CHILDREN OF THE EARTH, NOT SONS OF RELIGION

From dust is our birth

To dust, our destination

We are children of the earth

Not sons of religion.

The infamous face of communal violence has found a new home; our world, where it thrives and slaughters the same people who found him this home. Daily reports send shivers down my spine leaving me disturbed for most part of the day.

One such day, as I was strolling down towards Saraswati Mandir, I witnessed a sight that gave me new hope and a reason to write. I can vividly recall where my mind was then, as I was thinking that despite all its shortcomings, there are some especially remarkable things about IIT-R. Things that in the everyday confusion of our lives we choose to omit. One such beautiful thing is that the Saraswati Mandir and the Muslim Dargah are located across the road, perfectly opposite to each other.

It was about six in the evening, and the time for Namaz. A Muslim man, senior in age and rather devout in appearance, gently and reverentially stepped out of the Dargah. Dressed in a white salwaar kameez and wearing a Taqiyah, he seemed to murmur a last minute prayer in Arabic just as he turned towards the road. On the other side of the road, and at about the same time, the temple pujari, draped in an orange shawl and wearing a dhoti, stepped out of the temple gate. His lips muttering a silent prayer as his fingers played with the prayer beads. The pujari, as if noticing the presence of a friend, crossed over to the other side. The two men looked warmly and embraced each other.

“Jai Shree Ram, …. Ji! “, said the Pujari.

“ Jai Shree Ram, Panditji!”

“Aur …. Ji, kaise haal chal?”

“Allah ki dua se, koi musibat nahi!”

To this, the pujari joined his hands in reverential prayer and bowed his head facing the Dargah.

“Bhagwan ki kripa se, jo kuch bhi hoga, sab hamare bhala ke liye hi hoga”, Said the pujari.

“Aapki duaye hamare saath rahe, yeh hi hamari iccha hai”, said the man and smiled gratefully at the pujari

“To phir chale?” asked the Pujari

“Pehle Mandir chalthe hai”, replied the man.

Sometimes, the commonest of sightings, those that we take for granted, can contain the most significant and relevant of lessons for humanity; lessons that have the potential to save humanity from the poisonous influence of communal violence. Lessons that remind you, we are children of the earth, not sons of religion, God, after all, knows no religion.

Down Memory Lane

Pray! For it’s that time of the year again; when the smell of coffee evokes an unfounded belief that my mind is onto something productive; when the scattering of TBLS books and Xeroxed notes in my room invoke an eerie feeling of sleeplessness and despair.

And, as I flipped through the pages of these unintelligible notes, in pursuit of a ray of hope to sail me through, I couldn't help my mind from flipping through the poignant memories of R-land. On another day, in another semester, I would have refrained my mind from wandering. But, on this day and for what it’s really worth, I let it sail.

I stepped outside and looked all around. The fresh air seemed stunning. The colors of the sky, through my color-blind eyes were more vibrant than ever before. The crowds of people swarming the streets amazed me.

A simple conservation left me overwhelmed. Never before had I been so aware of the vibrancy of my surroundings.

Fleeting images made me laugh at myself; those little conflicts which now seemed so trivial. “I am not perfect, and neither are my friends, so why not make the most of it and pledge to forgive and forget?” Conflict resolution was never easier

.

I guess the value of something is truly realized when it is being taken away from you. All those unexpected yet random chapos; endless, existential talks over bottomless cups of terrible coffee and the prized freedom from monetary responsibility will soon seem a distant dream.

Everyday sights and sounds were coming at me like a rainstorm. It seems difficult now to accept that only yesterday it was all so easy to get caught up in everything else and lose sight of these experiences. I certainly never appreciated the colors of R-land as I rushed to class every day.

   

A sudden thought then hurt me. This last semester, which was to have run out so slowly, was running out fast, and to-morrow looked me in the face more steadily than my quivering eyes dared look back. As these four months had dwindled away, to three, to two and now one, I had suddenly become appreciative of this place. Never before had I even considered expressing feelings of gratitude to the IIT administration, for all their harassing and red-tapism. But on this day, as the setting sun glazed the bright white dome of the main building, and the same sun light up silhouettes of the babus rushing hurriedly out of their offices, I shed a tear that painted a smile,” Thank You, for this journey would never have otherwise been possible.”

I stood there, waiting for the light of day to solemnly fade, as if to capture the moment and live in it forever. I had been so innocent and little here and all beyond was so unknown and great. In a moment I broke into tears, “Good-bye, oh my dear, dear friend!”

Charles Dickens had said, ‘Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of the earth, overlaying our hard hearts.’ I was better after I sobbed for I was sorrier, more aware of my ingratitude and gentler

.

Pray then! For it is that time of the year again, but Alas! For the very last time.   

PAPA's Word

Dear Life,
     
              Things are clearing. You have been uncertain, harsh, kind and benevolent all at the same time. How you manage to achieve such impossible feats is a thought that shall never cease to plague me. But, through all these uncertainties and situations you have always sprinkled essential wisdom that I consequently reflect on. You have been a good teacher. You have taught me that no matter what, the world is a beautiful place, it's always my vision that clouds the beauty. You have also taught me, that I am and will always be an eight year old within.

             Everybody has a little child within them, that they fervently battle to protect and conceal. They mask him and cloister him by learning skills and aptitudes to deal with the world that threatens to overwhelm him. Therefore, developing a secondary insecure outer covering of one self. When we meet people, it is this veneer we encounter, and it is the same veneer that suffocates 'meetings' and every day dealings. But, when the armor is broken, and the child is exposed, the real meaning of human contact is revealed. It's an intangible thing. And, it's a funny paradox that the child reveals itself only in the most wretched bouts of human suffering.

            I write this as an opportunity to thank you for premature wisdom, words I promise to treasure and sprinkle when need be.

Yours Faithfully     

Faux Pas

A new Home in an unfamiliar land can be a rather lonely customer.Scorned at by the stray dogs of the land, even 'dust' thinks twice before visiting it, let alone taint its glazed exteriors.Naturally, visitors to such a home, if ever at all any, engender such an overwhelming feeling of elation in us, the unfortunate denizens, that we  impetuously over look the very purpose of their visit. Unfortunately, this can lead to, as it shortly will, an untowardly embarrassing situation and a wretched blog post with no purpose other than bringing celebrated infamy to all its' attendants.
A momentous day that was, when a peculiar sound disturbed the agonizing silence of our Home.
"Ch...Chirr...Chirrp..Chirrppp....Chirr..Ch".
"Ayyo!. There's a bird in the house. Run, run, go, open all the doors and windows." Not the sound, but the behest so started me, and shook me off my characteristic 'post-semester' state of dereliction, that I took off in every possible direction, releasing every door and window that lay on my path. Heedlessly, I went about the task, until the main door unleashed my sight to a vision that greatly puzzled me. Four specimens of the human race, decked to the extent of being offensively ostentatious, stood there beaming brightly at me. A fit of bewilderment, so gripped me, that I blinked profusely and slapped my head twice, much to the dismay of the animated figures in front of me. One of them, stood fiddling with the door-bell switch, when it rang, "Ch..Chirr..Chirrrp...Chirrppp..Chirr..Ch".
"We were just going to call, we thought your door-bell isn't working. By the way, Hulo! I am Doctor .... This is my wife..my daughter..and my son."
"Please come inside...have a seat. Ma, we have guests! It was the door-bell."
"Namaste, Namaste. Please have a seat, Tea? Coffee?."
"Tea. Thank you."
"Beta, be here for a while, I'll just get tea."

"My daughter... She has done journalism.. She is a good cook..She has no problem going abroad.", He said, and looked at me keenly as if to seek my approval. 'She' sat placidly, palms gently folded, in a state of coy deference.

"Maybe the both of you would like to speak to each other in private?".
"No!", I retorted, surprised by this rather unearthly suggestion.
Clearly taken aback by my sudden rebuke, the four of them looked fiercely at me, with an expression of mixed consternation and shame.

Just then.."Tringg...Tringg...Tringgg...", "Hulo!. Yes, this is doctor..... speaking...Hmmm....Oh! but, we thought we are already at your place..Ah! Yes, yes..I took the left...Ok..We'll be there in five minutes."
He put down his cell-phone and looked uneasily at me."Oh! A..aa.acutally we've come to the wrong place, thank you anyway, bye."
The four of them darted out of the house at such speed and in such stealth that they were gone in a blink.
Their faint voices could still be heard, "This way our daughter is never getting married.."
Mum almost dropped the tray on the table, and we couldn't help our laughter, the sound of which, we werre pretty sure was loud enough to reach and embarrass them further. Strangely, and rather insensitively, we just did not care.....

A momentous day that was, now an indelible impression in our minds, one that no bout of unceasing laughter can ever hope to justify.

  Hope vs Despair

  A seed of pain , a seed of doubt;
  That sows within, and shatters you without;

  Nurtures itself on fallen weeds;
  Of loss, despair and naught deeds;

  A drop of condescence, a blessing in disguise;
  That sprouts the bud, now stands with pride.

  A sense of repletion, a sense found anew;
  Squeezed out of the soul of a heart once sinew;

  Consumes the insides and withers the outsides;
  Fetters the will, A will once free.

  A fight ensues, a battle of blood.
  The insurmountable enemy,
  now a tree with struts.

  With daggers of wisdom and swords of hope
  Besiege the tree, and shatter its trunk.

  A seed of hope; a seed of belief;
  Now sprouts within,
  and awakens the breath of life;
 
 

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WHY?

I DON’T KNOW

“Click Clock… Tip Top….. Brrrrrr….. Hahahaha…”

 Sounds from the bright world outside as I sit inside my pigeon-hole in attempt to figure out the best fit to this impossible curve.

“Whooossshhhhh” …. That was the wind talking.

It’s funny, how inanimate objects come alive and become your best companions when with over two sleepless nights of incomprehensible jargon left unstirred.

“I wonder what the temperature is like outside”  

For some reason even my termite infested wall seems more interesting than the inevitably imminent.

“What if I just don’t study and go to the exams with an open mind. That’ll be the real test of my intelligence”…. A brilliant thought, maybe a little too brilliant. No. Let's see.

Hmmmmm...... This makes for a great debate between the two voices in my head.

Angelic conscience: A stream of ants, illuminated by the sunlight, jutting into my room and traversing in the most rhythmic of patterns reminds me of nature's inherent simplicity. How complicated we human beings have made it!. Life is Simple, only if we ever knew it.

Devilish Mind: No. Humans were born to defy laws. My very existence and the existence of all those around me is the result of an act of defiance. Had Adam and Eve been ever submissive to the laws of God, there’d be no humanity. And, perhaps, then life would be simple. Life may be Simple, but we will never know it. Of all the things God created, his most entertaining creation was the human being. He who defies laws, stomps the earth, and conquers the universe. God’s watching, and it’s fun. Trust Me!

My Verdict: So, my animosity is only natural. For, I want to defy laws. That’s what makes me human after all.

PS: As always, I succumb to the voice that most suits my convenience. Exams!, Here I come.

Beauty within the Beast

Heb 13:2-“ Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

On a little hillock, beside a lively stream, overlooking a brightly-colored congregation of wooden cottages stood our large, proud, rose-colored bungalow. With gates as high as the heavens, the intimidating structure, over the years, had done well to keep uninvited visitors away. It was the fall of 2003 in Shillong, and like every fall, the skies had gotten greyer and gloomier, the winds had gotten stronger and chillier, and the trees had gotten barer and browner.

Every evening, from five to seven pm, Mum would entertain poor patients, and treat them for free in her little office attached to the house. Sometimes, I would peep through the window to see her patiently attending to all these terrible looking and withered people. I often wondered how she put up with all their exaggerated wincing.

“Must be a very depressing job to do” I used to think to myself. Perhaps, it was this thought that sub-consciously influenced me against taking up this profession.

One chilly October evening, as Mum was fixing supper, there was a sharp knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man, “Why he’s hardly as tall as me” I thought as I stared at his stooped shriveled body. I had seen many a woeful looking patient, but none as appalling as this; his face, disfigured from swelling, his skin, rumpled and raw, his weak hands, pale and shivering.

“Good evening, Is Doctor Memsahib at home? I’ve come to get some treatment.” His voice was pleasant.

Mum was visibly tired that day, and it was already half past nine, so, I lied.

 “Doctor Memsahib is sleeping, Could you please come back tomorrow at five? I will tell her your name.”   

“I come from a village very far away; I took the bus this morning that unfortunately got delayed, I have been hunting for a room, but no one seems willing to offer me one. I guess it’s because of the way I look. Could you spare me a place to sleep for just one night; I will go back after treatment tomorrow.”

“Please wait, I’ll call Memsahib.”

Mum hesitated for a bit, then looking at his condition said, “We’ll get you a bed, but, you will have to sleep on the porch. I’ll treat you after supper; you can go back in the morning.”

I was understandably piqued by this unnecessary act of benevolence.

“You should take care of yourself too, you know.” I said to Mum.

After Mum had finished her treatment, I went out to speak with him for a few minutes. It didn't take me long to realize that this old man had an over-sized heart crowded into that tiny crippled body. He told me he was a farmer, and worked to support his widowed daughter, her four children, and his wife. He didn't say this by way of complaint. In fact, every other sentence was prefixed with a ‘thanks’ to God for a blessing. He was grateful to my mother for having given him treatment; he thanked God for giving him the strength and to keep him going to support his family.

When we got up in the morning, the bed-sheets were neatly folded and he was out on the porch. Just as he we leaving for the bus, benignantly, as if asking a favor, he said “Could I come back and stay the next time? I won’t put you out a bit; I’ll sleep on the chair.”

He paused a moment and then added, “Your son made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my appearance, but children don't seem to mind."

Mum said he was welcome again.

Over time, the tiny old man grew fond of me. Every time he came, he brought for us a basket of the most wonderful strawberries and peaches we had ever seen or tasted. During the following months, there was never a time that he did not bring strawberries and peaches. Knowing how little money he made, his gifts were doubly precious. He once told me of little white rabbits that he had in his farm, and I asked him to get one for me.

Unexpectedly, my father received his transfer orders to another place and we were to vacate the house in two weeks. We were sure of meeting him at least once before leaving, but, he never came. Mum informed the neighbours and left a note with them containing our new address and telephone number, hoping he would call. He never did.

Mum and I never forgot about him and we will always be grateful to have known him. “From Him”, Mum said, “We learned to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.”

Ten years hence, there was knock on our door. I opened it to find a young lady carrying a little white rabbit in a wooden basket. There was a note attached to the basket.

“I apologize for not being able to meet you before you left. Here is the rabbit you asked for. I shall always be grateful for all the help I received from you.”

The same day, Mum and I were sauntering about in our new garden. As she showed me the flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket.

“Shouldn't you put this in a better pot?”

"I ran short of pots," Mum explained," and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, until I can put it out in the garden."

Mum and I laughed delightedly.

"Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old farmer. "He won't mind starting in this small body."