A Drop of Golden Sun!

This year because I have been sick and restricted mostly to my home, I noticed trees change color. It was a beautiful fall. I went for some walks.  I noticed my breath, heard birds chirp, watched them eat the bread crumbs that I leave them every morning.  And then sometimes, when I came out to leave some food for birds and ants, I would notice Sun's concentrated- attention on one tree --and it would take my breath away. 

It was as if that one area or the tree had been bathing in love and warmth. Something, I think I could use.  But every time I saw a scene like this I would feel a oneness with the trees.  As is taught to us in India, we are not separate from any thing from the universe.  Grains of sand, trees, leaves, ants, elephants ---life courses through us, making us animate or inanimate...but life nevertheless....the way we differentiate it is --Jad aur chetan...unconscious vs. conscious (sentient--brain dead humans are not sentient), not alive or dead.  Just like body without atman (there is a difference between atman and soul.  Atman reincarnates, and takes on different bodies, at different times. A soul does not reincarnate)--is lifeless, and its life is an indication of atman, similarly this sansaar (the moral world) is infused by Paramatman (the highest atman)--and so every form of life is an indication of that Paramatman.  An ant is just as worthy of being saved as a human being (read some about Jainism if you are interested. They walk bare feet so as not to hurt even ants.  They cover their mouths, so as not to ingest any insect accidentally.  That is the level to which peace, ahimsa (non-violence) is to be practiced.  Any indication of chetna--consciousness is an indication of that Highest Atman.  And therefore our greeting is to bow. Bow when we meet. Nameste ----now used after yoga classes--means, I bow to the divinity in you.  When you and I are in that place, we are one.

It is that experience of oneness that I feel with trees, no matter what season it is...even when covered with snow, nature makes me feel an expansion.  Tagore, affectionately called Gurudev--the teacher, had commented how no matter how much praise was written in western literature, it was hardly considered one with humanity.  Or humanity was hardly considered the arm or extension of Prakriti (the sanskrit word for nature and also used in the same sense as 'a person's nature').  Nature according to western tradition and religions was only meant to be used by human beings, just like animals.  'Thou shall have dominion of all the animals'.  A oneness with animals? trees? rivers? Well, I grew up with it.  Whitman (Leaves of Grass), Thoreau, Schopenhauer, Hegel, T.S Eliot and other transcendentalists were influenced by Hinduism.  T.S. Eliott even said, 'Vedic (hindu) philosophy makes european philosophers seem like school boys). 

Today, I heard a colleague at lunch reading, read from a book where scientists are talking about 'plants are thinking beings'.  Well, as always the west thinks its finding something new.  We said it thousands of years ago. Native americans, who were killed with a Bible in  one hand, and guns in the others, knew it when they said...'Man did not weave the web of life. He is merely a strand in it.  Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.  What is man without the beasts?  If all beasts were gone, men would die from great loneliness of spirit, for whatever happens to the beasts also happens to man' (Chief Seattle).

The above picture is special to me because you can see how limited the circumference is of Sun's warmth on cold Swedish day--and yet it gives glow that warms us just by looking at it. It is restricted to the trees beyond the trees in the foreground.   Notice, those are not orange leaves, for all the leaves are gone.  It is just the glow of the Sun.

In the silence that comes on us during exhaustion, there is still this oneness---that I always feel when on a cold cold day, I experience a drop of Golden Sun!!

Pushp Ki Abhilasha!! A Flower’s Wish

There is a reason that school curriculum is supposed to be designed by those who love and know the culture of that country.  The following poem was part of our fourth grade Hindi textbook.  It must have an impact---for me to remember it even today.

Pushp Ki Abhilasha!! A Flower’s Wish 
By Makhanlal Chaturvedi

I do not wish to be part of the ornament of daughter of Gods,

I do not wish to lure sweet love by being a part of lover’s Garland for her,

I do not wish O God, to be offered to the bodies of the great Kings,

I do not wish to take pride by adorning the foreheads of Gods

Will you, O gardener !!—pluck me and throw me on the path

Where the bravemen of my nation tread to offer their heads to the motherland!!

NOTE:  Please click here to listen to a melodic rendition of the poem!!

When Parents and Their Children Travel Together

A common sight--the picture does not need any explanation.  It shows how parents and children ride the bike together around town.  Can you smell tranquility of the town? 

Those Strange Noises on Halloween Night!!

Guy Fawkes Masks:  Children on Halloween-2014

NOTE:  The following entry was started last year.  But as you can see I have not been regular with my blog.  I do want to update a few drafts before the year is over. I hope that I continue with this blog.  But, have been away from words.  Other posts that have gone up recently were all written at least 10 months ago.

&&&&&&&

About two minutes ago, I heard noises outside my house, really strange noises, laughing, cackling and then someone shook the wind chimes hanging really hard, rang the bell and ran away.  Sweden is the safest place I have ever lived, but since I have had strange experiences before, I ran to my kitchen screaming, who is it, who is it?

I opened my kitchen window, since it was dark and I could not see who was knocking at the door.  

Are you Indian?

Yes!!

Do you celebrate Halloween?

No, but I lived in the US---

Oh, Ok, give us candy.  I was prepared, so that was no issue.  Ok, but take off your masks first, it scares me. 

They all obliged me.  

I came out, there were laughters and clapping.  Four young boys, I think of Kurdish or Irani descent--fluent in Swedish--were smiling like children do --at the prospects of getting candies.

2015:

The same happened this year. I was prepared. But they came late this time. I had already retired for the day as I have been on sick leave.  They kept knocking.  The same conversation as last year---'take off your masks'

They did, but this time they said, 'give us money too'

No, no money, but I bought two bags of candy...anyone??

They spread their hands and bags. They were the same boys, some of them wearing the same masks.  One of them had forgotten his bag, and since I could not drop many candies in his hands, he took off his knitted gap and opened it up.  

I was so tired---but by the time they left, I felt a sense of lightness within me.  A joy ,a smile came over my heart. 

I was spooked for sure, but with much sweetness and silliness of under 13 year olds!!  

It was Djung!

Gladioli in the Vase that Djung gave me.

The photoframe behind the flowers contains a silk coaster that Djung brought me from Korea

Although I have been travelling since I was very young, that travel sort of slowed and then for a while was limited to within the US.  
I had been teaching and finishing my Phd, both of which were in completely different directions. Years later, the pattern continues even though I finished my Phd a long time ago. But nearly a decade ago something happened that triggered the feeling of restlessness again.  It brought me back to the feeling that life is short and that we must sometimes take quick decisions to move out of our comfort zone. 

When Dr. B told me that he had a graduate assistant for me, I was ecstatic.  I had been teaching at the university for about 1.5 years and had taught nearly several new courses, three each semester, but that last semester when I was finishing up my PhD I had been given another new course.  At the time I was still new to teaching, --about 3.5 years, so I did not realize what a toll new teaching courses always different from what you were researching or writing about take on you.  That itself requires a entire post.  But I had already taught at two other universities before.  The first university I had graduate assistants both semesters, which was a great help.  

The second university gave me an undergraduate student who helped me about 2-3 hours a week. There was some help with proof reading the exams that I created, formatting of the assignments and sometimes labeling the pages that needed to be photocopied.  Today when I have none of that, I realize how much energy goes in the administrative work and how mind numbing can it be if done at a long term basis.

So, getting a grad assistant who I could discuss classes with, who could help me grade and enter grades was just music to my ears. It was my last semester as a Phd student.  But I did not tell anyone that I was defending that semester.  I had taken longer than I thought I needed to take for the completion (in hindsight I realise how hard it all was, I still struggle with most of the issues I struggled with when I was working on dissertation, at that time I also struggled with paying bills and an absolute uncertainty of job prospects and a place (country) to live) and was embarrassed—that I had not sorted all this out. 

The grad assistant I got was Djung, a young, stunningly beautiful, astutely brilliant student, was working on her PhD and who also lived in the same building as I.  

Over the next few months we would bond over ideas, assignments and several cups of tea.   At times, when we could not meet due to our schedules but have much work to take care of for the class, I would leave notes on her apartment door.  She would promptly take care of the material and we would continue the work.  We found enough time to talk about life and trials of a foreign grad student.  We also wondered about place as women in the country and in the world. 

We talked incessantly about anything under the sun.  Just the way girls talk. And I never even thought about the fact that we were from different cultures.  She from Korea, I from India.

“I am going to buy many saris when I visit India” she would often say.  I would laugh at her enthusiasm.

 “I know, I know, it is so consumerist, but I want to own a few.” And we would laugh together.  We had jokes for everything.  And anyone who knows Djung, knows that she had a great sense of humor.  She was smart, witty and beautiful. 

She once arrived in her class, her students told me later, with a band aid on her face, and responded to quizzical looks by the students by simply saying, 'The first rule of fight club, is never to talk about it.'

She also was very concerned about student-teacher relationship, and as the first step she made sure that she knew each and every student's name in the class, which could be anywhere from 40-100 students, depending on the class.  She would take a digital photo of each student, write his or her names and use that as a guide in the first few weeks of teaching. 

Since those were the years of uncertainty it was also the time when most of us did not know which apartments we were living in, and our dates of occupancy etc. One summer Djung had asked me to lend her my apartment during the summer to drop her boxes, as she was moving some of her stuff. It was no issue for me since after teaching the first summer session I had spent several weeks in summer with my sister.

But Djung was so profusely thankful, and started sharing her woes of having to find a place for storage when one is in between places. I understood all too well, being a foreign student, and a master 'tenant' myself. I had moved over eighteen times, in twelve years by the time I moved back to the University to finish my degree.   As we sat in my apartment, sharing a cup of Indian tea, Djung simply nodded, 'thank you, you have no idea....'

'Stop! I know how it is' I told her lovingly.  She had smiled and nodded. 

Djung was also very deep - she said little but felt much.  In those months that we worked together she honored me with sharing much of her personal life with me.  That sharing and interexchange of notes on life would continue until later. 

About 18 months after my graduation, I had lost all hope and understanding of my place in the world. I had moved too many times, taught too many courses at three universities and dealt with the biggest question of all, 'having a community'.  I remember writing on a piece of paper, 'if life is not going to go smoothly then I want to start the 'silsila' (chain of events) of travel again, for it gave me some sense of purpose and brought me the best of human endeavours--and interaction. 

In that process, I had applied to a conference in France.  The paper was accepted and they gave me a small grant to travel to Paris.  I booked a room in a hostel and took off.  I remember very little of the trip, except that I took a train to meet a friend from Spain who I had also known from the University.  There was something not right.  Something did not sit right but I got busy in enjoying my first trip to continental Europe --as a way of forgetting the confusion of where I was going.

When I returned, I had several messages from my friends B and J on the answering machine.  Sometimes their voices were cracking, sometimes there was an urgency.  When I called them, my heart sank and I fell in a numbness that I have not really shed since then.

It was spring break, and Djung along with three other friends had decided to go to New York City to spend 30th birthday of one of the girls. A head on collision with an oncoming vehicle had killed three girls instantly and left one injured.  Djung was one of the girls who did not make it.

Two weeks before that my mom's sister had passed away.  I had seen her only a month before that, when I visited home, and had promised to write to her regularly.  During my student years while I tried to keep in touch with many, my own woes with money and personal issues of finding my place in society had left me in much emotional pain.  So, that year I had told myself I will make some changes.

But my aunt's sudden passing away, even when she was very healthy, a young Djung being snatched from us way before her time, broke me.  I could not stop crying.  I called my sister, who had been checking on me for a few weeks since my aunt's passing away and broke down again, 'what am I doing here, why am I here, what is the point of this'.  I would ask these questions that had no answer.

While I was already behind in grading (something I detested), I fell behind even more, I stopped the process of applying for jobs for the next few weeks.  I would drive around town until late on the streets of that university town--, often times breaking into tears—I would have to constantly wipe my tears to be able to see clearly.  

It was not just Djung, it was the entire situation.  But Djung became a catalyst for my reevaluating everything. 

Knowing that for years away from family, despite my keeping in touch with people, making friends--I never became part of any larger community.  

It was the senselessness of an academic life, which was supposed to help young souls mould into better people but focussed more on a printed word that was understood by very few.  

It required a rigour that did not demand personal discipline raising us towards a higher consciousness-- but a discipline that took as only as high as being respected by others who had gone through the same.

Djung, for me now, was everywhere. 

I saw her in everything.  As ephemerality of life, as simplicity of love, as innocence of a new born, and as calm— acknowledged cynicism—that dripped from stores that yelled, ‘Sale lasts only today’

I had some of Djung’s messages on my answering machine and many on my email. I would listen and read them over and over again.  Trying to see if I could find anything—any message from her, that I could decipher for my own life.

I kept the clippings of the local newspaper where the incident was mentioned.  And then I attended the memorial given for all the girls who have lost their lives.  I stood at the back, leaning against the wall, crying silently, my chest constricted, looking for warmth and hope.  I remember telling B that 'you know how we think many oriental people look the same, but today I saw only one face every time I looked at any oriental person, Djung's'

I had to start applying for jobs. I had only two years left on my visa in the US. I did not want to leave it all to the last minute. I had a job offer the year before, but I had declined it, hoping to have more clarity in what I wanted to do.  The thing about being on your own is that you have all the freedom but all your decisions have to be taken only with you in consideration.  Many times it is a matter of survival.  I wish I had someone with experience of such a life --to talk to at that moment.

But I did not.

With the events of that spring and many springs before, I had come to the conclusion that nothing mattered, that I would never be successful in the traditional terms.  If there was something called salvation and freedom, for me it lay in movement.  Life could end in a split second.  No one seemed to be waiting for me.  No one was going to miss me when I was gone.  Not so much depressing as much as a matter of fact.

When I mean is that I was lacking a 'deep connection with people, where you became an important part of  someone's life, or a member of a community, or part of a network of individuals where there was some collective idea of contributing to society--'.  I had volunteered in so many organisations in the US, upward bound, AID, habitat for humanity, and several others, but I never felt anything more than a fleeting part of an amorphous community, without any directed goal.  

This time I started applying to universities outside of the US.  While I applied to several, three specific positions I remember were in Fiji, Switzerland and one UN position in India.    I had been short listed at a very small university in Maryland and another small university in Michigan.  When both Switzerland and UN told me that they will take a while to make a decision and Fiji offered a job, I sent an email to my advisor.  A slightly angry one, 'What do I do with this?'.

'You have done this before' he said' 'this might be a good chance.'

As much as I did not fancy an international move, I did not feel any pull towards the US anymore.  I got an interview call from Maryland.  But before even responding to Maryland, I accepted Fiji's offer.  It took me less than ten days to come to this decision. 

These were my thoughts.  I have nothing keeping me here.  Look Djung, an amazing scholar is not even here.  She never even finished.  People I love are far away, I need to support myself.  I need to be in a warmer, sunnier place. Djung is gone. Life is short.  Life is unpredictable. We should snatch joy and laughter when we can.  I need to be in a different culture where there are languages other than English. I need to experience simplicity.  May be Fiji's Indian culture will bring me back towards Indian culture.  May be I will be a part of something again. Djung was struggling to define her place as well. Djung is gone. Will I never see her? 

Then I would talk to her, 'Djung, watch over me please?'

I looked at a big transparent vase that Djung had given me as a graduation gift.  

'Why did you not come to the party?' I had chided Djung.

'Because I did not have the time to buy you a gift.' Djung explained with an excuse that is all too Asian.

'Silly girl, I do not need anything and that could have waited anyway, you should have been there.'

Djung had given her beautiful simple, serene and silent smile.

Within 6 months of Djung leaving us, I had left the country.  I have thought of her every spring.  

I have carried the vase that she gave me to every country I have lived in since.  I have made nearly 3-4 intercontinental moves since Djung left us a decade ago.  The number of countries I have visited are nearly 2.5 times more than I had seen before that.  I have learnt much.  Much of the pain and confusion has solidified and crystallised. Yet, I have found my tunnels and hangouts from where I function in the presence of complete light. I have less and less desire to return to the US today, a country I so thought was my home, despite my utter critique of its culture.  

I do have a community. The problem is --as is with academic life, it remains transient, since people move very often.  When I recount all the confusion that lasted me for years and how I always thought I would eventually settle in the US at some point, my friends ask me, why did you leave?

I have no clear reason, but deep down I know it was Djung!!

Djung's untimely death. 

It will take us all a while to understand or realize what happened and in many ways we will never get over this.  And I think somewhere out there Djung will continue to smile, as she stays her beautiful self and all of us get older and loose our minds in this crazy world.

And while we can all try to come up with ways and things that will take us towards some healing process, I think her family will always wonder why they let her go.  I hope I am wrong, but I am sure at some point they will all ask themselves, “for what?”

This is what  I have to say to them…..’Djung was not away from you all, she was with us.  Djung’s life became the foundation of my taking a bold decision when I was stuck in the quicksand of doubt and confusion.  Her love became my idea for simplicity with which this life can be lived. Her short life made me realize, ideas are important but they matter more when lived—when they are backed by action. 

For me, even though by this time I had been to about ten countries, how did my travel and world exploration (re)-begin?

Because of Djung!!

Djung remains with me, as I fill the vase she gave me season after season with flowers ---bird of paradise and orchids in Fiji, Lilies and Roses in Sweden—I scrub it carefully every few weeks, and display it on the side table.  Sometimes filled with dried rose petals.  She has remained as a silent but a vibrant rose petal in my life--which retains its color even when prana (life) has left it. 

When people ask me, what a beautiful idea –where did you get that?

It was, obviously, Djung!!