End of half of 2010

As part of the new journey I am on – I believe there are certain experiences which are worth sharing. This journey is full of wonderful anecdotes, travesties, experiences, small journeys and big voyages, collection of battles and winners of wars. There is no winner, there are no losers, no interpreters, no impostors, no beliefs, no mirages. There is a manifestation of your own self – and what you pray against is a mirror, not in a literary sense but more figurative in nature; which actually means you are praying towards yourself for yourself. The most important ingredients seem to be an unwavering faith, the intensity to carry it undeterred and a clear aim of what exactly we want to purge.

I agree I am not making any sense at all. So from now on, in my own humble way, I will try to granularise such thoughts – not only for the benefit of the readers who do turn in, but more like a soliloquy aloud. It would seem to clear my own thoughts, disentangle issues and make things simple – as it is meant to be.

In the meanwhile light returns, optimism beckons – in a week’s time. A new beginning, a fresh start and I am really looking ahead towards it. Wish me luck, well errr no… Wish us luck!!

1990

I cannot see. I have had an eye operation. I cannot weep. Water and more so saline water is not good for the wounds fresh in the eyes. The eyes are wrapped, bandaged tight, and once they open, I am not supposed to wear spectacles any more. He is not there with me. He has gone to make a few swift telephone calls back home. He has gone to bring some food. It is difficult to find nutritious food for a patient in this part of the world. He has gone to procure a ticket for our journey back home.

He returns, half an hour too late. I complain. He gets angry. He usually gets very angry. He scolds, sounds expletives, goes to the balcony of our ramshackle shelter. He is alone, with a patient, who cannot even see. He has not been able to procure the train tickets. He cannot leave me alone and try his luck at the station. He has asked a friend to arrange for a Tatkal ticket – if it could be arranged. He hasn’t had dinner. He quickly rolls up his tobacco for a smoke, and puffs hurriedly at the balcony. Then he comes back. He finds a clean bowl and a spoon. He washes it and pours some milk. Then he tears the slices of bread into it. And then he remembers. He has forgotten the sugar. He goes to the next room. Another room, another patient – a girl, a bit older than the one in his room and her family. He shyly asks, “Do you have some sugar?” And then he remembers. Sugar is not very good for open wounds – that’s what his mother had taught him. He apologizes and thanks the family and comes back.

He switches on the dim light. I pretend to be asleep. He knows. He says, “Come on. Open your mouth, I will feed you.” No response. He says, “I know you are not asleep. So open up.” His voice does not sound angry any more. I open my mouth. He carefully pours one spoonful. I eat up. I do not complain about the sugar. But still he explains, “Sugar is not good for open wounds.” He brushes his hand within my hair. I fall asleep. He too dozes off. He forgets – he hasn’t had dinner.

The next day, the doctor has just opened up the bandage. He is expectantly standing in front waiting for me to open my eyes. I feel very uncomfortable opening my eyes, the sudden light, the blurring effect, the watery feeling. And slowly the camera seem to adjust its focus. And I can see, clear – no specs. He is happy, very happy. But he knows such operations are not always fully successful. The slightest carelessness can bring back the power to its normal level. No water for the next fortnight at least – he warns himself.

The friend does not return with the train ticket. He has to travel without reservation, with me – an operated patient. He does not care about himself. But it’s a 36 hours journey and a crowded train and an equally dangerous route. As the train chugs in, he throws himself through the door of the unreserved compartment and promptly grabs two side seats. He places the two suitcases between them. He makes me sit on one of the seats.

The thali arrives. He has his dinner – his first morsel in three days. He eats in a hurry. Rice, chapattis, dal, the rag of the vegetable – all in, all at once, as a trickle of the gravy pours out from the corner of his mouth. I watch, he doesn’t notice. He looks up once he has finished. And then he cleans up, goes to the basin and washes up. As the night draws in, he makes me lay over the two seats, the suitcases bridging the gap. He sits on one of the corners of the seat, my head on his lap. He will not lie down. He continues shooing away erratic passengers, who are trying to shove into a corner. I doze off and I can smell – his smell. He smells of tobacco, dust, sweat, after shave, the steel on his wrist watch, the coconut oil on his silken balding hair – all rolled into one.

Return

I thought I would never come back. Primarily because I dislike; no, I hate the MS Office look, which comes to haunt 80% of my waking hours. But then I did have lots to share, lots to say. And then I did make up my mind to indeed write again. But now that I have done, I really don’t know what to write first.

In a singular, disdainful and reckless moment of carelessness I have destroyed a lot of features on my blog which I had painstakingly selected and added to it, trying to make life a bit more interesting for readers who do turn in the pages once in a while. Hence, that would need to be reinstated, but, given my retardation in matters relating to the computer, I presume that should take a while.

Second there have been certain changes in life which would need to be shared. How, when and where – well that’s what even I am trying to figure out. But for a start, let me sprinkle over you something, well… you judge it.

A few months back, I was chatting to a friend of mine, more on matters personal and affecting my daily life – and I tell you there is a helluva lot keeping me absolutely strangled. While listening to the same, he told me, “I think you need to change the way you think, speak and live.” Live? I mean how can I change my life? “Well, yes, you can,” and he seemed remarkably sure of what he was saying – and that’s a very rare trait these days.

So what he told me during the conversation goes like this:

Whatever we face in our life is a manifestation of our actions not only in our past, but also in our past lives – well that’s no big deal, my winzipped version of the Bhagwad Gita has it even on its executive summary. But here is the twist. He tells me, well if your actions have been cause; the effect is the result and / or the grind that we go through in the present. But, as a person, I have the power, right within myself to change this cause and effect – to mitigate the polluting effects of my actions in the past and the ramifications that it has at present. The level and the range of the actions and the results can be controlled at some point of time by certain things that we do in our own lives and hence can, to some extent, come out of this cycle of helplessness.

And the best part is yet to come. To attain this, we need not renounce anything from the current longings and desires. It is a spiritual attainment, beyond doubt, but it is fuelled by certain worldly and karmic wants which fuel the individual towards the attainment of a goal. The icing on the cake is that, the individual himself decides that goal irrespective of whether it is material or spiritual.

Interesting? Well, let me fathom it myself. How I fare, only time will tell, but will sure keep everyone posted on this exquisite journey and my own determination to overcome barriers to remain on course.