I followed and sang along. The third bhajan however, did something to me, I never thought possible. It was a familiar bhajan that I’ve heard and sang a number of times before. “Nand ke dulare, Yashoda ke pyaare”, in praise of Lord Krishna. Before I could make sense of what I was feeling, tears began to flow out of my eyes. I choked. I didn’t know why. This kept occurring in irregular but frequent intervals.

Then He arrived, assisted by four sevadal men in white and white (the general Prashanti Nilayam attire). Although a miracle-worker, the personification of divinity, and my perception of God, He had assumed the form of a human being and therefore suffered the problems of aging and accidents. There He was, in his bright orange robe, hair a lot less bushy than it had been, but presence still as powerful. I began to bawl. I had to bite my lips to keep from sobbing out loud. They were not tears of joy. There wasn’t a hint of a smile on my face. But they were not instigated by sorrow, either. I felt an inexplicable emancipation. I felt thankful. I could hear my conscience saying “thank you” a million times. I cried and I cried.. And I cried. Until He was out of sight, I cried. I didn’t even care that some of the women in my precinct were eyeing me. Whether out of sympathy, empathy or ridicule, I don’t know. They were the last things on my mind and in my sight. My brown stole had little black stains on it from wiping my kohl-lined eyes.

I am not an emotional girl. Except for laughter, all my emotions have always been under my control, particularly anything to do with the release of tears. What then, made me sob so uncontrollably, I wondered? I didn’t understand that complex emotion behind my tears. I couldn’t give it a name. Then it struck me that perhaps this is what the spiritually mature call “devotion”. I believe I have finally discovered where my devotion truly lies. It was probably always there. I only needed an opportunity like this to realize it. I needed to come here when I was more mature. I needed to come here and absorb the peace in solitude. I finally did.

I walked out of darshan, feeling such absolute contentment.

24th April 2011, Madras

I woke up in the morning and looked out of the bedroom door, getting a perfect view of the television. The news channels were saying that Sri Sathya Sai Baba is no longer amidst us, physically. He had died of a liver and respiratory system failure, after 28 days of being hospitalized. There were people weeping in the news, celebrities communicating their grief and interviews of those close to the Bhagwan. Every channel made it a point to reiterate that Sai Baba had followers and devotees from all over the world, in millions. They referred to him as a “Spiritual Leader”. Well, that is one way of being politically correct of his designation, if he had to be given one.

Some believed him to be the God Almighty. Some thought he was another messiah like Christ. Some disregarded him as a hoax, a magician. Some chucked wretched allegations at him of sexual abuse and murder. Some thought him to be a self actualized soul.
I fall under the last category.

I believe that the word ‘God’ is merely used to refer to an entity of entirety. Some wise men say that we are all God, that God resides within us. We are God. We are all parts that constitute one unit, one whole piece, the universe. Sri Sathya Sai Baba advocated that there is one religion, the religion of love, and one God, and he is omnipresent. Never did he proclaim Godhood for himself. He said he is God, and so are the rest of us. Why God is omnipresent is because God- he, she or it- is every atom that makes a molecule. God is the primary unit of all existence, and not necessarily the Omega. God is that start button that triggered off all existence. God is the current that brings light to a bulb. God is life. He isn’t the big boss, up in heaven, ensuring that man behaves himself. He isn’t even necessarily a ’he’. God is just the single word for every single thing that constitutes the universe. The universe is the aforementioned entirety, or Brahman. God. Every unit is an integral part for the making up of the universe. Every unit is God. So yes, God CAN have failed vital organs and fall prey to the curse of mortality.
The Advaita school of thought believes just that. Man and the Lord are one. There is no distinction between the two, for God is what man is made of.
Sai Baba realized the God in him and pleaded with humanity to see their God within. In an attempt to bring such an enlightenment to mankind, he earned the respect of many and the mockery of many others. He insisted that his devotees should not shed their religion to follow him. He preached a single religion which unites all the already established schools of thought and belief. The Sanathana Dharma. The religion of Love.

He has now taken leave of his physical body, but being God- like the rest of us- is still lingering about. Whether he lives on in the mind, in books or through his work, he lives on nonetheless. He has established schools, universities, water plants, hospitals and whatnot. If nothing else, he can be considered God for his foresight and philanthropy.
He induced tears in me on my eighteenth birthday for reasons I still cannot put my finger on. Devotion was what I thought it was, but is devotion so powerful as to bring out such intense emotions in you? For me Sri Sathya Sai Baba was the cushion I fell back on, every time I had a crisis. Nobody knows it, but I chant “Om Sri Sai Ram” endlessly, before setting out to do anything. Just the thought of that omniscient smile, eases me of all anxiety. That day was the last time I saw him physically. He was in a wheelchair. It was like seeing a parent handicapped, for the first time. I grew up, being taught to have faith in him, and though my ideas have evolved since my eighteenth birthday, I still believe he is a superior kind of God. A miracle worker, whose mere name had the power to lift my spirits. I do believe that I am God. But he had something in him that gave him the power to attract minds from all realms of worldly life. Hitler, Mother Theresa, Gandhi, they all possessed similar power. Why weren’t they thought of as God? They were God too, they just didn’t realise it, and instead either worshiped someone else, or no one at all. All of India seems to have realized the God in Sachin Tendulkar, why is it so difficult to see the God in yourself? Is it just easier to put that responsibility on someone else? Sai Baba definitely didn’t think so. He believed in himself. He took the responsibility of being God to a whole religion of people, and how he succeeded! Atheists just don't know what they're missing out on. Agnostics are just confusing themselves.

Sai Baba announced that he would soon be back in the form of Prema Sai. I see no harm in believing that to be true. There are devotees who prayed to him for their loved ones. Who are they going to pray to for him?
For me… He is still here.

Curtain Call

The pounding sledgehammer in my stomach woke me up in the middle of the night. Groaning in pain, I walked towards the bathroom. I didn’t know that in the very next room, an 86 year old lady was being kept awake by an even mightier sledgehammer, somewhere inside her aging body. My grandmother had been bed ridden for five years, her condition worsening every summer. By this time, she had lost comprehensibility, mobility and clarity in speech. The only way she communicated was through smiles, mumbles, head shakes and finger pointing. She was strong. She was rusting, but she never let it bog her down.

This afternoon, she suffered her last. What began as cringes and moans, turned into a vacant stare towards the ceiling. Relatives came pouring in. Nobody wanted to admit that she had breathed her last. It was something we could have all absorbed on our own, but instead we had to call upon strangers to confirm it. The Scrubs from a nearby hospital strutted in with their fancy equipment. One of them demanded a torch. And then the sledgehammer in my stomach went shooting up to my head. He stretched open both her eyes and flashed the torch light on her pupils. Her eyes were now unusually wide open, her mouth gaping mildly. Within the next minute we learned that we could run whatever tests we wanted to run, but none of them would bring life back into this old woman. The room burst into tears, but my father went about completing the formalities, emotionlessly. I had seen him tear up only once in my life. That was six years ago, when he sat by his father’s body, singing silently to himself, while two tears trickled out of his shut eyelids.

My father had lost his mother. My mother had lost her mother-in-law. My other grandmother had lost her best friend. Grieving relatives first comforted us. I found that really thoughtful. Ever since I was born, my grandparents had lived under the same roof as me. It was hard to imagine a house without my grandmothers. And now one of them had taken leave.

I found myself doing something I never thought I had the guts to do. I sat alone with a corpse. Though, it was my grandmother. I couldn’t link her to the aforementioned C word. She didn’t seem dead to me. She was my grandmother. One of the two women who love me as much as my mother does. A woman so beautiful, she smiled brightly everyday despite being immobile for six years. The sweet lady I tucked into bed every night, thinking this was the most genuine smile I had given to someone all day, every day. People were naturally drawn to her. I say this with conviction because we had people coming over to visit her every other day. It was heart-warming. Now I fear that no one will come our side again. She was what made people want to come to our home. And now, she’s lying lifelessly inside an ice box.

I watched her body turn a pale yellow, as I sat beside her. It was just the two of us in that room. I tapped on her a couple of times and called out to her. No, I was not going crazy from grief. Something about calling out to her liberated me. Every time I tapped on her shoulder, I felt a quick flicker of hope. As if she would open her eyes and ask me what. It didn’t happen, I knew it wouldn’t. My aunt came in now and then. She ran her palms softly over her mother’s face, and stroked her arms gently. She kissed her a couple of times. I watched, and felt this consuming warmth, even though I wasn’t the one being caressed. I wanted to hug my grandmother too. I wanted to kiss her ice cold cheeks and tell her I miss her already.

While all of India celebrated the coming home of the ICC Cricket World Cup, my family mourned the departure of our ultimate link, from the world. She ensured team India bagged the title of World Champions, before she left. She was considerate. She chose the day after the World Cup final to grab attention. All her life she had played second fiddle to cricket. Right from her husband, to her grandchildren, everyone has been cricket-crazy. She wasn’t going to meddle with that love, even during her last days. She timed her exit perfectly, the classy lady that she is.

Like every other night, she now lays asleep. She looks no different from her usual self, except that she has cotton stuffed into her ears, up her nostrils and Tulsi leaves in her mouth. She lies motionless inside a glass box like Snow White. And that is what she has always been to me. My Snow White. Her skin had always been soft and fair. Her eyes were a remarkably familiar blue. I couldn’t help but notice how exotic they were, when my father asked me to shut them, this evening. Her smile was relieving, whether she had her dentures on or not. Her hair was a beautiful white and gold, which even now frames her head so neatly. Today was the last time I combed her shiny hair.

Death is a remarkable thing. You ignore all of its warnings, and then it hits you with the most excruciating blow, out of nowhere. I lost two family members in the span of three weeks. One that taught me how to drive, and the other who had taught my father, close to everything he knows today.

When someone who has been around for every day of your life, suddenly isn’t with you anymore, it leaves you with an irreparable void. I want my grandmother back. If only I could defy all logic, reason and science. My father, a man of unbreakable stone, broke down, today. For the first time in my life, I saw him openly weep. I woke up to that dreaded sight, the morning after she delved into the world of nothingness. He stared at her ice box and silently wept. She had managed to induce tears in my hero. The man who had always been unperturbed by any worldly goings on. A man so detached and spiritual, reality was void of any fantastic elements for him. He is strong, all-knowing and bold. He is a happy man. But he had now lost the one person he was attached to…

And she didn’t even say goodbye.

Reverse Gear

"I love you"
He choked for a second and his head fell to the ground. I closed his eyes, with tears in mine. His clasp loosened and I released his hands from within mine, unable to hold him, knowing he could not feel my touch anymore. It was only minutes ago that the sound of bullets resonated in the air like an extended ellipsis coming sonorously to life. There was blood all over, staining the clothes on the lifeless bodies scattered around me. I was the only one to survive. They killed him, I killed them all.

......

"A tourist and a terrorist" he had laughed, mockingly. I looked up at his cold face. The face that despised anything that came between him and anything he set his stone-like eyes on.
"How do you like that, boys? A terr-or-ist loses sight of her job and falls deeply in love with a tour-ist. Romantic, eh? Yeah, that's right. I know exactly who he is. Have you forgotten who you are? Have you completely forgotten what is happening next week? I didn't plant you as a tour guide so you could play Juliet"
His five men stared disapprovingly at me. I knew I had put both of us in danger. He took his gun out and looked at me. "Shall I shoot him then" he asked, nodding at the man I lost myself to a week ago... Which is what made me do the next thing I did.
"You were a fool to have trusted me enough, to not tie me up" I said and kicked his gun out of his hand, and held it to his head, holding him in a strangle. "Are you crazy?! Put that gun down" one of his men yelled.
"This is the man that raised us all... He raised you" shrieked another, and only elicited a scoff from me. "I never wanted to be THIS" I said, not expecting what would happen next. One of them shot the love of my life, dead. Without thinking, in five shots, I killed the men, and for the finishing touch, I blew a hole right through the head I held in a deathly grip, too. I was trained for this. Since the age of five.

......

"So you're a terrorist" he said nervously. I looked into his eyes and nodded. It had been a week since we met. A week since I forgot my entire past in the blink of an eye. I loved him. It was unexplainable. My stoic face had learned to smile.
"I will leave all that to be with you" I said earnestly. "I had no choice. I was orphaned at the age of five. He brought me up amidst guns, bombs and bitterness towards this country. I didn't know what life was like outside it all. I met you, and within those few days, I learnt how amazing a happy life could be. I don't want to blow tourists up. I don't want to shoot the mayor in the chest. I don't want to-"
My words were interrupted by the screeching halt of a black car. Six men stepped out, and walked towards us in the darkness. All we could see were their silhouettes and hear the sound of leaves being crushed under their feet. This little spot in the woods was our secret. How did they find this place?
"Meeting a man so late in the night, dear? Have you completely disregarded the curfew you've been following since you were five?"
"I'm done" I replied. "I'm in love. I don't want to work for you anymore".

......

He used the spare keys I had given him, and came into my apartment with a bottle of champagne, some flowers and a ring in his pocket. He had planned it all. He made sure I wasn't home, so he could surprise me when I came in. He set up the champagne on the table and looked for wine glasses in my kitchen. He tried opening every cabinet. When he got to the fifth one, he found the wine glasses... And a gun. Taken aback, he searched my entire apartment for more details that may reveal why I had this gun, when he stumbled onto an informal resignation letter I had left lying on my bed. He came storming into the hall as he heard the door open.
"Oh! Hey! How did you get in here? Ah, spare key, right? Wisely used" I said, coming in.
"What is this? I don't understand. Who are you? Why do you have a gun? Why are you writing a letter to your father, saying you don't want blood on your hands anymore? What the hell is happening?" he said in sweats. I had to explain.

......

We had gotten used to each other in a day. Of all the people I had met in my life, or taken on tours in the last one month, he was the only one who smiled at me like he meant it. Something about him put me to ease, and for the first time in my life, I smiled in happiness. As opposed to the devious grins I was taught to give, every time a bombing was planned. In just two days something inside me said I needed him. For always. I needed to see him every second of the day, and I knew the feeling wouldn't wear out. For the first time in my life, I felt like a beautiful woman. I felt like someone whose existence had a lot more purpose than to trigger shots at innocent people, residing in the supposed enemy countries. I felt alive when he winked at me playfully. The woman who cooked in the house, once told me that this is what people call "love", when I was ten. Now, at the age of twenty two, I was... in love. It was magical. The pleasure that the boys I grew up with said they got in shooting people, was but an obscure spec in comparison to the pleasure I felt when he was near. Which is why I broke into tears when he said...
"I love you"

I Smell 2011...

Open every window you pass. You never know what you may find on the other side.

Like every other blogger, I too will post a tribute to 2010. What a year! It's one of those things that seem to have ended so quickly, yet left behind so many memories, I wonder where there was time for it all. People came, people left, people stayed, people remained out. I have so many regrets, but it's all compensated by harbored gratitude.

I learnt many things. I understood that "trust" is a word, now twisted around to mean "feel close to". I understood that you only dislike those you don't know too well, for you cannot get yourself to hate those you've known, and you cannot get yourself to like those you don't get. I understood that people who use cliches and cheesy lines to describe life, are just trying to look for comfort instead of making it on their own. I understood that there will be hoards of people who do something better than you, and you're only demeaning yourself by trying to demean them- suck it up and accept that you need to work harder. I understood that dance is poetry in motion, that theater is a more comprehensive expression and that art in general is the best catharsis. I understood that diets only make you more hungry, and that exercise is of no use if it isn't done regularly.

I learnt that prioritizing means losing somethings and being okay with it.

I learnt that the only thing one finds funny, is difference. If it isn't something you are used to, it isn't ordinary, and therefore laughable at. We only laugh at those who do not fit our prescribed list of things that are conventionally normal or regarded good. You laugh at effeminate men, at fat people, at clumsy people. They make you laugh because they aren't part of your "ordinary". It's difference that brings variety to life. If it weren't for difference, we'd all look the same, do the same things, talk the same way, think the same thoughts. Where's the diversity in that? Where's variety in that? Where's the colour in that? I learnt to respect difference. I learnt to be laughed at.

The new year is an indication of a future. The first of January could just be the beginning of another year, but it's the universe's way of gifting you a new beginning, 'cos you may never get around to doing new things by yourself. It's a push towards a chance to live it up, and live it good! It's the commencement of more expectations and anticipations. It's a promise of so many things to come, leave, stay in or remain out.

It could be twelve months of more learning, fifty two weeks of progressing, three sixty five/six days of accomplishing, but never eight thousand seven sixty six hours of living in the past. Look forward to every new day because let's face it, even monotony isn't that monotonous anymore.

See what's in store for you, this decade. Take it as it comes. Smile as you take it. Mean it when you smile. Feel it when you mean it. Be it when you feel it.

'Appy two oh double one!

Love Twist

"Day and night, your name I chant,

Name it now, whatever you want!

I'll never say 'no', 'no way', 'I can't',

Tell me now, don't tease, don't taunt.

I'll scoop the clouds in a silver spoon,

Cut up a thick slice of the moon.

Perhaps you want July in June,

I'll give you all, I'll make you swoon!

Is it a magical palace that you desire?

Hot snow, or cold fire?

I'll crown you queen, they'll call me sire

Serve you forever, they'll never tire.

I'll wrap up a rainbow in a pretty box,

Beautiful gowns, flowers, antique clocks!

Give you small diamonds in Santa's socks,

I'll take you through Eden on many long walks.

Tell me now, don't make me wait

I love you, Oh, don't hesitate!

We are together, it's our fate,

Say the word before it's late."

She looked about, where they were

Smiled, stroked her hair as soft as fur

She pointed behind him and let out a purr,

Said so softly...

"I want her".

?

If your walking stick led you to muck

If your corrective lens cracked into your eyes

If your encyclopedia gave wrong facts

If your dictionary misspelled a word

If your mirror showed someone else's face

If your heart decided to rest for a minute with no beat

If the ground below you decided to give way

If the air you breathe in turned to stone

If you can simply trust no more...

What will you do?

Sand in My Shoes...

They say it takes two to tango. Really? I don't think they realized it takes just two to turn the world upside down too. The two whose unstoppable laughter makes everyone else wonder what was SO funny. The two who can just about dance with each other to even the most non-rhythmic music. The two who, no matter how long a separation, are up to date with each other's lives within a few minutes. The two who need each other to strike a balance between impulse and patience. The two who are labelled "crazy" by everyone in the group. The two who are always asked to shut up. That's what we've been for close to seven years now.

Ever pondered over the being of a coin? The two faces are completely different from one another, yet absolutely inseparable, unless cut with some sort of special tool, I have no knowledge of. I'm heads. She needs me to keep her grounded, soothe the volatility that ignites in her at the drop of a hat. She's tails. I need her for all the fun, the hyperactivity and the special spark in an otherwise dull day.

I puke my liver out, and she tells me I look beautiful while holding my head and turning the tap on. She cleans it all up, refusing to let anyone else come near, and then gleefully says she loves taking care of me. Though, when it was my turn to return the favor, I wasn't quite so gleeful.

She is that friend who I feel I need to be around for. I need to listen to the smallest of her problems and give that confused child some optimism. Even though she's found her sunshine (albeit a severely dimmed one), I want to be there for every bad decision she makes, just to say "Should have listened to me". I can just see us wreaking havoc in the old age homes together.

I know I'm going to be there for every grey hair that eats up her silky black locks. I'm going to spoil her kids, rotten! Hell, I'm going to be there for every step she takes, right or wrong. I'm going to be watching forever, and even she cannot take me off her map. That's the kind of liberty I can take with her, the way I can take with no one else. I can yell at her, I can insult her, I can snub her, I can slap the living daylights out of her, and even she cannot say anything. She WILL not say anything because our love is understood.

She will always be that person who turns me into a child. We will never cease to find each other funny, regardless of how much the world may scorn at us. She will always remain a yearning intellectual, who can never see her own smarts. Exasperatingly dolorous, though she may be, that quirkiness will forever be part of her existence.

She forgets dates.

She writes poems that don't rhyme.

She gets hurt easily.

She loses her temper like the Knight Riders lose matches.

She eats ten times as much as an average woman does.

She thinks too much.

She talks too much.

She reads too much.

She writes too much.

She can be very spiteful.

She listens to amazing music.

She played Basketball with me.

She danced with me.

She caused many a stir in school.

She banged on benches, sang and ate everyone's lunches in school.

She's explicit about all unnecessary sort of information.

She makes me laugh.

She shows me fun.

She speaks more than she listens, and yet

She gets it.

So many years together, and yet so little I can say. How can I sum up some of the most eventful days of my life in a few words? How can I describe the kind of understanding we share in any words at all? You need to be us to know it.

We've made so many memories, so many stories together. The day we start reminiscing will be... Well, let's just say that once again people will ask us to shut up.

We won't. :)