Note to David

David,

I' saw you this a.m. You looked fine. You have grown up. And you have a girl riding pillion...how time flies!

I think you too saw me on that curb near the temple, but may be you did not register it was I. Or may be you were more concerned about not crashing into me, - this on-coming slow bike-, and were occupied with steering clear of a possible crash. You did well, I must admit, for I do not have the reflexes necessary to steer clear of death or danger anymore. As you grow old, you learn to negotiate, not argue or fight. I am negotiating with you. I hope you understand.

Now. I hope you also understand that I have been there - youth I mean,- which is perhaps the best time of any life-time. I have been there. I have done bikes and controlled turns on Us and Vs. I have ridden my vehicle at 100 + on highways with pillions dear to me; I have swerved, braked, skidded, 'kissed' and even crashed. Then, the chap who got crashed into was in my position and I in yours today. He too must have wanted to tell me a few things, which I might have, for all you know, thought to be a 'lover's complaint'. "Lover's complaint"! That is a lovely title for a lyric, do you see, or a poem of some length?

Well, David dear, please understand that I am writing this simply because I want you to know that a crash is a bad thing. It maims people, disable strong and healthy bodies - and minds-, for when your body refuses to listen, mind drags along with the body's inertia, its refusal to take advice. David, do you understand what that means?

May be we do not meet as often as we should or could, may be we are too absorbed in our little affairs and things, but my friend, let me tell you this: WE are not un-connected. Not just you and I, or people who know each other, or friends, but we human beings, for we share a common heritage. We owe it to life that we leave it safe when we leave here. What I am saying to you here is not about dying, David, for we all die. I am telling you something about life, and what we owe to it, this wonderful opportunity called life, where we can actualize the notion of Joie de vivre.

August 15th 2009

In Auroville they have a bonfire on every 15th August. It is to mark Sri Aurobindo's birth anniversary. It is lit a shade before five a.m. I usually make it a point to go. Last year I failed because I did not get up in time. This year I was up.

Around 3 :45 I had a sudden adoration fit for Sri Aurobindo whom I admire dearly. I wanted to do him a pranam the first thing that morning so I went on line and wrote on the Auroville 'intranet', " Let me be the first to touch your feet this year, O Lord." It was at 3.55 a.m. There was varied response from community members. On 18Th there was one that read," By nail or hair, let me be the second" This response was three days later on the 18Th, a sarcastic t-in-c reaction to my posting. If it were a race, the person who wrote that had no chance in hell to even get qualified.

The point is, why did I go on line? What was the need of announcing my admiration for Sri Aurobindo? The answer is: Auroville is as much collective as it is individual, as much inner as it is outer. A prayer that rises inside must go out there so that the sleeping are not forgotten. At least that was the occasion to make it public I thought. Did I think? I don't think I did when I did it. It was more of a spontaneous act. It was in a rush of inspiration. Inspiration, even if it were what westerners tag as 'religious', is INSPIRATION therefore spiritual in nature.

The world may also have a problem with the word guru. (alas! how it is caught up in semantics and etymology!) I haven't, and by that virtue, am not in conflict with the notions of the world. I have understood the landmarks on my own path and passage.

some likenesses

When a tall man with a paunch hugs me I feel as uneasy as I would just before a car crash! His paunch pushes into my face quite like an air-cushion, only it happens in slow-motion, adding long seconds to my discomfiture. One detail here: I am a short man and I have a pot belly, too, and it is quite ticklish. If the tall man's belly pushes into my face, you can well imagine where mine snaps, or inserts, or rests or gets tickled... tall men do not necessarily have long wee wees!

Men grunt and women moan; women coo if men moan. That seems natural. Imagine if women grunted and men cooed or moaned! Not all this can be expected to be heard in a restaurant in broad day light in full public view of course, but in the intimacy of soft bed folds, in shaded privacy of bedrooms where people make love. But then I am old fashioned. I shall be shocked to hear men grunts in restaurants, and women grunting, grunting at all, anywhere.

***

Ted and his friend paid us a visit recently. It was good to spend a few days together, shopping mostly: Fleur freaked and Ted, the good chivalrous spirit, paid. And we talked - of boredom and what caused it, etc. and drank beer. Today they left, one week spent, for Goa to their homes in Panjim, Velim and elsewhere.

I wonder why people who come down south want to visit Mamallapuram. It is simply one of my most disliked spots in the subcontinent. What is there to see that is worth it? Those four and a half unfinished Rathas? That perpetually closed to visitors shore temple? That frieze on that flat boulder called "Bhagiratha's penance or the descent of Ganga?"? What is good about Mahabalipuram that they want to go there? I am even willing to philosophise and say, 'each to his Eden', but then WHY DRAG ME ALONG?

Some talk about the great Pallavas. Pallavas or not, why do they unabashedly charge Rs. 250 for Vellakaras (outsiders/white people) and a mere Rs 12 for Indians with dark skin? Is that racist or what? This happens openly, officially. Besides, the town is filthy dirty all over... No, I can not find any reason to like Mahabalipuram.

Anyone with a strong dislike, like the kind I have for that particular town, should not venture to go there on public holidays. On public holidays, public is everywhere; there is hardly any holiday for you who wants a quieter zone for holidaying because on working days you meet millions of office goers on roads! After all, everyone wants a holiday to look different from any other day, right? But that is not in the main why I would advise against going to Mahabs on a public holiday. It is because you are deprived of the one lean incentive to go to where you do not want to - Mahabalipuram! To me drinking a chilled beer is an incentive-even to go to Mahabs. Before going to the firing line army men must be officially made to drink beer so that they meet their death cheerfully! On public holidays, you can not get beer. You go to those over-priced "resorts", the beer they serve is cold, but it is bad beer. I do not like that:- the chill-terrific,-beer-lousy-equation.

This is not finished, for Mahabalipuram SUCKS!

***

My son Mir

Mir turned 6 on July 29th 2009. This awareness transports me six years back in time when he was born. I am once again caught between time's perfidious ways on the one hand, and its great boon - the allowance to us sentient beings to live together and laugh and cry and share over a period of years... In order for it to be that kind, time has to be that much severe, uncompromising; in its treacherousness unreliable perhaps. Or perhaps?

And thank god we have memory. Thank Him for we can recall moments lived long ago!

We, Paula and I, were aware of Mir's presence in our midst even before he actually came. Paula would 'talk' to him, read to him...we would feel him moving in her belly; he was strong in his foetus stage. He was a strong baby, and now a boy. So soon!

He was a beautiful baby. At 3 months and a little more, he laughed hilariously at Gino's tambourine. I thought that was early for a distinct response from a baby. And then, at 4 months he laughed and laughed at Christina's puppetry show. So much did Mir laugh that all the children in the audience were amused more by him than the puppet show. Then Paula and Mir went to Canada for three months. They returned when Mir was 8 moths old. And soon he started walking, then talking, then running and before long he started school! Now he asks difficult questions. Difficult because they are direct, simple questions. There is no fear in them. They are Nachiketas-like candid and sun-kissed questions. He asks me questions which put me in my place. It is difficult to admit your human-ness before your child, I suppose, but I have realized that its admission puts you at par with another human being and you are equals. It is not father and son anymore but two human beings face to face with each other in a beautifully enriching relationship.

And I realise that as a part of his growth, Mir may fall. My duty is not to prevent him from falling, but to encourage him to rise up and try again.

Oh! life is so much more beautiful with Mir in it. Perhaps it is because he is a point in my life where I can love unconditionally.