Just the sight of 8 hot chilies in the pan makes one go yummmmm.
I cannot eat anything spicy. But tonight is different. I feel like having a Maggi with no other embellishments but a dash of 8 chilies.
Whenever I make Maggi these days, I make is a little soggy. Almost soupy. Hubby likes it that way. But today I made it spicy and dry. Just like I used to have in my singledom :)
The weaver sat there weaving, wanting to make a beautiful fabric. Each warp* was strung and placed with its surrounding warps on the beam. They all looked at each other and smiled. They were neighbours for eternity. They had to be the strong ones because they were to bear the trauma of all the weaving. They had already been through the shedding and twisting together, which was to strengthen them. They were like best friends who had seen ups and downs as one. The warps.
But sometimes history can be a baggage. They were permanently tied together. Still and rigid. Absolutely no interaction despite being so close. One didn't speak to the other. Soon they got tired of each other. They waited for the wefts** to come by. The wefts would be like a breath of fresh air. Always on the move, never a dull moment with them.
The weaver knew this. He started interlacing the warps with the wefts. The wefts brought new colours with them. As the interweaving progressed, the highly strung warps started swaying too. Fluttering to the music of the wefts. They criss-crossed, danced and created magical designs with each other. The warps were very happy. They had found new friends in the wefts. Someone they could talk to, someone they could relate with. They gradually started getting detached from the neighbouring warps.
All the warps had taken each other for granted that they would always be together. They were the original best friends. But they never realised how and when they got so disconnected that they belonged only to the wefts now, not each other.
This is how friendships fall apart.
Slowly. One warp at a time. Day after day.
The fabric looks beautiful. The motif is magnificent. The weaver has done a splendid job.
But the warps have lost out on each other. The wefts are their new best friends. ***
* Warp is the yarn that is permanently fixed on the loom in a lengthwise fashion. Called ताना in Hindi
** Weft runs through the warp by way of threading. Called बाना in Hindi
*** I think I saw glimpses of one such great friendship fading away today. A little sad about it but then who knows what design has the destiny in mind for which this little detour was necessary.
I love meeting people who think unlike me. But this February had something else in store.
Have you ever bumped into a 104 yr old man and got scolded by him for no fault of yours? We did :)
My father and I were walking to Ganga river from the ashram in Rishikesh. We saw an old man. As we approached him, he looked at Dad and said, "please don't come near me". We asked why and got a big lecture on how wrong our food habits are and how we were abusing our bodies. We were shocked initially but it is not everyday that you meet a person like this so we stayed on and heard him out. And what a conversation it turned out to be. Hilarious and honest to the core. I missed out on recording the initial bits as we were busy getting scolded by him :) but here is the rest.....
If you don't understand Hindi, I am attaching a slightly paraphrased translation. Enjoy the video!
My father Anand Natu & Baba Yogananda
Translation & Disclaimer:
Baba: You should be slim & trim, just like these
foreigners. She how fit they are. (points to a foreigner).
(He shows an invite of the Yoga Camp he held in Goa recently.)
Baba: I am like this because I am a poor man. If I were rich, I would
have been dead by now. I don’t have sugar. I have never had tea/coffee. I don’t
even look at tobacco & cigarettes.
Baba: (Points to his tongue) this tongue is a nomadic vagabond. Slips
every time it sees a rasagulla (an Indian sweet). Start having a spoonful of
Fenugreek seeds everyday with water (to cure joint pain).
Young boy in white Kurta asks: Please tell me something for body
building.
Baba: Eat as many raw things as you can. There are 3 food shops. One
that the God opened. One is the Hotel which opens a Bottle and does their total
in the end. The 3rd shop is that of the Mother. The latter two are useless. The
mother doesn’t know how to cook (because she is blinded by love). Only the food
made by God is the one to eat – All fruits, all raw vegetables, and all dry
fruits. These you don’t like (chuckles at the fast food addicted youngsters).
Young boy refutes: No no, I eat handfuls of these.
Baba to Anand: May it be any God, anybody who is born of the sex organs
is bound to die one day. Paramatma (supreme soul) isn’t born of these organs.
It is neither born, not does it die. It is all pervading. Present everywhere.
If Ram, Krishna, Shankar, Vishnu were really Gods then why didn’t I find them
in America, London, Germany, Holland, Poland and Switzerland? (Remarks
Sarcastically) It is only in the whole of India that I find them. (Re-iterates by pointing to the sex organs)
Anybody born of here can only be a saint or Bhagwan but not Paramatma, the
supreme soul (gives a few examples of the saints). Paramatma is not a subject
of the eyes. It is a matter of within. (Laughs at the foolishness of people who
travel great lengths to find the super soul) Why have you come here to look for
it, it is inside you! People waste their time looking for it all around. It is
inside you and you just need to know that.
Baba: I keep going abroad. People are silly. They give me air-tickets
to go there. I have never bought anything (points at his clothes). India is
full of such ignorant rich people who keep giving me things.
Anand: But you do need individuals who donate else how will....
Baba interrupts: See the whole world is a beggar; the one who gives is
only one.
Young boy pulls his leg: Swami Ji there is nothing here, let’s leave it
all and go to the mountains.
Baba refuses: I have lived in the mountains (Himalayas) for over 50
years, there is nothing there. This Guruji brought me here from Mumbai. (He
means Swami Chidananda Saraswati who is the resident Guru of Paramarth Niketan
in Rishikesh). Don’t worry; there is no one of my age around here. I have all
my teeth intact, wear no glasses. Not many but I have 10 children and 34
grandchildren.
Anand: What did you do as a young person? Did you work?
Baba: No. I have contributed to the freedom of India (from British
colonial rule in 1947). (names some famous freedom fighters) Bhagat Singh has
played with me. I have met Subhash Chandra Bose. Tell me where was Subhash
Chandra Bose from. You are an educated person. Tell me.
Anand: From Bengal (this is the general notion in India as Bose is a
Bengali surname).
Baba Laughs: Ha ha ha he is lying. He doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t
know the answer. Ha ha ha. (Subhash Chandra Bose actually belonged to the
neighbouring state of Orissa).
Baba: Medicines can’t help you develop your brain. If that were true,
everyone would have bought brains. (Gets agitated) You can buy quilts and
bedding s with money but sleep the Paramatma has to give you. Money can get you
a servant but not love and devotion. (Gives a long thoughtful pause) If people
simply stop lying in this country, this country will be the king of all
countries. But see, everyone is lying here.
Baba: Think for yourself. If you want to worship, you should worship
the girls. But look around. All these Gods are being worshipped. We are making
the Gods beg for us. They earn for us and we eat what is offered to them. ‘See
we have turned all our Gods into beggars and we are living off them.’
Baba: If doctors had all the answers, wouldn’t they all live to be 100.
But no, at 70 they go like this and say “Pappu get me a glass of water”. (acts
out how old frail people behave and depend on others to do their work) Why
should Pappu (a very common pet name for a male child) get you water? Is he
your servant? I am totally against people who have children so that the
children can take care of you in your old age. My grandchildren might need me
but I don’t need my grandchildren to do things for me.
Baba: I sleep around 7 or 8 pm and get up at 2 am. Then I sit down for
meditation for an hour. I have been doing this for over 50 years but honestly I
can’t say that I have attained that state of absolute meditative state. I look
for the gap between the breath I inhale and exhale. And yet, I don’t see
anything. What will you know in a few days that you spend here! (He cites
Buddha and others to tell how long they took to attain the absolute meditative
states)
(He gets up) I apologise. Do forgive me if I have said anything to hurt
anyone.
Anand: What is your date of birth?
Baba: 1908. I asked my mother when was I born. She replied, “When
Rasbehari Bose threw a handmade bomb at Lord Hardinge in Chandni Chowk, New
Delhi – two years prior to that you were born”. I tried to find out but there
wasn’t any note of my birth as there were no registrations that time. Sri Sri
Ravishankar (of the Art of Living fame) got my passport made. He is very close
to me. He stays at Birla Guest House whenever he comes and asks me to help him
meditate. (then he gives out some basic details of Sri Sri Ravishankar). My CDs
are sold all over the world and if you search on the internet you can find me
on YouTube (gives the YouTube URL)
Disclaimer: Above is a literal translation with occasional paraphrasing
to explain the meanings with context to Indian references. It in no way claims
the historical authenticity of whatever has been said. Especially in the case
of Rasbehari Bose (Delhi Conspiracy case) which happened in 1912 and not 1910
as mentioned by him.
A line is straight. It is linear in progression and has but
one dimension. No depth. This is what we learnt in school. We learnt the same
about time. Passage of time was linear, never mind its cyclic
appearances whenever history repeated itself. The same can be said about one’s
responsibilities. Our sense of accountability towards obligations. No wonder it
is called the 'line of duty'. Some people live their lives more in terms of a
straight line. Executing all that falls on it. Only the people on the
line, belong to the line. Just like the collinear point we were taught.
And then there is a circle. Round. Bent. A shape that most
of the nature seems to adapt to. The sun, the moon, the earth etc. Symmetric. Perfect
! Some people live their lives more in terms of a circle. The circle of love.
You can start from a point, go the whole distance and still come back to where
you started from. You could be anywhere in the circle and yet be a part of it.
The rules are less and lenient. It indulges you.
Is it possible to choose just one of them as the presiding
decree that your life will run by? I always find it to be a fine mix. These are the root
binary codes that govern the programming of our lives. We do
things because we either love to do them or they fall in our line of duty. The warp & the weft of living.
And here I thought I was a creative person, far removed from
the laws of geometry and computing. Ha!
Papa was here a few days back. He stayed with us for almost a month. This was the first time he was visiting me after I set up home post-marriage. I wanted to make a good impression.
What do parents want to see? Not a palatial house or cupboards overflowing with prosperity. All they want to make sure is that their child is happy.
We travelled for almost 20 days. Me and dad. Just the two of us. From religious Rishikesh to royal Rajasthan to rangeela Punjab. With just a break of one day in between as a breather, we were constantly on the move. This trip was enlightening for both of us.
Baba & I - At the Rashtrapati Bhavan Interiors Tour
I realised that he wasn’t the same Col. Natu who was a picture of health. His knees hurt now. He worried for me and my brother constantly. He missed mom (we lost her few years back). He feared for his mother who is 90. All he wanted was peace. He wasn’t what I always thought him to be - my daddy strongest, even though for me he always will be - He was tad bit older.
He realised I wasn’t the same either. I wasn't the bubbly, effervescent girl who would run to him with all her problems. I wasn’t asking him for any help. Instead I was offering him a hand as he climbed the stairs (which he refused fiercely). I didn’t let him pick the suitcases. I insisted he wear sports shoes. I wasn't what he always thought me to be - his little girl - I was tad bit older too.
During one of the train journeys he asked me why I wasn’t the same old me? I laughed and replied, “you are not the same old you either”.
We came back to Delhi. He spent time at home. Partha (my husband) has this serene quality which can put everyone at ease in an instant. Baba adores him to the extent that he will squarely blame me for anything that goes wrong, not him. I guess that's a privilege most sons-in-law get.
One night Partha had to rush out for an emergency around 11:30 pm (he is a doctor). He phoned me once he had reached the destination and once more when he realised that he was going to take time. Dad was awake all this while. I had dozed off. He couldn’t understand how I could go to sleep when my husband is out. He asked me when Partha was going to be back. I replied sleepily, “ I don’t know.”
Papa looked a little displeased and scolded, “How can you not be worried about him?”.
Many previous worrisome nights flashed through my mind as I would go insane in the early months of our marriage whenever he stepped out at night. These emergency calls weren’t new anymore. I replied, “Oh don’t worry Baba he will come back when he is done. And if something has to go wrong with him, then somebody will surely call us and inform. What’s the point in worrying either way? Go back to sleep”.
This present day husband-wife equation was new to Dad. My mother would have been worried sick if he were ever out. The logic that life is very demanding and one doesn't want to burden their partner for a lesser reason, doesn't cut ice with him. He flared, “Is there anything you worry about or look forward to?”
One O’clock in the night was hardly the time to get into these discussions so I ended it with, “No I don’t look forward to anything. Now sleep.”
Partha was back by 2:00am. I opened the door. He walked in. There were no discussions about the patient (he never discusses his patients at home stating patient privacy and confidentiality). Of course I was relieved that he was back and the silent nagging anxiety over his safety was put to rest. We both slept sound and woke up fresh for a new day.
Baba didn’t sleep well. The root cries the most when it sees the branches dividing. That is what he imagined was happening to us.
He asked me as we were having our morning tea, “Are you happy?” I didn’t know what had brought this on. And then I remembered our midnight conversation. I knew just saying ‘yes’ was of no use. I was quiet. My efforts of making a good impression on him were kind of falling flat. What could I say? He thinks all this talk of 'giving each other space' is rubbish.
Silence has double edged undertones of coming across as sorrow at times. Just like a vibrant emotional spectrum sometimes resonates the falsity of a life lived well. I wasn't defending anything, that made him worry more.
Overjoyed photographs, public displays of affection, constant reaffirmations etc. are such widely accepted benchmarks of living in the pink cotton candy world that anything else seems like misery. Makes you look unhappy. The charm of these yardsticks is that they look the reality.
How does one tell elders who care for you that you don't anxiously look forward to being happy one fine day in the future because you are happy right now. You don’t wait to be at peace someday because you already are. How does one defend the calm waters?
चुपके से आकर सरसराते हुए पत्तों की कानाफूसी के संग वो अपनी बात कह जाती है. कभी पीठ पीछे इशारे से जता जाती है. तो कभी रूठी गोपियों सी आँखों में आँखे डाल कर शिकायत करती है, "अकेले ही आए थे, जाना भी अकेले ही है फिर क्यों भीड़ इकठ्ठा कर रहे हो?"
हम भी उसी बयार की ठंडक में जवाबी आह भर देते हैं. उन्ही इशारों का जवाबी करतब दिखा देते हैं. बैरी सौतन गोपियों से गुस्से में आकर आँखों में आँखें डाल कर जवाब देते हैं, "अकेला नहीं हूँ मैं. दोस्तों का काफिला है. हमसफ़र का साथ है. बुजुर्गों की दुआ है झोली में. अकेला नहीं हूँ मैं."
फोन के ग़र होता दिमाग
तो खुद ही कह देता वो
"ये भी कोई टाइम है नंबर घुमाने का?"
पर चूँकि ऐसा नहीं है
हम बेवक्त फोन उठाते हैं
बकरी से मिमियांते हैं
बित्ती भर ज़ुबां पे
मन ही मन
सैंकड़ों गालियाँ तौल जाते हैं
फिर "Of Course , No Problem और Sure Anytime " का
रट्टा लगाते हैं
जगाया होता ग़र खुद की बीवी ने सोते से
उसकी फिर खैर न थी
त्योरियां चढ़ाई होती हमनें
फटकार सुनाई होती हमनें
पर चूँकि मालिक की बीवी का फरमान है
कौन नींद, कौन नींद का चचाजान है
मिनटों में हम तैयार हैं इस से पहले कोई दूसरा बजा लाये उनका हुक्म
हम मेमसाहब के तिलिस्मी ऐय्यार हैं अपने बच्चों ने ग़र कहा होता "बाबा ज़रा सैर करा दो"
तो डांट-डपट कर पढने बैठा दिया होता
पर चूँकि ये बच्चे किसी और के नही
माईबाप के ही हैं
सिर्फ उनके ही नहीं, हम और आप के भी हैं
"अंकल मुझे शौक है गाना गाने का"
बस इतना कहना ही काफी है
ये लीबिया और हम गद्दाफी हैं
जो उस शौक के बीच आएगा
नेस्ता-नाबूत हो जाएगा
अपनी बहन ने ढूँढा होता वर ग़र अपनी पसंद से
हालत उसकी वो बनाई होती
शादी तो दूर, देखते हैं कैसे सगाई होती
पर चूँकि वो बहन किसी और नहीं
अफसर साब की हैं
उसकी शादी का ज़िम्मेदारी
पूरे महकमे के बाप की है
और देखो, कैसा चालाक निकला मेरा शागिर्द प्यादा एक निशाने से दो चिड़ियाँ गिराई है
लड़की तो पाई है पर साथ ही
अब वो पूरे दफ्तर का जमाई है
इसी आफिस से हमने
एक और नेमत भी पाई है
कहने को दोस्त हैं
पर वो दोस्त नहीं भाई हैं
बीवी-बच्चों ने भी भली निभाई है
चूँकि जानते हैं वो भी, इसी में हम सब की भलाई है
ऐसी भयंकर पीड़ा का
बस एक ही निवारण है
आ जाता है बिना चूके हर महीने के आखिर में
वो इकलौता चेक ही कारण है
के सह लेते हैं नौकरी की निर्मम बेंत
हँस कर हम मियां बीवी बच्चों समेत
मिमियाना = bleat like a goat, बित्ती भर = tiny, तौल = weigh, त्योरियां चढ़ाना = to frown, फटकार = scold, फरमान = orders, तिलिस्मी ऐय्यार = magical wizard, नेस्ता-नाबूत = razed to the ground, शागिर्द = apprentice, प्यादा = chess pawn, नेमत = divine gift
हमें रिश्तों को खींच-तान कर, ठोक-बजा कर परखने की इतनी आदत सी हो गयी है के हर मोड़ पर हम उन्हें कसौटी पर रख धरते हैं. हर ढलान पर उनकी पकड़ जांचते हैं. हर चढ़ाई पर हौंसले का सबूत मांगते हैं. भूल जाते हैं के कच्चे धागों में पिरोया नाज़ुक सा हार है यह, कुत्ते का पट्टा नहीं जो घडी घडी खींच कर पड़ताल करनी पड़े.
फिर जब हमारी ऐसी ही एक ग़लती से ये माला टूट जाती है तो या तो दोस्तों की टोली मुट्ठी भर ले जाती है या हमसे भी ज़हीन कोई अपना लेता है उसे. एक छोटी सी ग़लती कर के खो बैठते हैं हम अपना कीमती जेवर. कभी वापस न पाने के लिए.
खींचो नहीं यूँ जोर से
माला जांचन वास्ते
जहाँ-तहां पर भटकते
होंगे बिखरे मोती रास्ते
पंथी मुट्ठी में भर लें
या चुग जाए हंस कुलीन
पल भर में ही लोप भये
माणिक-मोती महीन
भूले से भी ना गिरे
ये जेवर अनमोल
कंगाल भिकारी बनकर भी
मिले नहीं खैरात में
खींचो नहीं यूँ जोर से
माला जांचन वास्ते
बिनस गया तुझ से तेरा जो
संजो सके ना कोय
वो नाजुक, उस से भी नाजुक चाव
शब्द बाण प्रहार से
ऐसे तीखे घाव
संचा बचे फिर कुछ नहीं
ऐसे घातक अघात से
खींचो नहीं यूँ जोर से
माला जांचन वास्ते
जहाँ-तहां पर भटकते
होंगे बिखरे मोती रास्ते
