Some notes on inspiration from the young

Let us add a little goodness to the world.

I feel touched when on our walk with Kuro, I see the windows in the neighborhood decorated with paintings, rainbows, flowers, and warm messages for the front line workers. An unexpected hop-scotch grid drawn on the pavement by somebody brings a smile. Sometimes, I catch glimpse of children planting or playing in the mud in their yards. All is not lost. These innocent reminders of a possiblity of rainbows and unicorns on the other side keeps me going.

Our nieces live across the seven seas from us, but they make us smile with the positivity they share over the phone, through our video calls and through messages. There’s no rocket science involved in striving for an all round mental health of people around us. It’s just the act of care that makes the world go around.

My niece’s drawing about the world around her

The video calls with my niece where we discuss sweet nothings are the world to me! When she shows “I painted this!” Or pans her mother’s mobile camera onto her recent wall painting, I see the reflection of myself. I derived great pleasure in drawing on all surfaces possible- walls, tables, streets, cobbled areas, tree leaves, feathers, twigs from the garden… My parents encouraged my explorations with painting, and I had once picked up nailart (not painting on nails, but making etchings on thin sheet of paper with nails used as a stylus) from my grandmother. And when I think about my nieces adventure in exploring the world of painting, gladness washes over me. I am glad that my sister is using this time to let her daughter’s imagination fly.

With this time at home, we all have begun to appreciate our luxuries and the world around us. The books and crannies of our house that we didn’t know existed, have found new meaning such as an art station, or a plant home. I have gradually become obsessed with my balcony garden as a means to see the plants grow as well as to keep the non-virtual social life thriving.

My niece’s rendering of me in the kitchen 🙂

My niece’s expression through art has literally won me over. The innate observant nature is an asset, yes, but the encouragement to grasp the details of your surroundings is another. She depicted me in the kitchen (she hasn’t visited my current place yet) and the details of the space. She shows me warming the slices of bread, and the jar of jam ready in my left hand. I, in the picture, have a bedhead (so true, if this is me making breakfast), and a very casual air about me. I instantly connected with the picture whether or not that would’ve been my rendering in the artists mind! Did you also notice the “warm” and “cold” taps on the sink!?

I brag about my niece not just to encourage her, but for us to reflect on how we are to continue social interaction and education. I, for once, think I have had enough screen-time with my students for a month. And I am mulling over how to go ahead with my summer classes that are just around the corner.

It is not just that. Are we taking this time to really converse with the young? I am no mother to a human child, and so whatever I say about that may mean nothing. But in an instructor’s shoes at a university, I deem this conversation as an integral part of everyday life. A mind that sharp to take in all the details of mundane life, needs to be bolstered to take on the challenges on a broader canvas. I don’t mean to suggest, let’s talk racial discrimination with a 3 year old; but the moment of rupture is here. Now. In this modern times.

A gem 🙂

An octopus can fit through any hole, make home anywhere, as long as it’s head fits. Aren’t we like that metaphorically? We linger where our ego fits and swells. Maybe it is time to shift some mental gears, and add some positivity.

Maybe the first step is to be cognizant of our surroundings, converse (not talk to) our young members of the family and go ahead, hand in hand.

All said and done, the children around the world — may it be just around the block or over a video call from other country — have so much positivity and lease of life, that we should harness for the rainbow across the horizon.

D.

P.S: I’d love to hear from you. Even if your reaction is something like “oh this is naive, eutopic, etc”; I would really like to know different perspectives. We’re indeed standing at a precipice staring into the fog.

Season of snow

Calgary was hit with an early snow. So much so, that we were chiding our way in saying “It’s Fall. Snowfall.”

And needless to say, Kuro is at his happiest. Trotting in fresh snow, ploughing his way into the backyard and back.

The early winter also brought with it some moments of coldness in my academic life. I changed my thesis supervisor, which was a decision I have been sitting on for a while. This cold shower froze my academic cycle for about a month, and I battled out the feeling of falling behind “in life”. However, I soon realised that these mental impositions we put on ourselves is probably the worst blow we subject ourselves to. There’s no race and no “falling behind” so to speak. As my wise professor of Buddhism once said, “nobody’s behind! It’s just that they start at different times! We all eventually get there…”

Harsh winters are a reminder of this very thing. We all are treading towards pleasant summer… Only at different pace and in different regions, with varied climatic ups and downs.

Sitting by the window, watching the fresh flakes fall in perfect rhythm, I am transported back to my conversations with Kanupriya. We were sitting by a glass wall, watching the raindrops patter and talking about this “pace”and the warm and cold emotional rollercoaster we’re constantly aboard.

We hardly let ourselves have a peaceful sojourn at a new place – and trap ourselves in clicking endless pictures to showcase the marvels of the trip, whilst forgetting to experience. Back home, we long to go on a trip again, to repeat the cycle with a shimmering of self-assurance that we are the worthy contenders in this rat race.

Come winter, all the mistakes come back to me, and stare at me blankly, often asking me why I let go of “living” for some moments, and succumbed to “surviving because others did it that way”.

This rambling is just a long winded way of saying, that the winter indeed usher in some coldness in my life, but it is for a warm sunrise on the horizon, awaiting me.

D.

Bathed in golden light, blowing in the wind

Sun setting over the Bay threw Rohan and myself in a state of awe and we were glued to one spot, looking at the splendor of colors in the sky.

The long promenade (we like to call that “hike”, sometime) in the evening brought with it the chirping birds flying home, sprawling lawns atop the hills bathed in golden light, and the dainty sillhoutes of trees against the colorful canvas of the sky.

Kuro was tired by the end of the three hour walk into the hills and foliage. Chasing bees, meeting new canine friends, overcoming his fright for stairways were the cute points of the long promenade.

Skirting the busy streets of Berkeley, the hills provided a breath of fresh air. At moments such as these, we muse how delightful it is to be able to participate in both forms of urban life- busy, live city with it’s culture, arts et al and a break into the quaint forms of nature. The price we pay for such moments seems worth all the trouble.

The blue skies have not shut on us, but we chose to block the view. The salty waters washing at the feet still leap at us relentlessly, as we move away into the hills. The nature in the hills still beckons us touching the innermost of the heart’s strings. We decorate homes with branches and twigs and the real woods stand at a distance, frightened of their fate of being felled one day. Walking on this tightrope between “living with nature” and “living for nature” presents interesting domino effect, cascading into various aspects of our lives. With all this brain storming, last evening we adopted the pacifist approach…once again. Being thankful for the moment.

Although content, we strongly feel we have many paths to walk, a d new ones to make. The question is how, where, when.

Looking at Kuro’s bustling energy and adaptability in any situation, we had mixed feelings whether we have made our canine companions much like us… “Everything goes”(?) After all, adaptability and acceptance ushers in happy times. But to what extent?

With all these and many more thoughts and questions, we walked down the green hills, once again entering the cacophony of the city. Back at the apartment, I peered out of the balcony to look at three coconut trees swinging in the wind. And Bob Dylan’s song almost offered some answers to my bundle of questions: “the answer is blowing in the wind…”

D.

The Malleable human mind?

After getting back to Canada and the US from Mexico, we took some time to feel ‘at home’. Going to the university, office, grocery and other routine places wasn’t alien, but getting back to the groove took its own sweet time. I could not get enough of hugging and snuggling with Kuro, almost as if I was making up the lost ten-twelve days away from him. He too, has been extra snuggly and refused to leave my sight.

Two weeks in, and I realized nothing much has changed. The Polar vortex, the earthquake (or atleast some tremors) in California, Trump’s remarks – nothing seems to have altered us, or our living. I was reminded of Ayn Rand’s book: We the Living. And with that, the thought of insulating oneself from the world by burying into books (or making a fortress out of it) seemed reassuring. On my flight back from Cancun, with the delays and chaos at the terminal, I had buried myself into Murakami’s fascinating world of ‘Kafka on the Shore’. I wasn’t perturbed by the delays, the constant changing status of my connecting flights, swapping of gates and the like.. I could detach myself from the airport hustle-bustle and lose myself in the metaphorical woods in Murakami’s world. It was then that it dawned upon me of my flimsy existence. Or as positivists call it: the malleable human mind.

With the compartmentalization of ideas and ground rules to live by, the innate flexibility to adapt, reconcile or to insulate in/from the given set of external stimuli surprised me. It took me further to reflect in my professional goals (a cliche moment of pondering “what am I doing?). Reading Marcel Mauss’ ‘Gift’, and numerous commentaries on the same, I am almost convinced of some larger than utility function to everyday life. But at dark moments like these, it is easy to reduce the professional aspirations to bread earning and surviving. To say: ‘Live, not survive’; seems to be a limerick in the face of bleak academic careers, narrowing prospects of job markets and importantly, a total disappearance of the possibility of landing in a work-setting which you ‘love’.

For me, I was mulling over my choice of vocation. What am I going to achieve with the study of past societies? A loser is the one who doesn’t know history, and the defeated is the one who doesn’t know the lessons from history – but here, neither do I know history, nor its lessons. So I’m aboard on the ship of eternal doom whatsoever! Let’s assume I grow up to know more about my area of study, what good will it do to us? Unfortunately, I might just be subscribing to the orientalist view point and adding data to that cache, instead of having a broad outlook (what is it anyway?) of my own. Frankly, it is lonely in the academia. With all tight collars and straight faces, it is next to impossible to have an open conversation with anybody. For all are guarded about their data, and no one is really interested in knowing yours. Unfortunately, books after books and papers after papers get published in the world of ‘publish or perish’… but hardly anyone pays attention to this heap of cut trees and jewels in the form of ideas buried and yellowing in this refuse. I would not want my degree to add onto this pile of unread stationery. And there’s no other visible way to go out and ‘seek’ to engage with the world in other form once you’ve put on the blinds of being an academician! (oh, what a rant!)

At this point I thought I would be better off playing with dogs, watering my plants, sketching to my heart’s content and reading whenever and whatever I please. Who would hand me such a life, though? In times as these, the temporary solace is books, poetry and drawing lines. I glanced at my notepad from Cancun. The streets of Valladolid and some elements from Chichen-Itza were smiling at me from the sketches. I gather, this is what we live for. Toiling, sorrowing, and later rejoicing with these brief breaks from the routine. Each morning, waking up a lick on my cheek and having people around to love and live with, makes all blues vanish.

We are, the malleable human mind after all.

D.

The waters

Caribbean Mexico has the Azul blue waters and exquisite marine life. I was drawn to the beaches since I set my foot in Cancun.

The experience of snorkeling in clear blue sea was out of the world. As I dove in, I became one with the water and it opened it’s treasures to view. Shoal of fish swam along, exhibiting their vibrant colors and sheen. I could taste the salt, feel the cool water enveloping me and hear the rustle of the fins. The air bubbles made a symphony of their own in the melody of the waters and encrusted corals.

The second stage of complete immersion came with an hour long scuba diving. I could hear my breath through the air pipe, and my mouth sucked in more air to fill my lungs for long strides underwater. The cylinder on my back, weights around the waist and buckles of the life jacket hung onto me, sometimes making their presence felt. For all other times, it was me and the Azul waters. With the scuba dive, I was flipping through the corals and trying to catch glimpses of eels, barracudas and starfish. The water pressure increasing with depth presented a glimpse of the unfriendly side of the sea… My nose and ears felt the blockage and my vision started to blurr… I gasped for air and flung my arms and flippers trying to make way up… The pressure ceased, and I regained my self. Then blue waters were visible once again, work their flamboyance open to explore.

Once back on the surface of the water, I yearned to dive back in and become a part of the salty blue scape of fins and corals. The dives had changed me with the glimpse of a different world…

***

The interaction with dolphins and manatees was another experience which made me forget the world around, momentarily. I touched the dolphins, petted them and was reminded once again how closely they are connected to cannis familiaris. The manatees, close cousins of the modern elephants were peaceful giants. A baby manatee by the name ‘Africa’ became my instant favorite. Feasting on leek, Africa nudged me with her truncated trunk and her whiskers brushed against me in affection. I almost wanted to carry her home! 😉

Home to the largest turtles, Cancun offered a glimpse of wild sea turtles and their nesting grounds. Visiting a large catchment for turtles on Isla Mujeres is still on our list which we will soon check off!

***

A water baby that I am, the element seems to beckon me as I sit on the shore peering at the depth through the crashing waves. The frothy waves make patterns at the shore, sometimes assuming the form of crab legs and crawling spiders as the water hits the sand bank. I see floating shapes of creepers, mammals and faces of men and women through the light and dark patches of water and the froth of the waves. I weave stories through these patterns, only to be washed away by the wave. The passing of time sense to cease with each wave that comes rolling towards me.

Every evening I would come home with sandy feet and dry hair standing at the tips. This was a mere acknowledgement of a fulfilling day by the sea…

My friend’s family in Goa used to tell me that “once you let the sea in you grow, you can’t stand the land”. And I hadn’t quite understood what they meant till my trip to Cancun and while week by the sea. Needless to say, such is expressed through art and life of the cultures by the sea. The turquoise and lapis in art draws us to the colors of the sea in the cultures of mesoamerica and continental europe. The waves and fish as decorative motifs throughout the art of the maritime world and the Paramount sea god, forget highlight this…

On the New Year’s day, we sat by the sea, watching firecrackers reflect on the surface of the silent waters. The serene experience made a home for itself in our memory trove. As water takes on the color of the surroundings, we mused that we do very much the same in many situations… Although, we try to maintain our distinct color through the reflections as well. In Heidegger’s terms, aren’t we but he projection of our cumulative experiences and the world around? Aren’t we the sea that seeks to see and absorb all?

In the Azul color of our selves, we immerse in the depths of blue, yet with our distinct hue. I long to see that reflected in the waters at the shore, which come crashing at me from faraway lands. I already long to go back to the sea!

D. 

The Old Man called ‘Time’

Nagging to get things done, poking with a long worn-out walking stick; I imagine the bald-ish old man giving a ‘nudge’. In childhood, this old man walks slow. Probably because we are too young and frolic around speedily. However, as we grow older, the old man seems to catch up. He walks fast with us too. Travels with us in bus and train, scales hills and runs down the valleys much as we do. And in the night, when we lay on the bed to peer at the night sky, he rests too… Only to roll into speedy mornings with us – year after year.

In the company of this old man, what we fail to notice are the blooms on the tree, water that has flown down the bridge and to count the stars that have looked at us and set. The pile of papers on the desk seem to define our time. The digital footprints mark our presence… while the old man plods by.

The reason that I recall some of my childhood memories as if they took place just yesterday, is because the old man was resting somewhere, and I had the privilege to immerse completely in the living moment. Probably, as I child I cared less for this aging man, and did not see the fine lines on his cheeks or growing furrow on his forehead. I was not concerned of his presence or his stride length. I worry all too much about that today.

I often want him to stop, but he walks on with me. His graying hair remind me of my to-do lists and things I need to get done before I rest. In the colors on my palette I see the reflection of a ‘speed sketch’ instead of a painting which I would adorn with meticulous strokes and different hues. With my work, I see word-count and number of pages, but not the essence. Frankly, the old man is not asking me to move now. But his movement terrifies me.

B. R. Chopra’s ‘Mahabharat’ envisioned a personified time, who popped out of the television set and made his home with me. Some say he moved in circles… but for me he seems to walk an uphill road, waiting to descend with me sometime. The clothing of ‘Yuga’ that he bears are just cloaks hanging in his closet. They son’t seem to change his nature or pace, or even the inevitable end.

Einstein added the attribute of space to this old man as we know it. It merely showed the magnanimity of this man, further belittling what we are or what we claim to be. Measured with moving needles, or digits, he puts a face of illusion. 0700 hours here just shows sunrise where I am sitting, while it means dusk where my home is.  60 minutes cloaked as ‘hour’ act as stop-watch for tasks to be done, without revealing his true nature. What then, really shows this old man in a guise?

To me, this old man shows himself through collective wisdom. Through our graying hair, wrinkled bodies, and bonded minds. Through our leap into the space, dive into the oceans and walk on this earth. This old man, I affectionately call “Ajoba”, sees through our eyes, listens through our ears but does not speak through our mouths. He likes to communicate with actions. With displacement, breaking and mending, rising and falling and finally, a long slumber.

Ajoba affectionately looked upon me as I played in the sun. And in my youth, he held my hand to take me to the right path after I had chosen the wrong ones, fallen and bruised myself a couple of times. In my adulthood, he watches by as I run… and sometimes speeds alongside, reminding me to halt. With a quarter century of aged body, having seen some seasons of sun and rain, I affectionately stand by him. As he stands by me.

D.

 

 

Seasons

As I sit by my window in Calgary and stare down at the streets almost covered in snow, I wonder whether spring is really here. Seasonal snow and sun is enjoyable, but unseasonal ones are unwelcome… I long for the sunny skies and yellow landscape, which of course I would see in a week’s time when I fly back home. But the spring chill in Canada is running down my spine.
Who decides the seasons? What counts as ‘unseasonal’? Is it out of the ‘established’ cycles that we decide what is timely and what isn’t? With changing seasons and rotation of the Earth it is suffice to both predict and expect certain seasonal changes. What about mind? Does the mind have seasons? Seasons of bloom, seasons of gloom…
I am mirthful, thinking of soaking in the sun, riding the back of horses of nostalgia and memory… But if I dwell into those for too long, it would be unseasonal. If I let myself wander off astray in day dreaming about life after I get married, and get constantly distracted; it might be untimely! What to expect, when to expect and how… are complicated strands of the skein of this mental seasonal cycle. Like others, I think it has to form its cycle through trial and errors, through wisdom of generations.
Just as the sea washes away old sandcastles on the beach, time clears the mental canvas for next painting to be portrayed. But like the sand and the sea, the mind and the apparatus is still the same. Just in a new season. A child becomes the father of a man, and a naïve girl wakes up to the realisation of the world.
The wisdom of elders arches over like a rainbow, akin to the doorway for initiation into the new season of self. At this juncture, we are all at the cusp of changing into a new season. I would be the wife, the daughter-in-law, sister-in -law from a friend, daughter and sister. Although the season would change, I would retain my old roles when I change through different settings. Much like the seasons! The trees are the same, with leaves and twigs – but they are green in Monsoon, yellow in Summer and fall off in Fall.
I welcome, the new season of me.