I am intrested in forming a group which could help me identify five girls of needy families in Bhopal and enable them to reach an educational target like clearing the IIT exam. Can someone help me in this direction?
I am intrested in forming a group which could help me identify five girls of needy families in Bhopal and enable them to reach an educational target like clearing the IIT exam. Can someone help me in this direction?
A young graduate from a US university was once asked what was more important-a job satisfaction or salary package. He gave a minute to reply. Job satisfaction, because if the job does not make you internally happy, then what use would the money be. Money cannot buy happiness. So he joined an NGO, which worked for the upliftment of street children. First seven months, he enjoyed working with them, because this lifted him internally. But soon he realized that money was more important. Unlike his other friends, he did not have a plush house, nor a fancy car. So he said good bye to the world of social service and moved on to the corporate world. A cushy job and a handsome salary packet helped him buy a fancy car and a plush home. He had all the gadgets one could fathom, all the luxuries one could imagine. He savoured all the comforts, his friends envied him and his social circle widened. But again a year down the line, the same dissatisfaction crept. I have everything in this world. I can go on a world tour, buy anything that I feel like—but then I am still not happy. And so he quit his job and went to a lepers home, where he started working for their rehabilitation. He started eating with them, sleeping with them. Many in the society, even his family members would pass caustic remarks: “ Why had you gone to the US to study, if you had to ultimately do this. This does not require any degree and investment of money.” Most of us are like this youngster, hopping from one ground to the other in search of happiness. We have coined our own definition for happiness. We will be happy if we are in a good job which greases our wallet, we will be happy if our child does academically well and competes in the exams, we will be happy if our spouse is caring and supportive. But what if none of these find place in our live. We become unhappy, crib and make ourselves even more unhappy. It is like a chain cycle. Why can we not be happy when we see a handicapped child, smile away his sufferings? Why can’t we rejoice when we see a butterfly sip nectar from a flower? Why can’t we be happy to see an army of ant make a living for themselves? These are small things. But they add up to big things. Life is fleeting. Most of us perform all our worldly responsibilities. But what about the responsibility to uplift our inner self. This and this alone can distill a true happiness.
LET'S SHOW our love while we can, while people need us. That is something I learnt from an incident in Bhopal.
I saw a little boy daily near the Hanuman temple, always in a white tee and black pants, with a small Hanuman pendant around his neck.
He sat with a basket of fresh floral garlands. Be it at six in the morning or nine at night, he would try his very hardest to sell his wares.
I was a frequent temple goer and each time the boy would beg me earnestly to buy a garland. But somehow I never did. Even when I came out, he would follow me to my car, begging me to buy one at least.
Other boys sold flowers too, but none as persistently as he. I went back to the temple recently after a gap of some months.
The boy was there, seated exactly as before. I tried to avoid his gaze, assuming that he would follow me. But he did not budge.
I went inside the temple and came back. But the boy made no effort to sell his garlands.
I thought he was angry or just showing his own self-respect.
I suddenly missed the communication. I always had with this unknown boy and went to him. He looked at me but did not speak.
This was strange. I gathered courage and asked: "Bhaiya, why are you not asking me to buy your garlands?"
He said, "Didi, why should I ask? You are rich but you can't spend five rupees on my garland. Anyway now I am not so desperate. My sister was suffering from cancer and I had to work for her medicines. My father had left us. My mother makes the garlands and I sell them. We used the money for my sister's medicines. She passed away two months ago. You can now take one for free."
I bought them all. But I felt so small. I still repent that I did not respond then when he tried so hard.
Last month I erased three numbers from my mobile list. The owners of the numbers had passed away. One was old, past 80, one in mid forties and yet one in mid twenties. The 80 plus, an astrologer had his organs in healthy shape, but he just died while sleeping. The forty plus guy had gone to Delhi to attend a meeting where he succumbed to a cardiac arrest in his hotel room. And the last one, in his mid twenties, died in a road accident. Each one had probably clocked his time for the final departure. This is how we console ourselves with. As I wiped off the numbers, one by one, I thought on the futility of attachments with life. Most of us spend a large portion of our waking hours cribbing and fussing over what we don’t have. A two-wheeler owner would fantasy himself driving a four wheeler, a flat owner will hypothesise living in a bungalow and so on. We buy things even though they are not required. This breeds an attachment and their loss could even make us depressed. This is a vicious chain cycle. The more your possessions, the more will be your attachments and this would in turn entail more depressive disorders. Buddha had said that the root cause for all suffering was desire. If there is no desire, there is no suffering. A man without any wordly possession does not have any attachment . He leads a secure life. This does not mean that one should not have any worldly possessions. It is only when we become intensely attached to our possessions that we deviate from our spiritual path. The key is to remain externally attached, yet internally detached. I realized that sometime or the other , my number would also be erased from the mobiles of all those who have my number. But we all should strive to build our lives, in a way such that even after being wiped off from gadgets and directories, we continue to live in the minds of humanity.
A gift for this Navratri Vanita Srivastava He was fondly called as Dada. His graceful mannerisms stood apart. But what really caught my attention was his spiritual aura. One day he introduced me to the strength of Kali and even got a photo of the Goddess framed for me. I took it and kept it inside my small 'mandir' at home. He would often tell me how he was constantly communicating with Kali. At that time, this did not really strike any chord with my inner self Years rolled over and I continued with my daily puja. I would read mantras, read the Gita and meditate. But this did not quench my thirst for spiritual realization. I craved for something more, something which could distill an inner tranquil amidst an outer turmoil. It was during one of my puja sessions that I started communicating with the photo that Dada had given me. Gradually the communications became stronger and more intense. I would communicate with Ma while weathering the sorrows, while savouring the happiness. I would describe to Her my feelings, my desires. On some occasions, when I prayed to Her for something, and I got it, I would feel that Ma was really listening. Dada passed away a few years back. But the photo of Kali that he had given me still resides in my small temple at home. He would often say: 'Just surrender, to this super power and even if you are showered with sufferings, accept it as a blessing. This and this alone, will help you realise your inner self and inch you close to God.. You can meditate for hours, read the Gita for days but till you realise that what is happening is because this super power wants it to happen, you will not climb the spiritual ladder. Once you accept this, then even a gargantuan calamity will appear miniscule." But how can one accept the sorrows as a blessing, I would query. " This is the real test of your spiritual quotient," he would reply. This Navratri, as I offer obeisance to Ma and fast for detoxification, I pray to God to help me imbibe what Dada had always said—" Surrender for your own spiritual upliftment. Don't make any attempt to trounce your enemy. God will take care of those who inflict miseries on you."
Technology has today gifted us with all sorts of comforts. Smart looking gizmos attire our houses. We see-saw between all sort of luxuries, thanks to the astronomical salaries. We wear good clothes, eat good food. But from the core of our heart are we happy? Do we laugh at small things? How often do we smile?
During a visit to a slum area, I found a small boy, ten -year-old, seated in front of his mud packed house. He smiled at me. I did not, as the urban stressful life had made me forget the virtues of a smile. He giggled at me. I just stared at him. He then laughed aloud. This was when I thought that the boy was insane. He was laughing without any reason, a visible sign of being mentally imbalanced.
Where are your parents?, I asked. " Ma has gone to work and Dada has gone to live with God. Ma says he will soon come back." The young scantily clad lad offered me a glass of water and despite being a health freak, I could not resist it.
The kutcha house was almost bare without anything. Just a few utensils, a few clothes that hung on a rope and a bed. Besides the bed, there was a small vague looking creature made of mud. " I had made this when Dada was unwell. Ma and me used to pray to this idol to cure Dada. But Dada went to God despite our prayers. I cried a lot because Ma cried a lot. Then one day I started laughing to make Ma laugh. She smiled and went for her work. I felt very happy."
" But why were you laughing at me. Am I a clown?" " No. I could just sense that you had not laughed since ages, just like my Ma. I laughed to make you laugh. You did not."
I could suddenly sense something. I tried to recall how often my bank account, my bungalow, my fancy gizmos and my materialistic trove had made me smile. Here was a boy, far away from the materialistic glitter, striving hard to make me laugh. And yes, I did laugh. That was an immortal laugh, pure and natural.
Uncle John and Aunty Marie, my childhood neighbours, were diametrically opposite to each other. When they stood beside each other, they painted a picture of an 'odd couple'. He was tall, fair and handsome. She was short, dark and very average looking. He was an engineer from a reputed institute. She was a 10th pass.
Theirs was an arranged marriage and many would wonder what made Uncle John 'choose' Aunty Marie . Uncle John would often remark publicly: " My wife's biggest assets are her simplicity and her radiant smile ". His wife would shyly counter: " You are joking John." Despite her poor educational background, Uncle John trusted his wife's financial acumen and would hand over his monthly salary to her. She would save some amount and give it to her husband at the end of the month to deposit in their joint account. They both prayed together, never ate without each other, sang together and sometimes even cooked together till tragedy struck their small abode when their only child met with an accident and died at the age of 20. The couple was shattered. But their spiritual and emotional strength helped them stitch back their lives. Aunty Marie would spend most of her time praying or visiting a nearby orphanage while Uncle John would paint and write poems to keep alive their son's memory. After retirement, Uncle John bought a new house and named it after their son. Tragedy knocked their door again when Uncle John was detected with an advanced stage of prostrate cancer. Aunty Marie, despite her composed veneer, was shaken internally. And for the first time she felt insecure in life. Her husband would however joke with her: " I will die at 85. You will die at 84. One whole year, I will have to bear the agony of your loss."
Last week, nearly one year after his wife passed away, Uncle John had a peaceful death, not due to cancer, but heart failure.
Yesterday as I was going through my album, I came across their photo as a newly married couple. He was as usual smartly dressed. She was as usual shabbily attired. But together they vibrated an ethereal love. Their love transcended beyond the realm of external beauty and materialistic gains. They both silently celebrated the immortality of love, in life and even in death.
Whenever I feel low or unhappy with life I go and spend some time with cancer patients in a hospital or visit some challenged children. This small but innocent interaction with such people dwarfs all my petty problems. I always return feeling psychologically counseled by these patients.
It was during one of my ' depressive' moods that I visited an NGO which looks after mentally challenged children. The day was Chacha Nehru's birthday and the environ reflected a mood of fun and frolic. I went to the room where some mentally challenged children were seated. They all had a beautiful smile on their face. One of them could not resist to ask me: "Aunty why are you looking so sad." I was taken aback and quickly flashed a broad but artificial smile.
As I mingled with the children they developed a camaraderie with me. Some of them had come from SOS village and had been abandoned by their parents. Each one of them tried to show their prowess either by narrating the table of two or parroting out the alphabets. I asked them whose birthday it was. They stared at me with a blank expression and said " Aaj Bag Ki Chutti Hai."( today it is a holiday for school bag). All of them knew it was someone's birthday but most could not spell out whose. One said it was Babuji's birthday but the most articulate answer came from a mentally challenged twelve year old girl. Dressed impeccably with neatly tied hair she said without any prompting. " Aaj to sabka birthday hain. Aaj hum sabka birthday mana rahe hain." ( It is everybody's birthday today. We are celebrating everybody's birthday).
I could not help clapping at her reply. Jawaharlal Nehru, had he been alive, would have been pleased to hear a sentence of universal harmony coming from a small girl who did not know the ABC of learning.
I had gone frowning on life and it's myriad problems. I returned back with a broad smile. And this time the smile was genuine and straight from the heart
Kausalaya Bai always sported a big red bindi. Her neat parting was always covered with vermillon. When she mopped and cleaned the utensils her more than a dozen bangles resonated.
Last year on Karva Chouth, she came a few hours late. By that time I was almost seething with anger. " Why did you not tell me that you would be coming late," I asked her the moment she stepped inside.
Clad in a green coloured saree with matching bangles, she radiated with her flawless skin. After wrapping up her chores she sat beside me and started pressing my legs. I could not understand her newly developed chumminess. " What is the matter. Don't you have to go home?, " I asked her. " Memsaheb can you please give me Rs 200, " she said. " But why? I just gave you your salary a few days back, " I asked. " I have to buy a saree for myself. Today is Karva Chouth Na," she said.
" But then you are not supposed to buy. Ask your husband to buy. What does he do with his salary?," I tried to explain to her. " No Memsaheb. I can't ask him. He does not live with me. He stays with another woman in another city."
I was taken aback. Suddenly one of her bangles fell. " Oh this is so inauspicious," she said before picking up the broken glass pieces.
Here was a beautiful, young illiterate woman 'worshipping' her husband irrespective of the fact that he had deserted her for another woman. She had not had any communication with her husband for the last three years. She was not sure whether he was alive or dead. But she had kept alive his ten year's bondage with him.
My mental landscape instantly took a u turn when I had put a temporary brake on my this annual custom five years ago after being emotionally hurt by my husband over a domestic issue. Here was a woman standing in front of me who had remained emotionally unfazed by the circumstances and continued to revel on the small beauties of life.
I gave her a new saree which she wore the same evening.
Was this the true spirit of this Hindu festival? Love someone minus expecting anything in return.
I had always been critical of everything, always a pessimist. One small incident in my life changed my mental landscape.
It was raining very heavily and I was stranded in the market with five packets plus my purse. I was cursing myself for having gone on a shopping spree without any planning. The crowd began to swell and I could just squeeze myself in a corner, trying desperately to save myself and my precious packets from being inundated. After nearly thirty minutes of braving the thunder shower, I ran towards my car in the parking area, opened the door , pushed the packets and started the vehicle. But hardly had the car picked up speed that I realised that my purse was missing. I ran back to the place where I had taken refuge but there was just no sight of the purse.
I sat down and almost started sobbing. I had the same day drawn out Rs 40000 from my bank to purchase some items for a marriage in the family. Besides the cash, my ATM card and some other important documents were ensconced in it.
I returned home with a heavy heart. My family members instead of consoling me
made me sick with their endless round of questions. They even got the matter reported in the nearest police station. To make the matter worse, two policemen came the next day and asked me to take them to site of the incident. I blatantly refused and closed the chapter, quietly accepting the financial loss.
Three weeks later when I was getting ready to go to office, my door bell rang. I went out and saw a teenager standing with a blank expression. Before I could question him anything, he said: "Didi, I had found this purse a few days back in the market. Is this yours?" I was speechless.
" I desperately searched for the owner but could not get any clue. One of your documents had your name but no address, no phone no. So I traced all the phone numbers with your name. Most of the numbers had changed but some addresses were the same. After a lot of effort, I finally located this address," he said.
I took the purse but did not have the courage to open it in front of him. I took it inside, and opened it. All my stuff including the cash was intact. With welled eyes, I went outside to give him a small gift as a gesture of thanks.
But the teenager had disappeared leaving behind a trail of divine brotherly affection.
Fear of death, fear of unknown hits each of us at some or the other stage of life. Trouncing such a fear requires immense will power. We hear of several deaths but somehow cannot just fathom our own death, or the death of someone close.
I was going through one of my depressive phases, for no justified reasons and so decided to consult an astrologer for my 'low feeling'. I send my half tattered horoscope to one of the best astrologers of Hoshangabad, a sacrosanct city on the banks of Narmada. My husband was posted there as district collector.
Two days later came a hand written letter unveiling the findings of the astrologer. The first two paragraphs were very rosy. You will have a good marital life, you will do well academically and professionally and there were a few more verdicts, some of which were correct, some incorrect.
The three-four paragraphed 'astral report' ended on a crisp note. " You will live till the age of 42." On reading the last sentence, I felt my heart racing at a lightening speed. A sinking feel gripped me. I was 31-year-old that time. I just folded the piece of paper and kept it aside. I could feel my depression mounting. I told my husband but he brushed it aside. I then mustered courage to tear off the astrologer's verdict and even hid my horoscope.
Like all good things and bad things are ephemeral, my fear also gradually started waning. " There are 11 more years to live. How long can I be depressed?", I would reason whenever the fear bug hit me.
Days passed into years and I had almost forgotten about my 'predicted' 42-year-old life span. One day I chanced upon the 'hidden horoscope' and the fear instinct hit me again. I was 40 that time. Howsoever strong external veneer I tried to put, my internal institution started crumbling. Any small medical problem would appear gargantuan to me. I became a mental wreck. At one stage I even thought of getting my will made, in case something actually happened to me. It was during those day of internal turmoil, that I started reading the Bhagwad Gita. Initially I could not understand anything. But I kept reading the text, sometimes 3 pages and sometimes 20 pages. Gradually the meaning started filtering into me. Then it became a habit. I would kick off my day with the book, keep the book besides me while sleeping. I don't know how and when my imbecile mind transformed and when I started living one day at a time. I don't know how it all happened but a sense of immortality drained inside me. I learnt the meaning of life, the meaning of atman and the meaning of life beyond.
Yesterday I turned 43. The fear of the number 42 may or may not have completely vapourised. But, I have grown as an individual. It would be incorrect to say that I have totally captured the fear of death. But, it is correct to say that I have understood the fleeting character of life. Thanks to Gita. And even more thanks to the astrologer who had predicted my death.
New Year brings celebrations, revelries and resolutions. We all resolve to improve ourselves internally and externally. Some may decide to quit alcohol, some smoking, some take a plunge to eat less, some decide to forsake a ‘ wrong’ habit dwelling within the self.
What is pertinent is that each day is a new day. When the day wraps up, all the happenings of that day should instantly wipe off. But ninety percent of them do not. We carry on the bickering, negative emotions, false illusions for countless days and infinite years. Our baggage of hatred, animosity and abhorrence becomes overweight and we make no attempt to prune it.
On the first day of each year, we make candid confessions about our negativities and also map a trajectory to weed them out. Some work on them assiduously but for most, the ‘New Year Resolutions’ go astray after a short while.
Instead of just thinking about parties and get together, the best way to welcome a new year would be to meditate on the intricacies of the bygone year--- the events of joy, pleasure, sadness, anxiety. Was there any such incident in the year which brought a sense of internal satiation? This could be countable and miniscule in number. On the contrary try and recollect the incidents that were dotted with anxiety and negative emotions. The list would be infinite. The best resolution for this year would be to trim down this list and heighten the list of such incidents which bring internal happiness and contentment.
A sagacious way to jumpstart would be to pen down all such things which enables us to inhale happiness. For some happiness would connote spending time with nature, for some happiness comes through music or other forms of culture, for some happiness means doing well in profession. Let us therefore resolve to find that internal happiness and work diligently towards inching closer to it. Once that is traced each day will be a new year celebration.
I remembered her as a fidgety, bespectacled and peevish young girl. Everyday she would come to the class with a wry smile, as if making a feigned attempt to hide her inner turmoil. Shomya’s mother had passed away when she was an infant and her father was ‘uncaring’ and over domineering. The desire for parental affection had made her mentally imbecile. She would be scared of trivial things—of rats, of lizards, of impending accidents, of failures in exams, of disapproval by outsiders and everything on this universe that one could think of . Last week after nearly three decades I chanced upon my ‘ school diary’ and her phone number . Some inner camaraderie drove me to call her up. A dry voice from the other end said “ She is in the Cancer hospital” and hung up. The fear-struck image of young Shomya ran through my cerebrum. How was she coping up with the deadly disease? I rushed to have a look at my school pal. She must be a miserable wreck, who would be looking after her, this was all I could think off as I drove to the corridors of Cancer Hospital. What I saw inside room No 203 was unfathomable. The young Shomya of class fifth standard had metamorphosed into a radiant, beautiful and charming woman. Draped in a white dressing gown, she smiled with an aura. Yes, she recognized me. “ How did all this happen?, I asked her impulsively. “ I was diagnosed with cancer some 15 years back. The doctors gave their verdict that I would not survive for more than a year. I wanted to commit suicide but I could not. I lived with the fear of death for one year, two years, three years and then the fear distilled out.” I was dumbstruck by her new brave attire. “ You fear a thing only till the time it does not engulf you. Once you are enmeshed by it, the fear evaporates”, she said with a smile. But how have you transformed? , I just could not help asking her. “ I just let all my fears rule over me. I did not make any attempt to trounce them. A stage came when all my fears started fearing me. Just lead your life like a leaf floating on water—half inside the water and the other half outside oblivious of the humidity in the surroundings,” she said philosophically. Since there was no one else in the room, I did not ask her about her family. “ I am confident that I will live for another three more decades”, she said before I bid her good bye. Walking out of the hospital, I was still hazy on the extent of her life span. But I was confident that she had conquered a disease more inimical than cancer. Yes fear.
His infectious smile and sagacious thoughts distill your stuffed tension.
Twenty seven years ago after ten days of silent meditation Sri Sri Ravishankar discovered his 'spiritual formula.' But ask the guru on how did the discovery come and he replies in a soft voice: " When a poet writes a poem, he does not know how it comes about."
Sitting on a sofa, surrounded by his followers the guru delineates the contours of inner peace while patiently responding to the questions in an interview with Hindustan Times.
Does the recent shoot-out incidents in some Indian schools reflect the precarious health of our society?
"This is the worst that could have happen. We should be selective in absorbing things from the west. The spectrum of moral education and value based education should be made broad. We have stopped giving religious education on the name of secularism. The Gurukul system of education should be popularized. The television and video games have taken a detrimental toll on the children."
How easy is it to become indifferent to the surroundings?
Life is not an easy cakewalk. It is full of challenges. One has to learn the abilities to face the challenges. Once you learn them, you are on a spiritual path.
Ask him if one can tread a spiritual path while being cushioned with materialistic comforts and he points out:
" When we watch the TV, it is immaterial how we are watching it—sitting comfortably or standing uncomfortably. Materialistic comforts do not impede spiritual growth. You do not need a qualification for spiritual growth. Just empty all that you have inside your head."
When the guru was asked to define enlightenment he responds: " It is shedding off one's ego. Your inner nature is enlightenment. It is always there inside you in the seed form. When you drop all tensions and become natural, then it is right in your hand. We simply need to leave the old patterns that are in the mind. Go into the core of your self and live your life from there."
Guruji succinctly defines enlightenment as " the reversal of the journey from the head to the heart, from words back to silence. In an enlightened consciousness one does not divide things into small boundaries. One owns the entire wealth of humanity."
And he sums up the interview saying : " Don't ask me the meaning of life. It is just like asking me to chew your candy for you. Life when lived in its totality is an end in itself and a beginning in itself."
We all crave for love and emotional support from our family and friends. What we don't realise is that unselfish love can come from any quarter. We just need to acknowledge the feeling.
Diana my Labrador and Aditya my son entered my life almost the same time. My son was six months when the beautiful one-month-old breed walked into my home. I had never been a pet lover but her innocent eyes restrained me for packing her off.
She grew up in the sprawling district collector's bungalow of my husband with an army of peons to look after her. My son had two servants at his disposal. She had five. As she grew, her beauty blossomed. She was active and agile. My son remained passive and dormant.
I was however never attached to her despite her 'leaning' towards the mistress of the house. She would follow me everywhere and I would rudely push her out.
The three month old Labrador soon became a full grown bitch. Her carpet like white hair, her big bony structure and her ferocious bark, all made her a beauty queen. I however continued to have a 'cold' attitude towards her. I would just ensure that she was fed well—nothing beyond that. I don't recall having ever patted her.
In Bhopal, she would take her early morning stroll, with a host of dogs following her. I had to keep her away from all the boyfriends. Once she disappeared for nearly six hours. I was sure, she had gone or had been kidnapped and was silently 'happy' about it. But the next morning she was there with her tounge out, smiling at me.
She delivered many pups, none of which could survive. After nine years of distancing, I finally developed an emotional chord with her when she had to be operated for a tumour. I anxiously sat outside the operation theatre for almost two hours till she grappled with surgery inside.
My son is now 14. She is nearing 14. But she has become old, battling cancer of several organs. She can't move on her own and has to be lifted.
But despite cruising through the last stage of life—she greets me when I return home from office. She makes all effort, to come near me as I come out of my car. She can't bark but does not fail to wag her tail. My son has never greeted me as warmly. Nor, do I think he ever will.
Her days are numbered. But her sincerity is still vibrant. Today as she faces death, I feel extremely guilty for having neglected her when she was young and healthy.
why are you posting your articles as comment? you should post them as new posts with appropriate lables. the option comment is for the readers to give their comment on each post.
Dear Vanita Pl transfer your stories from comments section to posts. A separate post has to be made for every story. For this, go to section 'new post'and copy the story there. You can also upload pictures along with stories.
I am intrested in forming a group which could help me identify five girls of needy families in Bhopal and enable them to reach an educational target like clearing the IIT exam.
ReplyDeleteCan someone help me in this direction?
True happiness
ReplyDeleteVanita Srivastava
A young graduate from a US university was once asked what was more important-a job satisfaction or salary package. He gave a minute to reply. Job satisfaction, because if the job does not make you internally happy, then what use would the money be. Money cannot buy happiness. So he joined an NGO, which worked for the upliftment of street children. First seven months, he enjoyed working with them, because this lifted him internally.
But soon he realized that money was more important. Unlike his other friends, he did not have a plush house, nor a fancy car. So he said good bye to the world of social service and moved on to the corporate world. A cushy job and a handsome salary packet helped him buy a fancy car and a plush home. He had all the gadgets one could fathom, all the luxuries one could imagine. He savoured all the comforts, his friends envied him and his social circle widened. But again a year down the line, the same dissatisfaction crept. I have everything in this world. I can go on a world tour, buy anything that I feel like—but then I am still not happy. And so he quit his job and went to a lepers home, where he started working for their rehabilitation. He started eating with them, sleeping with them. Many in the society, even his family members would pass caustic remarks: “ Why had you gone to the US to study, if you had to ultimately do this. This does not require any degree and investment of money.”
Most of us are like this youngster, hopping from one ground to the other in search of happiness. We have coined our own definition for happiness. We will be happy if we are in a good job which greases our wallet, we will be happy if our child does academically well and competes in the exams, we will be happy if our spouse is caring and supportive. But what if none of these find place in our live. We become unhappy, crib and make ourselves even more unhappy. It is like a chain cycle.
Why can we not be happy when we see a handicapped child, smile away his sufferings? Why can’t we rejoice when we see a butterfly sip nectar from a flower? Why can’t we be happy to see an army of ant make a living for themselves? These are small things. But they add up to big things.
Life is fleeting. Most of us perform all our worldly responsibilities. But what about the responsibility to uplift our inner self. This and this alone can distill a true happiness.
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A Brother's Story
Vanita Srivastava
LET'S SHOW our love while we can, while people need us. That is something I learnt from an incident in Bhopal.
I saw a little boy daily near the Hanuman temple, always in a white tee and black pants, with a small Hanuman pendant around his neck.
He sat with a basket of fresh floral garlands. Be it at six in the morning or nine at night, he would try his very hardest to sell his wares.
I was a frequent temple goer and each time the boy would beg me earnestly to buy a garland. But somehow I never did. Even when I came out, he would follow me to my car, begging me to buy one at least.
Other boys sold flowers too, but none as persistently as he. I went back to the temple recently after a gap of some months.
The boy was there, seated exactly as before. I tried to avoid his gaze, assuming that he would follow me. But he did not budge.
I went inside the temple and came back. But the boy made no effort to sell his garlands.
I thought he was angry or just showing his own self-respect.
I suddenly missed the communication. I always had with this unknown boy and went to him. He looked at me but did not speak.
This was strange. I gathered courage and asked: "Bhaiya, why are you not asking me to buy your garlands?"
He said, "Didi, why should I ask? You are rich but you can't spend five rupees on my garland. Anyway now I am not so desperate. My sister was suffering from cancer and I had to work for her medicines. My father had left us. My mother makes the garlands and I sell them. We used the money for my sister's medicines. She passed away two months ago. You can now take one for free."
I bought them all. But I felt so small. I still repent that I did not respond then when he tried so hard.
Out, but not from hearts!
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Last month I erased three numbers from my mobile list. The owners of the numbers had passed away. One was old, past 80, one in mid forties and yet one in mid twenties. The 80 plus, an astrologer had his organs in healthy shape, but he just died while sleeping. The forty plus guy had gone to Delhi to attend a meeting where he succumbed to a cardiac arrest in his hotel room. And the last one, in his mid twenties, died in a road accident.
Each one had probably clocked his time for the final departure. This is how we console ourselves with. As I wiped off the numbers, one by one, I thought on the futility of attachments with life. Most of us spend a large portion of our waking hours cribbing and fussing over what we don’t have. A two-wheeler owner would fantasy himself driving a four wheeler, a flat owner will hypothesise living in a bungalow and so on.
We buy things even though they are not required. This breeds an attachment and their loss could even make us depressed. This is a vicious chain cycle. The more your possessions, the more will be your attachments and this would in turn entail more depressive disorders.
Buddha had said that the root cause for all suffering was desire. If there is no desire, there is no suffering. A man without any wordly possession does not have any attachment . He leads a secure life. This does not mean that one should not have any worldly possessions. It is only when we become intensely attached to our possessions that we deviate from our spiritual path. The key is to remain externally attached, yet internally detached.
I realized that sometime or the other , my number would also be erased from the mobiles of all those who have my number. But we all should strive to build our lives, in a way such that even after being wiped off from gadgets and directories, we continue to live in the minds of humanity.
A gift for this Navratri
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He was fondly called as Dada. His graceful mannerisms stood apart. But what really caught my attention was his spiritual aura. One day he introduced me to the strength of Kali and even got a photo of the Goddess framed for me.
I took it and kept it inside my small 'mandir' at home. He would often tell me how he was constantly communicating with Kali. At that time, this did not really strike any chord with my inner self
Years rolled over and I continued with my daily puja. I would read mantras, read the Gita and meditate. But this did not quench my thirst for spiritual realization.
I craved for something more, something which could distill an inner tranquil amidst an outer turmoil. It was during one of my puja sessions that I started communicating with the photo that Dada had given me. Gradually the communications became stronger and more intense. I would communicate with Ma while weathering the sorrows, while savouring the happiness. I would describe to Her my feelings, my desires. On some occasions, when I prayed to Her for something, and I got it, I would feel that Ma was really listening.
Dada passed away a few years back. But the photo of Kali that he had given me still resides in my small temple at home. He would often say: 'Just surrender, to this super power and even if you are showered with sufferings, accept it as a blessing. This and this alone, will help you realise your inner self and inch you close to God.. You can meditate for hours, read the Gita for days but till you realise that what is happening is because this super power wants it to happen, you will not climb the spiritual ladder. Once you accept this, then even a gargantuan calamity will appear miniscule."
But how can one accept the sorrows as a blessing, I would query. " This is the real test of your spiritual quotient," he would reply.
This Navratri, as I offer obeisance to Ma and fast for detoxification, I pray to God to help me imbibe what Dada had always said—" Surrender for your own spiritual upliftment. Don't make any attempt to trounce your enemy. God will take care of those who inflict miseries on you."
A hearty laugh
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Technology has today gifted us with all sorts of comforts. Smart looking gizmos attire our houses. We see-saw between all sort of luxuries, thanks to the astronomical salaries. We wear good clothes, eat good food. But from the core of our heart are we happy? Do we laugh at small things? How often do we smile?
During a visit to a slum area, I found a small boy, ten -year-old, seated in front of his mud packed house. He smiled at me. I did not, as the urban stressful life had made me forget the virtues of a smile. He giggled at me. I just stared at him. He then laughed aloud. This was when I thought that the boy was insane. He was laughing without any reason, a visible sign of being mentally imbalanced.
Where are your parents?, I asked. " Ma has gone to work and Dada has gone to live with God. Ma says he will soon come back." The young scantily clad lad offered me a glass of water and despite being a health freak, I could not resist it.
The kutcha house was almost bare without anything. Just a few utensils, a few clothes that hung on a rope and a bed. Besides the bed, there was a small vague looking creature made of mud. " I had made this when Dada was unwell. Ma and me used to pray to this idol to cure Dada. But Dada went to God despite our prayers. I cried a lot because Ma cried a lot. Then one day I started laughing to make Ma laugh. She smiled and went for her work. I felt very happy."
" But why were you laughing at me. Am I a clown?" " No. I could just sense that you had not laughed since ages, just like my Ma. I laughed to make you laugh. You did not."
I could suddenly sense something. I tried to recall how often my bank account, my bungalow, my fancy gizmos and my materialistic trove had made me smile. Here was a boy, far away from the materialistic glitter, striving hard to make me laugh. And yes, I did laugh. That was an immortal laugh, pure and natural.
Beauty of Love
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Uncle John and Aunty Marie, my childhood neighbours, were diametrically opposite to each other. When they stood beside each other, they painted a picture of an 'odd couple'. He was tall, fair and handsome. She was short, dark and very average looking. He was an engineer from a reputed institute. She was a 10th pass.
Theirs was an arranged marriage and many would wonder what made Uncle John 'choose' Aunty Marie . Uncle John would often remark publicly: " My wife's biggest assets are her simplicity and her radiant smile ". His wife would shyly counter: " You are joking John." Despite her poor educational background, Uncle John trusted his wife's financial acumen and would hand over his monthly salary to her. She would save some amount and give it to her husband at the end of the month to deposit in their joint account. They both prayed together, never ate without each other, sang together and sometimes even cooked together till tragedy struck their small abode when their only child met with an accident and died at the age of 20. The couple was shattered. But their spiritual and emotional strength helped them stitch back their lives. Aunty Marie would spend most of her time praying or visiting a nearby orphanage while Uncle John would paint and write poems to keep alive their son's memory. After retirement, Uncle John bought a new house and named it after their son. Tragedy knocked their door again when Uncle John was detected with an advanced stage of prostrate cancer. Aunty Marie, despite her composed veneer, was shaken internally. And for the first time she felt insecure in life. Her husband would however joke with her: " I will die at 85. You will die at 84. One whole year, I will have to bear the agony of your loss."
Last week, nearly one year after his wife passed away, Uncle John had a peaceful death, not due to cancer, but heart failure.
Yesterday as I was going through my album, I came across their photo as a newly married couple. He was as usual smartly dressed. She was as usual shabbily attired. But together they vibrated an ethereal love. Their love transcended beyond the realm of external beauty and materialistic gains. They both silently celebrated the immortality of love, in life and even in death.
It is everybody's birthday
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Whenever I feel low or unhappy with life I go and spend some time with cancer patients in a hospital or visit some challenged children. This small but innocent interaction with such people dwarfs all my petty problems. I always return feeling psychologically counseled by these patients.
It was during one of my ' depressive' moods that I visited an NGO which looks after mentally challenged children. The day was Chacha Nehru's birthday and the environ reflected a mood of fun and frolic. I went to the room where some mentally challenged children were seated. They all had a beautiful smile on their face. One of them could not resist to ask me: "Aunty why are you looking so sad." I was taken aback and quickly flashed a broad but artificial smile.
As I mingled with the children they developed a camaraderie with me. Some of them had come from SOS village and had been abandoned by their parents. Each one of them tried to show their prowess either by narrating the table of two or parroting out the alphabets. I asked them whose birthday it was. They stared at me with a blank expression and said " Aaj Bag Ki Chutti Hai."( today it is a holiday for school bag). All of them knew it was someone's birthday but most could not spell out whose. One said it was Babuji's birthday but the most articulate answer came from a mentally challenged twelve year old girl. Dressed impeccably with neatly tied hair she said without any prompting. " Aaj to sabka birthday hain. Aaj hum sabka birthday mana rahe hain." ( It is everybody's birthday today. We are celebrating everybody's birthday).
I could not help clapping at her reply. Jawaharlal Nehru, had he been alive, would have been pleased to hear a sentence of universal harmony coming from a small girl who did not know the ABC of learning.
I had gone frowning on life and it's myriad problems. I returned back with a broad smile. And this time the smile was genuine and straight from the heart
The true meaning of Karva Chouth
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Kausalaya Bai always sported a big red bindi. Her neat parting was always covered with vermillon. When she mopped and cleaned the utensils her more than a dozen bangles resonated.
Last year on Karva Chouth, she came a few hours late. By that time I was almost seething with anger. " Why did you not tell me that you would be coming late," I asked her the moment she stepped inside.
Clad in a green coloured saree with matching bangles, she radiated with her flawless skin. After wrapping up her chores she sat beside me and started pressing my legs. I could not understand her newly developed chumminess. " What is the matter. Don't you have to go home?, " I asked her. " Memsaheb can you please give me Rs 200, " she said. " But why? I just gave you your salary a few days back, " I asked. " I have to buy a saree for myself. Today is Karva Chouth Na," she said.
" But then you are not supposed to buy. Ask your husband to buy. What does he do with his salary?," I tried to explain to her. " No Memsaheb. I can't ask him. He does not live with me. He stays with another woman in another city."
I was taken aback. Suddenly one of her bangles fell. " Oh this is so inauspicious," she said before picking up the broken glass pieces.
Here was a beautiful, young illiterate woman 'worshipping' her husband irrespective of the fact that he had deserted her for another woman. She had not had any communication with her husband for the last three years. She was not sure whether he was alive or dead. But she had kept alive his ten year's bondage with him.
My mental landscape instantly took a u turn when I had put a temporary brake on my this annual custom five years ago after being emotionally hurt by my husband over a domestic issue. Here was a woman standing in front of me who had remained emotionally unfazed by the circumstances and continued to revel on the small beauties of life.
I gave her a new saree which she wore the same evening.
Was this the true spirit of this Hindu festival? Love someone minus expecting anything in return.
Brotherly Bond
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I had always been critical of everything, always a pessimist. One small incident in my life changed my mental landscape.
It was raining very heavily and I was stranded in the market with five packets plus my purse. I was cursing myself for having gone on a shopping spree without any planning. The crowd began to swell and I could just squeeze myself in a corner, trying desperately to save myself and my precious packets from being inundated. After nearly thirty minutes of braving the thunder shower, I ran towards my car in the parking area, opened the door , pushed the packets and started the vehicle. But hardly had the car picked up speed that I realised that my purse was missing. I ran back to the place where I had taken refuge but there was just no sight of the purse.
I sat down and almost started sobbing. I had the same day drawn out Rs 40000 from my bank to purchase some items for a marriage in the family. Besides the cash, my ATM card and some other important documents were ensconced in it.
I returned home with a heavy heart. My family members instead of consoling me
made me sick with their endless round of questions. They even got the matter reported in the nearest police station. To make the matter worse, two policemen came the next day and asked me to take them to site of the incident. I blatantly refused and closed the chapter, quietly accepting the financial loss.
Three weeks later when I was getting ready to go to office, my door bell rang. I went out and saw a teenager standing with a blank expression. Before I could question him anything, he said: "Didi, I had found this purse a few days back in the market. Is this yours?" I was speechless.
" I desperately searched for the owner but could not get any clue. One of your documents had your name but no address, no phone no. So I traced all the phone numbers with your name. Most of the numbers had changed but some addresses were the same. After a lot of effort, I finally located this address," he said.
I took the purse but did not have the courage to open it in front of him. I took it inside, and opened it. All my stuff including the cash was intact. With welled eyes, I went outside to give him a small gift as a gesture of thanks.
But the teenager had disappeared leaving behind a trail of divine brotherly affection.
Jyotishiji, I am still alive
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Fear of death, fear of unknown hits each of us at some or the other stage of life. Trouncing such a fear requires immense will power. We hear of several deaths but somehow cannot just fathom our own death, or the death of someone close.
I was going through one of my depressive phases, for no justified reasons and so decided to consult an astrologer for my 'low feeling'. I send my half tattered horoscope to one of the best astrologers of Hoshangabad, a sacrosanct city on the banks of Narmada. My husband was posted there as district collector.
Two days later came a hand written letter unveiling the findings of the astrologer. The first two paragraphs were very rosy. You will have a good marital life, you will do well academically and professionally and there were a few more verdicts, some of which were correct, some incorrect.
The three-four paragraphed 'astral report' ended on a crisp note. " You will live till the age of 42." On reading the last sentence, I felt my heart racing at a lightening speed. A sinking feel gripped me. I was 31-year-old that time. I just folded the piece of paper and kept it aside. I could feel my depression mounting. I told my husband but he brushed it aside. I then mustered courage to tear off the astrologer's verdict and even hid my horoscope.
Like all good things and bad things are ephemeral, my fear also gradually started waning. " There are 11 more years to live. How long can I be depressed?", I would reason whenever the fear bug hit me.
Days passed into years and I had almost forgotten about my 'predicted' 42-year-old life span. One day I chanced upon the 'hidden horoscope' and the fear instinct hit me again. I was 40 that time. Howsoever strong external veneer I tried to put, my internal institution started crumbling. Any small medical problem would appear gargantuan to me. I became a mental wreck. At one stage I even thought of getting my will made, in case something actually happened to me. It was during those day of internal turmoil, that I started reading the Bhagwad Gita. Initially I could not understand anything. But I kept reading the text, sometimes 3 pages and sometimes 20 pages. Gradually the meaning started filtering into me. Then it became a habit. I would kick off my day with the book, keep the book besides me while sleeping. I don't know how and when my imbecile mind transformed and when I started living one day at a time. I don't know how it all happened but a sense of immortality drained inside me. I learnt the meaning of life, the meaning of atman and the meaning of life beyond.
Yesterday I turned 43. The fear of the number 42 may or may not have completely vapourised. But, I have grown as an individual. It would be incorrect to say that I have totally captured the fear of death. But, it is correct to say that I have understood the fleeting character of life. Thanks to Gita. And even more thanks to the astrologer who had predicted my death.
A New Year Resolution
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New Year brings celebrations, revelries and resolutions. We all resolve to improve ourselves internally and externally. Some may decide to quit alcohol, some smoking, some take a plunge to eat less, some decide to forsake a ‘ wrong’ habit dwelling within the self.
What is pertinent is that each day is a new day. When the day wraps up, all the happenings of that day should instantly wipe off. But ninety percent of them do not. We carry on the bickering, negative emotions, false illusions for countless days and infinite years. Our baggage of hatred, animosity and abhorrence becomes overweight and we make no attempt to prune it.
On the first day of each year, we make candid confessions about our negativities and also map a trajectory to weed them out. Some work on them assiduously but for most, the ‘New Year Resolutions’ go astray after a short while.
Instead of just thinking about parties and get together, the best way to welcome a new year would be to meditate on the intricacies of the bygone year--- the events of joy, pleasure, sadness, anxiety. Was there any such incident in the year which brought a sense of internal satiation? This could be countable and miniscule in number. On the contrary try and recollect the incidents that were dotted with anxiety and negative emotions. The list would be infinite. The best resolution for this year would be to trim down this list and heighten the list of such incidents which bring internal happiness and contentment.
A sagacious way to jumpstart would be to pen down all such things which enables us to inhale happiness. For some happiness would connote spending time with nature, for some happiness comes through music or other forms of culture, for some happiness means doing well in profession. Let us therefore resolve to find that internal happiness and work diligently towards inching closer to it. Once that is traced each day will be a new year celebration.
Trouncing Fear
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I remembered her as a fidgety, bespectacled and peevish young girl. Everyday she would come to the class with a wry smile, as if making a feigned attempt to hide her inner turmoil. Shomya’s mother had passed away when she was an infant and her father was ‘uncaring’ and over domineering. The desire for parental affection had made her mentally imbecile.
She would be scared of trivial things—of rats, of lizards, of impending accidents, of failures in exams, of disapproval by outsiders and everything on this universe that one could think of .
Last week after nearly three decades I chanced upon my ‘ school diary’ and her phone number . Some inner camaraderie drove me to call her up. A dry voice from the other end said “ She is in the Cancer hospital” and hung up.
The fear-struck image of young Shomya ran through my cerebrum. How was she coping up with the deadly disease? I rushed to have a look at my school pal. She must be a miserable wreck, who would be looking after her, this was all I could think off as I drove to the corridors of Cancer Hospital.
What I saw inside room No 203 was unfathomable. The young Shomya of class fifth standard had metamorphosed into a radiant, beautiful and charming woman. Draped in a white dressing gown, she smiled with an aura. Yes, she recognized me.
“ How did all this happen?, I asked her impulsively. “ I was diagnosed with cancer some 15 years back. The doctors gave their verdict that I would not survive for more than a year. I wanted to commit suicide but I could not. I lived with the fear of death for one year, two years, three years and then the fear distilled out.”
I was dumbstruck by her new brave attire. “ You fear a thing only till the time it does not engulf you. Once you are enmeshed by it, the fear evaporates”, she said with a smile.
But how have you transformed? , I just could not help asking her. “ I just let all my fears rule over me. I did not make any attempt to trounce them. A stage came when all my fears started fearing me. Just lead your life like a leaf floating on water—half inside the water and the other half outside oblivious of the humidity in the surroundings,” she said philosophically.
Since there was no one else in the room, I did not ask her about her family. “ I am confident that I will live for another three more decades”, she said before I bid her good bye.
Walking out of the hospital, I was still hazy on the extent of her life span. But I was confident that she had conquered a disease more inimical than cancer. Yes fear.
His infectious smile and sagacious thoughts distill your stuffed tension.
ReplyDeleteTwenty seven years ago after ten days of silent meditation Sri Sri Ravishankar discovered his 'spiritual formula.' But ask the guru on how did the discovery come and he replies in a soft voice: " When a poet writes a poem, he does not know how it comes about."
Sitting on a sofa, surrounded by his followers the guru delineates the contours of inner peace while patiently responding to the questions in an interview with Hindustan Times.
Does the recent shoot-out incidents in some Indian schools reflect the precarious health of our society?
"This is the worst that could have happen. We should be selective in absorbing things from the west. The spectrum of moral education and value based education should be made broad. We have stopped giving religious education on the name of secularism. The Gurukul system of education should be popularized. The television and video games have taken a detrimental toll on the children."
How easy is it to become indifferent to the surroundings?
Life is not an easy cakewalk. It is full of challenges. One has to learn the abilities to face the challenges. Once you learn them, you are on a spiritual path.
Ask him if one can tread a spiritual path while being cushioned with materialistic comforts and he points out:
" When we watch the TV, it is immaterial how we are watching it—sitting comfortably or standing uncomfortably. Materialistic comforts do not impede spiritual growth. You do not need a qualification for spiritual growth. Just empty all that you have inside your head."
When the guru was asked to define enlightenment he responds: " It is shedding off one's ego. Your inner nature is enlightenment. It is always there inside you in the seed form. When you drop all tensions and become natural, then it is right in your hand. We simply need to leave the old patterns that are in the mind. Go into the core of your self and live your life from there."
Guruji succinctly defines enlightenment as " the reversal of the journey from the head to the heart, from words back to silence. In an enlightened consciousness one does not divide things into small boundaries. One owns the entire wealth of humanity."
And he sums up the interview saying : " Don't ask me the meaning of life. It is just like asking me to chew your candy for you. Life when lived in its totality is an end in itself and a beginning in itself."
To Diana with love
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We all crave for love and emotional support from our family and friends. What we don't realise is that unselfish love can come from any quarter. We just need to acknowledge the feeling.
Diana my Labrador and Aditya my son entered my life almost the same time. My son was six months when the beautiful one-month-old breed walked into my home. I had never been a pet lover but her innocent eyes restrained me for packing her off.
She grew up in the sprawling district collector's bungalow of my husband with an army of peons to look after her. My son had two servants at his disposal. She had five. As she grew, her beauty blossomed. She was active and agile. My son remained passive and dormant.
I was however never attached to her despite her 'leaning' towards the mistress of the house. She would follow me everywhere and I would rudely push her out.
The three month old Labrador soon became a full grown bitch. Her carpet like white hair, her big bony structure and her ferocious bark, all made her a beauty queen. I however continued to have a 'cold' attitude towards her. I would just ensure that she was fed well—nothing beyond that. I don't recall having ever patted her.
In Bhopal, she would take her early morning stroll, with a host of dogs following her. I had to keep her away from all the boyfriends. Once she disappeared for nearly six hours. I was sure, she had gone or had been kidnapped and was silently 'happy' about it. But the next morning she was there with her tounge out, smiling at me.
She delivered many pups, none of which could survive. After nine years of distancing, I finally developed an emotional chord with her when she had to be operated for a tumour. I anxiously sat outside the operation theatre for almost two hours till she grappled with surgery inside.
My son is now 14. She is nearing 14. But she has become old, battling cancer of several organs. She can't move on her own and has to be lifted.
But despite cruising through the last stage of life—she greets me when I return home from office. She makes all effort, to come near me as I come out of my car. She can't bark but does not fail to wag her tail. My son has never greeted me as warmly. Nor, do I think he ever will.
Her days are numbered. But her sincerity is still vibrant. Today as she faces death, I feel extremely guilty for having neglected her when she was young and healthy.
why are you posting your articles as comment? you should post them as new posts with appropriate lables. the option comment is for the readers to give their comment on each post.
ReplyDeletehoping to see your new articles as new posts.
baiju
Dear Vanita
ReplyDeletePl transfer your stories from comments section to posts. A separate post has to be made for every story. For this, go to section 'new post'and copy the story there. You can also upload pictures along with stories.