Hare Krishna

Continuing on the same theme of observing people in public means of transport, I experienced something unique today in the metro after work. I was sitting in the crowded train, counting how many stations I had before I reached my destination when suddenly at a station, 4 white men walked into the metro singing 'hare krishna, krishna krishna, krishna krishna, hare hare'. One was wearing a dhoti, another had a teeka on his forehead. One of them announced that they were propogating a concept called 'metro yoga' and that their service in the metro was free of cost. They even had a glossy black card advertising www.metroyoga.com, distributed free of cost (I'm not kidding, check out the website and you will see the guys I am talking about).

It may have been the concept, the ridiculously out-of-place attires or the mysterious enthusiasm, but everyone around had a wide smile on their faces. And then I thought of something beyond all this. These 4 men didn't want anything material in return for what they were doing. They were not ashamed or afraid of having convictions that differed drastically from the people present around them. They just wanted to give and share. Just like that. Without an ulterior motive. How many of us ever do that? I suddenly envied them and the peace that showed on their serene faces. Wouldn't life be a more passionate story if we could only concentrate on giving?

Eternal love

What I love to do while using public means of transport, is to observe my co-passengers. On my way back home in the bus the other day a father-son team caught my attention. They were facing each other. The boy, not more than 6 or 7 years old was looking out of the window, his eyes betraying fatigue. His dad was looking at him, his eyes full of affection and love. Then the little boy said something to his father who came forward with a big smile on his face and hugged his son and kissed him on the forehead. I couldn't help but smile looking at them. While most of us were getting impatient to reach our destination and do something more important than sitting in a bus, the dad was savouring the precious moments with his son who would probably go back to his mom's in the evening.While I was evacuating my loneliness by watching their love for each other, the dad was probably dreading his lonely evening that would follow. While I was looking for eternal love, the dad was expressing his in counted moments that would end with the bus trip.

Why are you looking for love?

I was walking up the Champs-Elysées with a friend today. She usually walks down the most famous avenue in the world, in a hurry. She hates the crowd, the tourists blocking her way to get the perfect picture of the Arc de Triomphe, the restaurant chairs and tables generously spilling onto the huge sidewalks, the geometrically shaped trees of uniform size, the traffic jam and the cars honking...well, just about everything. She just wants to get through the ordeal of this walk and get into the metro station.

Today however, was different. She was taking her time walking, looking up at the trees and the sky beyond, and was even smiling...at strangers around her. A little hassled, I asked her what was going on. She gave me the corniest answer one could give - "It's so beautiful to be in love". Yep, that's exactly what she said. My jaw dropped, and I started looking around, perplexed.

Yesterday I met an older woman, a staunch feminist and a very independent woman, who went on for an entire hour about how men are selfish and demanding and how they always expect the woman to be perfect, even if they themselves are light years away from even the vicinity of perfection!!

Wherefrom my obvious confusion. My friend is so passionate about falling in love, that I know that in a few months or years we will be walking up this avenue again, and she would have fallen out of love with her guy. I am equally sure that the woman I met yesterday must have her moments of loneliness and a desire to have a stable company in life. They are both so different and are yet looking for the same well hidden treasure. Would the solution be to stop looking and stop expecting? Like Khalil Gibran has said,
"And think not you can
Direct the course of love,
For love,
If it finds you worthy,
Directs your course."

Do moments make life or is life made of moments?

It is very hot and very humid in Paris today. The trains are not air conditioned and I can feel the human heat escape as the doors open and I get in and sit near the window. People around me are sighing and complaining. I am reading a book: about a 54 year old janitor of a posh residential building in Paris, who has spent years hating these rich people, making herself inconspicuous and devouring litterature and art, hating her parents who never cared for her future when she was young, hating that unknown rich man who betrayed her sister and left her to die in thunderous rains. And then, after 54 years, her life alters as two people coming from the very milieu she hates: a 60 year old rich but simple man, and a 12 year old rich but simple girl. She realises that she is now capable of loving again, sure that her fate won't be the same as her sister's.

3 weeks of this joy and she gets killed by a truck as she races across the street to push a drunk beggar off it. As she lies on the concrete knowing full well that she is going to die, she thinks of all the happy moments of her life. 54 years of life and 2 pages full of happy moments. Just this realisation brings a tear to my eye. 54 years of existence, but happy moments that can qualify as lifetimes. This is life: Looking for eternal moments in an ordinary ourney...chercher les toujours dans le jamais. C'est ça la vie: chercher les toujours dans le jamais.

Nature

Away from Paris, in a small town in Sarthe, I could smell the trees, feel the wet grass under my bare feet, see horses moving with grace, grazing quietly, see thousands of stars in the sky, the crescent moon behind light fluffy clouds, hear birds chirp, small insects buzz, see the fog, the sunrise, take long walks, introspect. All the things I love in life. Yet, I'm happy to be in Paris. Why is it so?

I love being alone with nature, but I love being in a crowd as well. I love communicating with trees and mountains, but I also long for human voices. I love observing animals in their natural surroundings, but I also like watching strangers in the metro, on the streets.

Where are the days when I could get all of this at once? Why are we humans replacing Mother nature instead of trying to live with her? Why do we always look to dominate her? I still need my Mother around me, and I think we all do though only some of us are aware of it. So lets use less electricity, use the common transport more often, walk when we can to work, recycle paper...let's try to work back towards the natural equilibrium!

Time

I wonder who invented the notion of time and clocks.
Happiness and satisfaction makes time rush forward.
Boredom and loneliness makes time move slowly.
Death brings time to a stop.
Why do we then need a clock and numbers to decipher what time it is??

14 juillet

I was standing in front of the eiffel tower, with thousands of people around, not a cm sq of grass visible. Looking up at the tower, we were all waiting for the fireworks to begin and then we suddenly heard the first one...behind us!! We were all waiting for the fireworks to launch from the tower, but they were from trocadéro this year. La boulette, franchement!

This year's fireworks were dedicated to quebec's 400 years and the firework attraction were the ones leaving gold dust in the sky for several seconds. The show lasted 40 mins. The fireworks were launched in tandem with the opera music playing from the eiffel tower. As the last opera song reached crescendo, so did the fireworks and so did the crowd. My lower jaw was drooping and I couldn't help it.

Being jolted back to reality so quickly was a little shocking. Especially since a metro ride that usually takes 20 mins took 120 mins, in a sandwiched position...but it was well worth it.

The old lady

She entered the building; shoulders bent, breathing heavily, a supermarket bag in each hand. She kept the bags by the staircase and stopped to get her breath back. I asked her if I could help her with the bags. She smiled at me and accepted. I asked her where she lived. "The fourth floor" she said. "The fourth floor" I gasped!! "How do you manage that at your age?" "I don't have a choice" she replied, "so I take a few steps at a time". "Why don't you shop for a lot at one go so that they deliver the bags at your doorstep". She gave me a look that said I was very being naïve. "I can't spend that much at one go" she explained, "and my appetite is not that strong either, so the food will go bad".

As I took the bags upstairs and heard her, huffing and puffing slowly up the staircase, I couldn't help but pity old age. How does one accept to live with so many constraints when one has spent more than 40 years full of vigour and speed? How does one accept to be alone when one has spent an entire lifetime being there for family and friends? How does one accept that the countdown has begun?

Loss

The world turned around me,
And I kept plunging into myself.
Deeper and deeper.
And when I suddenly awoke, you were walking away.
Walking towards light, led by a hand that was not mine.
And I plunged back into darkness.

Standing still as a baby cloud goes through me, I observe the snow capped peaks around me. We are a sizeable group on the mountain peak but I feel like I am by myself. It feels like the clouds belong to me, the mountains belong to me.

I think about my life in the city. The daily rush, the crowds, the gadgets, the people I love, the people I don't care about, my home, my work, my adolescence, my childhood, my dreams, my aspirations, my disappointments, my failures. Standing here, I realise that I was born to be like the Nature around me...to stand tall, to follow my way, to be free, to believe in destiny. But being born in this peculiar species called the humans, I was sterotyped by my surroundings.

Tomorrow I will be back to the madness, trying to fulfil everyone's expectations, making them mine. Maybe this moment of union with Nature might help me keep my sanity. As I look at the deep valley ahead of me with bright green grass and apple trees making their way towards the sky, I feel a calm descend over me, my anxiety gets washed away through tear drops that soak through the soft snow at my feet.

Technology

As we progress in technology, our observations, judgements, behaviours are becoming more and more superficial. We are very cordial with people over the telephone and emails, but what about our outlook towards people physically present around us? We enjoy seeing the photographs of our last vacations and re-living those moments but what about the natural camera in our brain that didn't seem to capture anything that isn't in the pictures? We sit in front of our computers/laptops/mobiles typing away furiously, who knows whether it's day or night? We watch movies on DVDs, listen to music on our IPods, but when did we last go for a play or a concert?

Everyone talks about technology having liberated us, made us nomads. Isn't technology rather taking us in the opposite direction to some extent? I would love to meet my friend but why go through the motions of dressing up, leaving home, taking the metro when I have internet and webcam to talk to her? I would love to learn Spanish, but I don't get time from watching TV. I would love to take a walk in the sunshine, but I'm busy writing a blog on my mean machine...

We the humans

I look out of my window onto the busy street.
People are passing by, cars are zooming past.
Some are cheerfully chatting, some are arguing, some are observing, others are simply lost in their thoughts.
I don’t know who these people are.
I don’t know what is going on in their head.
I don’t know where they are headed.
In a while I will become a part of this city buzz…and I don’t know where I’m headed either.
I had read somewhere that even though we may feel small and insignificant compared to our vast universe, we make a difference; that a single birth, a single death, has an impact on the cosmic clutter.
Yes. An impact on the universe. And on the people around us?

The blind woman

I was sitting across a blind woman in the metro today.
Balancing her stick between two fingers, she kept touching her face every two minutes and kept adjusting her hair.
Several times she checked if her curls were in place.
If her fringe was alright.
And I couldn’t help but wonder.
Why was she so conscious about how she looked?
She couldn’t appreciate her own visual beauty.
Then why did she care if others did?
How did she determine what people with eyes looked at?
Shouldn’t she be one to care about inner beauty before anything else?

Love

They walked slowly, hand in hand, towards the sinking sun.
Their feet sank in the wet, white sand, and left a deep mark as they moved ahead.
He put his arm on her shoulder.
The sun was nearly down.
The horizon, a deep orange, slowly turned violet, and started fading into darkness.
He looked at her, held her hand, kissed her on the lips.
Then she saw him slip his hand out of hers, turn around and walk away.
She never saw him again.

Today as she breathes through the last hours of her loveless life, she wonders.
She wonders how things would have been if he hadn’t left.
If she hadn’t asked him to.
“Is he still alive?
Does he remember me?
Think about me?
Does he hate me?
Has he forgiven me?
Does he remember me?
Does he remember me?...”
Her breathing becomes heavier, scantier.
And then she suddenly cries out his name…after all these years…and moves on to the next world.

Paris

On court, on chante, on pleure, on rit, on s’aime, on s’ignore, on boude, on fume, on voyage, on s’enferme, on danse, on râle, on découvre, on apprend, on se précipite, on se regarde, on observe, on s’éclipse, on court, on court, on court.
C’est le Paris que je déteste.
C’est le Paris que j’adore.

A walk in the forest

Walking through the thick forest, I feel small and insignificant.
The tall evergreen trees dwarf me.
The breeze makes its way through the leaves, making them dance on its music.
The sunshine peeks in shyly, and I can see the dust ambling lazily in its glory.
I cannot see the birds, but I can feel them judging me through their curious eyes.
The black ants are moving up and down the bark of a huge tree, oblivious of my presence, or even my existence.
I look up and see blue spots in the abundant green.
I cannot help but be awed at nature’s symphony.

The sunshine slowly recedes.
I cannot see the dust dancing.
I cannot see the blue spots; I cannot make out the green.
I don’t know what the ants are up to.
But I can hear the birds.
I can feel the wind rustling through my hair.
I can hear the leaves dancing.
I can hear the soft thump of my feet with every step I take.
And it’s enough to make me feel alive.

Childhood

I remember the Sundays of my childhood, the only day I used to be home with mom and dad.
I remember that I used to wake up by 9 to watch one of my favourite kiddie series on doordarshan...the one in which the good always won over the bad by the end. I used to savour the breakfast my mom made, whose taste hasn’t changed till date!
I remember the lazy afternoons in the zoo with my dad, where I used to love to look at the lone Bengal tiger, to run to a swing as soon as one got free, my dad pushing me high up in the sky and me wanting to go even further up.
I remember squirming in my bed in the afternoon, waiting for mom and dad to wake up, shaking them awake every time I got too impatient. I used to however, hate watching the black and white marathi movies that my parents never missed on a Sunday evening on TV. I guess all the neighbourhood parents were alike since we kids got out to play at that time.
I remember the huge empty space around our small house, the amla and the almond trees where we used to gather the sour fruits and almonds that had betrayed the huge trees.
I remember the circular road in front of our house, where I learnt to ride my bicycle…without any fear, because I knew my dad was behind me.
Later, our house changed, neighbours changed, the trees around changed, the Sunday routine changed. But I still have my childhood in front of my eyes like it was yesterday…at least some part of it. I visit those surroundings once in a while…the centre of the circular road has become a park, people ambling around there now are unknown to me, the house we used to live in today has a stranger’s car parked in front of it. But through it all, I can see the faces I used to know. I can see my dad’s white fiat and my uncle’s red kinetic parked in front of the house. I can see myself playing in the yard, without a worry, without a thought about tomorrow, without questioning the reason of my existence.

It was a bright Sunday afternoon.
They were walking down the narrow street in a little town in Bretagne.
They had walked down this street many times before: in winter, spring, summer, autumn.
She talked about little nothings, he listened; with admiration, with love.
The cane he held had become a part of his life. He had become a part of hers.
He took each step slowly, cautiously, breathing heavily. She held his free hand tightly and continued singing poetry to him.
Very few people passed by at this time of the day but those who did tilted their hats when they saw him.
He was thinking how much he loved her; she was picturing the chocolate cake lying in the fridge.
And then he stopped.
She asked him what the matter was.
The cane fell to the ground first.
She shouted, her eyes brimming with tears.
She shook him but he did not move.
And just like that, she lost the man she loved the most.
Twenty years later when she would be all grown up, she wouldn’t remember his face, nor the long afternoon walks down the narrow street in a little town in Bretagne.