The Brave Pedestrian

I write this tinged with sadness. I feel sorry for us... For the tragic comedy that is the essential human condition. In the midst of a carnival of plenty, Some of us are dying of thirst. In the midst of a deluge of love, Some of us feel left out and lonely. There is no dearth of emotional give-and-take in the crowd of relations that we stand amidst... Father, mother, brother, sister, son daughter, spouse, lover... And yet we suffer bouts of feeling heartsick and unloved. Yes, I feel sorry for all of us. Poor forked animal, whose overdeveloped mind afflicts him, Ambushes him with emotions that have little to do with the present. Poor forked animal, who carries a baggage of emotions from the past, And borrows some more from an imagined future. Poor forked animal, who cannot be simply happy With things as they are. We live our lives with the sour aftertaste of Yesterdays and yesteryears. We live with the bittersweet foretaste Of what the morrow will bring. We live in a world that has...

July 28, 2009:  What they don’t teach you at school is that being a winner in life isn’t about winning in all that you do, but about building a good relationship of friendly give-and-take with the universe. How do you do that? Well, mostly by trusting and being trustworthy. You set out every morning trusting that the world and its creatures will treat you right, and play fair. You cultivate a habit of casting a generally benign eye at everything and everyone. Without necessarily becoming a do-gooder or busybody, you should generally feel that if the call to serve comes (whatever that means in any particular context), you will serve honestly and give of yourself generously, without pulling back. It is this sort of vague but firm belief that we have in our key relationships — with our parents, siblings, spouses, children and close friends. In the absence of this promise to the world, your relationship with the world and all that lives in it,  including yourself , is o...

Some of us believe (so much that it’s second-nature) that commonsense dictates that we must give no more to the people of this world than we absolutely are compelled to. This commonsense also dictates that we must take everything that’s on offer to us, and then some. Gujaratis have a name for it: it’s called  Vaniya-buddhi…  which roughly translates as ‘trader mentality’. While I understand where they’re coming from — a worldview that holds that there’s no room in society for naive people — I cannot help feeling that a worldview that’s as open to loss as it is to gain is infinitely superior. Let us give it a name. We could call it  Brahmana-buddhi –  the mentality of a Brahmana or a priest, because it implies the willingness or even eagerness to sacrifice to the Gods. (However, please please let’s take away the casteist edge of that term; even a  Shudra  may have more  Brahmana-buddhi  than someone descended from seven generations of ce...

[Note: This was originally written for a western audience. Hence the explanations for some well known Indian words. Still, it may make for some enjoyable reading] We in the East have a word,  Ananda,  which roughly translates as Contentment or Freedom from Neediness. The word describes, not the kind of contentment that one may have after a sumptuous meal, but rather, the mellow afterglow that one experiences post a session of perfect lovemaking and a good night’s sleep. However,  Ananda  is not contingent on any external event like sex, because it is deeply within. To an Eastern mind, it is relatively easy to understand that while success and wealth gives happiness, it also gives one an appetite for even greater success and wealth, rather than the psychological means to enjoy what one has attained. To be content, one has to cease all striving, at least internally. A lot of successful people are described as being like swans, “calm at the surface, but furiously paddl...

For me, Ganesha is there-yet-not-there. I don’t worship God in the form of Ganesha. I probably never will. Ganapati idols and pictures evoke no reverence or feelings of sanctity in me. And yet… and yet… This happened on 18th September 1998: Back then, I was fanatically regular about my daily morning swim, driving to a nearby club in my little green Maruti 800. Dad and Mom often accompanied me. That day, Dad was terribly busy and wouldn’t come. Neither would Mom. “Krish, won’t you stay home and help me out?” Dad pleaded. He isn’t someone who normally asks for help. He isn’t the sort of  guy who would ask me to cancel my swim, knowing how much it meant to me. But that day, he asked, he pleaded. “No, Dad… sorry. I can’t miss my swim.” Blunt refusal. Somewhere inside me, a little niggling voice was asking whether I was doing the right thing, but I brushed it aside. As I drove out of our neighbourhood, its narrow link to the highway was totally blocked, all du...

Somewhere someone is making love – Maybe bird maybe beast or man Somewhere a child is being conceived And I am that child. So I have a date to keep For that I’ll have to die, again. Somewhere a mother is heavy with child – Maybe beast maybe ape or woman She’s my mother, I’ll suckle at her breast And if I don’t go now, if I stay on here My mother will hold a stillborn child  To her breast and grieve and wail And so I have a date to keep So I must die, again. And elsewhere a child is born – Who some years hence will seek my love I must not keep my lover waiting Or she’ll pass her days in barren need. Oh yes I have a date to keep So I must die, again. And my lover and I must then conceive Our children waiting to be born My unborn children call to me The mother of my children calls to me They all will die so that we can meet And so my loved ones, I must go. My mother, lover, children, friends  In an unborn future form...

Under a straw roof In a village courtyard Within high bamboo fences, Alone I waited. For whom? For what? I knew not. Maybe it was for the young man Who came in through the wooden gate Deadly intent in every stride. Was I to fight To scuffle To flee To cry for help To beg tearfully on bended knees to be spared? Panicky thoughts Scrambled. The blood ran cold. Too late! Cold steel pressed to my head. Say your prayers, he said. Was I to die then? Unbelievable! But I chose To believe. These were last moments… Precious moments. No time to waste On hope and fear and regret. Eyes closed, All thoughts exhaled Fresh air inhaled I saw my priorities change. Ah, the time had come For the iceberg to melt In the ocean! Ah, for the bubble would burst And be with the air above! Ah, the raindrop was plunging to the end of Its brief free-fall To be absorbed by The green earth! Ah, my Friend, my Beloved, my only Love You would embrace me again! Ah, Father, Hallow...

Morning walk. A big white stray I’ve never met before Abruptly puts his paws on my chest. No wagging tail, No lolling tongue, No panting, No doggy grin, No wet-nosed kisses. Strange grey eyes Gaze into mine. “We know each other,” they say. Standing there, I stroke that big head for a minute, Acknowledging a deep bond. I never see him again And I don’t need to. But I understand that No matter where I go, No matter who I am, My friends and I Shall Always Find each other. Thank you, Old friend, For reminding me So beautifully. ________________________________ I first wrote this in January 2007. Is it a poem? You decide. This is an accurate account of an incident that actually happened to me on a morning walk, and the thoughts that flashed through my head then.

I write this tinged with sadness. I feel sorry for us… For the tragic comedy that is the essential human condition. In the midst of a carnival of plenty, Some of us are dying of thirst. In the midst of a deluge of love, Some of us feel left out and lonely. There is no dearth of emotional give-and-take in the crowd of relations that we stand amidst… Father, mother, brother, sister, son daughter, spouse, lover… And yet we suffer bouts of feeling heartsick and unloved. Yes, I feel sorry for all of us. Poor forked animal, whose overdeveloped mind afflicts him, Ambushes him with emotions that have little to do with the present. Poor forked animal, who carries a baggage of emotions from the past, And borrows some more from an imagined future. Poor forked animal, who cannot be simply happy With things as they are. We live our lives with the sour aftertaste of Yesterdays and yesteryears. We live with the bittersweet foretaste Of what the morrow will bring. We live in a world that has plenty,...

PRAYER – I Softly, softly He enters my heart Wearing masks I can never recognize. In my innermost recesses, He cuts me, leaves me bleeding. Gently, gently He wounds me, And in my bleeding, he rejoices. Mere mehboob, mere dost My beloved, my friend… Silently he sits with me And shares my sorrow, my grief And through his own tears, smiles. His smile makes me forget my tears. He laughs with me, He laughs at me, Sometimes the distinction blurs And frankly, I don’t care. I gaze at his radiant face And pray that he never stops laughing. (If he does, I shall gladly play the fool Let him laugh at me.) But I see him raise his hands To secretly wipe his eyes. And I seize his hands Because his salty tears are mine Mine by right to kiss away and to drink. PRAYER – II Mere mehboob, mere dost, mere aaka You struggle to express your love And then you struggle to conceal it. I have felt your wounding touch. My be...

Forgive me, Lord, this broken drum speaks In a unworthy voice — now true, now untrue. Sift truth from the lies if truth there is, Else spill me in the dust. My quest is the quest of a one-eyed man Whose vision oft deceives him; He depends on his poor eye not because he trusts it, But because people who offered to lead and show him the way Did not earn his trust. Dimly-remembered voices from a past So distant that it is doubtful Whether it existed at all Echo in my skull Half-voices, half-noises… Disturbances in a cave of unknown depth. With the tips of my mind I seek out the cracks Between wakefulness and sleep Where I hear these voices loudest, And glimpse faces that I recognize – Faces not of those living Nor of the dead I know. Fleetingly with forceful gestures they speak. Seeking to grasp their words, I awaken Only to find my awakening empty Bereft of the meaning of what I saw and heard. Something I knew and trusted was lost And so I grope a...