And the puzzle falls into place

There is a special joy in discovering the origin of a tune that has been ringing in your ears.. and when you've been unable to place the tune. The orphaned tune floats in your mind, frustrating your best efforts at trying to place it…. until one day you catch the tune in a song when you’re walking by! And then the tune has its happy reunion with the song… and the world is at peace again!

Or in a phrase that you read, which keeps popping up in your mind again and again. And the way it comes back to you with the suddenness of lightning, like a particularly difficult part of a jigsaw puzzle that falls into place finally.

Or the way something that's bamboozled you completely comes to you in a flash of insight.

The mind is a vast storehouse of forgotten thoughts, thoughts waiting to be reclaimed and relished. Maybe the joy of rediscovery is worth all the frustration that precedes the retrieval of the elusive thought.. or phrase... or song.

Thoughts... on thoughts

Thoughts are like soap bubbles in a bath. They emerge in an invigorating flush, ballooning inside of your mind… you can play with them, mull over them… and then if you’re not careful..poof! they’re gone in a flash, at times the very pressure of the thought causing it to explode, to vanish forever. How strange! The tiny pin prick of another pressing thought, or a momentary lapse of attention is all it takes to make that fragile, concentrated bubble of thought to disappear, to merge with the millions of other lost thoughts, forgotten ideas of a million people.

I think about a million things all the time, all day long. There are resolutions I make, ideas that emerge.. and then in a flash, they’re all gone… products of the human mind, so sublime, they vanish into thin air, many a time never to be thought of again.

How do I keep track of my thoughts? How do I get back to those thoughts that were so beautiful, those ideas that were so creative, those resolutions that were so important… how do I capture everything… keep track of every little thing that I thought of doing, revisit them and work on them?

Sigh… if only my thought bubbles weren’t so fickle, weren't playing truant with the conscious mind. That huge, cumbersome machine, churning out little bubbles of thought every instant we breathe… loses sight of the bubbles only to let them escape, or hide slyly in hidden recesses... to lie forgotten, that there remains no memory that they ever emerged.

How do I befriend my thoughts... make myself the master of them all.. and hold them all in my conscious mind, and pick out the important ones at my bidding?

London Diaries: Windsor Castle

It was a beautiful summer’s day in London. August was ripe into its third week, and the sun felt warmer than it had a few days ago. This, I thought happily, is the stuff that the English novelists used to write about in those timeless classics like Pride and Prejudice!

I was lost in the shoppers' heaven aka Oxford Street when my phone rang. It was one of my co-grads, in her usual excited tone telling me (yet again!) about a new plan that been hatched and was to be put into action right then! This is so typical of her- she’s completely impulsive, lazing about on her sofa posing for crazy pictures one minute and planning a trip to someplace the next! This time, it was Windsor Castle. Did I want to go? Of course!

Off I went to the Oxford Circus Tube station to wait for my friends. They arrived soon after, and we left for Paddington, from where we were to get on to a National Rail train to Windsor.

We emerged from the Windsor station, through a row of small shops to the queue for entry to the Castle itself. To say that the castle and the surrounding structures were breathtakingly beautiful is to understate the case. The timing of our visit couldn’t have been more perfect. It was a pleasant day, and the sun bathed us in its warm glow even as the towering structure seemed to speak to us of its hoary magnificence. Fluffy white clouds provided the perfect foil to the benevolent sun, and little tufts of clouds peeked shyly from behind the turrets, like wisps of cotton that had strayed too far in time from a bygone era. The breeze was gentle, and almost imperceptible, as it rocked the bushes and the boughs of the trees in its silent rhythm.

Our first port of call was St. George’s Chapel; which amongst other things, housed stalls for the order of the garter, an order of chivalry stretching back to the Feudal Ages. Quite different from the Bath Abbey, which has a charming small town church flavour; in this chapel, you can almost feel the echoes of regal footsteps.

The feeling of being in a different age was overpowering in its intensity; perhaps more so owing to the fact that I could relate to the place from the classics that belonged to a different age. An age when guests of royalty rode to the Castle, in the horse-drawn carriages that clip-clopped along. An age when the gallant gentlemen, in their immaculate suits would help the ladies down the carriage. And the ladies themselves, in magnificent flowing gowns and fashionable bonnets.

And so we walked along, as would have the lords and ladies of long ago; into the Castle’s staterooms, ballroom after ballroom, chamber after chamber, where spoils of different battles were displayed in all their grandeur.One has to admire the gall of the British, albeit grudgingly; for their conquests ranging from the Eastern lands of China to the heartland of Africa, and their matter-of-fact pride in displaying the war trophies.

Every single item spoke of wealth of grandiose proportions. Even the little princesses’ collection of dolls, at St.Mary’s dollhouse, stunned us in its splendor. These dolls were a tad shy of lifesize, but were sporting designer clothes and jewels!

We were to go to the very, very pretty Moat Garden next, but weren’t able to make it before it closed for the day. We traced our way back, back through time, back from a fairytale age of old English costumes, from those castles steeped in history, each step taking us closer to the hustle and bustle of modern day England, until we found ourselves in the Windsor Royal Shopping Complex, having lunched at a Greek restaurant. We passed through the near empty passageway between row of shops that had already closed for the day, though it was only 7:30 pm! The British storekeepers have an unshakable sense of work-life balance; stores seldom stay open beyond early evening; strange for one accustomed to 11 pm store closures. We walked back through the famous red telephone booths, stealing some photographs of ourselves on the way.

My thoughts wandered once more to the stately maidens and gallant youth of yore, in all their finery, burdened with royal gifts, being borne along sedately back to their homes. As the train vroomed at high speed carrying us back to London, my thoughts shifted several gears, to settle fleetingly on the prospect of the last set of classes in the coming week. As the four of us got down at Canary Wharf, it was close on midnight, there was a nip in the air as we walked briskly down to Fraser Place, to a good night’s sleep!

The Song Divine

I was in middle school when I first read the verses of the Bhagavad Gita. At that time, I was taught this holy scripture the way a preschooler is taught the alphabet - by rote, in the form of a rhythmic incantation. Right from the start, I found myself trying to make sense of it from the English translation in my pocket-size copy of the Gita. Translations typically show a predilection for using archaic /heavy words ("transcendental knowledge" is definitely not the kind of concept that would captivate a seventh-grader). I have been trying explain the gist of the Gita to myself; none of my attempts sounded convincing enough. I have also read a variety of attempts by others to do the same, and amazingly, each one is so different. This is the true beauty of the Gita - it encapsulates timeless wisdom in a form that resonates, in different ways, with people of different inclinations.

For some time now, I have wanted to revisit the text, and to ponder over its message. Some may find the ideas to be misplaced for our times, and sadly enough, many are wont to look upon the Gita as too ponderous (I don't find it in too many 20-somethings' reading lists). From what I've read of the Gita, I find it holds deep meaning to us in a variety of ways.

I like to look at the Gita for what it actually is - a logical conversation between a soul in doubt and his counseller. Here he is, the star warrior in your ranks, Arjuna, benumbed by anxiety, overcome with doubt, grief-stricken at the enormity of the action that he has to undertake. Fortunately, you also have in your ranks, an expert counseller Krishna(who better than God incarnate, who has answers to every question, and who can quell every doubt!). The counseller goes to work, starts off by chiding our warrior for his act, which could be construed as cowardice, thereby appealing to Arjuna's sense of pride in his valour - a great starting point to make him see things in perspective. He then goes on to talk about weightier things like the ephemeral nature of the world and that he, Arjuna , being merely an instrument in the larger scheme of things, should not shy away from his action citing his selfish reasons.

Which brings us to the first major theme:

Perform your duty selflessly, do not be attached to or claim ownership over the results.

Of course, once this was said, Arjuna immediately wanted to know how one could stay detached, which brought the discussion round to the "the one of unwavering intellect" - the one who is unaffected by extremes of emotion, a proponent of the yoga by means of knowledge.

(The word yoga has been interpreted in various different ways, the most agreed upon one being the definition of yoga as "excellence or skill in action")

Arjuna, grasping on this to support his argument, questions Krishna, why he, Arjuna cannot be given respite from the war to pursue yoga through knowledge, rather than through action.

Our skilful counseller however, has the answer to that ready too - that seeking to abandon one's duty is not an acceptable solution. Each of us is impelled to a definite course of action by the very nature of one's circumstances, and it is beholden upon us to discharge the duty that arises, and not give it up to follow a different path, even if that alternative were to be one of great sacrifice and devotion.

Further dialogue ensues about the distinction between, and the relative merits of, yoga through action and yoga through knowledge. The theme of detachment is key, as is unlocks the doors to a whole set of fantastic discussions around concentration, meditation, mental predisposition that are very, very valuable to us in everyday life.

One of my favourite verses is from this part of the Gita:

"One's self is one's biggest friend as well as one's biggest enemy. To one who has uplifted oneself by one's own efforts, the self is the biggest friend; else it remains one's sworn enemy."*

How true! Think of the last time you promised yourself that you would quit some really disgusting habit, or that you would learn a new skill; and you just couldn't do it because you couldn't garner the willpower or bring yourself to do it. And think again, of another time when you really managed to pull off something that you resolved to, and the great sense of inner peace that you felt.

Your better self is constantly at war with your lower self (a kind of Jekyll-and-Hyde situation). One wants to set a mission statement for your life, and the other wants to sleep longer instead; one tries to tell you to sign up for the gym and the other tries to tell you that it's OK to gorge on that other guy's chocolate too - it is entirely possible to uplift yourself; it just requires, as Henry Thoreau** says, conscious endeavour. And the way to do it is to control your mind through practice, concentration and focus.

Having explained two of the three yogas, Krishna completes the discussion on ways to attain the Supreme, by touching upon Bhakti Yoga, or the path of devotion to God.

The last few chapters of the Gita are still somewhat of a mystery to me. They speak of the nature of man, and how to subdue aspects of your nature that stop you from greater goals, of the concept of one’s world as an inverted tree, a metaphor well-established in other schools of philosophy too.

I plan to understand the Gita better, and revisit this piece with more ideas to share. I know I can do it; it's all a matter of letting my better self prevail !!!

(P.S.: This is just my small attempt to understand the text, and to share my impressions on ideas I found particularly captivating. I’m no expert on the text, comments/corrections are most welcome)

*Chapter 6: The Science of Self-Realization (verses 4 & 5)

**Henry Thoreau: I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate himself by conscious endeavor.

The truant brook

I was a truant brook setting off
On its own from the hillside stream,
Charting its joyous path, contentedly

All at once, an ancient Rock,
Stood as a stumbling block
And came to halt the cheery journey.

The brook can but stagger, try to
Push on and falter.
Succeeding in merely letting trickles
Of Itself escape.
As I baulk at this block
That lets me not put pen to paper
And write freely as before.

But the brook will, in time
Trickle slowly, surely,
Steadily through cracks and voids
Until the ageless solid mass
Gives way.

But only to meander on, with none
Of its infant insouciance
Or jauntiness of stride.

And in time, with meaning to the meander
With purpose to the prose
On the journey to the infinite sea



(Radhika AR, Jan 2006)

Driving you crazy - On driving licences and "note"able obsessive compulsive disorders

It was one of those days that remind you just how hot the city of Chennai is, and exactly how monumentally inefficient and antediluvian some government bodies are. So there I was standing in the dizzying heat, in danger of getting dehydrated, running over the events of the morning. The usual haggling with the autorickshaw guy, the instructions from the “Driving School Principal” (Man, what a fancy designation :P) about where exactly the driving test was going to take place, and how the driving licence (for those lucky enough to get it the same day) is akin to a ‘gold biscuit’ that had to be protected with one’s life.

And here I was, at the huge open ground that used to be a bus terminus, amidst roughly a hundred driving licence-hopefuls. Not even insects dared to stir in that enormous open space, as the merciless sun bore down heavily, sucking energy out of each one of us in glee.

The ‘inspector’ was the god of the day. It was he who would officiate at the grand ceremony, put our individual skills to test, and it was him indeed who each hopeful who have to propitiate to attain the grand prize.

I darted a glance around, wondering if it would seem too out of place to pull out my notes for a quick revision before the test. Then I decided not to risk it. Fact is, I was way too embarrassed by my carefully made notes for the driving test. The previous evening, it had come as a revelation to me that I was loth to enter any hall (or open ground) of examination without notes to revise from. Which was why I had made flowcharts and bullet-pointed reminders detailing every possible driving manoeuvre that I would have to exhibit to appease the god of licence-granting.

A sceptical friend of mine, nonplussed by my note-taking openly showed surprise, to which I sheepishly mumbled how I could not stomach the thought of facing any exam without self-made notes. To which, he (always prone to histrionics) asked with a flourish, “It is a serious obsessive disorder that you harbour! What of the grand exam of life, then? What of the test of time? How do you propose to make notes for those?” I was too preoccupied with my test to respond. I am now armed with a well-crafted reply about my daily notes in my diary about myself, my interactions and my self-experiments based on empirical observations of the impact of various forms of interaction, my timetables and schedules and.. oh well, this will keep for some other time.

Let me continue the chronicles of the much sought-after driving licence. The scattered crowds began to draw closer to a point near one wall of the ground and I supposed that the Great One had indeed come. Minions of assorted driving schools approached him with a bunch of filled-in application forms each of their respective candidates. Upon which it came to be known that another of the expected greats had played hooky from work, and hence a quarter of the crowd was to be sent back for want of an inspector. As luck would have it, I was one of those chosen to seek assembly at a later date. Arguments (from me), counter-arguments and promises (from the hapless driving school instructor) later, I left, fuming, indulging in the favourite Indian pastime of ‘blaming the system’ – decrying its inefficiency, its lack of concern for the average citizen and other such banalities.

To me, what was unendurable was the thought of another morning of being subjected to the sweltering heat of that open ground all over again.. ughh!

As I geared up for a repeat adventure the next week, I was so gloomy that I believe my cloud of gloom could have eclipsed the still-inexorable sun. And I couldn't even be bothered to carry my notes with me.

The entire charade repeated itself. The gathered crowds, the interminable waiting, the gods who could choose to make an appearance as and when they pleased, the (just) 2 hour delay in their appearance, the dust and sweat and the sea of hope.

There was also the some “big man”’s grandson, who was respectfully escorted to the office to have his photograph taken for the licence card (sans driving test, of course), the imperious elderly lady who secured her daughter’s (presumably) licence with a large denomination (equally presumably) currency note pressed into the hand of the inspector’s sidekick… and perhaps other such spectacles that escaped the notice of my harried self.

Two hours later, post my successful exhibition of my driving skills, as I offered my not-so-smiling countenance for a photograph for my licence, my overwhelming relief erased all signs of fatigue of body and soul, and soreness of feeling for the Indian way of ‘getting things done’.

In the end, my precious notes were of little use, as tests of display of driving prowess were not sought to the extents I had imagined. The way it always used to happen in my other exams. And no, this did not throw a damper on my note-making enthusiasm :)

"B"een there, being now

A leaf green, of tender stalk, in shielding shade cocooned

Of sprouting wings, of new worlds, desire in veins burned

As rushing gale, revered of yore, swirled it in path of boon

Life new, in a rush of winds, cast a spell on a morn of June

 

Kindred souls in adventure bound, swung along in gale,

With each day in whirl and twirl, in winds unknown did sail

Chasing, racing the stream rushed, while some in peace did float

Held in thrall by the rushing gale, at times loved, at times loathed

 

The gale in path did whisper on, dripping wisdom to its throng

Morals new as days wore on, and to find where each one belonged

And then the journey, with its end attained, left a void, a lull

Gave respite, thoughts to amass, and the hereafter, to mull

 

Here I recline, with all lessons mine, in lone tranquil perch

New paths to embark upon, and newer meanings to search

As the winds cross my path, they whisper into my ear

What is it that you seek, what do you hold dear?

 

Time moves on as grains of sand, in moments precious as gold

As with myself I commune, the better to myself mould

Looking within, looking forward and learning from the old

Travels await, to newer plains, as I make my future unfold…